The
decade of the 1950s is the Golden Age of science fiction movies. Prior to that,
the genre was mostly ignored on film in favor of horror. Of course, the two
genres often overlapped, especially in the 50s, when audiences were worried
about nuclear war, UFOs, alien invasions, and the dangers of radioactivity. We
got pictures with giant bugs, flying saucers, amphibious creatures, Martian
invaders, and mole people. With few exceptions, most of the science fiction
fare from the period is godawful but usually fun for a drive-in movie
experience or late-night “creature feature†material on television.
The
exceptions have proven to stand the test of time and are considered classics
today—The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951), The Thing from Another
World (1951), The War of the Worlds (1953), Invasion of the Body
Snatchers (1956), Forbidden Planet (1956), among others.
The
Incredible Shrinking Man (1957) is one of these gems. Conceived and written by the
great Richard Matheson, the movie was brought to the screen by Jack Arnold, one
of the more under-appreciated filmmakers of his day. While Arnold specialized
in “creature features†in the fifties (he brought us The Creature from the
Black Lagoon in 1954 and Tarantula in ’55, for example), he went on
to be a successful hard-working craftsman for dozens of popular television
shows in the 60s and 70s.
Matheson
wrote the initial story and simultaneously penned a novel (The Shrinking Man)
published in 1956. He sold the rights to Universal on the condition that he be
hired to write the screenplay. Matheson’s script followed the structure of his
novel, which used flashbacks to tell Scott Carey’s story. Arnold and the studio
preferred that the story be told linearly, so Richard Alan Simmons got the job
to re-write the screenplay as such. Both Matheson and Simmons share screenplay
credit, while Matheson receives story credit.
The
tale is well-known. Scott Carey (Grant Williams) is in a loving marriage with
Louise (Randy Stuart). One day they are out on a boat. While Louise is below
deck, a strange mist envelops Scott. As time passes, Scott notices that his
clothes no longer fit him—he’s becoming smaller. Doctors are befuddled. Scott
shrinks some more. Eventually this affects the marriage and Scott questions his
manhood. He becomes a media curiosity, and he continues to diminish in size.
Ultimately, he is alone in his house and must first battle the family cat, and
later, in a climactic sequence, a tarantula. And still, he continues to grow
smaller…
The
Incredible Shrinking Man is one of the most thoughtful, mind-bending, and
existential science fiction films ever made—and it was certainly a milestone of
the period. Its cosmic ending, which studio executives wanted to change to a
happier one, was kept intact by director Arnold—and this is what elevates Shrinking
Man to a BIG picture.
The
visual effects, while crude by today’s standards, were cleverly done in
1956-57. Arnold utilized split screens, rear screen projections, oversized sets
and furniture, and trick photography to achieve the illusion of Scott’s
condition against an enlarging hostile world around him. As Arnold states in a
wonderful vintage 1983 interview that is a supplement accompanying the film,
the secret to this and all the director’s work was “preparation.†He was a
believer in storyboards, and he created these to fully imagine the picture
prior to shooting a frame of film. Much like the outline some authors pen prior
to drafting a novel, Arnold’s storyboards allowed him to try out different
ideas and erase them if they didn’t work.
The
Criterion Collection presents an outstanding package for Shrinking Man.
The film is a 4K digital restoration that looks amazingly fresh. It comes with
an uncompressed monaural soundtrack. There is an optional and informative audio
commentary by genre-film historian Tom Weaver and horror-music expert David
Schecter.
Supplements
abound. A new featurette on the film’s visual effects hosted by FX experts
Craig Barron and Ben Burtt is a lot of fun. A very entertaining conversation
about the film between filmmaker Joe Dante and comedian/writer Dana Gould is
fabulous. A remembrance on the film with Richard Christian Matheson (Richard
Matheson’s son) is also superb. Of particular interest to film buffs might be
the previously mentioned footage from 1983 of Jack Arnold interviewed about the
film. Also of great significance is a “director’s cut†of a 2021 documentary
about Arnold, Auteur on the Campus: Jack Arnold at Universal. And if all
that weren’t enough, we get two 8mm home video short presentations of the film that
circulated in the 1960s, a feature on missing musical cues, a vintage teaser
narrated by none other than Orson Welles, and the theatrical trailer. The
booklet contains an essay by critic Geoffrey O’Brien.
The
Incredible Shrinking Man is a must-have, buy-today, excellent release from
Criterion. For fans of 1950s science fiction, Richard Matheson, Jack Arnold,
and giant spiders. Sublime!
At
long last, the Warner Archive has blessed Marx Brothers fans with a high
definition Blu-ray release of one of the comedy team’s most beloved pictures, A
Night at the Opera (1935).
Many
film historians and critics cite A Night at the Opera (directed by Sam Wood) as the brothers’ “finestâ€
movie, and it has even been named by Groucho Marx as such. While it is
certainly one of their best, this reviewer quibbles with that
pronouncement. The film’s reputation is a result of the success it had at the
box office and with the public’s perception upon release. It was a “reboot†of
sorts for the Marx Brothers, as they had moved to a new studio (the prestigious
MGM) and were overseen by the young genius studio maverick, Irving Thalberg.
Under Thalberg’s guidance, the brothers’ films became more commercial. His goal
had been to make their pictures play as well in Middle America as they had in
New York or Los Angeles.
The
Marx Brothers’ film career can easily be divided into two distinct periods. The
first chapter consists of the five excellent pre-Code entries made at
Paramount. Most aficionados of the brothers hold these anarchic, surreal, and
zany comedies (they include Animal Crackers, Horse Feathers, and Duck
Soup)in the highest regard. Unfortunately, 1933’s Duck Soup was
not a box office hit because the comedy had become too political for the times
(although its stock grew tremendously as the decades went on, and today Soup
is generally considered, certainly by this reviewer, as the team’s “finestâ€â€”or
certainly “favoriteâ€). The team found themselves without a studio. Zeppo, the
team’s “straight man,†dropped out of the act, and he would be replaced by a
succession of Zeppo-types to serve his function. This left only Groucho, Harpo,
and Chico in place.
Enter
Thalberg. Over a poker game with Chico, Thalberg discussed bringing the Marx
Brothers to MGM. He envisioned making their comedy more “friendly†and
emphasizing more story. The result found the three (instead of four)
Marx Brothers becoming lovable—but crazily funny—matchmakers to two young
lovers (in this case, played by Allan Jones, this movie’s Zeppo clone, and
Kitty Carlisle), despite obstacles by defined bad guys.
This
formula was a success, and it continued in 1937’s A Day at the Races (the
brothers’ most profitable film) and three more at MGM, which grew progressively
weaker in quality. By 1941, the blueprint had played itself out and MGM dropped
the team. (The brothers made two more inferior films in the late 1940s for
different studios, a time which could be considered a forgettable third period
in their cinematic journey.)
All
that said, A Night at the Opera is easily the most successful and
funniest of the MGM pictures. Groucho is “Otis B. Driftwood,†a theatrical
manager of sorts, who wants to invest Mrs. Claypool’s money (she is played, of
course, by the wonderful Margaret Dumont) in the New York opera scene, which is
run by pompous Herman Gottlieb (Sig Ruman). Chico is “Fiorello,†another
manager of sorts, who represents his friend Ricardo (Jones), who happens to be
an extremely talented singer. Ricardo is in love with Rosa (Carlisle), also an
opera singer. She is set to co-star with sleazy Lassparri (Walter Woolf King),
who is cruel to his personal assistant, Tomasso (Harpo). Thus, the plot
involves subverting Lassparri and Gottlieb, and installing Ricardo and Rosa in
the opera. It takes the three Marx Brothers to make this happen.
The
script was written by George S. Kaufman and Morrie Ryskind, who had worked with
the brothers several times in the past. Even though Groucho and Chico were
known to improvise dialogue, the film contains many of their best bits. For
example, the “contract scene,†in which Driftwood and Fiorello hash out the
terms to sign Ricardo to the opera, is classic stuff. When they don’t agree on
a specific clause in the contract, they simply physically tear it off the
paper. When Fiorello gets down to the bottom, the clause which states that if
either party is “not in sound mind,†then the contract is void. “That’s the
sanity clause,†Driftwood explains. Fiorello isn’t having it. “Oh no, you can’t
fool me. There ain’t no Sanity Clause!†And
then there is the brilliant ocean liner stateroomscene, the cinematic
equivalent of stuffing the most people possible into a phone booth.
Groucho
and Chico do seem to have all the best stuff. Harpo is always splendid, but
here too much of his physical comedy is dependent on outrageous stunts
(performed by doubles and stuntmen, or visual photographic effects), such as
climbing up a vertical theatrical backdrop like a lizard. Harpo Marx’s
antics should never be performed by stuntmen or faked with technical trickery.
This is probably this reviewer’s biggest complaint about A Night at the
Opera, and the one thing that prevents it from overtaking the likes of Duck
Soup, Horse Feathers, Animal Crackers, and Monkey Business
as the quintessential Marx Brothers movie. At least Opera features two
superb musical solos by Chico (on piano) and Harpo (on harp), as well as a
couple of lavish, MGM-style musical numbers by Jones, Carlisle, and a multitude
of extras.
Warner
Archive’s new high-definition transfer is a vast improvement over the previous
DVD release. The few splices/missing frames in the film are still evident
(nothing to be done about those), but the picture quality is superb. All the supplements
are ported over from the DVD release, including the audio commentary by film
critic Leonard Maltin, as well as an entertaining documentary on the brothers
(featuring the likes of Carl Reiner, Larry Gelbart, Dom DeLuise, and others), a
1961 television excerpt of Groucho being interviewed by Hy Gardner, and two
vintage 1930s MGM shorts (Robert Benchley’s “How to Sleep†and the musical
documentary “Sunday Night at the Trocaderoâ€). A third vintage short, “Los
Angeles: Wonder City of the West†is new to this Blu-ray release. The
theatrical trailer rounds out the package.
A
Night at the Opera is
a welcome addition to the home video collection of any Marx Brothers fan.
Despite the minor quibbles, this is classic, side-splitting, Hollywood comedy.
The
excellent boutique label Arrow Video has issued a superb 2-disk Limited Edition
Blu-ray package of Ridley Scott’s 1985 film, Legend (released in the
U.S. in 1986).
Like
another recent terrific Arrow Video release, David Lynch’s Dune, Scott’s
Legend was a troubled production that experienced studio interference
and a problematic worldwide release, received mixed to negative reviews from
critics and audiences alike, and was relegated to the barrel of “expensive
Hollywood failures†for decades—and yet it has a cult following of devoted fans.
Perhaps
the most notorious reputation Legend has is that it existed in different
cuts. Scott’s original cut was roughly 125 minutes, but the studio felt the
picture needed shortening. It was trimmed to 113 minutes, which was ultimately Scott’s
preferred cut. The picture’s music was composed and conducted by the great
Jerry Goldsmith, who had overlain the fantasy with a classically orchestral
score. The studio still felt that the movie ran too long, so further cuts were
demanded, much to Scott’s chagrin. This “European cut,†at around 95 minutes,
was released in the UK in late 1985. Reception wasn’t great, so the studio
delayed the North American release to make a drastic change. Over Scott’s objections,
they replaced Goldsmith’s score with a newly-commissioned one by the
progressive electronic band, Tangerine Dream. A few minutes more were cut, and
the U.S. release, at roughly 90 minutes, was released in spring 1986 with the
new score. This time the reception was even worse.
Ridley
Scott always maintained that his original cut of the film—with Goldsmith’s
score—was the way Legend should be seen. Thus, in 2002, Legend received
a re-release of Scott’s Director’s Cut of 113 minutes with Goldsmith’s score
restored. This version was re-appraised and earned a more positive rating from
critics and viewers. Interestingly, Scott has more Director’s Cuts of his films
that are different from their theatrical releases than any other filmmaker, as
pointed out in one of the disk’s supplements!
Legend
is
hard-fantasy, but it owes more to Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream or
Disney’s Fantasia than it does to, say, Tolkien’s The Lord of the
Rings. Yes, there are fairies, goblins, elves, and dwarves in both visions
of a fantasyland, but Legend has a more classical, old-myth feel. While
Scott’s Director’s Cut is indeed a vast improvement over the shorter versions
(European and U.S.), the picture still has flaws that prevent it from being the
masterwork that Scott perhaps hoped it would be. That said, there is much to
admire in Legend.
Visually,
Legend is scrumptious, gorgeous, and fascinating. The production designs
by Assheton Gordon and especially the makeup designs by Rob Bottin are
extraordinary. The pastoral atmosphere and the moods evoked by the picture are
effective and magical.
The
acting? A young Tom Cruise plays Jack, a sort of Jack-in-the-Green fellow who
is at one with the forest and its creatures. He fancies Princess Lili (Mia
Sara), who is precocious and sets all the conflict of the story in motion by a
careless act. (Oddly, all references to Lili being a princess are deleted from
the U.S. theatrical release.) Tim Curry is magnificent behind all the makeup as
the Prince of Darkness, a truly delicious villain. David Bennent (of The Tin
Drum fame) is believable as an elf named Gump, although his voice is dubbed
by Alice Playton.
The
story is straightforward. Darkness wants to eliminate all light in the world by
destroying the two unicorns in the forest, so he sends a troupe of goblins out
to do the dirty deed, just as Jack is introducing the animals to Lili. One
unicorn horn is hacked off and stolen, and the world is plunged into a deep
freeze. Lili is eventually captured by Darkness (he has the hots for her, too),
so it’s up to Jack, the elves, and a pair of dwarves to rescue her, retrieve
the unicorn horn, and stop Darkness from accomplishing his goal.
It
all works well enough, although the voices used for the goblins are
ridiculously comical and are a detriment to the action. Once the action moves
to Darkness’ realm, the picture picks up and becomes quite suspenseful. In the
end, though, Legend just doesn’t reach the lofty target to which it aspired.
One of the problems is that is seemed not to know what audience for whom it was
aimed. Children? Adults? Teenagers? The studio arbitrarily decided it was the
latter, which was one of the reasons the Tangerine Dream score replaced
Goldsmith’s.
And
what of the scores? The Tangerine Dream score is actually quite good—the band had
already done several movie scores and were quite adept at it. It works with the
theatrical version well enough. Nevertheless, the Jerry Goldsmith is far
superior and fits the movie much better. This is classical fantasy, so a
classical score is more appropriate.
The
new Arrow Video Limited Edition 2-Disk package contains the U.S. theatrical
release (with the Tangerine Dream score) and Scott’s Director’s Cut (with Jerry
Goldsmith’s score), both beautifully restored in 2K. They both have DTS-HD MA
2.0 stereo and 5.1 surround audio, and optional English subtitles for the
hearing impaired. The theatrical cut has an audio commentary by Paul M. Sammon
(author of Ridley Scott: The Making of His Movies). The Director’s Cut
features an audio commentary by Scott himself. There are isolated music and
effects tracks for the theatrical release.
Supplements
abound. New featurettes include a documentary on the film featuring interviews
with several key crew members and cast member Annabelle Lanyon (who plays Oona
the sprite); an excellent two-part documentary on the two scores; a featurette
examining the various versions of the film; and a two-part featurette on the
movie’s creatures. Vintage supplements include a 2003 documentary on Ridley
Scott; a 2002 documentary on the making of the film; original promotional
featurettes; deleted scenes; alternate scenes; storyboard galleries; two drafts
of the screenplay (!) by William Hjortsberg; alternate footage from the
overseas release; trailers, TV spots, and image galleries. The package also
contains a wonderfully illustrated booklet with writing on the film by Nicholas
Clement, Kat Ellinger, and Simon Ward, plus archive materials and more. There’s
a two-sided poster with new artwork by Neil Davies and the original by John
Alvin, a pack of glossy full-color photographs by Annie Leibovitz, and
double-sided postcards that are lobby card reproductions. The jewel case comes
with a reversible sleeve of both artworks.
Legend
is
likely of interest to fans of Ridley Scott, Tom Cruise, and the fantasy genre,
but it is especially informative and revelatory in terms of Hollywood history
and how studios and artists often clash in the realization of a marketable
vision. Hats off to Arrow Video!
The
year 1951 was an exceptional one for movies, among them Best Picture Oscar
winner An American in Paris; the classic drama A Streetcar Named
Desire; two of the best science fiction pictures ever made—The Day the
Earth Stood Still and The Thing from Another World; the Bogart and
Hepburn adventure, The African Queen; the historical epic Quo Vadis;
plus Decision Before Dawn, Death of a Salesman, Detective
Story… and that’s counting only Hollywood titles.
And
then there is A Place in the Sun, George Stevens’ adaptation of Theodore
Dreiser’s 1925 novel, An American Tragedy. The film managed to win the
Oscars for Best Director (Stevens), Screenplay, Black and White Cinematography
(William C. Mellor), Black and White Costume Design (Edith Head), Film Editing,
and Scoring (Franz Waxman). Montgomery Clift and Shelley Winters were both
nominated for Actor and Actress, respectively, and the production was nominated
for Best Picture.
Interestingly,
A Place in the Sun was a remake of the 1931 picture An American
Tragedy, which was directed by Josef von Sternberg. Since this earlier
adaptation received mixed reactions from audiences and critics alike, the
original novel was ripe to be re-envisioned and remade for the post-war crowd.
Paramount
Presents has issued a new digital restoration on Blu-ray that emphasizes the
importance and acclaim A Place in the Sun received at the time. It is
still a beloved motion picture today, albeit being a little creaky around the
edges. Yes, the film might be considered “dated†in the year 2021 in terms of
style and presentation, seventy years after its release, but what it has to say
is still relevant to our contemporary world.
George
Eastman (Clift) is from the black sheep side of the wealthy, prosperous Eastman
family in an unnamed town. He has hitchhiked from Chicago, where his widowed
mother runs a low-rent religious charity outfit. We never learn what exactly
caused the estrangement of George’s father from rich industrialist Charles
Eastman (Herbert Heyes). George is considered by the Eastmans to be from the
“wrong side of the tracks.†In other words, he’s not in the same social class.
Nevertheless, patriarch Eastman gives George a job in his textile mill, first
in the menial labor area. Here, George meets plain-Jane Alice (Winters,
playing, at that time, against the type established by her previous work as a
sexpot). They begin to date, despite company rules against employees doing so.
One thing leads to another, and Alice becomes pregnant. In the meantime, George
has become smitten with Angela Vickers (Elizabeth Taylor, who was only 17 when
she made the picture!). The Vickers are the other wealthy family in town, and
there are often high society pages written about both families. After meeting
at an Eastman party, George and Angela begin to date, leaving poor Alice high
and dry. George is not only in love with the beautiful and lively Angela, but
he sees this as an opportunity to lift himself out of the lower class in which
he has lived and into the more prosperous “place in the sun†enjoyed by the
white, privileged elite in America. Alice will not stand for George abandoning
her, so she gives him the “marry me or else†ultimatum. What happens next is
indeed an “American tragedy,†and to reveal all would be a spoiler.
This
is not a feel good movie. Whether we’re supposed to feel sorry for George is
beside the point of the picture, though. In 1951, audiences perhaps did empathize
with him for the predicament in which he finds himself in the last act. Today? Likely
not so much. He certainly makes some very bad decisions which bring about his
downfall. Is he a victim of his own classlessness, or is he just a cad?
Therein
lies the message of the movie, which is indeed an exploration of the dichotomy
between America’s working class and the wealthy elite. When bad things happen
to the poor, it can be devastating, whereas the rich can usually buy their way
out of trouble. Nothing has changed.
Stevens’
direction is masterful. If the performances on display are a result of the
director, then Stevens deserved his Oscar. Clift was still a relative newcomer
on the scene at the time and displays the smoldering angst of “the Methodâ€
acting style that was just becoming a thing on screen. It is said numerous
times throughout the various supplemental material on the Blu-ray disk that A
Place in the Sun was Elizabeth Taylor’s first “real role†in which she
could exhibit her chops after a career as a child actor. She is marvelous as
Angela, and her screen charisma is astonishingly striking. Winters, in the role
of dowdy Alice, also makes a big impression; however, one might argue that her
part is not a lead, but rather a supporting one.
Aside
from the acting, the direction is evident in the pacing and moods established
by the picture. Takes are long and meticulous, the crossfades are protracted
and bordering laborious, and the music underscore is often melodramatically
over the top. And yet, all these rather dated sensibilities work in the film’s
favor. A Place in the Sun is an emotionally devastating picture, and its
power is due to Stevens.
William
Mellor’s cinematography is extremely important to the representation of the
movie’s themes. All the scenes in Angela’s world are brightly lit, sunshiny,
full of life and joy. By contrast, most of the sequences in Alice’s world are
dark—very dark—full of shadow and drabness. Two classes. Light and dark.
Life and death.
The
Blu-ray transfer from a 4K remaster looks marvelous. It comes with an
informative audio commentary by George Stevens Jr. and associate producer Ivan
Moffat. The enjoyable supplements (ported over from previous home video
releases) are a “Filmmaker Focus†on George
Stevens from film critic and historian Leonard Maltin; a good featurette on
Stevens’ making of the film; and a very welcome collection of “Filmmakers Who
Knew Him†AFI interviews about Stevens from the likes of Frank Capra, Warren
Beatty, Fred Zinnemann, Joseph L. Mankiewicz, Alan J. Pakula, Robert Wise, and
others. Theatrical trailers round out the package.
A Place in the Sun has earned its place in cinematic history.
Highly recommended for a look back at the barometer of morality that existed in
America in the early 1950s.
In
comparing Masquerade (1965) with a recent review of Arabesque (1966)
here at Cinema Retro, this time we have yet another mid-1960s “comedy-spy
thriller,†a genre that was crowding the cinemas in those days because of the
success of Double-O-You-Know-Who.
In
contrast to Arabesque,this one is a British production, directed
by the prolific and often brilliant Basil Dearden, and it utilizes London
locations as well as spots in Spain. And yet, despite the thoroughly British
DNA running through 95% of the movie, it stars American Cliff Robertson as the
hero, David Fraser, a sort of CIA type who seems to approach all the danger
around him with misplaced naivete and amused detachment.
The
script marks the first appearance of the great William Goldman in a screen
credit (co-writing with Michael Relph). It’s based on Vincent Canning’s novel, Castle
Minerva. Apparently, it was Robertson who had enlisted Goldman’s services,
as the dialogue needed some “Americanizing.†That said, the script is
serviceable and certainly makes more sense than what we saw in Arabesque.
Britain
wants oil drilling rights in a fictional Middle Eastern country, but the
country isn’t playing ball. Colonel Drexel (Jack Hawkins) is engaged by Sir
Robert (John Le Mesurier) to fix the problem. Drexel hires an old war buddy, Frazer,
to kidnap the teenage son of the country’s prince. This is supposed to force the
resumption of talks and ultimate agreement between the two countries. Why this
is considered sound diplomacy is anyone’s guess, but that’s the mission. Frazer
goes along with the plan out of loyalty to his friend; however, at one point he
rejects performing an order because he has “scruples†(but kidnapping a prince
isn’t one of them). Frazer eventually finds that he has competition in the form
of a small gang of Europeans who also want the boy. As the tag line for the
movie in its posters and theatrical trailer shouts, “Who is Doing What to Who?â€
Indeed… the audience will be wondering that, too. (Shouldn’t that be “to Whom?â€)
In other words, the movie is filled with double-crosses, switcheroos, and
things that are not as they seem.
The
picture is lively and loaded with action sequences. The supporting cast,
especially the Europeans (namely Marisa Mell and a young Michel Piccoli), are a
hoot. The British side sports familiar character actors besides Hawkins (such
as Charles Gray and Bill Fraser).
Unfortunately,
Masquerade doesn’t quite succeed as intended mainly due to the casting
of Robertson. Like Arabesque, this needed someone with the comic
delivery of a Cary Grant, and the American Robertson is also oddly out of place
in this British-European milieu. Robertson does his best, though, and he gets
the job done—even if the whole thing is more than just implausible. (The poor
guy gets clobbered on the head several times in the movie; one would think a
concussion might have debilitated him after, say, the third time.)
Kino
Lorber’s new Blu-ray displays that distinctive 1960s film stock look, and it’s
a good enough transfer. It comes with an audio commentary by film historians
Howard S. Berger and Chris Poggiali. The theatrical trailer, along with other Kino
Lorber trailers, are the only supplements.
Masquerade
is a
middle-of-the-road example of the 1960s cinematic “spy boom, and the Bond-Wanabe
aspects of the picture plants it firmly within the context of its era.
Filmmaker
Stanley Donen had substantial success with his comedy-thriller, Charade
(1963), which starred Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn. It was hyped and critiqued
as “Hitchcockian†in tone and style, especially the light-hearted and glitzy To
Catch a Thief (1955). (There are many who mistakenly believe that Charade
is a Hitchcock film.)
The
studio then wanted to repeat that success with a similar picture, Arabesque,
also with Cary Grant in the lead role with Donen directing again. However,
Grant felt that the script was “terrible†and passed. Donen allegedly wasn’t
too thrilled with the script, either, and he wasn’t too keen on making the
picture without Grant.
Then
Gregory Peck and Sophia Loren expressed interest in the movie, so Donen
acquiesced. Sounds like a fairy tale scenario for the greenlighting of a
Hollywood movie, right? The two Oscar-winning stars were cast, and the script
was rewritten… and rewritten… (it is credited to Julian Mitchell, Stanley
Price, and Pierre Marton; however, Marton is a pseudonym for Peter Stone, who
had written Charade!).
Released
in 1966, Arabesque has all the hallmarks of a hit movie. It is
beautifully photographed by Christopher Challis, with colorful usage of mirrors
and prisms and glass throughout the picture. These visuals provide the film
with its spectacular glossy eye candy. Ms. Loren’s costumes (by Christian Dior)
are psychedelic/exotic/1960s fabulous. Henry Mancini’s musical score is fun and
lively—except for the examples cited below. Maurice Binder’s main titles design
hints at something leaning toward a James Bond or Derek Flint film.
These
are the only admirable aspects of the picture.
Both
Charade and Arabesque, when one examines them closely, are really
screwball comedies set in a spy/thriller milieu. The success of a screwball
comedy depends on the comic timing and charisma of the two “mismatched†leads—this
is the core ingredient of the sub-genre. Cary Grant can do these kinds of roles
in his sleep. And this is where the problem lies.
Gregory
Peck is a wonderful actor, but unfortunately here he is terribly miscast. It’s obvious
that he’s trying to “do†Cary Grant (without the accent), and it simply
does not work. The dialogue—meant to be witty banter in the Cary Grant
mold—does not flow elegantly from Peck. Sophia Loren, while looking gorgeous
and mysterious throughout the story, fares little better with what the poor
script has her do.
And
the script? It makes no sense. Peck is David Pollock, an American professor at
Oxford who knows something about Hieroglyphics. He’s “hired†by sleazy Arabic
shipping magnate Beshraavi (Alan Badel) to decipher a code in Hieroglyphics
that he has stolen from a murdered spy. The prime minister of an unnamed Middle
Eastern country, Jena (Carl Duering), also wants the code deciphered, because
“there will be no peace in the world without it.†What? It’s unclear what
conflict we’re talking about or what the situation really is. Pollock meets
Beshraavi’s mistress, Yasmin Azir (Loren), who is working for another group of
spies—maybe—or maybe she’s working for Jena—it’s not really clear—in fact, we
don’t know what Yasmin’s motivation is for any of her actions in the film.
Suddenly, Pollock is on the run as several factions of Arabs and others are out
to kill him. Sometimes Yasmin helps him, sometimes she doesn’t. But, of course,
they fall in love, and they prevent a political assassination in the meantime.
Okay,
it’s a beautiful mess, but it’s still a mess. Even the misplaced slapstick
sequences are dumb—and Mancini’s comic music that underscores some of these scenes
is cringe-worthy (one example—when a drugged Pollock is standing in the road of
a crowded freeway and playing “matador†to oncoming vehicles).
Kino
Lorber’s new Blu-ray release looks quite gorgeous, showing off the colorful
glitz that is the primary asset of Arabesque. It comes with an audio
commentary by film historians Howard S. Berger, Steve Mitchell, and Nathaniel
Thompson, who all seem to enjoy the picture more than this reviewer did and yet
point out all the same faults. A lovely half-hour featurette on Mancini is a
welcome supplement. There is also a poster gallery (note the cover/poster art
by the great Robert McGinnis), TV spots, the theatrical trailer and teaser, and
trailers for other Kino Lorber releases.
Arabesque
is a
product of its mid-1960s origin, for sure, as it wants to be both Charade and
a James Bond film. It is neither, but it might be a curiosity for fans of 1960s
Hollywood spy movies and pristine cinematography.
Kino
Lorber and Something Weird Video continue their collaboration to present
“Forbidden Fruit: The Golden Age of the Exploitation Picture†with Volume 12—the
double bill of Peek-A-Boo and “B†Girl Rhapsody, two
documentations of burlesque revues from the 1950s.
The
delicious and suitably sleazy pictures in the “Forbidden Fruit†series were
made cheaply and outside the Hollywood system. They were distributed
independently in the manner of a circus sideshow, often by renting a movie
theater for a few nights, advertising in the local papers, and promoting the
scandalous title as “educational.†It’s certain, however, that in this case
both features in Volume 12 were not educational in any way except to provide the
experience of burlesque shows to audiences who were unable to view them in
person.
This
reviewer, who usually welcomes and enthusiastically supports all the volumes in
the “Forbidden Fruit†series, found these two pictures sadly unwatchable, with
the caveat that Alexandra Heller-Nicholas’ audio commentary on one of the
titles might well be worth the price of admission.
Burlesque
has a long history in the United States, and the entertainment form goes way
back nearly two hundred years. It was closely associated with vaudeville, but
at the beginning of the 20th Century burlesque broke off and became its own
thing—something a bit more ribald and forbidden. There were still musical
numbers of song and dance, and sketches by comedians who told groaner jokes—but
burlesque added the striptease act.
The
phenomenon flourished in the early half of the century, and especially in the ten
or so years after World War II it enjoyed popularity in the big cities. Burlesque
probably peaked in the early fifties, when these two documentaries—for that’s
really what they are—were filmed. Once we got into the 1960s, burlesque became
even more sleazy and was relegated to the more questionable and red light areas
of “downtown†until it faded away for good.
One
of the unsung impresarios of burlesque in Los Angeles in the 1940s and 50s was
Lillian Hunt, who managed burlesque performers, produced and directed stage
productions, and documented her work on film to be distributed independently.
Hunt was a former burlesque artist in her younger years, and the fact that she
directed ten feature films (albeit of this ilk) in a decade in which there were
very few women behind the camera is something that can’t be brushed aside.
Both
“B†Girl Rhapsody (1952) and Peek-A-Boo (1953) were staged in the
old Burbank Theater in L.A., renamed the “New Follies Theater†for these
burlesque productions. They were filmed mostly in long shot with a stationary
camera in the front row of the theater so that the full proscenium stage is in
the frame. It’s as if the viewer is in the audience watching the entire show. Sometimes
the camera cuts to a medium shot, at best, but there are never close-ups. As a
result, this does not make for very interesting viewing. The striptease acts
aside, the musical numbers and comedian sketches are, well, pretty bad. As both
audio commentators remark, the actor/comedians were so jaded from repeatedly
doing the routines night after night that the deliveries became rather
uninspired.
The
stripteases? Sure, the lovely ladies of a variety of shapes and sizes range from
being somewhat amateurish to quite accomplished dancers. Unfortunately, these
two titles feature none of the big name stars of the era like Lili St. Cyr,
Tempest Storm, or Blaze Starr. Note: there is never total nudity.
The
two features on Kino Lorber’s Blu-ray disk are surprisingly well preserved and
pristine. The audio commentary for Peek-A-Boo is by Eric Schaefer,
author of Bold! Daring! Shocking! True! A History of Exploitation Films,
and curator of the “Forbidden Fruit†series. He is always knowledgeable about
these subjects.
The
audio commentary for “B†Girl Rhapsody is by the previously-mentioned
and always entertaining Alexandra Heller-Nicholas, whose wit and insight into these
titles and exploitation films in general will make you laugh and appreciate
more fully what you are experiencing.
Theatrical
trailers round out the package.
While
Volume 12 of the “Forbidden Fruit†series is not quite up to par with the
preceding entries, these films of Old Burlesque might find their way into the
hearts of some viewers who are interested in the history of this unique
American art form.
Abraham
Lincoln once famously said, “You can fool all the people some of the time and
some of the people all the time, but you cannot fool all the people all the
time.†That utterance is evoked in the course of Billy Wilder’s 1966 acerbic
comedy, The Fortune Cookie and it certainly applies to the legal goings-on as
instigated by “Whiplash Willie†Gingrich (Walter Matthau), an unscrupulous
lawyer who sets out to commit fraud against an insurance company for big bucks.
While
it’s arguable that the great Billy Wilder continued to make good films into the
1970s, The Fortune Cookie might be his last superb one. It’s no Some Like it
Hot or The Apartment, but the picture manages to evoke many laughs and also
exhibits what is perhaps the quintessential performance by Matthau.
Jack
Lemmon is sports news cameraman Harry Hinkle. During a Cleveland Browns game,
player “Boom Boom†Jackson (Ron Rich) accidentally runs—hard—into Hinkle and
knocks him for a loop. The stunned Hinkle is taken to the hospital, and Jackson
feels badly. Hinkle’s brother-in-law is Gingrich, who cooks up a scheme to make
a million dollars in a lawsuit against the Browns, Cleveland, and anyone else
that could be a target. He convinces the unwilling Hinkle to play along and
behave much more injured than he really is (he’s actually just fine). Hinkle’s
ex-wife, Sandy (Judi West), with whom Hinkle is still in love, joins in on the
charade because she believes she’ll get a big payoff. The opposing law firm
sends out investigator Clifford Purkey (Cliff Osmond) to spy on Hinkle to gain
evidence that the whole thing is a sham. Meanwhile, poor Jackson is so
distraught about the accident that his ability on the football field declines
until he must consider resigning. Then things get crazier.
Written
by Wilder and his authoring partner since 1957, I. A. L. Diamond, Cookie is a
tour-de-force vehicle for Walter Matthau, who deservedly won the Oscar for Best
Supporting Actor for his performance. The script and the character emphasize
every strength the actor has, from his blustering vocal delivery to his hound
dog facial expressions. He is very funny. Lemmon, who received top billing, is also
good—Hinkle is a stereotypical “Jack Lemmon roleâ€â€”but this is a movie that
belongs to Matthau.
The Dynamic Trio: Lemmon, Wilder and Matthau.
Kino
Lorber’s new Blu-ray looks marvelous in its widescreen, glorious black and
white (yes, Hollywood still made black and white pictures in the mid-60s). It
comes with a new audio commentary by film historian Joseph McBride and optional
English subtitles. Supplements include two short clips introduced by filmmaker
Volker Schlöndorff from a filmed tribute to I. A. L. Diamond—a speech by Wilder
about his friend and collaborator, and a scene written by Diamond during his
school years, performed by Lemmon and Matthau and “directed†by Wilder. There
is also a short clip from Lemmon that was a call for extras to show up at the
Cleveland Browns’ stadium for a chance to be “in†the movie. Finally, there is
a Trailers From Hell analysis of the trailer with Chris Wilkinson and
theatrical trailers from other Kino Lorber titles.
By
the way, the “I. A. L.†of Diamond’s name stood for “Interscholastic Algebra
League†(his real name was Itzek)!
The
Fortune Cookie is for fans of Billy Wilder and I. A. L. Diamond, Jack Lemmon,
and especially Walter Matthau. Fun stuff.
The
prolific Hollywood producer Walter Mirisch was responsible for spearheading
such famed titles as Two for the Seesaw, Hawaii, In the Heat
of the Night, and Dracula (’79), and served as uncredited executive
producer for a number of high-profile pictures such as The Pink Panther,
The Great Escape, Fiddler on the Roof, and more. Mirisch got his
start, though, at the “Poverty Row†studio Monogram in the 1940s, where he
churned out a few low-budget crime dramas and film noir.
Mirisch’s
second feature for Monogram was a movie that has apparently been out of
circulation for decades. Considering its title, one might understand why… I
Wouldn’t Be in Your Shoes! is based on a novel of the same name by the
great mystery writer Cornell Woolrich, and the screenplay is by pulp writer
(e.g., Mystery Adventures magazine) Steve Fisher, who penned scripts for
such flicks as Destination Tokyo (1943), Johnny Angel (1945), Song
of the Thin Man (1947), and The Hunted (1947).
The
picture stars relative unknowns (today), but it’s a tight little “wrong manâ€
scenario that holds one’s interest despite having some plot and character aspects
that stretch credibility.
Tom
Quinn (Don Castle) is an out-of -work dancer in New York City, and he’s married
to Ann (Elyse Knox). Ann works at a dance joint where strange men tip her to
“provide dance lessons,†but it’s really a place where men attempt to get dates
with the dancers. One guy, whom Ann refers to as “Santa Claus†because of his
build, is very insistent on dancing with her (at least he tips her well). One
hot night, Tom and Ann are trying to get some sleep, and noisy cats are outside
howling in the alley. Tom gets up and throws his shoes out the window at
the cats to shut them up (who does this, really?). Realizing he needs his
shoes, Tom goes out to look for them. He can’t find them. Figuring he’ll search
again in daylight, he returns to the apartment and goes to sleep. The next
morning, his shoes are in the hallway outside the door. Later, he finds a
wallet with a lot of money in it, seemingly placed exactly where he would
stumble upon it. It turns out that a wealthy hermit who lived nearby was robbed
and murdered. The police discover a shoe print outside in the mud that matches
Tom’s shoes. Lo and behold, one of the detectives is none other than Clint
(Regis Toomey), the fellow Ann knows as “Santa Claus.†Tom, obviously framed,
is arrested, tried for murder, and convicted. He’s sentenced to die in the
electric chair, so Ann has a race against time to try and prove her husband
innocent. Perhaps if she gives Inspector Clint what he wants from her…?
Okay,
so Tom does a really dumb thing by throwing his shoes out the window. Then,
both he and Ann decide to keep the money he finds after it isn’t reported in
the papers. When they start to spend it, the police get wise to the couple. Later,
if Ann is so devoted to Tom, would she really start an affair with the
policeman who was responsible for Tom’s arrest? The affair is implied, of
course, or at least there is the promise of one if the guy helps her
investigate the crime further. And… maybe the legal machine operated more
quickly in the late 1940s, but Tom is swiftly tried, convicted, and sentenced, and
the execution date set—in seemingly record time!
These
quibbles aside, I Wouldn’t Be in Your Shoes! does manage to entertain.
Viewers may very well guess who the real killer is earlier than the filmmakers
intended for that to occur, but one does get a “I was right!†feeling when the
identity is revealed.
Warner
Archive’s new Blu-ray restoration brings this little-seen picture out of the
vault, so to speak. It looks and sounds great. One supplement is The
Symphony Murder Mystery, a 1932 short written by S. S. Van Dine (who was
responsible for the “Philo Vance†mystery novels), one in a series of
“Criminologist Dr. Crabtree†mystery yarns that were made as short subjects in
the 30s (with Donald Meek as Crabtree). Its age shows, but it’s an interesting
curio from the era. A second extra is the Warner cartoon, Holiday for
Shoestrings, directed by Friz Freleng, a mostly pantomimed musical parody
of “The Elves and the Shoemaker†fable. Fun stuff.
I Wouldn’t Be in Your Shoes! is a welcome diversion into Hollywood cinema of yesteryear.
Want
a fast-paced action thriller, starring attractive leads and a precocious dog,
that deals with Nazi spies in the political climate immediately following the
war, and be done with it in only 62 minutes? This 1946 potboiler directed by
Phil Rosen and starring notorious Lawrence Tierney is for you!
Step
by Step is
not a film noir, which was what most crime pictures ended up stylistically
becoming in the period after World War II. Instead, it’s a rollicking good
action drama that packs what today might be two hours’ worth of plot into a
don’t-blink-or-you’ll-miss-something single hour. The picture is not only
well-written (screenplay by Stuart Palmer, story by George Callahan) and
well-shot, it has a superb cast that functions quite well in this tight little
ride.
Perhaps
most interesting for today’s audience is the leading man presence of Lawrence
Tierney, who had burst onto the Hollywood scene with the previous year’s Dillinger.
Handsome, rugged, and tough, Tierney could have been a major star… but he blew
it with his off-screen behavior that got him into trouble. Tierney was known to
have alcohol problems and was arrested many times for brawling in public.
Quentin Tarantino brought him—and his legendary Hollywood bad boy reputation—back
into the mainstream in a major guest cameo in Reservoir Dogs (1992). At
any rate, seeing him in Step by Step—young, virile, and surprisingly personable—is
a revelation.
Tierney
plays Johnny, a Marine veteran just home from the war. His smart little
terrier, Bazuka, follows him everywhere. He meets a gorgeous blonde, Evelyn
(Anne Jeffreys), on the beach. Evelyn is a secretary for Senator Remmy (Harry
Harvey, Sr.), who is working with a National Security agent to uncover the
identities and whereabouts of leftover Nazi spies in the USA who are planning
on committing terrorist acts. Before Johnny can see Evelyn again, however, a
trio of the baddies (Lowell Gilmore, Jason Robards Sr., and Myrna Dell), abduct
the senator and Evelyn. Johnny and Bazuka take it upon themselves to rescue
Evelyn—but in the process Johnny and Evelyn are accused by the police of being
murderers and fugitives!
Thus,
Step by Step is a spy movie, a chase picture, a lovers-on-the-run flick,
and even a boy-and-his-dog film… all bundled into a compact ball of excitement.
The
Warner Archive’s new Blu-ray release looks terrific. There are a couple of
welcome supplements, too. The Trans-Atlantic Mystery is a 1932 short
written by S. S. Van Dine (who was responsible for the “Philo Vance†mystery
novels), one in a series of “Criminologist Dr. Crabtree†mystery yarns that
were made as short subjects in the 30s (with Donald Meek as Crabtree). Its age
shows, but it’s an interesting curio from the era. Also included on the disk is
the fabulous Daffy Duck cartoon, The Great Piggy Bank Robbery, in which
Daffy becomes “Duck Twacy.†Great stuff.
Step
by Step from
Warner Archive is a surprising, little-known title from yesteryear that packs a
punch. Highly recommended.
The
great Richard Matheson wrote a number of fabulous works in genre
fiction—novels, short stories, screenplays, and teleplays—and was one of the
main writers of the original The Twilight Zone TV series. This reviewer
considers the man a genius of his craft, as Matheson was responsible for some
truly classic science fiction, horror, and mystery tales.
Matheson’s
first published novel, Someone is Bleeding (1953), however, is not one
of the author’s best-known titles. It is a psychological thriller in which the
leading lady may or may not be a crazed killer. The novel was adapted and
filmed in 1974 in France with the title Les seins de glace, which
translates to… Icy Breasts, though the film was released in some countries under the novel's title.
Perhaps
Richard Matheson ended up being happy that the filmmakers did not use his
original title. While it contains some interesting moments, a couple of eye
candy stars, and a story that is somewhat compelling (mainly because one wants
to see how it winds up), Icy Breasts suffers from heavy-handed direction
and poor acting.
Claude
Brasseur plays François Rollin, the protagonist of the story,
even though Brasseur was billed third (popular Alain Delon received top billing,
and his life-partner at the time, Mireille Darc, got second billing). All three
actors have done much, much better work in other movies.
Rollin
is a successful television writer who lives in the south of France near Nice.
One day he meets beautiful but obviously troubled Peggy (Darc) on the beach. She
is standoffish at first, but eventually warms to Rollin’s flirtations and
advances. But Peggy has some dark secrets. She is watched over by the
mysterious wealthy lawyer, Marc Rilson (Delon), who employs creepy Steig
(Emilio Messina), a chauffeur/bodyguard worthy of a Bond movie. Rilson is in an
unhappy marriage to a creepy but beautiful woman (Nicoletta Machiavelli), and
also provides a home for a similarly creepy, bitter brother. Peggy’s own creepy
gardener/housekeeper, Albert (Michel Peyrelon), works for Rilson in order to
keep an eye on Peggy. There’s a lot of creepy going on! Rollin, who has
fallen hard for Peggy, wants to know why everything surrounding her is so
creepy. Eventually he learns that Peggy may or may have not stabbed her husband
to death. Rilson was the lawyer who got her off on an insanity defense. But is
she insane? If so, why isn’t she institutionalized? Or had she been? One thing
is certain—Peggy cannot stand to be touched by a man and becomes irrational and
violent when that occurs. Once the body count starts to increase and threats
from Rilson begin to multiply, Rollin realizes he may be in over his head.
Ice
Breasts is
a little similar in tone and feel to Play Misty for Me (1971) and
perhaps the filmmakers had that movie in mind. Unfortunately, Icy Breasts is
nowhere near as successful a psychological thriller as Misty. Brasseur’s
acting is over-the-top jovial, lively, and energetic. His character is
attempting to be funny and charming to Peggy, but often he just comes off as a
jerk. Is he an idiot? Can’t he see that Peggy is Trouble with a capital T? And
wouldn’t being physically assaulted more than once make a sensible person turn
and run the other way? Contrasting with Mr. Joviality are the rest of the
actors. Delon, Darc, and the henchmen take their roles so seriously that one
would think they’re in an Ingmar Bergman drama. The direction is simply too
ham-fisted.
On
the plus side, the movie is pretty to look at. The Nice and Antibes locations
are scenic. Both Delon and Darc are gorgeous and do light up the screen. The
story is interesting enough to hold one’s attention.
Kino
Lorber’s new Blu-ray release ports over the StudioCanal 4K restoration from the
original camera negative, which emphasizes that distinctive 1970s film stock
look. The soundtrack includes both the original French (preferred, with English
subtitles) and English-dubbed (avoid!) versions. There is an audio commentary
by film historians Howard S. Berger, Steve Mitchell, and Nathaniel Thompson
that is perhaps more enlightening than the film itself. Rounding out the
package is the theatrical trailer for this and other Kino Lorber releases.
Icy
Breasts is
for fans of French cinema, Richard Matheson, Alain Delon, and 1970s thrillers.
Kino
Lorber and Something Weird Video continue their collaboration to present
“Forbidden Fruit: The Golden Age of the Exploitation Picture†with Volume 11—Girl
Gang/Pin-Down Girl, a double bill of so-bad-they’re-funny early 1950s
“crime†movies. They were marketed as such, but they were really what passed
for softcore in those days. If the movie ratings had existed then, these two gems
would likely have been rated “R.â€
These
delicious and suitably sleazy pictures in the “Forbidden Fruit†series were
made cheaply and outside the Hollywood system. They were distributed
independently in the manner of a circus sideshow, often by renting a movie
theater for a few nights, advertising in the local papers, and promoting the
scandalous title as “educational.†It’s certain, however, that in this case
both Girl Gang and Pin-Down Girl are not educational in any way
except to show you how to use illegal drugs (uh oh!), and to appeal to prurient
interests.
Producer
George Weiss specialized in fare that defiantly challenged the Production Code
and therefore made cheap—very cheap—exploitation flicks with filmmakers
and actors who were not, shall we say, A-list material. For example, Weiss
produced Ed Wood’s notorious Glen or Glenda (1953), along with Test
Tube Babies (1948, previously reviewed in Cinema Retro as part of
the “Forbidden Fruit†series). Weiss is responsible for both titles in Volume
11.
Girl
Gang (1954)
is a hoot. Unintentionally hilarious, it’s one of the better titles in the
series. Exploitation film regular Timothy Farrell is Joe, the sleazy leader of
a “girl gang†of outlaws—all of them thieves, drug users and dealers, and con
artists who use sex as bait. Joe gets help from alcoholic Doc Bradford (Harry
Keatan), who regularly checks the young women for, presumably, pregnancy and
venereal diseases. There are a handful of young men in the gang who act as
muscle, but mostly the members are 1950s-era Bettie Page-types who, for
example, might hitchhike to stop an unsuspecting male motorist. Once two of the
girls are in the car with him, two more drive up. The four women beat up the
man, rob him, and hijack his car. Back at headquarters, Joe gives them “weed to
make them less anxious.†Some of them have already graduated to heroin. The
alpha-gal is June (Joanne Arnold, a popular pin-up model and occasional actress
of the day), and she sets out to make a big score by seducing and fleecing an
insurance agency head who she gets a part time job working for. Yes, folks, you’ll hear
some of that devil boogey-woogey rock ‘n’ roll and see pot-smoking, smack-shooting,
gunplay and beatings, and scantily clad women, all in a head-spinning 63
minutes.
There
are truly some laugh-out-loud moments, such as when one of the girls has been
shot in the gut. She’s brought to the Doc, who is forced to operate on the
filthy kitchen table. The tremendously bad acting, the clumsiness of the
direction, and the wince-poor editing make it a scene worthy of the Three
Stooges.
Pin-Down
Girl is
the second feature, made three years earlier by the same producer (Weiss) and
director (Robert C. Dertano). The movie is also known as Racket Girls,
and The Blonde Pick-Up, which is what is seen in the opening credits. This
one stars real-life lady wrestler Peaches Page as “herself.†Peaches gets
involved in a ladies’ wrestling “club†that is a front for a gang that practices
racketeering, prostitution, and bookmaking. Timothy Farrell appears again as
Scalli, the gangster who manages the club. One might say it’s more of a crime
tale, although it is sprinkled throughout with sequences of the
leotard-and-tights-wearing women wrestling in the gym for those in the audience
who are into that stuff.
While
Girl Gang is unintentionally bad and funny, Pin-Down Girl is just
unintentionally bad. At 55-minutes, though, perhaps it’s worth it for anthropological
study.
Kino
Lorber continues its fabulous job in the presentation of the Forbidden Fruit
series. Girl Gang looks pristine in its digital restoration. It comes
with an audio commentary by the always-interesting film historian Alexandra
Heller-Nicholas, plus the theatrical trailer.
Pin-Down
Girl is
a bit choppy in places (missing frames of splices) and shows more damage to the
source material. It comes with an audio commentary by Eric Schaefer, author of the
book Bold! Daring! Shocking! True!: A History of Exploitation Films and
one of the curators of the Forbidden Fruit series. The theatrical trailer is
included.
For
fans of midnight-movie sensationalism and nuttiness… Girl Gang/Pin-Down Girl
is for you!
The
actor Ray Milland always presented himself on screen with a serious intensity.
His Oscar-winning turn as an alcoholic in The Lost Weekend (1945)
catapulted him into the upper ranks of Hollywood stardom in those years. He
didn’t always appear in A-list pictures, though. Film noir and thrillers
like The Big Clock and So Evil My Love (both 1948) featured
Milland in what might be perceived as moonlighting roles, but he is nonetheless
effective.
Such
is the case with Alias Nick Beal, directed by frequent Milland
collaborator, John Farrow. This is not a film noir, per se, but rather a
thriller-cum-supernatural tale that borrows heavily from the Faust myth.
And while Milland is the fire that energizes Nick Beal, it is third-billing
Thomas Mitchell who is the protagonist of the story.
Mitchell
is Joseph Foster, a district attorney who aspires to run for governor. He’s an
honest and “good†man with a loving wife, Martha (Geraldine Wall). Foster has
influential friends, including Reverend Garfield (George Macready), and he has
ties to a youth center that caters to wayward boys. Enter Nick Beal (Milland),
who offers Foster “help†to attain his goals. The only hitch is that Foster
must, essentially, sell his soul to Beal. To sweeten the pot, so to speak, Beal
brings in lovely but troubled Donna (Audrey Totter) to turn Foster’s head from
what is right and lead him down the same dark path that she is on.
It’s
a classic Good vs. Evil story—one we’ve seen a dozen times—but its retelling
here in something of a film noir style is refreshing. Farrow directs the
picture with flair and grace, evoking a moody, sinister atmosphere with many
set pieces blanketed in fog and darkness. It’s almost a horror film, by the
looks of it. And, while Mitchell is believable and sympathetic in his plight
against damnation, it is indeed Milland who ensures that Alias Nick Beal works.
Milland is truly creepy as the Devil (and it’s obvious early on that he is the
“alias†of the title). Totter is also winning in her role as a tramp who gets
caught up in Beal’s plot to win Foster’s soul, although the Production Code
likely prevented the filmmakers from blatantly depicting what she’s really out
to do to Foster!
Kino
Lorber’s new Blu-ray release could have used some better cleaning of the source
material, but it looks good enough in its glorious black and white. Lionel
Lindon’s cinematography is suitably gothic, especially in the exterior night
scenes. The movie comes with an audio commentary by the informed and celebrated
film noir historian Eddie Muller, plus the theatrical trailer for this
and other Kino Lorber releases.
Alias
Nick Beal is
an entertaining diversion for fans of crime pictures, dark fantasies, Ray
Milland, and 1940s Hollywood B-movies in which the creators made lemonade from
lemons.
This
film noir pot boiler, released in 1948 and directed by George Sherman,
borders the fine line between being truly awful and stunningly good. Luckily
for us, it’s the latter. Larceny surprised this reviewer with its
tale—albeit a melodramatic one—of a quartet of con men who make their livings by
grifting wealthy people out of investments, phony real estate scams, or
whatever. Kind of like what’s happening today with e-mail phishing and
robocalls, right?
The
picture stars John Payne as Rick Maxon, one of the con men who might be having
second thoughts about the company he keeps and the people who become his
victims—especially if they’re beautiful women who easily fall for his charm and
good looks. Payne was a handsome and low-key actor who worked constantly from
the late 1930s through the 1950s, and then sporadically in the 60s (his final
appearance being a Columbo television episode in the 70s). Payne played
mostly in crime movies and was a second-string Robert Mitchum type who was
reliable and got the job done—although he didn’t exactly light up the screen.
The
firecracker in Larceny, however,is a young Shelley Winters, who
plays the femme fatale. When she’s on, the film really comes alive.
Maxon
works for sleazy Silky Randall (film noir stalwart Dan Duryea). They
have their eyes set on wealthy and gorgeous Deborah Clark (Joan Caulfield), who
lost her husband in the war. Maxon pretends to be an army buddy of her late
husband, and his intent is to get Deb to invest in a war memorial—when, in
fact, Silky and his team will pocket the money and run. Silky’s wild
girlfriend, Tory (Winters), has the hots for Maxon, though, and the two of them
have been carrying on behind the back of the very jealous Silky. Big trouble
brews when Maxon falls for his prey, and Deb reciprocates… and then Tory gets
wind of the budding romance.
Thus,
there are romantic shenanigans, a clever crime plot, and truly shady characters
that drive this little low budget gem. When the protagonist of a movie is the
bad guy, you know you’ve got yourself a real film noir! Sure, there are
some eye-rolling moments and some acting that is at times laughable, but that’s
all part of the fun. Larceny is indeed astonishingly entertaining. Look
for wonderful character actor Percy Helton as a hotel operator, and striking
Dorothy Hart as yet another female who is willing to commit a crime for ladies’
man Maxon.
Kino
Lorber’s new Blu-ray restoration looks good enough. It comes with an audio
commentary by the knowledgeable film historian Eddy Von Mueller, plus the
trailer for this and other Kino Lorber releases.
Larceny
is
recommended for fans of film noir, Shelley Winters, and Hollywood cinema
of the 1940s.
In
the case of The Web, the title is categorized as film noir for
being a crime picture shot in black and white by DP Irving Glassberg with high
contrasting light and shadow, a tale that features cynical and unreliable
characters, a twisty plot, and some double-crosses. That’s about it,
really—there is no femme fatale (we think that one character is going to
serve that role, but ultimately that isn’t the case), and there is a tangible
grittiness to other, classic films noir that is missing here.
Nevertheless, The Web is enjoyable, if somewhat predictable.
While
the lovely Ella Raines receives top billing as Noel, the personal assistant to
wealthy industrialist Andrew Colby (Vincent Price), it is Edmond O’Brien, as
Bob Regan, who is the protagonist of the story. Regan is an attorney—something
of an ambulance chaser, it seems—who is temporarily hired by Colby to serve as
a bodyguard as protection against a former employee, Leopold Kroner (Fritz
Leiber). Kroner has just been released from prison, blames Colby for framing
him, and allegedly seeks revenge. On the first night on the job, Regan is
forced to shoot Kroner in Colby’s office during a struggle. Even though the
police deem the incident as self-defense, Lieutenant Damico (William Bendix) is
suspicious and wants to pin a murder rap on Regan. While Regan sweats it out,
he becomes romantically infatuated with Noel while simultaneously doing his own
investigation into Colby and the man’s history with Kroner.
Yes,
a “web†of conspiracy is revealed, and it turns out to be not so tangled. We
can foresee the outcome, really, from the first act of the picture. It’s no
spoiler to say that a viewer would have to be an idiot not to realize that
Colby is the heavy (he’s Vincent Price—duh!). That said, the film moves along
at such a brisk pace and features an enthusiastic, plucky performance from
O’Brien as the cocky lawyer-cum-bodyguard/detective. Raines, who made several film
noir titles, seems to have been molded by Hollywood to be a second string
Lauren Bacall-type; she does possess silver screen presence and a charisma that
plays well off of O’Brien’s antics. One can’t help but be entertained.
Kino
Lorber’s new Blu-ray restoration looks and sounds superb. There is an accompanying
and informative audio commentary by film scholar, Professor Jason A. Ney. The
theatrical trailer is included along with other Kino Lorber trailers.
While
it’s not going to win any awards (it didn’t), The Web is indicative of
the era in which it was released. For fans of film noir, Edmond O’Brien
and Vincent Price, and Hollywood B-movies.
“GOIN’
TO TOWN†(1935;
Directed by Alexander Hall)
“KLONDIKE
ANNIE†(1936;
Directed by Raoul Walsh)
“GO
WEST, YOUNG MAN†(1936;
Directed by Henry Hathaway)
“EVERY
DAY’S A HOLIDAY†(1937;
Directed by A. Edward Sutherland)
“MY
LITTLE CHICKADEE†(1940;
Directed by Edward F. Cline)
(Kino
Lorber)
“GOODNESS
HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH IT—THE MAE WEST FILMS, PART TWOâ€
By
Raymond Benson
This
is the continuation of reviews of the classic 1930s (and 1940) films of Mae
West, which began here.
Kino
Lorber has just released in gorgeously restored, high-definition presentations
every Mae West film made between 1932-1940—the Paramount years, plus one with
Universal. This review will cover the last five of nine titles.
What
is not commonly appreciated among Hollywood enthusiasts is that Mae West held a
unique position in the history of cinema. Until the modern era, she had the
extraordinary fortune—for her time—of being a leading actress who wrote her
own screenplays. Six of the nine pictures reviewed here and in Part One were
written by West, one was co-written, and all but the first was based on or
adapted from West’s plays or stories. It wasn’t until the likes of Tina Fey,
Kristen Wiig, Angelina Jolie, and a finite number of other actresses appeared
on the scene to write original scripts for themselves that Hollywood allotted
that kind of opportunity to a female performer. West was doing it in the 1930s,
and this was unprecedented. Her talent and wit deserve a renewed appreciation
today.
Goin’
to Town (1935)
takes place at the turn of the century when automobiles are appearing but there
are still horses and buggies. It’s a globe-hopping affair that begins in what
appears to be the Wild West as Cleo Borden (West) is a cattle rancher who
juggles men on the way to fulfill her desire to refine her manners and join
high society. Although her designs are really aimed at British engineer Edward
Carrington (Paul Cavanaugh), she marries
Fletcher Colton (Monroe Owsley) for convenience, but he’s an obsessive gambler.
In Buenos Aires, Cleo faces off with rival Grace Brittony (Marjorie Gateson).
As a recurring theme to this and other West vehicles, the actress sings “He’s a
Bad, Bad Man, but He’s Good Enough for Meâ€! Goin’ to Town is
entertaining enough—it’s better than the previous Belle of the Nineties,
but the picture lacks interesting co-stars for West. The Blu-ray comes with an
audio commentary by film historian Kat Ellinger, plus the theatrical trailer.
Klondike
Annie (1936)
is overseen by solid filmmaker Raoul Walsh, and it shows. It is perhaps the
best of West’s post-Code pictures, despite its embarrassingly offensive take on
Asian characters, which was standard operating procedure in Hollywood for the
time. It’s the 1890s again (why do so many of West’s films take place in that
decade?). Rose Carlton (West) is a “kept woman†in San Francisco’s Chinatown by
cruel club owner Chan Lo (Harold Huber, not an Asian actor). Rose ends up
killing Lo and escapes on a ship to Alaska, the captain of which is Bull Brackett
(the fabulous Victor McLaglen). Rose disguises herself and impersonates the
deceased Sister Annie Alden, a missionary who was on her way to Nome to head up
the only establishment of worship in an otherwise rough Gold Rush town. Bull
falls hard for “Annie,†and she likes him, too, but she also has eyes for
Mountie-like inspector Jack Forrest (Phillip Reed), who is looking for Rose
because she’s now wanted for murder. Klondike Annie went through major
Hays Office interference and in fact two major scenes were deleted from the
film—the murder of Lo (we now only hear about what happened in conversation
later), and the sequence in which Rose dons Annie’s clothing and dresses the
former sister in the garb of a streetwalker (the censors seriously objected to
this on puritanical grounds!). Nevertheless, Klondike is lively, rather
suspenseful, and features the most exotic of settings for a Mae West movie. The
disk comes with an audio commentary by film historians Alexandra
Heller-Nicholas and Josh Nelson, plus the theatrical trailer.
Go
West, Young Man (also
1936) was helmed by accomplished director Henry Hathaway, and it fares well for
West and her filmography. West is controversial movie star Mavis Arden, who has
a penchant to get in trouble. Thus, her studio has assigned press agent Morgan
(Warren William, who was known as the “king of pre-Code,†but he was apparently
still working post-Code) to keep an eye on Mavis and stop her from dalliances
with men. On the way to a public appearance, their car breaks down in a hick
town where Mavis and Morgan must stay at a boarding house run by a prudish
woman (Alice Brady) and her more open-minded aunt (Elizabeth Patterson). The
problem is that hunky Bud Norton (Randolph Scott) runs the gas station next
door to the boarding house! It’s another enjoyable West romp that is more of a
screwball comedy than any of her other pictures. The disk comes with an audio
commentary by author/film historian Lee Gambin, plus the theatrical trailer.
Every
Day’s a Holiday (1937)
was the last picture West made for Paramount, after which her contract was
cancelled. She, along with many other actresses such as Katharine Hepburn,
Marlene Dietrich, and even Bette Davis, were deemed at the time by the
Hollywood press as “box office poison†(which was nonsense, of course). It’s
too bad, for Holiday is one of the funnier titles in the West canon,
mainly due to character actor co-stars Charles Butterworth (as Graves, a butler
who is sweet on West’s character, Peaches O’Day), Charles Winninger (as Van
Doon, an outrageous millionaire who also has the hots for Peaches), and
bumbling Walter Catlett (as Nifty, Peaches’ manager). Peaches, who has a habit
of “selling†the Brooklyn Bridge to numbskulls, has her eyes on police
captain McCarey (Edmund Lowe), whose rival is the police chief Quade (Lloyd
Nolan). Peaches, wanted by the law, “disguises†herself by donning a black
wig—and of course no one recognizes her as Peaches anymore (!). Quade, once pursuing
Peaches to arrest her, is now after “Fifi†to woo her. Fun stuff all around. Look
for Louis Armstrong’s cameo leading a marching band and performing a song. The
disk comes with an audio commentary by film historian Kat Ellinger, plus the
theatrical trailer.
Alastair
Sim was a national treasure in Great Britain, a comic actor who never failed to
make one smile or outright guffaw. His Scrooge (1951, aka A Christmas
Carol) proved that he could also take a serious turn as well. This reviewer
likens him to an early sort of John Cleese—an irreverent player who could do
irony, surrealism, farce, wicked delight, and pure outrageousness within the
confines of a somewhat realistic human being of a character.
As
the star of The Green Man (1956), Sim plays an assassin named Harry
Hawkins. Yes, that’s right, Alastair Sim is a mad bomber who takes it
upon himself to get rid of the pompous blowhards in Britain, whether they be
boring politicians or unctuous professors. He even has a Peter Lorre-like
assistant, McKechnie (John Chandos), who is willing to obey Harry, even when it
comes to the murder of the innocent.
Add
the very funny George Cole into the mix to confound Harry’s latest plot to blow
up Sir Gregory Upshott (Raymond Huntley), and you have the makings of a classic.
Harry
has romanced Upshott’s spinster secretary, Marigold (Avril Angers), so that he
can learn the politician’s movements, but Marigold gets wise to Harry. When she
arrives at Harry’s home, McKechnie has switched the name of the house with the
empty one next door, and that’s where Marigold meets her end.
But
wait! Ann Vincent (Jill Adams) and her husband, Reginald Willoughby-Cruft
(Colin Gordon) are about to move into the murder house. Determined vacuum
salesman William Blake (Cole) also mistakes the house for the address of his
appointment with Harry’s housekeeper next door. Thus, William and Ann discover
the murder and take it upon themselves to stop Harry’s scheme. Did we mention
that the uproarious Terry-Thomas (as “Charles Boughtflowerâ€) also appears to further
stir the proceedings?
Of
course, it’s much more crazily complicated than that, with numerous mistaken
identities and locations, characters being in the wrong place at the wrong
time, and plans going awry. It’s all hilariously funny. In short, The Green
Man is British farce at its finest.
The
movie is superbly written by the brilliant team of Frank Launder and Sidney
Gilliat (The Lady Vanishes, The Belles of St. Trinian’s). A
formidable outfit by this time in British cinema, they also produced the
picture. It is directed by cameraman Robert Day in his debut (word on the
street is that Basil Dearden had an uncredited hand in it).
Kino
Lorber’s new Blu-ray presentation looks marvelous in a 4K restoration from the
original camera negative. It comes with an audio commentary by film historian
David Del Valle, and it also sports the theatrical trailer for this and other
Kino Lorber releases.
Highly
recommended, The Green Man will color a grin upon your face and keep it
there.
The witty, controversial, and
fabulous actress/comedienne Mae West displays her jewelry to the coat check
girl. “Goodness, what beautiful diamonds!†the girl exclaims. Mae West coolly
replies in her sultry, New York-accented signature voice, “Goodness had nothing
to do with it, dearie.â€
The line was also the title
of West’s memoir, published in 1959, and is one of her many memorable
utterances, along with “Come up and see me sometime.†(However, the first time
this one is spoken, in She Done Him Wrong, she actually says, “Why don’t
you come up sometime and see me?â€)
Kino Lorber has just released
in restored, high-definition presentations every Mae West film made between
1932-1940—the Paramount years, plus one with Universal. This review will cover
the first four out of nine titles, with the remaining five to come in a later
“Part Two.â€
Hollywood knew that Mae West
would be trouble (but a possible box office winner) before she was invited to
the west coast to star in films. She had made her name in New York vaudeville
as a bawdy, talented, sexy, and very funny lady. West could sing and deliver
one-liners with the best of them; she wasn’t so much a dancer, but she did have
the ability to sashay with aplomb. West transitioned to Broadway, writing and
starring in her own shows to great success. One, though, the 1926 play entitled
Sex, got her into hot water with the morality police and she was
arrested for indecency charges. West quickly bounced back, having garnered even
more publicity because of the raid, and became more popular than ever. That’s
when Hollywood, namely the more adventurous Paramount Pictures, came calling.
Paramount tended to push the
envelope in the pre-Code days with violent gangster pictures, sex comedies, and
the early movies by the anarchic, surreal Marx Brothers. Mae West fit in quite
well at Paramount, where she quickly took control of her screen career. What is
truly remarkable is that West was 39 when she made her first picture. For a
Hollywood studio to introduce any actress at that age was unheard of,
before and probably since.
All of West’s movies follow a
formula established by the second one, which was such a success that it saved
Paramount from bankruptcy. Usually there are crime hijinks going on involving
former and current boyfriends. West acquires a flirtatious love-hate
relationship with the wealthy leading man. All the men try to hoodwink West and
each other, and she does some sneaky trickery to foil their plots. At the end
West always ends up with the leading man, even after it seemed that they were kaput.
Oh, and there are some musical numbers thrown in for good measure.
Herewith are the first four
titles released on Blu-ray by Kino Lorber, all of which look spectacularly
“new†and blemish-free.
Night After Night (1932) is really a melodrama/gangster flick starring
George Raft and Constance Cummings. Mae West appears in a supporting role as
Maudie Triplett, but she steals the movie. In fact, Raft in later years is
known to have said, “She stole everything but the cameras!†Joe Anton (Raft) is
the owner of a speakeasy (it was still Prohibition at the time), and he must
handle conflicting love affairs and competition from rival mobsters. Maudie is
a former girlfriend (now just a friend) who comes to the club for a good time.
Her scenes with Mabel Jellyman (Alison Skipworth), the matronly woman who is
teaching Joe how to speak “properly†and develop more high-class manners, are
worth the price of admission—almost. The picture is all right, but without
West’s debut, Night After Night would likely have dropped into
obscurity. The Blu-ray comes with an audio commentary by film historians Alexandra
Heller-Nicholas and Josh Nelson, plus the theatrical trailer.
I’m No Angel (1933) is still ensconced in sassy, sexy pre-Code
sensibilities. It was West’s most financially successful picture, coming after
the previous hit. Cary Grant co-stars once again. This time, West is Tira, a hootchy-cootchy
singer/dancer in a circus sideshow, but she also doubles as a lion tamer (!).
In one sequence she puts her head in the mouth of a lion (obviously done with
rear-screen projection, but there are scenes in which West is in the cage with
real lions and pets one). The sideshow impresario, Big Bill Barton (Edward
Arnold) is a crook, Tira’s beau Slick (Ralf Harolde) is just as bad, and Tira
wants to break away from the show and be on her own. She succeeds, goes to New
York, and meets the cousin of a rich beau, Jack Clayton (Grant), who is trying
to keep his relative away from Tira. They fall in love instead, of course. Look
for future Oscar winner Hattie McDaniel in an uncredited role as a maid. Mae
West was known for insisting on parts being given to African American actresses
and actors. Unfortunately, in those days, the only roles for black performers
in Hollywood were as maids, butlers, train conductors, and Tarzan natives. I’m
No Angel is second in ranking only to She Done Him Wrong, with Mae
West in top form in a very entertaining picture. The Blu-ray comes with an
audio commentary by film historian Samm Deighan, plus the theatrical trailer.
Belle of the Nineties (1934) was originally supposed to be titled It
Ain’t No Sin, but the Production Code went into effect just as production
finished. The censors forced West to revise some dialogue and change the title.
It’s a shame, for the remainder of West’s films in the 1930s, while still
entertaining, were sadly neutered of their frank boldness and—let’s face it—the
daring and evocative innuendos that made Mae West movies something to see. In
this one, she plays Ruby, a singer in the 1890s (again), this time in St.
Louis. Her boyfriend, boxer Tiger Kid (Roger Pryor) finds that he has rivals in
wealthier, “classier†men (who are all crooks, though). She moves to New
Orleans for a better position, only to become embroiled in fight fixing
shenanigans. Belle is a tangible step down from the previous two
pictures. While directed by comedy stalwart Leo McCarey (Duck Soup, The
Awful Truth, and later, Going My Way), Belle sort of plods
along and doesn’t produce the expected belly laughs. It does, however,
introduce the jazz standard, “My Old Flame,†sung by West and accompanied by
Duke Ellington and his band on screen. The Blu-ray comes with an audio
commentary by film historian Samm Deighan, plus the theatrical trailer.
Certainly a boon for film
history lovers and aficionados of 1930s Hollywood, these new Kino Lorber
Blu-ray releases are terrific. Cinema Retro will review the remaining
five Mae West titles—including one co-starring W. C. Fields—in a coming piece.
To be continued!
CLICK HERE TO ORDER “NIGHT AFTER NIGHT†FROM AMAZON
CLICK HERE TO ORDER “SHE DONE HIM WRONG†FROM AMAZON
CLICK HERE TO ORDER “I’M NO ANGEL†FROM AMAZON
CLICK HERE TO ORDER “BELLE OF THE NINETIES†FROM AMAZON
Robert
Altman’s 1974 crime drama, Thieves Like
Us,when viewed today, seems to
be a cross between Bonnie and Clyde (which
preceded Thieves)and O Brother, Where Art
Thou? (which appeared twenty-six years later). It’s the Depression-era
story, based on the novel by Edward Anderson, of a trio of escaped convicts who
go on a bank-robbing spree. But it’s also a love story between one of the
thieves, Bowie (played by a young Keith Carradine), and a country girl, Keechie
(portrayed by a young Shelley Duvall), and this is the aspect of Altman’s film
that truly shines. The novel was also the source inspiration for Nicholas Ray’s
1949 film noir, They Live By Night,
starring Farley Granger and Cathy O’Donnell. As much as I like 1940s and 50s
film noir, for my money, Altman’s is the better version.
Altman,
who had a decidedly hit-and-miss career over six decades, was on a roll in the
early seventies. Thieves Like Us is
indeed one of his hits—from a critical standpoint—although it didn’t
necessarily do bang-up box office. Filmed on location in Mississippi, Altman
and his production team managed to find authentic 1930s settings, lending a
you-are-there feel to the period piece. More importantly, Altman chose not to
use a traditional musical score but instead relied on vintage radio programs to
fill out the ambiance. That part was a stroke of genius.
The
director also often utilized a stock company of actors, many of whom appeared
in multiple pictures. In this case, besides Carradine and Duvall—who are
terrific in their roles—there is John Schuck and Bert Remsen as the other two
thieves, and Tom Skerritt as a shady service station owner. Louise Fletcher, in
a pre-Cuckoo’s Nest performance, is
effective as Remsen’s sister-in-law, who aides and abets the criminals until
she has a change of heart.
But
the picture belongs to Carradine and Duvall, whose love scenes are intimate,
honest, and endearing. Their characters are extremely likable and exude an
innocence that is a counterpoint to the violence depicted in the rest of the
picture. The fact that these two relatively unknown actors (at the time) were
cast as leads attests to the New Hollywood attitude of allowing auteurs do their thing. It’s too bad
that the studios clamped down on risk-taking after the 70s.
Kino
Lorber’s Blu-ray has A high-definition transfer of the film—which looks fine—and the theatrical trailer and a commentary by
Altman himself as extras. The location scenery—especially the muddy roads, the
rain, and the back-country hills and shacks, are strikingly beautiful, thanks
to Jean Boffety’s soft cinematography.
One
of the better “lovers on the run†pictures, Thieves
Like Us is worth grabbing.
One
wonders if Bond villain Elliot Carver (Tomorrow Never Dies, 1997) ever
saw the 1944 comedy-fantasy, It Happened Tomorrow. Carver’s evil plot
involved making bad news happen so that his newspapers could scoop the
headlines before other media outlets even learned about the events. “Tomorrow’s
News Today!†was his slogan.
In
the fanciful and entertaining It Happened Tomorrow, a newspaper man receives
tomorrow’s news today, allowing him to write the piece and get it ready to go
to the presses before the incident occurs.
Journalist
Larry Stevens (Dick Powell) is astounded when kindly “Pop†Benson (John
Philliber), an older employee at the newspaper, gives him a copy of tomorrow’s
edition before it has gone to press. A frontpage article with Stevens’ by-line
concerns a robbery at an opera theater. Figuring that he has nothing to lose,
Stevens asks Sylvia Smith (Linda Darnell) on a date to the opera. Sylvia is
half of a mind-reading act with her Uncle Oscar (Jack Oakie), but even she
admits that it’s a lot of hooey. Sure enough, though, the robbery occurs,
Stevens writes it up—and Police Inspector Mulrooney (Edgar Kennedy) suspects
that Lawrence was in on the crime. As time moves forward, Stevens receives even
more future editions of the newspaper, so he continues to pursue the stories
before they happen. Eventually, of course, he is unable to explain to his boss,
the police, and even his girlfriend how this is possible. When a headline predicts
Larry’s own death, things become complicated!
This
whimsical, cautionary tale is well directed and cleverly written. Cinema buffs
might liken it to the works of Frank Capra (who had originally been attached to
the project) or Preston Sturges. Dick Powell carries the picture with
confidence and humor. The actor was just beginning to transition out of
musical-comedy roles into more serious ones (Murder, My Sweet was
released the same year). While Powell displays his good-natured comic talent in
It Happened Tomorrow, there are hints of the pathos and thoughtfulness
to come. Jack Oakie is always hilarious, as is Edgar Kennedy. Linda Darnell is
easy on the eyes, to be sure, but her role is perhaps the only underwritten
aspect of the movie. Still, there are plenty of laughs and a potent message to
boot.
The
Cohen Media Group has issued a marvelous Blu-ray restoration from a 4K scan. It
looks wonderful, despite a few instances of artifacts and scratches. There are
optional subtitles for the hearing impaired, plus the theatrical trailer. Alas,
there are no supplements.
It
Happened Tomorrow should
appeal to fans of fun, time-bending fare such as Groundhog Day.
Recommended.
As
related by Ian Christie, author of Gilliam on Gilliam, the filmmaker
Terry Gilliam has forever had an uneasy relationship with Hollywood studios. He
is “difficult†or “problematic†or whatever, because sometimes he runs over
budget or the films don’t make back the cost, or whatever.
This
is unfortunately true, no matter how hard Gilliam tries to “play the Hollywood
game.†That said, any afficionado of cinema can appreciate that Terry Gilliam
is always interesting. Even when his pictures tend to jump the shark,
they’re always worth seeing. And when he’s good, he’s often great.
Such
is the case with the 1995 science fiction oddity, 12 Monkeys. It’s one
of the great ones. It is arguably one of Gilliam’s most accomplished
achievements, along with Brazil (1985), The Fisher King (1991),
and, with some reservations, Time Bandits (1981).
When
Gilliam, the only American member of the Monty Python comedy troupe, entered
the 1990s, he was coming off the “disaster†that was The Adventures of Baron
Munchausen (1988), which, while admired by many, was a money loser and troubled
production. It sealed his reputation in Hollywood as the aforementioned
“problematic†director. He set out to make The Fisher King under the
strict Hollywood guidelines and succeeded, and then proceeded to do the same
with 12 Monkeys—and he triumphed with that, too. The studio (Universal),
however, attributed the film’s success to the cast, especially the presence of
Brad Pitt, and not to Gilliam’s imaginative vision. What a shortsighted bunch
of bureaucrats!
12
Monkeys is
a time-travel/apocalyptic tale about James Cole (Bruce Willis), a man from the
future who is sent back in time to gather evidence and perhaps the tools needed
to prevent the outbreak of a deadly virus that wiped out much of humanity in
the year 1996. At first, he is mistakenly dropped into 1990, where he is
perceived by all, including psychiatrist Dr. Kathryn Railly (Madeleine Stowe),
as insane. In a mental institution, he meets Jeffrey Goines (Brad Pitt), a
total wacko with environmentalist/activist leanings. He is the leader of an
underground, possibly terrorist, group called the Army of the 12 Monkeys. Goines’
father, Leland (Christopher Plummer), is the biologist who ends up creating the
virus. The scientists in the future realize their mistake, bring Cole back to
their present, and then send him back to the correct year, with the brief
hiccup of him landing on a battlefield during World War I. Once again, he
connects with Dr. Railly, but this time she begins to believe his story. With
his third journey back to correct the mistakes he’s made, Cole and Railly work
together to prevent the release of the virus—and fall in love, too.
Brad
Pitt, especially, shines in the film, playing against type as a crazed,
hyper-energetic weirdo (wearing brown contact lenses, and one eye that manages
to operate independently of the other). He was nominated for a Supporting Actor
Oscar and won a Golden Globe for his performance, and this reviewer is hard
pressed to pinpoint a better turn through the rest of Pitt’s career to date.
Willis, too, plays up his “sensitive†side—something new for audiences then—and
comes across extremely well.
Most
significantly, 12 Monkeys plays today as ironically potent, given what
the world has been going through since the spring of 2020. It’s a film dealing
with a deadly global pandemic that was made 25 years earlier. The tag line at
the time was “The future is history.†Today, we could say, “The future isn’t
history, it’s now!â€
Arrow
Video’s exquisite Blu-ray edition was released in 2018. Cinema Retro received
the new Limited Edition Steelbook for review, and it’s a gorgeous package. The
disk is the same as the 2018 release, it’s just encased in the keepsake
steelbook with newly commissioned artwork by Matt Griffin and a booklet
containing a piece on the film by Nathan Rabin and an excerpt from Gilliam
on Gilliam. The feature is presented in High Definition with both DTS 5.1
Master Audio and 2.0 stereo soundtracks, plus optional English subtitles for
the hearing impaired. There is an entertaining and informative audio commentary
by Gilliam and producer Charles Roven. Supplements include a feature-length
documentary on the making of the film, a vintage interview with Gilliam by film
critic Jonathan Romney, and a superlative “appreciation†of the picture by
author Ian Christie. There is also a collection of archive material and the
theatrical trailer.
While
12 Monkeys is worth the trip just for Brad Pitt’s out of the box
performance, it is also Terry Gilliam at the height of his powers. Don’t miss
it.
Remember
the 1986 comedy The Money Pit, starring Tom Hanks and Shelley Long? The official
credits of that film do not mention the excellent writing team of Frank Panama
and Melvin Frank, who adapted Eric Hodgins’ 1946 biographical comic novel Mr.
Blandings Builds His Dream House into the popular 1948 “disaster comedyâ€
starring Cary Grant and Myrna Loy. The Money Pit is, in reality, an
under-the-table remake of Blandings. It’s a pity that the original was
not acknowledged, for, frankly, Blandings is much more realistic (and
clever).
Mr.
Blandings Builds His Dream House was indeed a popular film and yet during its
initial run was deemed to have lost money—just like the hapless Mr. Blandings does
while attempting to move out of New York City to Connecticut. The movie is
funny enough, for sure, but perhaps in 1948 audiences were wary of a motion
picture that shed a dark—albeit comic—shade on what many Americans were doing
at that time—moving out of the big cities and into the suburbs!
The
Blandings (Grant and Loy) and their two teen daughters live in a pretty nice
three-bedroom (or is it two?—it’s unclear) apartment in Manhattan… although
like all apartments in Manhattan, it is simply not big enough for the family of
four. They all share one bathroom, and the closet spaces are hazard zones.
Blandings is an advertising executive who is under pressure to create a winning
slogan for a brand of ham called “Wham.†Against the advice of his best friend
and lawyer, Bill Cole (Melvyn Douglas), Blandings buys a decrepit Revolutionary
era place in Connecticut. Before he can remodel it, though, every surveyor and
inspector tell him it’s best to tear it down and start building a new house
afresh. That’s where the trouble starts. Everything becomes more expensive than
was first imagined, and the venture indeed becomes a money pit.
The
picture is a collection of often amusing set pieces that feature Grant doing
his frustrated slow burn act, with Loy somewhat nonchalantly enjoying the havoc
the house is wreaking on the family. Yes, the movie has some laughs, but
ultimately there is something amiss when Melvyn Douglas surprisingly steals it
away from the likes of Cary Grant. Douglas plays the narrator/friend role with
a detached, delightful cynicism, and without a doubt he has all the best lines.
Without his presence, Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House might truly
have been a disaster.
The
script, however, is witty. The writing team of Panama and Frank worked with Bob
Hope on many of his better pictures, and they also wrote the hilarious The
Court Jester with Danny Kaye. Perhaps with better direction (H. C. Potter
has only a handful of titles on his CV, although he directed Loretta Young to a
Best Actress Oscar in The Farmer’s Wife), Blandings might have
soared.
The
Warner Archive’s new Blu-ray is an upgrade on a previous DVD release—it looks
and sounds sharp with its DTS-HD Master Audio 2.0 Mono soundtrack. There are
English subtitles for the hearing impaired. Supplements include two different
radio broadcasts of the piece. One is the Lux Radio Theater from 1949 starring Grant
and Irene Dunne, and the other is the Screen Directors Playhouse from 1950 starring
Grant and Betsy Drake. A vintage Tex Avery cartoon, “The House of Tomorrow,†is
shockingly sexist and near-misogynistic, but reflects the times in which it
appeared. The re-issue trailer rounds out the package.
Mr.
Blandings Builds His Dream House is worth a date-movie evening and still might
serve as a cautionary tale before one does a deep dive into erecting a home.
Buyer beware!
Robert
Young had a career of playing mostly trustworthy nice guys—after all, one could
say he was born to play Marcus Welby, M.D. on television. But in 1947, he took
the chance of portraying an all-around heel, a no-good philanderer who married
for money and looks for every opportunity to score with someone new. And yet, Young’s
admirable qualities are still there, making his character of Larry Ballentine
in the film noir drama, They Won’t Believe Me, a likable cad. He
pulls it off, too.
Audiences
didn’t take to the change, though, and the picture was a box office dud.
However, the lack of profits when a movie is released is never a true
indication of its quality. They Won’t Believe Me is an artfully crafted,
well-acted, twisty tale about lies, fate, and luck.
The
original screenplay was written by Jonathan Latimer, creator of the William
Crane crime novels as well as other mysteries and thrillers of the 30s through
the 50s. He was also a prolific screenwriter; his work includes The Glass
Key (1942) and The Big Clock (1948). The director, Irving Pichel,
was primarily an actor, but he often sat behind the camera for two decades; one
of his later pictures was Destination Moon (1950)! Hollywood stalwart
Harry J. Wild served as cinematographer, and he already had his film noir chops
down with such fare as Murder, My Sweet (1944) and Johnny Angel (1945).
The
cast is excellent. Besides Young, who is in every scene of the movie, there is
the luminous Susan Hayward, an extremely talented and beautiful actress who
left us far too soon. Supporting them are Jane Greer (of Out of the Past fame),
Rita Johnson, and Tom Powers (who played Barbara Stanwyck’s doomed husband in Double
Indemnity).
Larry
(Young) is on trial for murdering Verna (Hayward). His defense lawyer puts him
on the stand to tell his story; thus, the film is told in flashback, with the
courtroom sequences functioning as a framing device. Larry admits he was not a
good husband to wealthy Gretta (Johnson) and that he married her for her money.
Gretta was also aware of this and she tolerated his infidelities because she
knew he would never leave. After an almost-tryst with Janice (Greer), he meets
Verna at his lucrative new office job that Gretta had arranged for him. Verna
is likely going to marry the boss, Trenton (Powers), but she honestly reveals
to Larry that she’s a gold-digger and, frankly, what we call a “party girl.â€
She has no qualms with having an affair with Larry. But they actually fall in
love, so Larry makes sincere plans to leave Gretta and run away with Verna.
Unfortunately, twists of fate interfere with their plans. We know Verna dies from
the beginning of the movie, and how this occurs is one of the surprises in the
plot. When Gretta meets a similar fate, then Larry sweats it out until he is
ultimately arrested. At 95-minutes, They Won’t Believe Me is the
celluloid equivalent of a page-turner, and how it all plays out is always
unpredictable.
The
Warner Archive has released an astonishingly gorgeous high-definition
restoration in glorious black and white that looks as if the print is brand
new. It comes with a DTS-HD Master Audio 2.0 Mono soundtrack and English
subtitles for the hearing impaired. Unfortunately, there are no supplements on
the disk.
You
won’t believe how compelling They Won’t Believe Me is until you see it. Check
it out.
“SKIP
THE JUVENILE DELINQUENCY AND GET RIGHT TO THE SEXâ€
By
Raymond Benson
Kino
Lorber and Something Weird Video continue their collaboration to present
“Forbidden Fruit: The Golden Age of the Exploitation Picture†with Volume 10—Wages
of Sin. Unlike the other exploitation titles that have appeared over the
last two years, Wages is not an American picture; instead, it comes from
Switzerland and was originally released as a serious drama examining the social
problem of illegal abortions and the need to educate the public in birth
control, as well as make a case for the legalization of a woman’s right to
choose. The original German title translates to, roughly, The Doctor Says… or
The Doctor Speaks Out…
However,
American producer/director/actor Donn Davison, who at the time was a
practitioner in the grindhouse and exploitation film circuit, secured the U.S.
rights to the film and released it in 1966 with the salacious title of Wages of Sin.
The movie was dubbed into English—although the dubbing actors speak with German
accents, so go figure. Davison would appear in a “professional†capacity as a
doctor (it is unclear if he really had any medical credentials) to provide a
short lecture to the audience and hawk “how-to†sex manuals during
intermission. Davison filmed his 15-minute presentation to show at drive-in
theaters, where obviously he couldn’t speak in person. (This filmed lecture is
included as a supplement on the new Kino Lorber/Something Weird disk, and it is
hilarious. He tells us that we “may have seen him on Johnny Carson
talking about juvenile delinquency and sexual matters… but tonight he’s going
to skip the juvenile delinquency and get right to the sex.â€)
These
delicious and suitably sleazy pictures in the “Forbidden Fruit†series were
made cheaply and outside the Hollywood system, and certainly in this case
outside of the U.S. They were distributed independently in the manner of a
circus sideshow, often by renting a movie theater for a few nights, advertising
in the local papers, and promoting the scandalous title as “educational.†For
adults only, mind you, but exhibited all in the good name of science or health
or whatever.
Wages
of Sin is
such a serious and sincere take on the subject matter that it is mind-boggling
to think that anyone would be titillated by it. One can imagine trench coat
wearing patrons complaining to the theater management afterwards and asking for
their money back, because there is absolutely no nudity or sex in the film.
Instead, there is real, clinical footage of childbirth, frank talk about birth
control, and dramatized depictions of back-alley abortions.
And
yet, in the U.S., the picture was promoted with sensational taglines such as,
“Shocking! Beyond Description!†and “No one under 16 admitted without parents!â€
Shocking indeed.
The
new Kino Lorber Blu-ray presents both features in high-def restorations and
they both look remarkably good. Wages of Sin comes with an informative
audio commentary by film historian Alexandra Heller-Nicholas, who brings a
welcome feminine point of view to the proceedings. Supplements include the
previously mentioned Donn Davison “lecture†and two shorts that were sometimes
also exhibited with the two main features—Life and Its Secrecies (with
clinical footage of various types of childbirth), and Triplets by Cesarean
Section (a silent film of the real delivery of triplets). Both the latter
short films suffer from poor visual quality, but it doesn’t make them less
icky. Trailers from other Forbidden Fruit titles round out the package.
For
fans of exploitation pictures, or for those interested in how the subject
matter was handled both in 1966 and 1929, the Wages of Sin disk is for
you!
Kino
Lorber and Something Weird Video continue their collaboration to present “Forbidden
Fruit: The Golden Age of the Exploitation Picture†with Volume 9—The Lash of
the Penitentes. Like the other exploitation titles that have appeared over
the last two years, Lash is another piece of American celluloid that
will surely elicit jaw-dropping, eye-rolling, and headshaking. How did these
things ever get made and distributed? Who went to see them? How corrupted was
one after a viewing?
These
delicious and suitably sleazy pictures in the “Forbidden Fruit†series were
made cheaply and outside the Hollywood system. They were distributed
independently in the manner of a circus sideshow, often by renting a movie
theater for a few nights, advertising in the local papers, and promoting the
salacious title as “educational.†For adults only, mind you, but exhibited all
in the good name of science or health or whatever. Reefer Madness. Narcotic.
Ingagi. Test Tube Babies. She Should’a Said No!. Mom
and Dad. That sort of fare.
The
Lash of the Penitentes, from 1936, is sort of a documentary with re-staged and
fictionalized elements. Los Hermanos Penitentes, the “Penitentes†of the
title, (were? are?) a real religious sect in New Mexico and Colorado that
practices extreme rituals on Good Friday of every year. The main course is a re-enactment
of Christ’s passion by having “penitents†carry crosses up a mountain while
being flagellated by the religious leaders, and then ending with the “chosen
penitent†being crucified on a cross (not with nails). The film implies that
the man dies, but that is unlikely. Apparently, for decades, these activities
were public until more recent years in which the whole gruesome spectacle is
performed in private and probably with more care not to really hurt anyone.
However,
back when the picture was made, this was some seriously twisted stuff. And much
of the real thing is caught on camera.
It
has an interesting history, too. A cameraman named Roland Price (we think) went
to New Mexico and surreptitiously filmed some of the ritual for the purposes of
a future documentary. However, nothing was done with the approximately 18,000
feet of footage. Then, in early 1936, a journalist by the name of Carl Taylor
went to write about the Penitentes. He was caught spying on the ceremony, which
is forbidden to outside parties. He was murdered. The crime made headlines.
Enter
exploitation moviemaker Harry Revier (also responsible for another “Forbidden
Fruit†entry, Child Bride). He somehow acquired the rights to the
documentary footage, fashioned a fictional murder mystery plot to wrap around
it, and shot new material with actors. Of course, the mystery is based on—or at
least inspired by—the true killing of Taylor.
The
approximately 48-minute movie was titled The Penitente Murder Case.
Besides the (for the time) violent depiction of the flagellation and the creepy
religious sect stuff that would assuredly freak out “normal†American
Christians of 1936, the motion picture also contained footage of actress Marie
DeForrest also being stripped and flagellated on the mountainside, and
then “crucified†naked. Why this was included is unclear plot-wise, but it has
something to do with her helping Mack in his mission.
The
censors (the Hays Office) understandably would have nothing to do with the
movie, so Revier edited his masterwork down to 35 minutes—deleting DeForrest’s
footage and making other trims. This version was then released to the public as
The Lash of the Penitentes and this is what grindhouse cinemas on the
exploitation circuit have shown since. It was even released on VHS and DVD in
this version by fly-by-night companies in the past.
Now,
Kino Lorber has issued a high-def Blu-ray of the full-length 48-minute version
that looks about as best as it can get. It comes with a highly informative
audio commentary by Bret Wood, co-author of the book Forbidden Fruit: The
Golden Age of the Exploitation Film and curator of the “Forbidden Fruitâ€
series for Kino.
Also
included is the 35-minutecensored version. What makes the entire thing
even more mysterious is the inclusion of the theatrical trailer, which contains
scandalous footage that does not appear in either edit of the film. The trailer
has scenes of a woman being assaulted by her boyfriend, saved by a young boy,
but then flagellated while hanging from her arms. Full nudity. In a trailer.
None of it is in The Penitente Murder Case or The Lash of the
Penitentes. One supposes that this was the only way the distributors could lure
an audience—mostly male, it is assumed—to come see the picture when it opened.
Since
both versions of the feature are short, Kino Lorber and Something Weird
probably could have added another “Forbidden Fruit†title to the disk; after
all, several other Volumes in the series contain double features. Why not this
one? With that the only quibble, The Lash of the Penitentes should
appeal to those fans of film history, exploitation films, and just plain kooky,
weird stuff.
SOLD OUT ON AMAZON. CLICK HERE TO ORDER FROM KINO LORBER.
Lately
there has been a new trend in film books that are more like biographies than
simply non-fiction treatises on the making of a movie. A “biography of a film,â€
as critic Molly Haskell calls it, treats a particular motion picture in the
same way a researcher would examine a person’s life—from the inception to its
lasting influence and impact today, meticulously illustrating each step and examining
the personnel involved along the way. The recent Space Odyssey by
Michael Benson (a “biography†of 2001: A Space Odyssey) is a fine
example.
Glenn
Frankel’s Shooting Midnight Cowboy—Art, Sex, Loneliness, Liberation, and the
Making of a Dark Classic is one such biography of a film, and it is a
magnificent tome. Besides dissecting the all-important sociological milieu that
was in the background while Cowboy was being made, the book is an
excellent lesson in the filmmaking process.
Frankel’s
book begins, as it should, with novelist James Leo Herlihy. Tall and handsome,
Herlihy in many ways was a more intelligent and sophisticated version of his
character, Joe Buck, although Herlihy was not from Texas. Novelist, playwright,
and actor, Herlihy was also a gay man in a time and place in which one must
remain closeted—although he was anything but. His early work, which included
more plays for the stage than novels, had subtle homosexual themes and characters.
His novel Midnight Cowboy was published in 1965. It did fairly well, but
it didn’t take the literary world by storm. Luckily, the book landed in the
hands of British filmmaker John Schlesinger, another gay man who struggled with
his sexual identity in public.
John
Schlesinger was coming off the success of his 1965 “swinging Londonâ€
eye-opener, Darling, which had garnered Oscar nominations of Picture and
Director, and had awarded Julie Christie with Best Actress. As he embarked on
making his period adaptation of Thomas Hardy’s Far from the Madding Crowd,
he teamed up with producer Jerome Hellman to make Cowboy after that.
It
was a rough road for both the producer and director, especially when Madding
Crowd (1967) bombed at the box office. Luckily, the duo found an ally in
David Picker, an executive at United Artists. UA was known for its liberal
policies of allowing filmmakers to do their thing without interference, as long
as they stuck to an agreed upon budget. Picker’s instincts were canny—he knew
that Schlesinger would deliver a work of art, so he convinced his colleagues to
go with Midnight Cowboy.
Casting
the film was a challenge. Dustin Hoffman was an early contender for the role of
Rico “Ratso†Rizzo, even before the release of his star-making vehicle, The
Graduate (1967). Hoffman had to convince Schlesinger he could do the part
after The Graduate came out by improvising a costume and showing up in
character for a meeting on the streets of New York for a “meeting.†The pivotal
protagonist role of Joe Buck was more problematic. Schlesinger had his eye on
Michael Sarrazin, but newcomer Jon Voight was also in the wings hoping for a
chance. The casting director, Marion Dougherty (whose contribution to the film
is duly emphasized in Frankel’s book), fought for Voight. When Sarrazin’s agent
asked for more money than what was originally agreed upon, both Hellman and
Schlesinger decided to go with Voight. While Sarrazin might have performed in
the role quite well, the choice of Voight was a significant move.
And
then there is screenwriter Waldo Salt, formerly blacklisted during the HUAC
witch hunts, who brought another set of baggage to the production.
The
book also provides the reader with a history of the Times Square area of New
York City, and how it changed in the 1950s and 60s to the sleazy hunting
grounds for hustlers that we see in the film (and it would get worse in the
70s—witness Taxi Driver!). All of this is vitally important to how Midnight
Cowboy was conceived and shot, and the background is fascinating.
One
of the most surprising revelations about Shooting Midnight Cowboy is the
story of its X-rating. The book tells us that the movie ratings board initially
rated the movie R for Restricted Audiences! It was Arthur Krim, the head of
United Artists, who on the advice of a psychiatrist friend, insisted that the
picture be rated X because of its depiction of homosexuality. Later, after the
film won the Best Picture Oscar, UA went back to the ratings board and asked
that the movie be re-rated to R. The board, befuddled by the request (“hey,
that’s what we originally rated it!â€), did so… and to this day, Midnight
Cowboy is still rated R without any cuts.
Glenn
Frankel’s Shooting Midnight Cowboy delivers a filmmaking lesson, a history
lesson, a candid portrait of all the personages involved (complete with
interviews with Hoffman, Voight, and others who are still alive to talk about
it), and a snapshot of one of the greatest American films—seen through the eyes
of a British director—ever made.
The
years of the 1940s following World War II exhibited a striking change in
Hollywood movies. The moods and world outlooks of post-war GIs and the people
they had left behind and to whom they returned were more reflective and
serious. Awareness of societal ills that had always been with us were now at
the forefront… and Hollywood stepped up to address this new American angst in
the form of a) what film historians call “social problem films” that tackled
issues such as alcoholism, drug addiction, anti-Semitism, racism, government
corruption, and other hitherto taboos of motion pictures, and b) film noir, the
gritty crime dramas that never sugar-coated anything and portrayed both men and
women—the femmes fatale—as hard-boiled, cynical, and paranoid.
Two
pictures were released in 1947 that tackled anti-Semitism with frank,
hard-hitting realism. One was Elia Kazan’s Gentleman’s Agreement, a more
passive investigation of anti-Semitism in America that won the Oscar for Best
Picture. Often overlooked today, however, is the other Best Picture nominee of
that year—the film noir crime drama, Crossfire, which examined the
subject in a more violent and edgy concoction. Directed by Edward Dmytryk, who
would just a year later be under investigation by the House Un-American
Activities Committee and ultimately become one of the infamously blacklisted
“Hollywood Ten,” Crossfire could very well be the more substantially
shocking movie of the two. It also appeared in theaters three months earlier.
Besides
the Best Picture nomination, Dmytryk was nominated for Best Director, the
script by John Paxton was up for Adapted Screenplay, and both Robert Ryan and
Gloria Grahame were nominated for Supporting Actor and Actress, respectively. Crossfire
was no throwaway B-movie film noir. It is both a film noir and a
social problem film!
Ironically,
the story was not supposed to be about anti-Semitism at all. The movie is based
on a novel, The Brick Foxhole, by Richard Brooks (yes, the same Richard
Brooks who went on to become a formidable screenwriter/director in the 50s,
60s, and 70s). The novel is about the murder of a homosexual—not a Jew! At the
time, there was no way the Hays Office (Production Code) would allow a film to
be made with this subject matter, so producer Adrian Scott and Dmytryk changed
the tale… and yet the film could really be about any “other” against whom
racist, bigoted, homophobic, or intolerant people might hate. As police captain
Finlay (Robert Young) says in the picture, “Hate is a loaded gun.” The murder
victim could have been homosexual, black, Asian, Irish, or whatever—and the
movie would have the same potency.
A
man named Joseph Samuels is found beaten to death in his apartment. We later
learn that the man was Jewish, which was the motivation for his killing. The
story unfolds that a group of GIs have been demobilized in Washington DC and
are waiting for either further orders or a discharge. They are all
disillusioned and restless. Sergeant Keeley (Robert Mitchum) is the world-weary
leader of the group, which consists of hot-headed and abrasive Montgomery
(Robert Ryan), sensitive and “lost” Mitchell (George Cooper), and hard-up-for-money
Bowers (Steve Brodie). Flashbacks reveal that Montgomery, Mitchell, and Bowers
met civilian Samuels (Sam Levene) and his girlfriend, Miss Lewis (Marlo Dwyer)
in a bar. Samuels empathized with Mitchell’s unhappiness and invited him to
come along to dinner with them. They stopped at his apartment first while Miss
Lewis went home to change. Montgomery and Bowers followed them, thinking that
the party had simply moved locations. Later, once Captain Finlay begins the
investigation, Mitchell has disappeared and has become the prime suspect. But
all is not what it seems.
This
is a tightly-wound, suspenseful picture presented in classic film noir style
(expressionistic lighting and photography, brutal characterizations, and plenty
of tough talk). The actors are all excellent, especially Young, who handles the
proceedings with calm, thoughtful deliberation. Ryan, in this early appearance,
established himself as a contender with a showy role that justifies the Oscar
nomination. Gloria Grahame, in a small role, portrays a jaded, no-nonsense bar
girl whom Mitchell befriends—she, too, displays the hallmarks of many of her
onscreen characterizations.
Warner
Archive’s new Blu-ray restoration looks terrific in its glorious black and
white. It comes with an audio commentary by film historians Alain Silver and
James Ursini, and there are audio interview excerpts with director Dmytryk. A
short featurette on the film’s making and impact is also a welcome supplement.
Crossfire
is
still relevant today—perhaps even more so than it was in 1947. The only thing
dated about it is the 1940s film noir filmmaking style—and what’s wrong with
that? Nothing! Highly recommended.
One
of the more controversial Best Picture Oscar winners is Cecil B. DeMille’s The
Greatest Show on Earth (it won the top prize for the year 1952, as well as
a trophy for Best Story—a category that was discontinued four years later). The
movie is often cited in pundits’ lists of “Worst Best Picture Oscar Winners,”
mainly because many film buffs believe that there were more deserving nominees
that year (such as High Noon or The Quiet Man, or even Singin’
in the Rain, which wasn’t even nominated!). The win for Greatest Show was
perhaps somewhat of an overdue honor for DeMille, who had been working in
Hollywood since the 1910s, was a hugely successful and popular director, and he
had never won a Best Picture Academy Award. In this case, then, why didn’t he
win Best Director (John Ford did for The Quiet Man)?
Controversy
aside, The Greatest Show on Earth is still spectacular entertainment and
worth 2-1/2 hours of a viewer’s time, especially with Paramount Present’s new
Blu-ray restoration that looks absolutely gorgeous. Steven Spielberg has often
pointed to Greatest Show as a landmark for him because he remembers it
as the first movie his parents ever took him to see, and he has placed nods to
it in some of his own features. It is grand, Hollywood epic-style spectacle,
much of which overshadows the rather melodramatic and soap opera plot going on
in the story. It must be said that the melodrama is often corny and eye-rolling
in its heightened angst. Furthermore, it’s a plot that probably couldn’t be
made in today’s social/political climate of #MeToo. But, hey, this is a movie
from 1952.
The
Ringling Brothers & Barnum & Bailey Circus was indeed known as “the
greatest show on earth” during its magnificent heyday decades of the early part
of the 20th Century to at least the 1980s, after which the circus began to have
PR problems and audience dwindling. Animal rights activists, especially, came
down hard on all circuses, and eventually the sensation became something of a
past glory of a bygone era.
When
DeMille set about making a motion picture about the circus, he made a deal with
Ringling Brothers & Barnum & Bailey Circus—then the biggest and best—to
be in the movie. Thus, there literally is a cast of thousands in the
film—all 1,400 of the circus employees appear in it, along with the select
Hollywood actors cast to play important roles. The story follows the day-to-day
running of a circus tour in an almost documentary-like fashion, complete with
DeMille himself narrating sections of the movie as we see crews assembling the
big top tent, loading/unloading equipment, performers rehearsing and dressing,
and the breakdown and travel after each stop on the road. This is surely the
best aspect of Greatest Show—it is a time capsule of what circus life
was really like in those halcyon years.
Brad
Braden (Charlton Heston, in an early screen performance) is the manager of the
traveling circus, and he is very much a “show must go on” type of guy who takes
no guff or excuses from anyone, even his on-again, off-again girlfriend,
trapeze artist Holly (Betty Hutton, who receives top billing on the film). In order
to keep the circus “in the black” and do a full tour, he is forced by the
corporate bosses to hire a big star for the center ring, and this comes in the
form of “The Great Sebastian” (Cornel Wilde), a ladies’ man and a fellow known
for trouble. Holly is hurt by being kicked out of the center ring to the first
ring, so she begins to make a play for Sebastian to make Brad jealous. In the
meantime, elephant act performer Angel (Gloria Grahame) also has eyes for Brad,
but she is the object of affection of not-so-nice elephant trainer Klaus (Lyle
Bettger). Then there is lovable Buttons the Clown (James Stewart, who is in
clown makeup through the entire movie and never reveals his clean face!), who
we learn is on the run from the law because of a mysterious crime in his past.
Added to all this are some gangsters led by “Mr. Henderson” (Lawrence Tierney)
who run crooked midway games, and one of his men plans to rob the circus of its
takings during a harrowing train holdup.
Thus,
there are love triangles and criminal shenanigans going on, but mostly the
movie is a visual documentation of the circus-going experience. We see many
acts in full, and there are numerous reaction shots of audience members (some
of whom are cameo appearances by celebrities like Bob Hope, Bing Crosby, Danny
Thomas, and more).
Perhaps
the most impressive thing is that the actors learned how to do much of their
characters’ jobs in the circus. For example, Betty Hutton and Cornel Wilde
really did learn and perform, on camera, the trapeze acts. Whether or not the terribly
difficult ones are done by Hutton and Wilde (doubtful), the Hollywood PR
machine insisted that they did all their own stunts (unlikely). Nevertheless,
that’s really Gloria Grahame being picked up by the mouth of an elephant and
carried away as she lounges happily for the audience. James Stewart performs
silly slapstick routines with none other than the great Emmett Kelly and Lou
Jacobs, two of the greatest clown performers in circus history.
Paramount
Presents’ Blu-ray disk is impressive and a treat for the eyes. Unfortunately,
the only supplement is a 7-1/2-minute featurette about the movie narrated by
Leonard Maltin, which is fine as an “intro” to viewing the picture, but one
wishes that more documentary “making-of” material could have been included.
The
Greatest Show on Earth may not have been the Greatest Best Picture Oscar Winner,
but it is still a fun and colorful spectacle that captures a now long-lost
phenomenon.
CLICK HERE TO ORDER FROM AMAZON (Released on March 30)
Most
folks today may be familiar with The Producers, the Broadway musical
comedy that ran for years, toured around the globe, and elicited laughter and
joy for audiences of all ages. There are likely less people today who have
experienced the original 1967 film upon which the successful musical is based.
For decades, though, the movie was all we had.
In
the mid-sixties, Mel Brooks was a successful television writer, having worked
on hilarious comedies with Sid Caesar, among other works, and later the
co-creator of Get Smart. Brooks then came up with what was first
intended to be a novel, then a play, and finally a screenplay called Springtime
for Hitler—an outrageous satire lampooning the Nazis. The Hollywood
producers to whom Brooks pitched the piece were appalled. No audience would accept
a “comedy†about Hitler. Fortunately, one producer, Sidney Glazier, got the
joke and agreed to take on the project. Brooks had never directed before, but
he convinced Glazier that the producer would save money if he allowed the
screenwriter himself to direct. Realizing he was taking a big chance already,
Glazier agreed on the condition that the title be changed. The script became The
Producers.
The
story concerns an unscrupulous has-been Broadway producer named Max Bialystock
(Zero Mostel) who seduces little old ladies to get them to “invest†in his
productions, which always fail. His accountant, Leo Bloom (Gene Wilder),
realizes that Bialystock would make more money with a flop than with a
successful show. The two men team up to produce the worst Broadway show ever
seen in New York. This odd couple buys the rights of a play called Springtime
for Hitler,written by neo-Nazi numbskull playwright Frank Liebkind
(Kenneth Mars). They hire the worst Broadway director ever, Roger De Bris
(Christopher Hewett), and cast the completely incompetent and spacey Lorenzo
St. DuBois (Dick Shawn), known as “L.S.D.†to his friends in the lead role as
Hitler. The producers are off and running.
The
movie had its premiere in Pittsburgh in late 1967 and was a disaster. The
audience didn’t get it. The studio, Embassy Pictures, wanted to pull the movie
and not release it. It was destined to be a flop that never even opened. Leave
it to Peter Sellers to come to the rescue. Sellers had originally been
considered for the part of Leo Bloom, but for some reason he was nowhere to be
found when the time came to officially cast the picture. Nevertheless, he saw a
screening of The Producers and published a review in Variety that
praised the movie. Embassy then had second thoughts, and the film opened for a national
run in March 1968 (thereby qualifying it for the ’68 Oscars).
The
Producers was
controversial at first. There were mixed reviews, including many big-name
critics who trashed the film. But others, like Sellers, saw the genius of the
comedy, and enthusiastically recommended it. Brooks’ flop became a hit, and
over the years grew to be a cult favorite that epitomized the type of movie for
which Brooks became known in the 1970s.
Granted,
looking back at The Producers today, a viewer may not be in for a
totally smooth ride. The film is indeed clunky and somewhat amateurishly directed.
The acting can be sometimes abrasive. More disconcerting are the moments of
politically incorrectness that were intentional—but funny—at the time… today,
however, they are not only politically incorrect but also possibly offensive
(not the Nazi stuff, but rather the blatant sexism and lampooning of homosexual
and trans characters). Nevertheless, this is classic Mel Brooks material, and
he has never been one to treat an audience with kid gloves.
For
the record, Brooks won the Oscar for Best Original Screenplay.
Rare British advertisement featuring Peter Sellers' praise for the film.
(Photo: Cinema Retro Archive)
Both
Zero Mostel and Gene Wilder are over the top and are mostly wonderfully manic
in their performances. Wilder, especially, displays a solid gold persona that
was new to the screen (he was nominated for a Best Supporting Actor Oscar for
his portrayal). In fact, everyone in the movie chews the scenery, but the
ensemble fits with the outrageousness of the proceedings.
Kino
Lorber’s new Blu-ray restoration looks the best this reviewer has ever seen The
Producers on home video—much improved over the previous DVD release. There
is an informed audio commentary by filmmaker/historian Michael Schlesinger that
goes into the picture’s history and antics. Supplements are ported over from
previous home video releases: an hour-long “making of†documentary that is
quite good; an outtake sequence; a gallery of design sketches; a short video of
filmmaker Paul Mazursky reading Peter Sellers’ Variety review; a radio
spot; and theatrical trailers for this and other Kino Lorber releases.
The
Producers may
be a relic of its time, but it is gem that its fans will always adore. The Springtime
for Hitler production sequence is comedy gold and is worth the price of
admission. Mel Brooks would indeed become more accomplished as a filmmaker, but
there is no question that The Producers was the milestone that assured
him a career in feature films.
[Much
of this review is culled from a Cinema Retro 2018 review by the author
of the Kino Lorber DVD release.]
Tony
Zierra’s fascinating documentary that premiered at Cannes in 2017 (and was
released theatrically in 2018) is about an unsung hero in the lore of legendary
filmmaker Stanley Kubrick—Leon Vitali, who describes himself not as an
“assistant,†but as a “filmworker.â€
Vitali,
now in his seventies, began his career as an actor in the 1960s, appearing in
various British films and television programs. After being impressed with
Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey and A Clockwork Orange, Vitali told a
friend, “I want to work for that guy.†He managed to get an audition for
Kubrick’s next picture, Barry Lyndon,
and landed the key role of Lord Bullingdon, the main antagonist of the film.
Vitali received much praise for his performance, but instead of continuing an
acting career, he made an extraordinary left turn. He asked Kubrick if he could
work behind the camera from then on.
Kubrick
grilled Vitali on his sincerity, and then he hired the actor as an additional
casting director for The Shining. Vitali’s
task was to go to America and find a little boy to play Danny in the classic
horror movie. The young actor turned out to be Danny Lloyd, who, as an adult,
appears in Filmworker as a talking
head. This is a treat for fans of the The Shining, for Lloyd, a private
person today, rarely emerges from his reclusiveness.
Throughout
the making of The Shining, Vitali
served as little Danny’s handler and guardian, and ultimately began to perform
more tasks for the demanding filmmaker. For the next twenty-plus years, Vitali
learned every aspect of the filmmaking business, especially the color
correction processes for film that led to his overseeing the restoration of
Kubrick’s pictures, and many other jobs. In short, he became an indispensable
ally and assistant. As one interviewee put it, Vitali became Kubrick’s
“right-hand man, along with the other hand, the legs, the shoulders, body…†(He
also played the mysterious, masked “Red Cloak†leader of the orgy sequence in Eyes Wide Shut.)
Filmworker takes the viewer
through Vitali’s years with Kubrick, commented upon by the likes of Ryan
O’Neal, Matthew Modine, Danny Lloyd, Lee Ermey, Marie Richardson, Stellan
Skarsgård, and others, plus film executives Julian
Senior, Brian Jamieson, Steve Southgate, and Vitali’s family. We learn a lot about
Kubrick’s process, as well as what kind of person
he was. While it’s well-known that the filmmaker was a perfectionist, few
realize that he was a genuinely warm, soft-spoken, animal-loving man.
Viewers
may wonder why Vitali committed so much of his life to Kubrick. As Vitali
demonstrates, the “maestro†could be intensely demanding and did not suffer
excuses. “You either care, or you don’t care,†was a mantra of Kubrick’s, and
Vitali adopted it for himself as well. In the end, we get a portrait of not only
what working for Kubrick was like, but of a man who went above and beyond what
most people would consider healthy devotion. That said, considering the mentor
was Kubrick, this was also a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to learn from and
serve an exceptional artist.
Kino
Lorber’s new pristine Blu-ray is a port-over from the previous DVD release, and
it is indeed an improvement. It comes with 5.1 Surround sound and 2.0 lossless
stereo , the theatrical trailer, and a short supplement Q&A with Vitali and
director Zierra on stage after a screening of the film.
Filmworker is a must for the
Stanley Kubrick fan, and, in general, for students and devotees of filmmaking.
One
of the generally underrated and mostly forgotten great action thrillers of the
1980s was Runaway Train, a sleeper that took audiences by surprise in late
1985/early 1986. Produced by the low-rent team of Menahem Golan and Yoram
Globus for the now-defunct Cannon Films, Train was not the partners’
ordinary B-movie action fare. The picture’s pedigree assured that there was
going to be something interesting within, and there was.
Runaway
Train was
originally an Akira Kurosawa project. The Japanese director had conceived the
movie, co-written a screenplay with two of his regular colleagues, and planned
to make it in conjunction with a Hollywood studio in the late 1960s. According
to the supplements on Kino Lorber’s new Blu-ray release of the film, Kurosawa
wanted to cast Henry Fonda and Peter Falk in the lead roles of escaped convicts
aboard an out-of-control train speeding to its oblivion. Unfortunately, weather
and financial hurdles caused the production to fail, so Kurosawa went on to
work on Tora, Tora, Tora!, only to be replaced by Kinji Fukasaku and Toshio Masuda on that production when Kurosawa fell behind schedule and went over-budget.
Enter
Golan-Globus. They secured the rights to the screenplay in the early 1980s and
had it revised by Paul Zindel and Edward Bunker. With Russian director Andrei
Konchalovsky hired to helm the picture, Djordje Millicevic came in to do more
work on the script. The casting of Jon Voight and Eric Roberts, though,
elevated the project to near-A-list caliber. The result is a breathtaking,
armrest-gripping experience. Both leads were nominated for Academy Awards (Best
Actor and Best Supporting Actor, respectively), and the film received a
deserved Editing nomination. At the time, the performances by Voight and
Roberts were perceived by some as “over the top.†Nonsense. Runaway Train can
be listed on the two actors’ resumes as among the best work either of them ever
did. (Voight did win a Golden Globe for his performance.)
Manny
(Voight) is the most notorious inmate of Alaska’s Stonehaven Maximum Security
Prison. He’s been in solitary for three years, and he’s a thorn in the side of
Warden Ranken (John P. Ryan). When he’s finally released from solitary, Voight
makes his escape with the help of Buck (Roberts), who tags along with Manny as
they run through the freezing cold wasteland with the warden and guards in
pursuit. Eventually, they secretly board a train—but the lone engineer suffers
a heart attack and dies before he can shut down the engine. The only other
person aboard besides the two convicts is a feisty train hostler named Sara
(Rebecca DeMornay). Meanwhile, the railroad employees at the control center (Kyle
T. Heffner, Kenneth McMillan, and T. K. Carter) have to figure out how to stop
the train before it causes a disaster. The movie then becomes a chase, a
doomsday scenario, and a conflict of wills between man, nature, and machinery.
One
can see how the movie grew from a simple premise into this obstacle course of a
feature. The train can’t be diverted to that line because it’s near a nuclear power
plant! No, not that way, there’s a bridge that will collapse if a train barrels
over it at that speed! Uh oh, that track leads head on with a freight train moving
in its direction! The possibilities for set pieces were endless, and the
writers knew it.
As
for the performances… Jon Voight is made up to be a Frankenstein monster of
sorts with scars, gold teeth, and a half-shut eye. The actor gives the
character—a truly despicable and vicious villain—everything he has, and it’s
fabulous. Eric Roberts’ Buck is the brawn, but he’s short on brains. He, too,
chews the scenery with aplomb, annoyingly calling out, “Hey, Manny! Hey,
Manny!†throughout the picture. It’s appropriate, though, and this is easily
the actor’s best work since The Pope of Greenwich Village. The thing is—these
“over the top†characterizations are in tune with the outlandishness of the
movie itself. The entire production is dynamite.
Kino
Lorber’s new Blu-ray restoration looks superb. It comes with an audio
commentary with Roberts and film historians David Del Valle and C. Courtney
Joyner. The only supplement is a “Trailers from Hell†episode on the picture
featuring Rod Lurie, plus theatrical trailers for this and other Kino Lorber
releases.
Runaway
Train is
an unsung masterpiece of gritty 1980s independent filmmaking, and it’s worth a
revisit for those of you who may have elapsed memories of it, and it’s an
enthusiastic recommendation for those of you who have never been on the ride.
The
great Taiwanese director Ang Lee has worked in Asia and in Hollywood,
delivering an impressive array of motion pictures that have won awards, made
money, and wowed audiences. A handful of his titles that includes Eat Drink
Man Woman (1994), Sense and Sensibility (1995), Crouching Tiger,
Hidden Dragon (2000), Brokeback Mountain (2005), and Life of Pi (2012)
place him on a top tier of filmmakers working today. He’s also won two Oscars
for Best Director for the latter two titles.
Lee’s
2007 feature that came after the success of Brokeback Mountain was Lust,
Caution, a Hong Kong/American co-production that won the Golden Lion Award
at the Venice Film Festival, made some waves in Asia and other markets
internationally, but was, sadly, little seen in the West. That said, Focus
Features, which distributed the picture, has said that Lust, Caution is
the highest grossing movie rated NC-17 ever released in the U.S. More on that
in a bit.
The
film is inspired by the true story of Chinese spy Zheng Pingru, a woman who
allowed herself to be the bait in a “honey trap†for a Japanese collaborator target
during the Second Sino-Japanese War, which began in 1937 and folded into World
War II. The movie is based on a novella by Eileen Chang, and it was adapted for
the screen by Hui-Ling Wang and James Schamus, the latter a longtime colleague
of Lee.
In
the late 1930s, the Japanese have occupied most of China and the country is
being ruled by a puppet government. Many Chinese officials, including Mr. Yee
(Tony Leung, credited as Tony Chiu-Wai Leung), a handsome, but rather cold elitist
who acts as a recruiter and special agent. In short, he is a traitor to his
country. A naïve but passionate group of university theatre students in Hong
Kong devise a half-baked plan to assassinate Yee by luring him to a remote
location. Young Wong Chia Chi (Tang Wei) volunteers to be the seductress, even
though she’s a virgin and is clearly out of her depth. The attempt fails, there
is a violent disaster (an astonishing sequence that can’t be revealed here!),
and the students flee and scatter. The story resumes in 1942 in Shanghai as the
students, now resistance fighters, regroup and start their plan anew. This time
Wong Chia Chi is much more confident, has been trained, and can do a much
better job at seducing Yee. Unfortunately, Yee, despite his villainy, is charismatic,
powerful, and teaches the woman a thing or two about sex and passion. Now
conflicted, Wong is caught in her own honey trap in which newly discovered lust
and her duty to country battle for domination of her spirit. Sex has indeed
become a weapon on both sides.
Lust,
Caution is
a fascinating, beautifully shot movie that is extremely well acted. The period
detail is compelling, and the sense of foreboding and oppression that motivates
the characters is palpable. The performance by Tang Wei, especially, is
courageous and revealing in shocking vulnerability, considering the sex scenes depicted.
Tony Leung, a stalwart actor in Hong Kong pictures, exhibits a different
persona than one previously seen in his action flicks.
The
movie was controversial in many markets because of the explicit nature of the
sex scenes and the one sequence of violence. In America, the film was rated
NC-17, which is considered box office poison. Ang Lee refused to make cuts, so
it was released intact. Other markets censored the picture on their own—for
example, China released it in a heavily-cut version, and it was a hit. It must
be said that the sex scenes are gorgeously photographed and powerfully
presented so that the emotions between the two characters are unambiguous. This
is important to the story and serves to justify Wong’s actions toward the end
of the movie.
This
reviewer’s only quibble with the film is that the ultimate message is a little
too cynical. The thrust of the story examines a young woman’s sacrifices of her
mind, heart, and body to patriotism, and it brings up difficult moral questions
that are not easily answered. This is not a happy movie. In fact, it is quite troubling,
and that is likely the point.
Kino
Lorber’s new Blu-ray presents the uncensored NC-17 cut of Lust, Caution
in a gorgeous digital restoration. It comes with an audio commentary by film
historian Eddy Von Mueller. The only supplement aside from the theatrical
trailer is a short featurette on the making of the film.
Lust,
Caution is
a challenging erotic thriller that will appeal to fans of World War II history,
Chinese and Hong Kong pictures, and the films of director Ang Lee. For adults
with discerning tastes.
The
1936 Hollywood extravaganza, San Francisco, is a near-epic that attempts
to place a melodramatic love triangle (or is it four-sided?—it seems to want to
be that) in the context of the catastrophic 1906 earthquake that devastated San
Francisco; thus, making the film a melodrama-disaster movie. Oh, but it has
singing and dancing, too!—the flick spawned the title number (composed by Bronislaw
Kaper and Walter Jurmann, lyrics by Gus Kahn) that became one of the city’s
official songs.
Helmed
by the even-handed W. S. Van Dyke, one of the Golden Age’s most dependable
directors, San Francisco reaches to be too many things. Granted, it is a
motion picture that has its fans, especially a devoted following in its titular
town. It was indeed nominated for the Best Picture Academy Award of its year;
Van Dyke was also up for Best Director, and Spencer Tracy was given the nod for
Best Actor (although his role is decidedly a supporting one). However, the
movie won only a single award—Best Sound Recording.
Clark
Gable and Jeanette MacDonald are the stars in this tale of nightlife folks in
the days leading up to that fateful morning of April 18, 1906. “Blackie†Norton
(Gable) runs a nightclub and gambling hall called the Paradise. Mary Blake
(MacDonald), freshly arrived from Colorado, applies for a singing job at the
club. Mary is a trained classical singer, so the fare served at the Paradise is
not really her style—but she needs the job. She is also naïve and a bit too
vulnerable for the rather sleazy nightlife of the Barbary Coast area.
Nevertheless, Norton hires her. Norton’s friend, Father Tim Mullen (Tracy)
immediately sees that Mary doesn’t belong there. Wealthy Jack Burley (Jack
Holt) runs the Tivoli Opera House. He falls in love with Mary and woos her away
to sing opera—where she belongs. That’s when Norton realizes he’s in love with
Mary and tries to get her back. Conflict ensues. Father Mullen interferes. And
then there’s an earthquake in the final twenty minutes of the picture.
Audiences
in 1936 no doubt flocked to the movie to see the then-spectacular disaster
footage, which is impressive considering when the picture was made.
Unfortunately, it feels as if this set piece is a long time coming. The
melodrama on display in the first 95 minutes can induce eyerolling. A major
problem of the film is that Gable’s character is a heel and a jerk, and he
treats Mary as if she’s his property. Are we supposed to believe that she loves
him? Well, okay, he is Clark Gable, the most popular male star at
the time. MacDonald is competent—she certainly sings like a bird and looks
good—but her character is sadly undeveloped. She also allows herself to be too
easily bounced between the men in her life—first Norton, then Burley, then even
Father Mullen, and back again, and then to one of the others, and so forth.
There
is much to admire, though. Some of the supporting actors are fun to see—Ted
Healey as Norton’s sidekick at the club, Harold Huber as the club’s manager,
Jessie Ralph as Burley’s mother, Edgar Kennedy as the sheriff… and other faces
that will be familiar to fans of 1930s Hollywood. The musical numbers are well
staged, and the “bigness†of the picture is notable—San Francisco feels
as if it’s one of those “cast of thousands†pictures, even though it isn’t.
Warner
Archive’s new Blu-ray is a worthy upgrade to a previous DVD release.
Supplements are also ported over from the earlier edition: a nice documentary
featurette on Clark Gable (narrated by Liam Neeson); two vintage “FitzPatrick
Traveltalks†Shorts on San Francisco; a vintage Harman/Ising cartoon, “Bottlesâ€;
and an alternate 1948 ending that was edited into the film upon re-release. The
1936 version ends with a montage displaying “modern†(1936) San Francisco,
rebuilt after the destruction of the earthquake. The 1948 alternate simply
shows a skyline of ten years later. The original ’36 ending is better edited,
fits better, and is appropriately in the main feature on the disk. The re-issue
theatrical trailer rounds out the package.
San
Francisco is
an example of the kind of big movies Hollywood could make when a studio wished
to do so. While it’s not a particularly great film, it’s good enough to
represent a style and presentation that reflects the time in which it was made.
Bob
Hope had a stellar career that stretched from the late 1930s through the 1960s,
with subsequent star power appearances in his senior years on television in
variety and awards shows. His efforts to entertain troops overseas for decades
are highly commendable. What many punters today don’t realize, unless one is a
Hope aficionado, is that his early solo comedies (or the duos with Bing Crosby)
are absolute comic gems. Woody Allen has gone on the record to say that he
based much of his early 1970s screen persona on Bob Hope, and one can easily
see that nebbish, albeit here decidedly non-Jewish, “character†in My
Favorite Blonde.
The
story of this 1942 outing is credited to longtime Hope collaborators Melvin
Frank and Norman Panama (the screenplay is by Don Hartman and Frank Butler), and
it is genuinely laugh-out-loud funny. The one-liners are worthy of the Marx
Brothers, and Hope’s onscreen antics solidify his reputation as a superb
comedian. The movie is a joy to watch.
The
war is on, and British agent Karen Bentley (Madeleine Carroll, a popular U.K.
actress who made the move to Hollywood in the early 40s) must get revised
flight plans for U.S. bombers to a colleague in Chicago, who will in turn
deliver them to the army in California. The Nazi spies are on to her, though,
so she must quickly find cover for travel from New York to the west. Enter
Larry Haines (Hope), who performs a comedy act with a penguin named Percy, who
makes more money than he (Percy nearly steals the movie, by the way). Karen
seduces Larry just enough to get him to bring her along to California, as he’s
on his way there to put Percy in the movies. The German spies, led by icy
Madame Runick (Gale Sondergaard) and Dr. Streger (George Zucco), follow them
every step of the way. Both Karen and Larry undergo captivity and near death,
and then luckily escape, several times throughout the picture, until they…
well, fall in love.
There
are some classic set pieces and dialogue exchanges. For example—
“Kiss me, Larry,†Karen implores.
Larry: (hesitating, shaking his head) “I
hardly know you! Besides, I’ve given up kissing strange
women.â€
Karen: “Oh, what made you stop?â€
Larry: “Strange women!â€
Director
Sidney Lanfield keeps the picture moving at a brisk pace, and its brevity (only
78 minutes) is a plus. The lead performers take command of the material and run
with it, and the audience cannot help but be pulled along, laughing all the
way. This is great stuff.
Kino
Lorber’s new Blu-ray release looks good and is appropriately grainy in its glorious
black and white. An informative audio commentary by film historian Samm Deighan
is included. The only supplement is a collage of scenes from other Kino Lorber
Bob Hope titles and a slew of theatrical trailers from the same.
My
Favorite Blonde was
an extremely popular entry in those early war years when the Allies needed some
laughs. There were subsequent follow-ups (My Favorite Brunette and My
Favorite Spy in 1947 and 1951, respectively, but the stories are not
related). So, grab a copy of this excellent comedy and be ready to have a good
time in the old home theater.
Here’s
another one, folks! Another entry in the “Forbidden Fruit: The Golden Age of
the Exploitation Picture†series, this time it’s Volume 8. Presented by Kino
Lorber in association with Something Weird Video, we have for your pleasure the
controversial “hoax†documentary, Ingagi (1930), a shocking example of
racism and circus sideshow-style cinematic exhibition.
There
have always existed what have been termed in the motion picture industry
“exploitation films,†even back in the silent days. The 1930s and much of the
1940s, however, saw a deluge of cheap, not-even-“B†pictures made, usually
independently of Hollywood and marketed in guerilla fashion as “educationalâ€
adult fare. You know the type. Reefer Madness. Child Bride. Mom
and Dad (all previous titles released in the Forbidden Fruit series).
Kino
Lorber and Something Weird have been doing a bang-up job on releasing some of
the best (i.e., infamous) of these jaw-dropping pieces of celluloid. Most are so
bad that they’re hilariously entertaining, and they especially elicit eye-rolling
because they often portend to be “instructive†in nature.
Ingagi
was marketed
as a documentary, which, by definition, claims to be a truthful depiction of
real events. Well, a gullible American audience of the year 1930 actually swallowed
this carnival act, because the independently made and distributed picture
grossed $4 million—and in 1930 dollars, that was a monstrous amount of
cash. The movie, however, was attacked by the Motion Picture Producers and
Distributors Association, a Hollywood organization that attempted to ban the
film. There were indeed court cases, but it was the Federal Trade Commission
that finally forced the production company, Congo Pictures, to either come
clean and stop duping the public with assertations that what the movie contains
is real—or withdraw it from exhibition. As a result, Ingagi disappeared
for years until it was bought and resold a couple of times and finally ended up
in the hands of Dwain Esper. Esper, one of the foremost practitioners of the
exploitation film, redistributed Ingagi in the late 1940s as the
scandalous and sensational movie it is… and the thing continued to make money. Ingagi
eventually vanished again for decades… until now.
It’s allegedly the footage of an
African exhibition led by “Sir Hubert Winstead.†The explorer and his team go
on safari and hunt and kill exotic animals for 3/4 of the picture. If that
wasn’t disgusting enough, the final quarter is about the “discovery†of a
primitive race that worships ingagi (the Rwandan word for “gorillaâ€).
The tribe sacrifices a woman every year to the ingagi, who mate with the human
females to produce, uhm, half-human/half-gorilla creatures.
Right.
Now you know why the film was banned.
When
one excavates the production history of the film, we learn that the whole thing
was a hoax to cheat the American moviegoer out of an admission fee. According
to both Kelly Robinson and Bret Wood, narrators on two separate audio
commentary tracks, 3/4 of the movie is actually stolen material from a 1915
silent movie, Heart of Africa, which documented a real safari—but for
some reason that picture was never even completed and is lost. That existing
footage, however, was hijacked by “Congo Pictures.†The remaining 1/4 of the
movie was shot in Hollywood with actors. African-Americans were cast as
stereotypical Tarzan-style natives, and men in gorilla suits portrayed the
apes. The lead ingagi is played by Charles Gemora, arguably the most
prolifically employed actor in a gorilla suit.
One
major clue to the lack of authenticity is that the narrator of the picture, the
supposed Sir Hubert Winstead, mispronounces ingagi throughout the movie.
He pronounces the middle syllable vowel of the word as “gag,†whereas it’s
supposed to be pronounced like “gog.â€
As
commentator Robinson tells us, the real appeal of going to see Ingagi was
to view “gorilla sex,†i.e., naked “native women†who are about to have sex
with gorillas. We don’t ever see that happen, but it’s implied. We do see
naked “native women,†and that’s where the picture gets its exploitation and
racist reputation.
Kino
Lorber’s high-definition presentation of this relic is amazingly good. A
featurette in the supplements details the restoration process that was
undertaken. The only other supplements are the interesting and informed audio
commentaries by Robinson and Wood, and trailers for other titles in the series.
Ingagi
will
appeal to fans of the Something Weird series, exploitation films, and cinema
curiosities. Hey, it’s “movie historyâ€â€”in fact, a print of Ingagi resides
in the Library of Congress as a testament to its infamous standing. Ungawa!
Danny
Kaye was not only a brilliant triple-threat (actor/singer/dancer), but he was a
stand-up comic, an expert chef, a writer, a pilot, a baseball enthusiast (and,
for a short time, co-owner of a team—the Seattle Mariners), a notable
philanthropist, a UNICEF ambassador, and an honorary member of the American
College of Surgeons and American Academy of Pediatrics (!). His decades-long
career on stage, in film, and on television speaks for itself, but one of his
most beloved screen vehicles was The Court Jester, a 1956 picture that
was shockingly ignored at the Oscars that year (Kaye, who never won an Academy
Award, was nominated for a Golden Globe for his performance).
Even
more disturbing is the fact that it was allegedly the most expensive comedy
film ever produced up to that time and was a box office failure (perhaps that’s
the reason there was no Oscar love). Nevertheless, time has been extremely kind
to the movie through revivals and television broadcasts. Now it’s perhaps the
movie one thinks of when considering Danny Kaye starring vehicles.
The
Court Jester was
written, produced, and directed by the team of Melvin Frank and Norman Panama,
who carved out a comedy-niche in Hollywood beginning in the 1940s by penning
some of Bob Hope’s early classics together. Their White Christmas (1954,
directed by Michael Curtiz) was a massive hit, and it paired Danny Kaye with
Bing Crosby. They had directed Kaye that same year in Knock on Wood… so
they were a good match for the actor on a musical-comedy send-up of The
Adventures of Robin Hood.
Hubert
Hawkins (Kaye) is the affablebut non-heroic member of a band of Merry
Men-like rebels led by Robin Hood-like “The Black Fox†(Edward Ashley). King
Roderick (Cecil Parker) has usurped the throne from its rightful heir—the only
survivor of the royal family, a baby with a peculiar birthmark of a “purple
pimpernel†on his tuchus. The Black Fox’s band of brigands are keeping
the child safe from the king’s men, led by chief antagonist Lord Ravenhurst
(Basil Rathbone). Hawkins is in love with Maid Jean (Glynis Johns), a “captainâ€
in the group, and she reluctantly admits she has affection for him as well.
When the opportunity arises to plant a mole inside the castle to steal keys to
an underground passage that will allow the Black Fox and his men to take
control of the palace and restore the land to its true monarch, Hawkins is
apparently the right man for the job—to impersonate Giacomo the Jester (John
Carradine), who is on his way from Italy to receive employment. Once Hawkins is
ensconced in the castle, the king’s daughter, Gwendolyn (Angela Lansbury) is
told by her confidante and “witch,†Griselda (Mildred Natwick) that “Giacomoâ€
is to be her true beloved and not the king’s ally Sir Griswold (Robert
Middleton). Needless to say, complications arise.
Yes,
it’s a twisty-turny plot with many instances of mistaken identity and
characters intentionally posing as people they are not. There’s romance,
slapstick, clever wordplay, swashbuckling swordplay and action sequences—and
there are song-and-dance musical numbers written by Sammy Cahn and Sylvia Fine
(Kaye’s wife).
The
dialogue is especially witty and fun—what movie buffs have not attempted
to memorize the classic tongue-twister, “The pellet with the poison’s in the
vessel with the pestle; the chalice from the palace has the brew that is true�
(Or the follow-up which replaces the chalice from the palace with the “flagon
with the dragonâ€).
Kaye
is marvelous throughout the picture, of course, and his supporting cast are all
splendid, too. Rathbone, at this point in his mid-60s, still manages to swashbuckle
with skill. Johns and Lansbury, as the dual love interests, are both fetching
and charismatic.
The
new ParamountMovies/Paramount Presents Blu-ray release beautifully shows off the
VistaVision widescreen Technicolor cinematography by Ray June. The images are
absolutely gorgeous. For this alone, the new release is worth the upgrade from
the older DVD edition. The only supplements are a short featurette of critic
Leonard Maltin talking a bit about the movie’s history and influence and the
theatrical trailer.
The
Court Jester is
still funny, still thrilling, and still entertaining today. Is it one of the
best comedies of the 1950s? The answer to that is a resounding YES.
The
Thin Man,
released in 1934, was such a success (and Oscar nominee) that Hollywood decided
to make a sequel (and, in fact, several of them). After the Thin Man,
released in 1936, reunited stars William Powell and Myrna Loy as Nick and Nora
Charles, the Wire Fox Terrier-actor Skippy as “Asta,†director W. S. Van Dyke,
writer Dashiell Hammett (who wrote the original novel and supplied story ideas
for the sequels), and screenwriters Albert Hackett and Frances Goodrich. The
result is a thoroughly enjoyable follow-up, if not quite as brilliant as the
original (sequels seldom are).
One
of the more striking elements of After the Thin Man is the presence of a
young James Stewart in a supporting role. It is one of his earliest screen
appearances, and he displays the charisma that would suit him well for the next
several decades.
The
picture brings back all the trappings of the first movie—the chemistry between
husband-and-wife Nick and Nora, their penchant for cocktails (especially his
penchant), their precocious dog, and the couple’s ability to outsmart the
cops and effortlessly solve a crime. The plot is complex, has many twists and
turns, and keeps an audience guessing (the screenplay received an Oscar
nomination). The big reveal of who the murderer really is may come as a
surprise to most.
Nora
has some troublesome relatives. Her Aunt Katherine (Jessie Ralph) has to be the
most annoying shrew on the planet. However, her daughter, and Nora’s cousin,
Selma (Elissa Landi), is pleasant enough but is married to a scoundrel, Robert
(Alan Marshal). Robert has run off, infatuated with a nightclub singer/dancer,
Polly (Penny Singleton, credited here as Dorothy McNulty). Friend of the family
David (James Stewart) provides support for Selma and wants to pay off Robert
$25,000 (!) to grant Selma a divorce and leave for good. David, perhaps, has a good
reason to do so—he has always carried a torch for Selma. The co-owner of the nightclub,
a guy named Dancer (Joseph Calleia), is shady and schemes with Polly to steal
David’s money from Robert. Added to the mix is Polly’s brother?/boyfriend?/husband?
Phil (Paul Fix), who wants money from Polly, too. When Robert is shot to death
on the street in San Francisco, Selma is arrested and blamed for the murder.
Enter Nick and Nora. Aunt Katherine reluctantly asks the Charles couple to
investigate and clear Selma’s name.
What
follows is the kind of intrigue with laughs that one would expect from a Thin
Man sequel (note: there is no “thin man†character in this one). Also
amusing is the subplot involving Asta and “Mrs. Asta,†another Wire Fox Terrier
who has had Asta’s puppies. There’s a problem, though—one of the pups is all
black, and Asta discovers an all-black Scot Terrier sneaking into the yard and
visiting Mrs. Asta! Uh oh! Asta must continually send the interloper on his way
and chastise the missus. What isn’t explained is why Nick and Nora allow Asta
inside their house all the time and take him around town with them, and yet
Mrs. Asta and the puppies must remain outside in a pen and a doghouse. Doesn’t
seem right, does it?
Powell
and Loy are marvelous in reprising their roles. Stewart is engaging, and Ralph
is hilariously exasperating. The writing is brisk and full of terrific
one-liners. Van Dyke’s direction is breezy, and he handles the complicated
mystery with aplomb. Perhaps the picture is ten or fifteen minutes too long,
but that’s a quibble.
Warner
Archive’s new Blu-ray restoration of an earlier DVD release looks superb.
Supplements include a vintage MGM cartoon short by Hugh Harman and Rudolf
Ising, “The Early Bird and the Worm,†and a 1936 comedy short, “How to Be a
Detective,†starring Robert Benchley. Also included is the LUX Radio adaptation
starring Powell and Loy, an MGM radio promo, and the theatrical trailer. All
good stuff.
After
the Thin Man is
a welcome high-definition addition to sit on the shelf with the earlier release
of The Thin Man. Here’s hoping Warner will issue the remaining titles in
the series on Blu-ray. So, grab your martini shaker, put on your pajamas, settle
back, and have a good time at the movies!
When
Silent Running was released in 1972 as a somewhat “experimental†venture
from Universal Pictures, a studio that had decided to give a handful of new
filmmakers a million dollars each to make whatever they wanted, it flew under
the radar of most folks who weren’t into science fiction. After all, it was a
tough challenge to come up with anything to compete with 2001: A Space
Odyssey (1968), which was still playing on second and third runs around the
world. Silent Running did okay at the box office, but it wasn’t a
runaway hit.
Nevertheless,
Running, which was directed by one of 2001’s visual effects
supervisors, Douglas Trumbull (it was his debut as a director), became a cult
movie that has played revival houses and did good business on home video years
later in multiple formats.
Now,
the excellent outfit Arrow Video has released an outstanding Blu-ray
presentation of the film, and it is cause to re-examine this unique, oddball
little gem. In retrospect, after 48 years, Silent Running has many
positive elements that warrant it as a “must-see,†and yet there are indeed
flaws that perhaps stand out more today than they ever did in the past.
The
screenplay is credited to three men. Deric Washburn (who later penned The
Deer Hunter) and Michael Cimino (!) (who later directed The Deer Hunter,
here credited as “Mike†Cimino) wrote the first few drafts of the script. Then
Steven Bochco (who later was a huge success in television with shows like Hill
Street Blues and NYPD Blue, here credited as “Steve†Bochco), came
in to polish/re-write. Thus, there is some excellent pedigree in the
screenplay, and yet this is perhaps where Silent Running has the most
problems.
Sometime
in the future, plant life is extinct on earth, so American Airlines (American
Airlines??) has outfitted several spaceships to carry domes of “forestsâ€
into space to cultivate them with the intention that one day they will return
and repopulate the planet with vegetation and the wildlife that goes with it.
These spacecrafts are orbiting near Saturn and are manned by a small crew of
four. On one ship, the Valley Forge, Freeman Lowell (Bruce Dern in an
early starring role) takes the job seriously. He is a conservationist, loves
taking care of the plants and animals, and wants to protect them at all costs.
His three crew members (played by Cliff Potts, Ron Rifkin, and Jesse Vint) are
jerks who could care less about the domed forests—they just want to go home. When
the orders come through for the crews to destroy the domes and return to earth,
Lowell, well, becomes incensed and sabotages this plan to save at least one
dome. Assisting Lowell are three “drones†(robots) named Huey, Dewey, and
Louie. What happens next would be a spoiler—let’s just say things don’t work
out quite how Lowell envisions.
The
three drones are portrayed by four bilateral amputee actors—Mark Persons,
Cheryl Sparks, Steven Brown, and Larry Whisenhunt—and they absolutely steal the
movie. Even inside the small, R2D2-like enclosures, they manage to convey
emotions and feelings. They communicate with Lowell, and much of the wonder
of the film is centered around the three drones.
The
visual effects are marvelous. After all, Trumbull is at the helm, and he oversaw
the effects with none other than John Dykstra and Richard Yuricich, who went on
to oversee the visual effects of the likes of Star Wars, Close
Encounters of the Third Kind, Blade Runner, etc. While the budget
didn’t allow for the Grade-A perfect effects of 2001, Running’s
effects are darned good, certainly the landmark of science fiction that
appeared between the releases of 2001 and Star Wars.
The
drawbacks include the decidedly weak story and its logic. Why are the ships all
the way out at Saturn? Couldn’t they be orbiting earth, allowing for a quick
return? What wiped out the plant life on earth? Why does American Airlines
decide to scrap the mission? Who made the boneheaded decision not to
re-cultivate the earth? Isn’t that, well, essential, to sustain all
life?
The
casting of Bruce Dern is also unfortunate. He’s a terrific actor, but his
character and the manic intensity in which he plays it ultimately makes him
unsympathetic. His actions in the story—especially regarding his fellow
crewmembers—do him no favors with the audience. In the end, it’s difficult to
be on his side, even though he is perhaps “doing the right thing.†Alas, the
way he goes about it is simply the wrong thing.
Finally,
the early-70s conservation theme coupled with songs sung by folk artist Joan
Baez in the movie infuse it with something of a “hippie†vibe. Does it seem out
of place today? Perhaps.
Arrow’s
Blu-ray, however, is top-notch. The new 2K restoration is approved by Trumbull for
the release and comes with two audio commentary tracks—one new one with critics
Kim Newman and Barry Forshaw, and an earlier one by Douglas Trumbull and Bruce
Dern. There is an isolated music and effects track, which is welcome because of
the marvelous score by Peter Schickele (the man behind P.D.Q. Bach!) and the
Baez songs. There are also optional English subtitles for the hard of hearing.
Supplements
abound. New to the disk is an interview with film music historian Jeff Bond on
the score, and a superb visual essay by writer/filmmaker Jon Spira that
explores the evolution of the screenplay. Archival supplements from previous
home video releases include a 1972 on-set documentary on the making of the
movie, two archival features on Trumbull and the film, an interview with Dern,
and the theatrical trailer. The first pressing of the release comes with a
beautifully illustrated collectors’ booklet with text by Barry Forshaw and
Peter Tonguette. The jewel case features a reversible sleeve with original
poster and newly commissioned artwork by Arik Roper.
Despite
its flaws, Silent Running is a fascinating look at what Hollywood was
doing in the early 1970s regarding the little-touched genre of science fiction,
and Arrow’s release is an aficionado’s dream.
Today
we might say that David Lynch is the foremost purveyor of surrealism in the
arts; but he inherited that mantle from the late, great Luis Buñuel,
who was one of the fathers of the surrealist movement in Europe in the
1920s.
What
is surrealism, you ask? You probably “know it when you see it,†but the true
definition, as imposed by the surrealists who made it a thing, is to
portray in an artistic expression the nature of dreams. That can be in
paintings (Salvador DalÃ, Max Ernst), theatre (Jean
Cocteau), photography (Man Ray), and film (Buñuel, along with
others like Cocteau, Germaine Dulac, and more). Surrealism in film may just seem
“weird†to some audiences, but it’s actually satirical, nightmarish, irreverent,
and profound, and it can be a commentary on the real, contemporary world.
Luis
Buñuel was indeed the master of cinematic
surrealism. From his debut short silent picture, Un Chien Andalou (1929),
that he co-directed with Salvador DalÃ, through such titles
as Los olvidados (The Young and the Damned; 1950), Viridiana (1961),
and Belle de jour (1967), Buñuel challenged
audiences with often brilliant, sometimes confounding work that was
controversial, hilarious, and political. Poor Buñuel had to move from
one country to another because he’d sometimes make a film that the authorities
found objectionable, so he’d go somewhere else—and then rinse and repeat.
Mostly, though, he worked in France, Mexico, and his native Spain.
In
the 1970s, Buñuel himself was in his seventies, and he made
three of his most acclaimed masterpieces; in fact, they were his final three
movies. They were French/Spanish co-productions, utilizing casts and crews from
both countries, many of whom worked on more than one of these and in some cases
all three. Produced by Serge Silberman, the titles serve as something of a
trilogy, although in truth they are unrelated.
The
Criterion Collection has released a new box set containing all three films in
high definition, upgraded from earlier, separate DVD releases. It is, frankly,
an abundance of riches.
Criterion’s
3-disk Blu-ray set presents all three films in new high-definition digital
restorations with uncompressed monaural soundtracks. The distinctive 1970s film
stock is quite evident, but the images are much improved over the previous DVD
editions. Supplements are bountiful, way too many to list here (all the extras
from the DVDs are ported over, and there are many additions on each disk).
There are several documentaries about Buñuel, some of which
are feature-length, and vintage “making of†featurettes. Interviews with a
selection of Buñuel’s colleagues, such as co-writer Carrière,
are fascinating. The thick booklet contains essays by critic Adrian Martin and
novelist/critic Gary Indiana, along with interviews with Buñuel.
Three
Films by Luis Buñuel is highly recommended for fans of art
house cinema, unconventional narrative, black humor, and exquisite oddities
that you just don’t see every day.
When
I first saw Popeye on the big screen on its initial release in December
of 1980, I was disappointed and a little appalled. I was (and still am) a huge
Robert Altman fan, and I had been expecting great things. The film touted the
first motion picture appearance by Robin Williams as well (although he’d had in
a small role in a 1977 picture). Anticipation was high.
Popeye
received
very mixed reviews, but it made a decent amount of money at the box office (however,
it was considered a flop by Paramount and Disney, the studio that co-produced
the picture), and became an object of derision in Hollywood for years. Altman
was unable to get big studio backing for over a decade, so he moved to Europe
and made small pictures there.
Then—home
video turned the movie around. Popeye became a best-selling VHS tape for
children, and its reputation improved. Audiences started to admit that there
were some rather good things about Popeye. Now a 40th Anniversary
Blu-ray disk from Paramount has been released, and the movie’s charms can be
appreciated even more.
There’s
no question that Popeye is a mixed bag of spinach. Altman’s directorial
style always involved much improvisation, a messy mise-en-scène, overlapping and sometimes indecipherable dialogue, and
a quirky sensibility. In Altman’s best works, these traits are assets. In Popeye,
not so much. There are also sequences that drag on too long, especially the
climactic sequence that involves a chase involving two extremely slow-moving
boats. The script, by Jules Feiffer, is also decidedly weak, but there are some
clever moments and funny lines (it’s unknown if these were ad libs).
That
said, Altman’s vision for the movie was downright brilliant, and the
designers and actors rendered that concept with remarkable success. Altman set
out to make a live-action cartoon that captured the original E. C. Segar comic
strip and the early Fleischer animated shorts. By hiring inventive actors who
could transform themselves into the surreal characters, and costuming them
appropriately, Altman accomplished the task of truly creating another world. It
also helped that the entire village of Sweethaven was built on the island of
Malta, where the production was made (that village still exists today as a
tourist attraction). The production/sets and costume designs deserved Academy
Award nominations, but that didn’t happen.
Popeye
(Williams) is searching for his “pappy†(Poopdeck Pappy, played by Ray Walston),
and he arrives by rowboat in Sweethaven. There Popeye is immediately taxed for
everything, including for asking questions, by the Taxman (Donald Moffat). He
“renks a room†from the boarding house run by the Oyl family—Cole (MacIntyre
Dixon), who continually spouts that everyone “owes him an apology,†his wife Nana
(Roberta Maxwell), Castor (Donovan Scott), their son, and, of course, Olive
(Shelley Duvall), their daughter. Olive Oyl is engaged to be married to Bluto
(Paul L. Smith), the meanest man in town and enforcer for the “Commodore,†the
unseen authoritarian of the village. Olive doesn’t want to marry Bluto, but she
makes the motions to do so. Then, Olive and Popeye find an abandoned baby—the
scene-stealing Swee’Pea (played by Wesley Ivan Hurt, who is Altman’s grandson).
Olive and Popeye bond over Swee’Pea, and the story then becomes one of Popeye
attempting to win over the villagers, defeat Bluto, discover the identity of
the mysterious Commodore, and find his pappy.
Robin
Williams does an admirable job and is quite winning in the role, although his
mumblings and mutterings, ad libbed or not, are often unintelligible (it helps
to turn on the subtitles on the Blu-ray disk—something we couldn’t do in the
cinema in 1980!). The standout in the entire movie is Shelley Duvall—as Altman
proclaims in the “making of†documentary on the disk, Duvall was “born to play
Olive Oyl,†and this statement is absolutely correct. It was a great year for
Duvall, who had earlier starred in Kubrick’s The Shining. These were two
wildly different roles. Her Olive Oyl serves to prove that Shelley Duvall is an
underrated, wonderful actress who should have been recognized as a major talent.
Smith
as Bluto is appropriately villainous. Walston is a hoot as Pappy. Paul Dooley
is perfectly cast as Wimpy, who insists he will pay you Tuesday for a hamburger
today. The real gems, however, are the extras in the village portrayed by
circus performers, acrobats, and clowns who can perform jaw-dropping physical
stunts. The great Bill Irwin especially shines as Ham Gravy, who is constantly
kicking his hat along the paths, unable to retrieve it.
Then
there is the music. Yes, Popeye is a musical. The songs were written by
Harry Nilsson (!) and arranged and conducted by the talented Van Dyke Parks. They
are performed by the non-singer actors. There is a certain charm to them, but
the songs are rather weak and unmemorable. In 1980, I felt that the music was
what sunk the ship—however, on the recent revisit, I found the songs
appropriately eccentric and fitting. Beatles fans alert—look for Klaus Voorman
(collaborator with the Fab Four in the 1960s) as the conductor of the onscreen
band.
Paramount’s
new Blu-ray sports a beautiful restoration that looks fantastic.
Supplements include an interesting behind-the-scenes documentary on the making
of the film; a featurette on the different players and their approaches to the characterizations;
a slideshow from the film’s Hollywood premiere (spot the celebrities on the red
carpet!); and the ability to play each song from the movie separately. The late
Robert Altman and late Robin Williams appear in interviews shot in 1999 and
2014, respectively.
Popeye
is worth
a return visit, certainly for Shelley Duvall and little Wesley Ivan Hurt. There
are genuine laughs to be had, and the movie is a curiosity that isn’t nearly so
bad as the picture was first made out to be. It’s got charm and wit and is a
visual delight. So, go holler, “Blow me down,†have some spinach, and enjoy.
(The Blu-ray also includes a digital download version.)
The
extremely popular 1955 movie Mister Roberts began as a 1946 novel by
Thomas Heggen. It was then a Broadway play written by Heggen and Joshua Logan, directed
by Logan, and produced by Leland Hayward. Henry Fonda played the title role of
Lieutenant Doug Roberts on Broadway and won a Tony Award for Best Actor in a
Play for his performance. It then made sense for Fonda to reprise the role in
the motion picture, which was also produced by Hayward and co-scripted by Logan
and Frank S. Nugent. Sounds like a Hollywood no-brainer in the making, right?
The
direction of the film is where things got dicey. John Ford was hired to direct,
but according to Hollywood scuttlebutt accounts, Ford and James Cagney (in the unflattering
role of the captain, Lieutenant Commander Morton) did not get along. Then,
during filming Ford and his old friend Henry Fonda got into a fight. Ford left
the production and was replaced by Mervyn LeRoy. When it was all done, Joshua
Logan himself got involved and reshot some sequences, but he is uncredited.
Despite
all this confusion, Mister Roberts turned out surprisingly well as a
comedy-drama (mostly comedy). It was a box office hit and was nominated for the
Best Picture Oscar. Oddly, Fonda was not nominated; granted, his steady,
assured, and contemplative role is not a showy one for the big screen.
Instead, Jack Lemmon delivered a big colorful extroverted breakout
performance as Ensign Pulver. He was nominated and won the Best
Supporting Actor Oscar. In many ways, Lemmon’s characterization in the movie
defined many of the actor’s later roles. One can see a bit of “Ensign Pulverâ€
in almost everything Lemmon did for the next two decades. Or perhaps that’s
just Jack Lemmon.
The
excellent cast is rounded out with an aging William Powell as the ship’s
doctor, Betsy Palmer as one of the few women who briefly appear in the picture,
and shipmates Ward Bond, Ken Curtis, Nick Adams, Patrick Wayne, and other faces
one might recognize from the era.
The
Reluctant is a U.S. Navy cargo ship stuck out in the boondocks of the
Pacific as World War II is winding down. Captain Morton (Cagney) rules the boat
with an insensitive, downright mean iron hand, and every man on the ship can’t
stand him. The executive officer, “Mister†Roberts (Fonda), on the other hand,
is well-liked and a friend to the men. It’s always up to Roberts to try and
stand up to Morton, with little success. Roberts bunks with Ensign Pulver
(Lemmon), a joker and lothario who gets away with doing as little work as
possible and who yearns for shore leave so he can woo some army nurses.
Roberts’ best friend is “Doc†(Powell), who must lend an ear to Roberts’
constant wishes to transfer off the supply ship and onto a real battleship to
see some action before the war is over. The entire movie then becomes a comedy
of wills between male egos—not just between Roberts and Morton, but among
everyone else as well.
The
sexist attitudes of the men toward the few women in the picture (nurses
stationed at an army base on a nearby island) were assuredly realistic for the
years depicted and when the movie was released, but today they are a cause for
some eye-rolling. The macho testosterone-laden one-upmanship on display also gets
a little nutty, especially in Cagney’s over-the-top performance… but overall Mister
Roberts is an entertaining romp with some laughs and Hollywood star power.
Warner
Archive’s Blu-ray release is a restoration of a previous DVD edition and looks
quite good—the problems come in some of Winton C. Hoch’s original
cinematography (in CinemaScope and “WarnerColorâ€!). There are several
foreground/background focus issues throughout the movie, but perhaps filmmakers
were just becoming accustomed to the widescreen format in those days. The
feature film comes with scene-specific audio commentary by Jack Lemmon himself.
There are no other supplements save the theatrical trailer.
Mister
Roberts still
holds up—just—as a good example of the kind of Hollywood fare in the 1950s that
attempted to look back at the world war with humor and nostalgia instead of
with sobriety or horror. The new Blu-ray is certainly for fans of Henry Fonda,
Jack Lemmon, and widescreen wartime antics.
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.
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 ScarletStreet.
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 crisisâ€). 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.
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.
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 IIIâ€
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
In
1945, Billy Wilder’s The Lost Weekend was a big deal. If it wasn’t the
first Hollywood movie to portray alcoholism as a serious problem, then it was
certainly the most visible and influential one.
In
the latter 1940s, Hollywood’s output changed from the sunshine-feel
good-entertainments that the Golden Age had produced in the 30s and early 40s.
American GIs came home from the war, and many were disillusioned and cynical.
The war was the catalyst for Americans to “grow up.†They were ready to accept
more serious, darker fare. Thus, we got film noir—crime pictures that
were full of angst and betrayals—and we got the “social problem film.†The
latter tackled subjects that Hollywood had previously never touched—alcoholism,
racism, anti-Semitism, government corruption, and drug abuse. Titles like Gentleman’s
Agreement, All the King’s Men, Pinky, and The Lost Weekend,
which kick-started the trend.
Starring
Ray Milland in a harrowing performance as Don Birnam, a hopeless drunk in
Manhattan, the picture presents a “realisticâ€â€”for the time—depiction of a
weekend bender, a binge complete with DTs and night terrors. Jane Wyman costars
as Birnam’s long-suffering girlfriend, Helen. From the get-go, she sympathizes
with Birnam and haplessly attempts to help him with his problem. Birnam’s
brother, Wick (Phillip Terry), also indulges him, although he’s at the point of
giving up.
The
movie’s gritty wake-up call was likely the reason it won the Academy Awards for
Best Picture, Best Director, Best Adapted Screenplay (by Wilder and Charles
Brackett, based on the novel by Charles R. Jackson), and Best Actor (Milland).
That
said, today The Lost Weekend has problems. Billy Wilder was one of the
great Hollywood writer-directors, and his handling of the material is fine.
Milland deserved his Oscar win, although he’s often over the top—which perhaps
underscored the horror of the film’s subject matter. The difficulty that
today’s audiences will have with the film is its naivete. For one thing, Helen must
be nuts and a glutton for punishment to stick around Birnam for over three
years. The biggest sin is the abrupt “everything’s going to be okay†ending,
which will assuredly cause one’s eyes to roll.
In
many ways, there’s not too fine a line between The Lost Weekend and some
of the better cheap exploitation films about drug abuse and teen sex that were
made outside of Hollywood and were exhibited in the manner of a sleazy
sideshow. The difference is that Weekend had a big budget, stars, and
the benefit of being backed by a major studio and was made in Hollywood. The sensationalism
and morality-play aspects, though, are the same.
Kino
Lorber’s new high definition restoration looks darned good, despite some visual
artifacts here and there. The audio commentary by film historian Joseph McBride
delves into the production history and offers interesting anecdotes. The
supplements include the complete radio adaptation starring Milland and Wyman,
plus a “Trailers from Hell†segment with Mark Pellington narrating. Theatrical
trailers for this and other Kino Lorber releases round out the package.
Make
no mistake—The Lost Weekend is an important American picture that broke
new ground. One must always judge a movie within the context of when it was
made and released. Nevertheless, 75 years has not been kind to the film.
For
fans of Billy Wilder, cinema history, and a stiff drink.
The
Christopher Guest “Ensemble†was on a roll after the success of the wonderful Best
in Show (2000), which in turn was the follow-up to the brilliant Waiting
for Guffman (1996). I informally call it the “Ensemble†because
actor/writer/director Guest tends to make ensemble pictures featuring a stock
company of ridiculously talented comic actors. Not all the actors appear in
each Christopher Guest movie, but familiar faces are in every title.
It
all began, really, with This is Spinal Tap (1984), which Guest did not
direct (Rob Reiner did), but Guest and his partners in comedy, Michael McKean
and Harry Shearer, were likely the driving forces behind this “mockumentaryâ€
about a fictional rock band. The mockumentary genre, of course, is a comedy
that is presented as if it’s a documentary. Spinal Tap was a massive hit
and became a cult movie. It wasn’t until a little over a decade later that
Guest pulled together some of the same creative team to make Guffman,
which was about a small town community theatre (McKean and Shearer do not
appear in it, but they co-wrote the songs with Guest). More importantly, the
film featured the fabulous SCTV alumni Eugene Levy and Catherine O’Hara, who
are today basking in the deserved success of their TV show Schitt’s Creek.
Other Guest stalwarts were in the cast as well, such as Fred Willard, Parker
Posey, and Bob Balaban.
Best
in Show was
next, and this time McKean was back along with Levy, O’Hara, Posey, Willard,
and others. This one, about the world of dog shows/competitions, was extremely
popular, and it paved the way for A Mighty Wind, a send-up of the folk
music scene of the 1960s. Interestingly, the Coen Brothers tackled the same
subject a decade later with Inside Llewyn Davis in a more serious vein, but the brothers put together an authentic live
concert featuring many real folk acts in much the same way that A Mighty Wind brings together several fictional folk acts for a contemporary reunion
concert in the film.
The Spinal Tap boys are back (Guest, McKean,
Shearer) as The Folksmen. The New Main Street Singers is a parody of a New Christy
Minstrels-style large ensemble group and feature John Michael Higgins, Jane
Lynch, Parker Posey, Paul Dooley, and others. Finally, the duo Mitch &
Mickey (Levy and O’Hara) were a couple back when they made records, but there
was a painful breakup. They haven’t spoken in decades—but they’ve agreed to
perform again for the reunion concert being mounted by the promoter and son
(Balaban) of the bands’ deceased music producer.
All of Guest’s films are improvised by the cast. In
many ways, Guest is the Robert Altman of comedy. Every performer here nails his or her
character—and they’re all excellent singers and musicians to boot! The songs
are clever and hilarious, especially those by The Folksmen. Mitch &
Mickey’s love ballad, “A Kiss at the End of the Rainbow,†is such a
crowd-pleaser that it was nominated for Best Song at the Oscars (written by
McKean and Annette O’Toole) and both Levy and O’Hara performed it at the
Academy Awards ceremony of 2004.
The Warner Archive has ported over their original
DVD to high definition, and it looks great. All of the supplements from that
edition are present, too—a wonderful audio commentary by Guest and Levy; loads
of deleted and additional scenes; the complete reunion concert without edits;
the complete “vintage TV appearances†by the bands, of which only excerpts are
seen in the finished film; and the theatrical trailer. This reviewer especially
likes the deleted scene in which The Folksmen argue about the lyrics to a song
that contains the phrase, “Hey Nonny No, Nanny Ninny Noâ€â€”or is it “Hey Nonny
No, Nonny Ninny O� (Apparently there’s an iron clad rule—Nonny comes before Ninny!)
Oddly, the only supplement from the DVD that does not appear here are the
“biographies†of the bands that were static screen text displays, but this being
missing is negligible.
A Mighty Wind is well worth the upgrade to Blu-ray. The movie is a heck of a lot of
fun, full of laughs and charm, and you’ll find yourself humming the tunes
later. Highly recommended.
