Let's play a little game, shall we? I'm going to describe a scene and you tell me who directed it. Your knowledge of movies won't help you here. What will help is your understanding of a director's style.
The opening scene takes place at an automotive assembly line. As we go from station to station, the workers start putting the car together piece by piece. At the end we have a fully functioning Corvette. The car gets shipped from there to a warehouse and then to the dealer in Topeka. One morning a person comes to the dealership to buy a car and the salesman takes the buyer out on a test drive in the Corvette. The buyer likes the car, checks the tires, checks the engine, opens the trunk - and finds a dead body in there. Who directs it?
If you said Alfred Hitchcock, you would be correct. It is kind of a cheap question because Hitch never actually directed the scene I just described. He described it to me one night while we were having dinner at the Brown Derby. That's why I used it. It's a perfect Hitchcock scene if you want an example of his style.
There were several American directors in the 1940s and 1950s that had a distinctive style where you would be able to distinguish it within a few scenes - guys like Ford, Hawks, Welles, Hitchcock and, to a lesser extent, Wilder. These directors were the exception. The more common American director at that time was someone like William Wellman or Michael Curtiz (yes, I know Curtiz is Hungarian - name me one Hungarian movie he made) who both produced great, professional-looking movies, but you may or may not be able to tell they were directing just by watching the film.
The concept of a director's distinctive fingerprint on a film did not start until the 1950s and really did not take hold in America until the late 1960s. This "auteur" theory is European, French to be specific, and resulted in some really unwatchable movies for many years. You can film two people living in a closet (don't scoff, Warhol actually did) and call it art, but it doesn't mean a thing if no one sees it. If a crappy movie was shown in the woods and no one saw it, would it exist?
Now that I got that off my chest, I did like some of the early auteur films. Most of Fellini's work is very good (especially La Dolce Vita) and Renoir is just marvelous, but Truffaut is unwatchable and I have to be in a good mood and wide awake to get through Godard. The Americans who latched onto the auteur theory seemed to grasp that the point was to make an entertaining film as well as artistic. Of these, none is better than Scorsese.
As far as Europeans go, I have four favorites Fellini, Renoir, Milos Forman and the director of today's movie, Costa-Gravas.The plot is the critical aspect of Z. It is based on the 1963 death of Gregorios Lambrakis, the leader of the opposition party in Greece, who was killed in a "traffic accident." This event leads to a military coup in Greece four years later.
In Z, a similar event takes place where it appears at first that a political leader dies in what appears to be a car accident, but is actually an assault. Like the actual event, an investigator is appointed to find out what actually happened and instead of verifying the official version, he looks for the truth.
This plot is so important because it provides the director with two things - first, an exciting little-guy-against-the-establishment story and second, a story with a variety of view points. This allows Costa-Gravas to tell a story at breakneck speed while using the artistic techniques to replay the version through the eyes of the various witnesses.
Film has the potential to be the greatest art form in the world because it combines visuals with music and words while adding one last art form that is distinctive to film - the edit. Making that edit part of the story is what the auteur theory is all about and when that edit can be used to not only enhance an exciting story, but to tell it, then you are looking at the work of a great director and a great artist.
But if you're not able to find Z at your local movie house, I'm sure Titanic will be available. I bet Bosley Crowthers would have loved Titanic. I'm not sure of Bosley's opinion of Z because the New York Times had already fired him for his embarrassing review of Bonnie and Clyde and for being a no-talent hack by then. Actually, Bosley just disappeared after getting whacked from the times. Maybe he was in the back of Hitch's Corvette.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Mister Hulot's Holiday *****
If there is one thing I understand less than the American obsession with Jerry Lewis, it's the French obsession with him. I've seen all of Lewis's films and I come away with the same conclusion each time - that Dean Martin sure is talented - but why's he with the idiot?
Lewis might be a nice man, but no one has ever gone to the theatre and said "Let's watch Hardly Working. It's not funny, but that Jerry Lewis sure in a nice man." If I can't write or have no opinion, you're not going to read my stuff just because I kiss babies. With that said, I can somehow see how he could be seen as a curiosity in America. Like a bearded lady or a car accident.
During his heyday when he was making millions not laugh around the world, at least there was no one in America like him. If nothing else he was different. To paraphrase Samuel Johnson, American physical comedy in the 1950s was like a dog walking on its hind legs, it was rarely done well, but you were surprised to find it done at all. In France, they had no excuse. In France, they had Jacques Tati.
You never heard of M. Tati? Well you should know him. Basically, he is France's version of Charlie Chaplin while Lewis is America's version of some unfunny French comedian. Tati had a physical style similar to that of Lewis, but Tati was funnier. The bad thing about this for Lewis is that Tati was a comedian whose stunts rarely resulted in belly laughs. He didn't go for belly laughs and he still achieved more of them than Lewis and his pathetic, desperate style did. Tati's stunts were more nostalgic and amusing. He just looked pleasant in everything he did. It was a pleasant experience to watch one of Tati's films, unlike Lewis's movies where you are guaranteed to cringe at least five times.
Tati made three movies which I believe are classics - Mon Oncle, Playtime and Mister Hulot's Holiday. Many prefer Playtime; I'll go with the latter. Holiday was made in 1953 and was a huge international hit. For those who are afraid of sub-titles don't worry.
It has been said many times that the perfect film would require no dialogue. You would be able to complete understand what is going on from the visuals alone. This is certainly true with all of Tati's films. The basic plot is M. Hulot going to Brittany to spend his mandatory month's vacation (don't forget we're in France - and in honor of that we're going with the 1953 Chateau de Beaucastel from Rhone as the official wine of this review). He arrives in a 1924 Amilcar CSG and if you haven't seen one, it's hard to describe it. Picture a combination of a 1950s sports car and a Model T. Bottom line; it's amusing to look at; as is Hulot. Tati's Hulot is a very long angular man in a white suit with short pants. He is always smoking a long corn pipe.
From here, as would be expected in such a comedy, nothing goes right. What makes this movie different is that major things don't go wrong, it just little things that annoy like mosquitoes. Such as the wind gusting in Hulot's bungalow causing havoc every time he opens his door. It's also about the people, such as the waiter who can't believe how much his customers torture him by actually wanting food (If you've ever been to an actual French joint, you may get a few belly laughs out of this guy). There are other such people like the retired general who is offended by most of the world's inhabitants. Then there is the couple who act like those people in the convenience store who insist on pulling out every gallon of milk and giving it a complete inspection before deciding on their final purchase.
The film itself also looks beautiful. Even when there is nothing humorous occuring, it's just pleasant to look at the screen, like watching a beautiful painting of a resort town.
So here are your options if you are a 1950s French film-goer. You can watch the escapades of M. Hulot and his friends or you can stare at some guy screaming "Heeeeey, Laaaaaaady." Makes you question how the French got their reputation for good taste, doesn't it? That was a fine bottle of wine, though.
Lewis might be a nice man, but no one has ever gone to the theatre and said "Let's watch Hardly Working. It's not funny, but that Jerry Lewis sure in a nice man." If I can't write or have no opinion, you're not going to read my stuff just because I kiss babies. With that said, I can somehow see how he could be seen as a curiosity in America. Like a bearded lady or a car accident.
During his heyday when he was making millions not laugh around the world, at least there was no one in America like him. If nothing else he was different. To paraphrase Samuel Johnson, American physical comedy in the 1950s was like a dog walking on its hind legs, it was rarely done well, but you were surprised to find it done at all. In France, they had no excuse. In France, they had Jacques Tati.
You never heard of M. Tati? Well you should know him. Basically, he is France's version of Charlie Chaplin while Lewis is America's version of some unfunny French comedian. Tati had a physical style similar to that of Lewis, but Tati was funnier. The bad thing about this for Lewis is that Tati was a comedian whose stunts rarely resulted in belly laughs. He didn't go for belly laughs and he still achieved more of them than Lewis and his pathetic, desperate style did. Tati's stunts were more nostalgic and amusing. He just looked pleasant in everything he did. It was a pleasant experience to watch one of Tati's films, unlike Lewis's movies where you are guaranteed to cringe at least five times.
Tati made three movies which I believe are classics - Mon Oncle, Playtime and Mister Hulot's Holiday. Many prefer Playtime; I'll go with the latter. Holiday was made in 1953 and was a huge international hit. For those who are afraid of sub-titles don't worry.
It has been said many times that the perfect film would require no dialogue. You would be able to complete understand what is going on from the visuals alone. This is certainly true with all of Tati's films. The basic plot is M. Hulot going to Brittany to spend his mandatory month's vacation (don't forget we're in France - and in honor of that we're going with the 1953 Chateau de Beaucastel from Rhone as the official wine of this review). He arrives in a 1924 Amilcar CSG and if you haven't seen one, it's hard to describe it. Picture a combination of a 1950s sports car and a Model T. Bottom line; it's amusing to look at; as is Hulot. Tati's Hulot is a very long angular man in a white suit with short pants. He is always smoking a long corn pipe.
From here, as would be expected in such a comedy, nothing goes right. What makes this movie different is that major things don't go wrong, it just little things that annoy like mosquitoes. Such as the wind gusting in Hulot's bungalow causing havoc every time he opens his door. It's also about the people, such as the waiter who can't believe how much his customers torture him by actually wanting food (If you've ever been to an actual French joint, you may get a few belly laughs out of this guy). There are other such people like the retired general who is offended by most of the world's inhabitants. Then there is the couple who act like those people in the convenience store who insist on pulling out every gallon of milk and giving it a complete inspection before deciding on their final purchase.
The film itself also looks beautiful. Even when there is nothing humorous occuring, it's just pleasant to look at the screen, like watching a beautiful painting of a resort town.
So here are your options if you are a 1950s French film-goer. You can watch the escapades of M. Hulot and his friends or you can stare at some guy screaming "Heeeeey, Laaaaaaady." Makes you question how the French got their reputation for good taste, doesn't it? That was a fine bottle of wine, though.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
The Thin Man *****
There are two types of great movies actors. The first type not only fills the screen, but explodes through it as larger than life celluloid characters that become ingrained in our memory ever-after. Think Jimmy Cagney. I love Cagney, but it is the second type we’ll be looking at today. This actor hovers in the background, tossing around bon mots, making every movie that he is in a little bit better. Think William Powell.
I really can’t remember a bad William Powell movie. I should clarify that. I can’t remember a William Powell movie that I did not enjoy, even if the only reason I enjoyed myself was Powell himself. Bill was the essence of the cosmopolitan sophisticate who could do slapstick just as well and make it look graceful at the same time. No matter how bad the story or how bad the script or how bad the director, Powell would shine though.
Bill didn’t have any of those problems in 1934 while he was making The Thin Man, probably the best American drawing room comedy ever made. Powell portrays constantly tipsy former New York detective Nick Charles. Oh yeah, I love this movie. Just for the occasion, I’m putting on my tuxedo and making a pitcher of Cosmopolitans for everyone and since I’m in heaven and you can’t drink through the screen, I’ll just have to drink it all.
Now, I know that I’ve said in the past that the storyline is not important, but this movie really takes it to an extreme. The script is great and the dialogue is top shelf, but this plot is completely preposterous almost intentionally so. The focus is so much on the characters and the dialogue that the bad plot became a running joke. And it worked because as long as Nick and Nora (Myrna Loy) are still on the screen and a full glass of something containing gin is in my hand this movie is fabulous. By the way, I have a huge crush on Myrna Loy and I’m not even sure why, I just do.
I’m not joking about this plot. I’m not even going to bother retelling it. All that you need to know about this film is that when Powell and Loy are on the screen it’s great and when they are not it’s terrible. Thankfully they are on the screen for all but about five minutes of the film. For some bizarre reason, those five minutes take place at the beginning of the movie and almost destroy it right there. But the cavalry soon arrives and we see Powell teaching a bartender the correct techniques for mixing a dry martini (mix with a rhythm…always waltz time…try it, it really works). With that I polish off the Cosmos and switch to dry martinis.
Later in that same scene we see Myrna Loy for the first time and she wants to know how many martinis he’s had so far. After finding out that the answer is six, Loy orders five more to be lined up right in front of her so she can “catch up” (what is not to love). I’m sorry if I’m starting to gush, but I really love Myrna Loy and I’m starting to feel warm inside.
Anyway, most of the scenes go on like this – Powell and Loy tossing barbs back and forth at each other as various people try to talk Powell into taking a case involving the murder of one of his former clients. Powell keeps saying that he is retired from the force and focuses all of his attention on the fortune his wife inherited, so he does not have time to…hmmm….this is the greatest woman of all time. She’s gorgeous, rich and loves to drink.
Finally for reasons which I don’t think are explained (or maybe it was and I’m not holding my booze as well as Charles does), Nick takes the case. Nick and Nora plan a dinner party will all the suspects and of course they all show up. While the guests (a.k.a Nick’s friends, a.k.a. suspects) are arriving and getting ready for dinner, Nora of course makes fun of them.
At the end, Nick comes up with an absurd explanation and points out the criminal (I think it was the ex-wife, or the boyfriend, or the butler…I don’t remember), who, of course, immediately surrenders even though Nick had no evidence. The story is horrible. The movie was shot in two weeks. The conclusion was not only ridiculous, but obvious (not easy to do). The only good thing about the entire movie was Powell and Loy and that was good enough to make it one of the greatest comedies of all time.
This is what I mean when I say Powell makes everything a little better. And Loy is great too.
I really can’t remember a bad William Powell movie. I should clarify that. I can’t remember a William Powell movie that I did not enjoy, even if the only reason I enjoyed myself was Powell himself. Bill was the essence of the cosmopolitan sophisticate who could do slapstick just as well and make it look graceful at the same time. No matter how bad the story or how bad the script or how bad the director, Powell would shine though.
Bill didn’t have any of those problems in 1934 while he was making The Thin Man, probably the best American drawing room comedy ever made. Powell portrays constantly tipsy former New York detective Nick Charles. Oh yeah, I love this movie. Just for the occasion, I’m putting on my tuxedo and making a pitcher of Cosmopolitans for everyone and since I’m in heaven and you can’t drink through the screen, I’ll just have to drink it all.
Now, I know that I’ve said in the past that the storyline is not important, but this movie really takes it to an extreme. The script is great and the dialogue is top shelf, but this plot is completely preposterous almost intentionally so. The focus is so much on the characters and the dialogue that the bad plot became a running joke. And it worked because as long as Nick and Nora (Myrna Loy) are still on the screen and a full glass of something containing gin is in my hand this movie is fabulous. By the way, I have a huge crush on Myrna Loy and I’m not even sure why, I just do.
I’m not joking about this plot. I’m not even going to bother retelling it. All that you need to know about this film is that when Powell and Loy are on the screen it’s great and when they are not it’s terrible. Thankfully they are on the screen for all but about five minutes of the film. For some bizarre reason, those five minutes take place at the beginning of the movie and almost destroy it right there. But the cavalry soon arrives and we see Powell teaching a bartender the correct techniques for mixing a dry martini (mix with a rhythm…always waltz time…try it, it really works). With that I polish off the Cosmos and switch to dry martinis.
Later in that same scene we see Myrna Loy for the first time and she wants to know how many martinis he’s had so far. After finding out that the answer is six, Loy orders five more to be lined up right in front of her so she can “catch up” (what is not to love). I’m sorry if I’m starting to gush, but I really love Myrna Loy and I’m starting to feel warm inside.
Anyway, most of the scenes go on like this – Powell and Loy tossing barbs back and forth at each other as various people try to talk Powell into taking a case involving the murder of one of his former clients. Powell keeps saying that he is retired from the force and focuses all of his attention on the fortune his wife inherited, so he does not have time to…hmmm….this is the greatest woman of all time. She’s gorgeous, rich and loves to drink.
Finally for reasons which I don’t think are explained (or maybe it was and I’m not holding my booze as well as Charles does), Nick takes the case. Nick and Nora plan a dinner party will all the suspects and of course they all show up. While the guests (a.k.a Nick’s friends, a.k.a. suspects) are arriving and getting ready for dinner, Nora of course makes fun of them.
At the end, Nick comes up with an absurd explanation and points out the criminal (I think it was the ex-wife, or the boyfriend, or the butler…I don’t remember), who, of course, immediately surrenders even though Nick had no evidence. The story is horrible. The movie was shot in two weeks. The conclusion was not only ridiculous, but obvious (not easy to do). The only good thing about the entire movie was Powell and Loy and that was good enough to make it one of the greatest comedies of all time.
This is what I mean when I say Powell makes everything a little better. And Loy is great too.
All the Kings Men ****
Of all the great scenes that I have watched, reviewed and written (credits include The African Queen and The Night of the Hunter), the one I still think would have been better than all the others, but was never filmed was the debate between senators Robert Hayne and Daniel Webster.
This incident took place in 1830 and revolved around a land bill and some add-ons regarding land grants which lead to a discussion about "state's rights." With that in mind, the usual battle lines were drawn. The speeches have nothing to do with this topic per se, but went deeper into the whole source of the conflict between the two regions.
Hayne went first and he was obviously speaking for John C. Calhoun, who was vice president at the time and therefore not allowed to speak on the Senate floor. The speech contained several digs at New England and after each dig all eyes turned toward Daniel Webster, the great orator and champion of the region. The way I pictured it, Black Dan smiled after every insult knowing that his time to drop the hammer was coming. Webster's response was one of the most famous speeches of all time with the great concluding line: "Liberty and union, now and forever, one and inseparable."
Look at that Senate; Webster, Calhoun, Henry Clay, Thomas Benton - giants all of them. Can you think of anyone today who is in that class? The same goes for movies. I often complain that they don't make'em like Humphrey Bogart, Clark Gable and John Wayne anymore.
Well, I got to thinking about that while watching All the King's Men. The movie starred Broderick Crawford, who did a nice job here, and there is a remake in the works, which is going to star Sean Penn. Now, B.C. was a nice man and an honest actor, but I can't possibly say with a straight face that he is the same class of talent that Sean Penn is.
With that said, I guarantee you the older movie will be better. Why? Because, and here's the big revelation, Penn's leading man will be a faulted and weak man while Crawford's Stark was a larger than life giant. It has nothing to do with the actors playing the parts. It's a cultural difference. Now people want to relate to their heroes while back then people wanted to look up to them. Back then, Franklin Roosevelt was put on a pedestal. Today, that pedestal would be blown up. If Penn was an actor back then, I would not be surprised if he could be just as big as the other giants of that era and handle those larger than life rolls. He has the talent. Today, he's not given the opportunity.
All the King's Men was originally a Pulitzer Prize-winning novel loosely based on the life of Louisiana politician Huey Long. The book follows the political career of Willie Stark (played by Crawford), who got into politics after a local school collapsed due to faulty construction and corrupt contractors. A political machine in the state used the naive Stark to split the vote of the opposition, allowing their candidate to win. After the defeat, Stark was drinking whiskey and with a steely look in his eyes vowed that he would be back and next time it would be different. Four years later Stark ran again using many of the same tactics that the machine employed. This time Stark won and continued with his more amoral ways to consolidate power while giving the impression that he was still a man of the people. The movie's climax takes place when Willie asks his assistant Jack Burden to dig up some dirt on Judge Irwin, one of Stark's enemy's and a father figure to Jack.
Crawford does some nice work here, but the real credit goes to the casting director, because the roll is a perfect fit. Stark in the older movie is charismatic, larger than life, amoral and Machiavellian. He obviously has faults but the character is so mesmerizing that you understand why people follow him. Penn's version of the character will probably involve a lot of crying. This is not Penn's fault. It's because that's what you want. Leonardo DiCaprio is your fault. Celine Dion singing that horrible song while pounding her chest is your fault. What’s Eating Gilbert Grape is your fault. Nicholas Cage is your fault. Fried Green Tomatoes is your fault. I'm glad I died fifty years ago. Better that than watch "Titanic."
Oh, but you say I'm being far too dramatic here. This is just finger-pointing and fear-mongering. Let me give you an example. Back in the 1940s, Jimmy Cagney (the MAN!!!) played a mother-obsessed gangster who died on the top of a gas tower about to explode while screaming "Top o' the World, Ma!" Today, the family of that gangster would have had an intervention and a shrink would have helped him deal with his demons. Which is great for the gangster, but makes for a horrible movie.
Think I'm joking? Have you seen the Sopranos? The bottom line is that Shakespeare was right when it comes to bad movies. The fault lies not in our stars, but in ourselves. Viva Broderick Crawford.
This incident took place in 1830 and revolved around a land bill and some add-ons regarding land grants which lead to a discussion about "state's rights." With that in mind, the usual battle lines were drawn. The speeches have nothing to do with this topic per se, but went deeper into the whole source of the conflict between the two regions.
Hayne went first and he was obviously speaking for John C. Calhoun, who was vice president at the time and therefore not allowed to speak on the Senate floor. The speech contained several digs at New England and after each dig all eyes turned toward Daniel Webster, the great orator and champion of the region. The way I pictured it, Black Dan smiled after every insult knowing that his time to drop the hammer was coming. Webster's response was one of the most famous speeches of all time with the great concluding line: "Liberty and union, now and forever, one and inseparable."
Look at that Senate; Webster, Calhoun, Henry Clay, Thomas Benton - giants all of them. Can you think of anyone today who is in that class? The same goes for movies. I often complain that they don't make'em like Humphrey Bogart, Clark Gable and John Wayne anymore.
Well, I got to thinking about that while watching All the King's Men. The movie starred Broderick Crawford, who did a nice job here, and there is a remake in the works, which is going to star Sean Penn. Now, B.C. was a nice man and an honest actor, but I can't possibly say with a straight face that he is the same class of talent that Sean Penn is.
With that said, I guarantee you the older movie will be better. Why? Because, and here's the big revelation, Penn's leading man will be a faulted and weak man while Crawford's Stark was a larger than life giant. It has nothing to do with the actors playing the parts. It's a cultural difference. Now people want to relate to their heroes while back then people wanted to look up to them. Back then, Franklin Roosevelt was put on a pedestal. Today, that pedestal would be blown up. If Penn was an actor back then, I would not be surprised if he could be just as big as the other giants of that era and handle those larger than life rolls. He has the talent. Today, he's not given the opportunity.
All the King's Men was originally a Pulitzer Prize-winning novel loosely based on the life of Louisiana politician Huey Long. The book follows the political career of Willie Stark (played by Crawford), who got into politics after a local school collapsed due to faulty construction and corrupt contractors. A political machine in the state used the naive Stark to split the vote of the opposition, allowing their candidate to win. After the defeat, Stark was drinking whiskey and with a steely look in his eyes vowed that he would be back and next time it would be different. Four years later Stark ran again using many of the same tactics that the machine employed. This time Stark won and continued with his more amoral ways to consolidate power while giving the impression that he was still a man of the people. The movie's climax takes place when Willie asks his assistant Jack Burden to dig up some dirt on Judge Irwin, one of Stark's enemy's and a father figure to Jack.
Crawford does some nice work here, but the real credit goes to the casting director, because the roll is a perfect fit. Stark in the older movie is charismatic, larger than life, amoral and Machiavellian. He obviously has faults but the character is so mesmerizing that you understand why people follow him. Penn's version of the character will probably involve a lot of crying. This is not Penn's fault. It's because that's what you want. Leonardo DiCaprio is your fault. Celine Dion singing that horrible song while pounding her chest is your fault. What’s Eating Gilbert Grape is your fault. Nicholas Cage is your fault. Fried Green Tomatoes is your fault. I'm glad I died fifty years ago. Better that than watch "Titanic."
Oh, but you say I'm being far too dramatic here. This is just finger-pointing and fear-mongering. Let me give you an example. Back in the 1940s, Jimmy Cagney (the MAN!!!) played a mother-obsessed gangster who died on the top of a gas tower about to explode while screaming "Top o' the World, Ma!" Today, the family of that gangster would have had an intervention and a shrink would have helped him deal with his demons. Which is great for the gangster, but makes for a horrible movie.
Think I'm joking? Have you seen the Sopranos? The bottom line is that Shakespeare was right when it comes to bad movies. The fault lies not in our stars, but in ourselves. Viva Broderick Crawford.
Monday, June 19, 2006
Stalag 17 *****
July 19, 1943. In Hollywood lore, it’s a day that will live in infamy.
It all started early that morning with me having breakfast with the great song and dance man Dick Powell at the Hollywood Roosevelt. Vegetable omelets were on the menu that day if memory serves and Dick was telling me about the new role RKO was offering him and he was excited about it. Eddie Dmytryk was directing and he was hot at the time and the part was something completely different for Dick; something where he could show his range.
I thought it was a little too different and it could be a career-killer for Dick. The part was the old grizzled private eye, Phillip Marlowe. To give a modern comparison, picture the guy from Will and Grace (You know the guy. I refuse to look that up) as Indiana Jones. I knew RKO was going bankrupt, but this was just suicidal.
Fast forward several months, I went to review this train wreck and to my utter shock it was brilliant. Powell was brilliant. Dick was scruffy with blood shot eyes and you could smell the alcohol (a somewhat cheap single-malt scotch, if memory serves) through the screen. The movie was Murder My Sweet and it went on to become a film noir classic.
Now for the reason the day will live in infamy: For the first time in my eight year movie critic career...I was wrong. It was a big deal and it shook some people up. It wasn’t such a big deal that the stock market was affected or anything like that, but lives did change. This isn’t like Bosley Crowthers or some other hack…this is me…the most trusted man in Hollywood.
After everything settled down, I looked back and discovered something. As hard as it is to believe, I enjoyed being wrong. Dick’s a great guy and the movie was a wonderful surprise. I still consider that movie a wonderful treat.
Well, I eventually was able to right the ship and everything returned to normal for a while…until 1952 to be specific. That’s when I was again having breakfast at the Roosevelt – this time with Billy Holden (eggs benedict and Bloody Marys were being consumed, I believe). After a couple of pops, Bill told me that Billy Wilder has been trying to talk him into taking this role in a war movie about some P.O.W.s who try to escape from a Nazi camp.
Wilder was taking him to see the play that evening. I had already seen it and thought Bill needed a few more drinks. The play was very good, especially the third act when it really picked up, but the role that Wilder wanted Holden to do was J.J. Sefton, an amoral, cigar-chomping, cynic with a crew cut and dark five o’clock shadow. It was a Bogart role. Billy Holden wasn’t a song and dance man like Powell (he couldn’t carry a tune actually), but he was known for playing good-natured, wholesome characters. This part was completely over-the-bend for him.
Holden took the part and the movie came out in 1953 and it was the best movie of that year. Bill deservedly won his only Oscar. Looking back at that film, Holden reaches such unusual heights that I can’t imagine anyone else in that part.
This is just a great movie. Probably my favorite war movie. Even Bosley liked it. Here the lede of his review from so many years ago. “A crackerjack movie entertainment has been made from Stalag 17, the play by Donald Bevan and Edmund Trzcinski that scored on Broadway two years ago.” Yeah, "crackerjack movie entertainment"…I know you want to run out and see it now, but let me finish my review first.
Stalag 17 takes place in a Nazi P.O.W. camp, just off the Danube. "Stalag" in German means P.O.W. camp and 17 was the specific barracks. Stalag 17 was for American sergeants only. In the opening scene, the sergeants are planning an escape for two of their men, Manfredi and Johnson. Everyone is so confident that some are wondering how long it will take them to get to Switzerland…everyone except one that is. J.J. Sefton bets two packs of cigarettes that they don’t make it out of the forest. That’s Sefton for you. Nothing personal; he just saw an opportunity to make an easy profit off of some favorable odds. Of course, he’s right and the two soldiers are killed.
The next phase of the movie looks at some of Sefton’s scams. Some of the better ones include racing rats and placing odds on each rat, building a mini-distillery and establishing a profitable black market with the Nazi screws. Sefton is the cynic’s cynic and one of my all-time favorite movie characters. I have seen the play in many decades, but if memory serves there were two important differences; first, the movie was funnier, and second, Jason Robards played Sefton. I remember Robards doing his usual good work here, but Holden made this character his own. It really is remarkable work and as much credit as Holden does get for this part, I’d still stay it’s underappreciated. Plus, he has a lot to work with here. It's a fun script, while Wilder does a remarkable job of keeping the film light and witty while keeping the tension high.
Later in the movie, two other plots are snuffed out and the sergeants are convinced that there is a spy in their midst. They become convinced it's Sefton, especially after the guards let him spend an afternoon with the Russian women (and their big Glockenspiels) over in the next camp. Stalag 17 questions, and then beats Sefton, who responds by resolving to find the actual guy who left him “holding the bag.” This has to be done quickly because Stalag 17 is planning one more escape for a captured lieutenant who is suspected of bombing a Nazi train, and they don't want the plan foiled again.
Looking back at this one, I always seem to remember the characters besides Sefton as being unremarkable. But several actors stand out in this one. Harvey Lembeck and Robert Strauss are greats as the wise-asses who entertain the guys and torment the Germans. Otto Preminger and that fat German are great as the Kommandant and Schultz. On top of that, Jay Lawrence was also entertaining with his vast array of impersonations.
In the end this is Holden’s movie. He’s memorable even when others are just talking about him and he can be seen in the background. Maybe his usual nice guy persona added some unpredictability and spice to the final work, but overall, I was wrong. Happily so.
I’m also happy that no one asked me any questions involving Hogan’s Heroes so I didn’t have to use my anthrax again. Good day all around.
It all started early that morning with me having breakfast with the great song and dance man Dick Powell at the Hollywood Roosevelt. Vegetable omelets were on the menu that day if memory serves and Dick was telling me about the new role RKO was offering him and he was excited about it. Eddie Dmytryk was directing and he was hot at the time and the part was something completely different for Dick; something where he could show his range.
I thought it was a little too different and it could be a career-killer for Dick. The part was the old grizzled private eye, Phillip Marlowe. To give a modern comparison, picture the guy from Will and Grace (You know the guy. I refuse to look that up) as Indiana Jones. I knew RKO was going bankrupt, but this was just suicidal.
Fast forward several months, I went to review this train wreck and to my utter shock it was brilliant. Powell was brilliant. Dick was scruffy with blood shot eyes and you could smell the alcohol (a somewhat cheap single-malt scotch, if memory serves) through the screen. The movie was Murder My Sweet and it went on to become a film noir classic.
Now for the reason the day will live in infamy: For the first time in my eight year movie critic career...I was wrong. It was a big deal and it shook some people up. It wasn’t such a big deal that the stock market was affected or anything like that, but lives did change. This isn’t like Bosley Crowthers or some other hack…this is me…the most trusted man in Hollywood.
After everything settled down, I looked back and discovered something. As hard as it is to believe, I enjoyed being wrong. Dick’s a great guy and the movie was a wonderful surprise. I still consider that movie a wonderful treat.
Well, I eventually was able to right the ship and everything returned to normal for a while…until 1952 to be specific. That’s when I was again having breakfast at the Roosevelt – this time with Billy Holden (eggs benedict and Bloody Marys were being consumed, I believe). After a couple of pops, Bill told me that Billy Wilder has been trying to talk him into taking this role in a war movie about some P.O.W.s who try to escape from a Nazi camp.
Wilder was taking him to see the play that evening. I had already seen it and thought Bill needed a few more drinks. The play was very good, especially the third act when it really picked up, but the role that Wilder wanted Holden to do was J.J. Sefton, an amoral, cigar-chomping, cynic with a crew cut and dark five o’clock shadow. It was a Bogart role. Billy Holden wasn’t a song and dance man like Powell (he couldn’t carry a tune actually), but he was known for playing good-natured, wholesome characters. This part was completely over-the-bend for him.
Holden took the part and the movie came out in 1953 and it was the best movie of that year. Bill deservedly won his only Oscar. Looking back at that film, Holden reaches such unusual heights that I can’t imagine anyone else in that part.
This is just a great movie. Probably my favorite war movie. Even Bosley liked it. Here the lede of his review from so many years ago. “A crackerjack movie entertainment has been made from Stalag 17, the play by Donald Bevan and Edmund Trzcinski that scored on Broadway two years ago.” Yeah, "crackerjack movie entertainment"…I know you want to run out and see it now, but let me finish my review first.
Stalag 17 takes place in a Nazi P.O.W. camp, just off the Danube. "Stalag" in German means P.O.W. camp and 17 was the specific barracks. Stalag 17 was for American sergeants only. In the opening scene, the sergeants are planning an escape for two of their men, Manfredi and Johnson. Everyone is so confident that some are wondering how long it will take them to get to Switzerland…everyone except one that is. J.J. Sefton bets two packs of cigarettes that they don’t make it out of the forest. That’s Sefton for you. Nothing personal; he just saw an opportunity to make an easy profit off of some favorable odds. Of course, he’s right and the two soldiers are killed.
The next phase of the movie looks at some of Sefton’s scams. Some of the better ones include racing rats and placing odds on each rat, building a mini-distillery and establishing a profitable black market with the Nazi screws. Sefton is the cynic’s cynic and one of my all-time favorite movie characters. I have seen the play in many decades, but if memory serves there were two important differences; first, the movie was funnier, and second, Jason Robards played Sefton. I remember Robards doing his usual good work here, but Holden made this character his own. It really is remarkable work and as much credit as Holden does get for this part, I’d still stay it’s underappreciated. Plus, he has a lot to work with here. It's a fun script, while Wilder does a remarkable job of keeping the film light and witty while keeping the tension high.
Later in the movie, two other plots are snuffed out and the sergeants are convinced that there is a spy in their midst. They become convinced it's Sefton, especially after the guards let him spend an afternoon with the Russian women (and their big Glockenspiels) over in the next camp. Stalag 17 questions, and then beats Sefton, who responds by resolving to find the actual guy who left him “holding the bag.” This has to be done quickly because Stalag 17 is planning one more escape for a captured lieutenant who is suspected of bombing a Nazi train, and they don't want the plan foiled again.
Looking back at this one, I always seem to remember the characters besides Sefton as being unremarkable. But several actors stand out in this one. Harvey Lembeck and Robert Strauss are greats as the wise-asses who entertain the guys and torment the Germans. Otto Preminger and that fat German are great as the Kommandant and Schultz. On top of that, Jay Lawrence was also entertaining with his vast array of impersonations.
In the end this is Holden’s movie. He’s memorable even when others are just talking about him and he can be seen in the background. Maybe his usual nice guy persona added some unpredictability and spice to the final work, but overall, I was wrong. Happily so.
I’m also happy that no one asked me any questions involving Hogan’s Heroes so I didn’t have to use my anthrax again. Good day all around.
Friday, June 16, 2006
To Have and Have Not *****
Come sit around the fire, kats and kitties, and let Uncle Jimmy tell you a little tale from long ago. About 60-some odd-years back, I'm imbibing some spectacular 15 year-old Scotch at the Brown Derby on Sunset Boulevard.
This was back in the days before television so we had to entertain ourselves with booze and conversation. On that night, I had both in spades because sitting on the bar stool next to me, drinking that same marvelous Scotch, was the greatest director American ever produced - Howard Hawks.
About a dance step from oblivion, we were talking about his penchant for making films by loosely connecting a long string of entertaining scenes in exotic places with no discernable storyline - almost like vaudeville cinema - when he told me a story about the genesis of one of those classics.
One summer day in the early 1940s, Hawks and Ernest Hemmingway are on a fishing trip up in Oregon when they start arguing over which is the greater art form - novels or films. After about an hour of heated discussion which nearly led to blows, Hawks played his trump card. "I can make a great movie out of your worst book," Hawks said. Papa was a little upset at first at the idea that he could have written anything that could even be considered a "worst book." Once he got past that affront, Hemmingway was intrigued. "Which book?" Hemmingway asked."That piece of junk To Have and Have Not," Hawks answered."It wasn't that bad," Hemmingway shot back. After settling down for a moment, he continued frankly, "There's no way you could make a good movie out of that."
Well, Hawks did it...kind of. He cheated a little...actually a lot. He did make a great movie titled To Have and Have Not and it did have a few characters with the same names as those in the book, and that's where the comparisons ended. If, after watching the movie, you ran to get the book, you would be disappointed. The entire story and feel for that matter of the movie was completely different than the book.
The novel actually took place in Key West. Well, this was during World War II and Key West was not under the Vichy banner yet, so Hawks moved it to Martinique. "Why Martinique?," you may ask. Remember, Bogart had a pretty big success with another film set in an old French colony (I can't remember the name of it).
As far as the plot for this one goes...I'm not exactly sure. It was something along the lines of Bogart helping some friends get out of Nazi controlled someplace before they ended up in some concentration camp. This was basically the plot line of 50 percent of the movies during World War II (by the way, this keyboard kills fascists). Why was this one different from the rest? Hawks' magical touch, that's why.
A few lifetimes ago, a director by the name of Ernst Lubitsch was one of the most heralded comedic directors of his time...for that matter, all time. Around this time, the critics became aware of the Lubitsch touch. Many critics tried to define it - it was a certain grace...elegance... style...visual wit, but words couldn't really capture it. The best description of the Lubitsch touch could probably be drawn from a Supreme Court decision regarding obscenity, "I know it when I see it."
Hawks also had a touch and I am unable to define it as well. But I know it when I see it and To Have and Have Not is full of it.
I know I just said Hawks' touch cannot be defined, but let me give it a weak shot through the prism of this movie. Howard always got good writers and larger than life actors who loved verbal word play. Place the actors in the right parts, give them great dialogue, put them someplace with strange man-eating flowers that are far from where you are and move at a break-neck pace. Not an acceptable definition by the standards of Funk or Wagnall, but for our conversation it will have to do.
A huge trademark of any Hawks film is that no one remembers the movie, they remember moments, little dreams and sometimes they don't remember the name of the movie where that moment took place. For example, if you asked anyone on the street if they ever saw To Have and Have Not, you would get a mixed response. Now, if you repeated the line, "You know how to whistle, Steve, put your lips together and blow," you would probably get more positive feedback.
To Have and Have Not featured the first pairing of Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall and they are clearly falling in love during this movie. It just explodes off the screen and Hawks gleefully took advantage of his good fortune. The grand old man, Walter Brennan, usually stuck being the heavy in countless westerns, was also having a glorious time with a script that William Faulkner and Jules Furthman joyously penned.
On my first review, I said that the movie “gets along on a mere thin excuse for a story, takes its time without trying to brag about its budget or to reel up footage for footage’s sake, is an unusually happy exhibition of teamwork, and concentrates on character and atmosphere rather than plot. The best of the picture has no plot at all, but is a leisurely series of mating duels between Humphrey Bogart at his most proficient and the very entertaining, nervy, adolescent new blonde, Lauren Bacall.” (Nation, November 4, 1944)
Damn, I’m good. And right again by the way. I’m in such a good mood after seeing this movie again that I won’t even tell that no talent hack Bosley Crowthers to go screw today.
This was back in the days before television so we had to entertain ourselves with booze and conversation. On that night, I had both in spades because sitting on the bar stool next to me, drinking that same marvelous Scotch, was the greatest director American ever produced - Howard Hawks.
About a dance step from oblivion, we were talking about his penchant for making films by loosely connecting a long string of entertaining scenes in exotic places with no discernable storyline - almost like vaudeville cinema - when he told me a story about the genesis of one of those classics.
One summer day in the early 1940s, Hawks and Ernest Hemmingway are on a fishing trip up in Oregon when they start arguing over which is the greater art form - novels or films. After about an hour of heated discussion which nearly led to blows, Hawks played his trump card. "I can make a great movie out of your worst book," Hawks said. Papa was a little upset at first at the idea that he could have written anything that could even be considered a "worst book." Once he got past that affront, Hemmingway was intrigued. "Which book?" Hemmingway asked."That piece of junk To Have and Have Not," Hawks answered."It wasn't that bad," Hemmingway shot back. After settling down for a moment, he continued frankly, "There's no way you could make a good movie out of that."
Well, Hawks did it...kind of. He cheated a little...actually a lot. He did make a great movie titled To Have and Have Not and it did have a few characters with the same names as those in the book, and that's where the comparisons ended. If, after watching the movie, you ran to get the book, you would be disappointed. The entire story and feel for that matter of the movie was completely different than the book.
The novel actually took place in Key West. Well, this was during World War II and Key West was not under the Vichy banner yet, so Hawks moved it to Martinique. "Why Martinique?," you may ask. Remember, Bogart had a pretty big success with another film set in an old French colony (I can't remember the name of it).
As far as the plot for this one goes...I'm not exactly sure. It was something along the lines of Bogart helping some friends get out of Nazi controlled someplace before they ended up in some concentration camp. This was basically the plot line of 50 percent of the movies during World War II (by the way, this keyboard kills fascists). Why was this one different from the rest? Hawks' magical touch, that's why.
A few lifetimes ago, a director by the name of Ernst Lubitsch was one of the most heralded comedic directors of his time...for that matter, all time. Around this time, the critics became aware of the Lubitsch touch. Many critics tried to define it - it was a certain grace...elegance... style...visual wit, but words couldn't really capture it. The best description of the Lubitsch touch could probably be drawn from a Supreme Court decision regarding obscenity, "I know it when I see it."
Hawks also had a touch and I am unable to define it as well. But I know it when I see it and To Have and Have Not is full of it.
I know I just said Hawks' touch cannot be defined, but let me give it a weak shot through the prism of this movie. Howard always got good writers and larger than life actors who loved verbal word play. Place the actors in the right parts, give them great dialogue, put them someplace with strange man-eating flowers that are far from where you are and move at a break-neck pace. Not an acceptable definition by the standards of Funk or Wagnall, but for our conversation it will have to do.
A huge trademark of any Hawks film is that no one remembers the movie, they remember moments, little dreams and sometimes they don't remember the name of the movie where that moment took place. For example, if you asked anyone on the street if they ever saw To Have and Have Not, you would get a mixed response. Now, if you repeated the line, "You know how to whistle, Steve, put your lips together and blow," you would probably get more positive feedback.
To Have and Have Not featured the first pairing of Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall and they are clearly falling in love during this movie. It just explodes off the screen and Hawks gleefully took advantage of his good fortune. The grand old man, Walter Brennan, usually stuck being the heavy in countless westerns, was also having a glorious time with a script that William Faulkner and Jules Furthman joyously penned.
On my first review, I said that the movie “gets along on a mere thin excuse for a story, takes its time without trying to brag about its budget or to reel up footage for footage’s sake, is an unusually happy exhibition of teamwork, and concentrates on character and atmosphere rather than plot. The best of the picture has no plot at all, but is a leisurely series of mating duels between Humphrey Bogart at his most proficient and the very entertaining, nervy, adolescent new blonde, Lauren Bacall.” (Nation, November 4, 1944)
Damn, I’m good. And right again by the way. I’m in such a good mood after seeing this movie again that I won’t even tell that no talent hack Bosley Crowthers to go screw today.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Dolemite -*****
The tonic in my gin was flat this morning and everything went down hill from there. Whenever I get in a mood like this, I always feel better after watching a really bag movie and analyzing how stupid people other than me are. Well that theory got put to a test today.
I asked around for recommendations and came to the conclusion that Dolemite, a "drama" from the 1970s, would fit the bill. After watching it the first time, I...maybe I should give it a second shot. Maybe I wasn't in the right frame of mind then first time. Let's try it again, shall we? Let me make a few martinis for everyone (you'll need them) and we can huddle around the television. If there's a friend near you, you may want to hold hands. Alright, everyone ready? Here we go.
So far so good. Nothing strange about the opening credits. I've never heard of anyone here, but that's okay. The movie stars Rudy Ray Moore and is directed by D'Urville Martin.
Okay, here's a problem. Well, maybe I'm picking nits here. This could be some meaningful character development in the script or it could be some bad casting. I don't want to be judgmental here. Let me present you with the situation and see what you think.
Pop quiz. You are a director and for reasons we don't know are forced to use a character with a severe lisp, but he only has one two word line. The question is which two word line would you give him?
a) Tire iron
b) Hot babe
c) Feeling pain
d) Stolen furs
If you said (d), then send your resume to D'Urville Martin, c/o wherever the hell he lives. When I was watching it earlier, it actually took me three bites of the apple to figure out what he was saying. It came out "Tholen Thurth." "THOLEN THURTH" FOR CHRISSAKES. I WASTED TWO MINUTES OF MY AFTERLIFE FIGURING OUT WHAT THAT IDIOT JUST SAID...ahhh good martini. Kind martini. You're my only friend, martini. Let me make some more.
Right after this scene, Mr. Martin and his crew sent Issac Newton and Alfred Einstein scurrying to their blackboards. One guy hits another guy (I can't be bothered to look up who they are) with a left hook and the "victim" falls to his right into the trunk of the car with the "tholen thurth." Now either this broke every law of physics that I know of or the "victim" was hit so hard that he traveled through the air faster than the speed of light around the world and landed in the car coming from the opposite direction or it was a major continuity screw up. I'll go with the second choice.
Lookie here, we have some character development. Let's give a warm welcome to the Creeper. He just spoke for 17 seconds, waved to Dolemite and walked away, and I have no idea what he just said. Let me try it again...Nope, no clue. You'd think I'd be able to understand one word like an infinitive or something, but no. I guess the point is that he brain is fried from drugs that he used due to his plight in life. or we'll just say that's the reason, shall we?
After the Creeper bid Dolemite adieu, Mr. Martin cut to a long shot and we see the Creeper walking away from the camera. For a long time. Just walking.
While the Creeper was walking, I took the time to look up Mr. Martin's CV. He really hasn't directed much of note, but he was Lionel in the pilot episode of All in the Family. They actually made a sequal to this? Orson Welles raised money for years to make Chimes at Midnight and this gets a sequel. Some idiot could have given money to starving children in Somalia, but thought making Dolemite II was more important. Okay. Mr. Martin died in 1984, so there won't be a Dolemite III at least. Drinks, anyone?
And when we return with fresh martinis for everyone, the Creeper is still walking. ("Shane. Come back, Shane.") I'm guessing that Mr. Martin is utilizing some of the techniques of Fellini or Ozu in showing the hopelessness of man's situation in the world by looking at the plight of the Creeper and how small he looks in the large world through this long shot...or they're killing time. I'll go with the former.
A little later, Mr. Martin's character (did I mention he was a performer in this one too) is talking to Willie Green (the baddest man you've ever seen) and after he leaves the shot, we can see him hop onto the chair behind the camera just in case we forgot he was the director. I'm guessing here he was breaking the fourth wall to show how difficult it is to make a movie these days and the sacrifices that we have to make, just like in real life. Yeah, we'll go with that.
We just had a scene where the entire shot was blown up. I have no idea what happened. There was either some surrealistic Ken Russell stuff going on there or someone hasn't learned about the wonders of the light meter. We'll go with the former because it's scary to think that was the best take they looked at in the editing room.
You may have noticed that I did not mention a plot as of yet. Well, I really haven't figured one out. It has something to do with Dolemite, a madam named Queen Bee and a group of kung fu fighting prostitutes trying to save their business from people I don't know while two cops named Mitchell and White are everywhere, threatening everyone, while doing nothing. I think. Not exactly what you would want to see on the back of a DVD box, but let's see you do better.
There are a few subplots in the movie like Dolemite reciting a poem about this guy named Shine, who survived the Titanic and stuck it to the white man. This story went on for quite a while and every time Dolemite finished a verse, all of the men around him exchanged money. I have no idea why.
We also have some side characters like Joe Blow, the Lover Man ("you should be paying me, bitch"). A lovely gent who utilized the services of a woman under Queen Bee's employ. Mr. Blow decided that he didn't want to pay the full amount due to the young lady (for the reason stated above), but did give her five dollars for sanitary reasons. This has nothing to do with the plot that I'm aware, but it was entertaining in a crude way. Well, I'm going to stop there since I don't want to give away the ending.
If you're optimistic, Dolemite was an ambitious remembrance of the French New Wave, utilizing avant garde acting, writing, filming, editing and producing techniques. If you're not optimistic...well, we'll just stay positive here, have four or five more martinis and forget the last two hours ever happened. Cheers.
I asked around for recommendations and came to the conclusion that Dolemite, a "drama" from the 1970s, would fit the bill. After watching it the first time, I...maybe I should give it a second shot. Maybe I wasn't in the right frame of mind then first time. Let's try it again, shall we? Let me make a few martinis for everyone (you'll need them) and we can huddle around the television. If there's a friend near you, you may want to hold hands. Alright, everyone ready? Here we go.
So far so good. Nothing strange about the opening credits. I've never heard of anyone here, but that's okay. The movie stars Rudy Ray Moore and is directed by D'Urville Martin.
Okay, here's a problem. Well, maybe I'm picking nits here. This could be some meaningful character development in the script or it could be some bad casting. I don't want to be judgmental here. Let me present you with the situation and see what you think.
Pop quiz. You are a director and for reasons we don't know are forced to use a character with a severe lisp, but he only has one two word line. The question is which two word line would you give him?
a) Tire iron
b) Hot babe
c) Feeling pain
d) Stolen furs
If you said (d), then send your resume to D'Urville Martin, c/o wherever the hell he lives. When I was watching it earlier, it actually took me three bites of the apple to figure out what he was saying. It came out "Tholen Thurth." "THOLEN THURTH" FOR CHRISSAKES. I WASTED TWO MINUTES OF MY AFTERLIFE FIGURING OUT WHAT THAT IDIOT JUST SAID...ahhh good martini. Kind martini. You're my only friend, martini. Let me make some more.
Right after this scene, Mr. Martin and his crew sent Issac Newton and Alfred Einstein scurrying to their blackboards. One guy hits another guy (I can't be bothered to look up who they are) with a left hook and the "victim" falls to his right into the trunk of the car with the "tholen thurth." Now either this broke every law of physics that I know of or the "victim" was hit so hard that he traveled through the air faster than the speed of light around the world and landed in the car coming from the opposite direction or it was a major continuity screw up. I'll go with the second choice.
Lookie here, we have some character development. Let's give a warm welcome to the Creeper. He just spoke for 17 seconds, waved to Dolemite and walked away, and I have no idea what he just said. Let me try it again...Nope, no clue. You'd think I'd be able to understand one word like an infinitive or something, but no. I guess the point is that he brain is fried from drugs that he used due to his plight in life. or we'll just say that's the reason, shall we?
After the Creeper bid Dolemite adieu, Mr. Martin cut to a long shot and we see the Creeper walking away from the camera. For a long time. Just walking.
While the Creeper was walking, I took the time to look up Mr. Martin's CV. He really hasn't directed much of note, but he was Lionel in the pilot episode of All in the Family. They actually made a sequal to this? Orson Welles raised money for years to make Chimes at Midnight and this gets a sequel. Some idiot could have given money to starving children in Somalia, but thought making Dolemite II was more important. Okay. Mr. Martin died in 1984, so there won't be a Dolemite III at least. Drinks, anyone?
And when we return with fresh martinis for everyone, the Creeper is still walking. ("Shane. Come back, Shane.") I'm guessing that Mr. Martin is utilizing some of the techniques of Fellini or Ozu in showing the hopelessness of man's situation in the world by looking at the plight of the Creeper and how small he looks in the large world through this long shot...or they're killing time. I'll go with the former.
A little later, Mr. Martin's character (did I mention he was a performer in this one too) is talking to Willie Green (the baddest man you've ever seen) and after he leaves the shot, we can see him hop onto the chair behind the camera just in case we forgot he was the director. I'm guessing here he was breaking the fourth wall to show how difficult it is to make a movie these days and the sacrifices that we have to make, just like in real life. Yeah, we'll go with that.
We just had a scene where the entire shot was blown up. I have no idea what happened. There was either some surrealistic Ken Russell stuff going on there or someone hasn't learned about the wonders of the light meter. We'll go with the former because it's scary to think that was the best take they looked at in the editing room.
You may have noticed that I did not mention a plot as of yet. Well, I really haven't figured one out. It has something to do with Dolemite, a madam named Queen Bee and a group of kung fu fighting prostitutes trying to save their business from people I don't know while two cops named Mitchell and White are everywhere, threatening everyone, while doing nothing. I think. Not exactly what you would want to see on the back of a DVD box, but let's see you do better.
There are a few subplots in the movie like Dolemite reciting a poem about this guy named Shine, who survived the Titanic and stuck it to the white man. This story went on for quite a while and every time Dolemite finished a verse, all of the men around him exchanged money. I have no idea why.
We also have some side characters like Joe Blow, the Lover Man ("you should be paying me, bitch"). A lovely gent who utilized the services of a woman under Queen Bee's employ. Mr. Blow decided that he didn't want to pay the full amount due to the young lady (for the reason stated above), but did give her five dollars for sanitary reasons. This has nothing to do with the plot that I'm aware, but it was entertaining in a crude way. Well, I'm going to stop there since I don't want to give away the ending.
If you're optimistic, Dolemite was an ambitious remembrance of the French New Wave, utilizing avant garde acting, writing, filming, editing and producing techniques. If you're not optimistic...well, we'll just stay positive here, have four or five more martinis and forget the last two hours ever happened. Cheers.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Father of the Bride ****
A show of hands, please. How many of you have seen Father of the Bride? Okay, good. Who played the father again? Good, good, good. I just placed anthrax in the water supply of everyone who just said Steve Martin, so now the rest of us can talk.
I'm sure ol' Steve is a wonderful father and husband and is kind to animals and doesn't poison his candy on Halloween or place anthrax in the water supply of stupid people; and yes, Spencer Tracy was a monstrous drunk (nothing necessarily wrong with that...hmmm, while on that topic.)...
Okay, that's better. Where was I? Oh, yeah Tracy was a big boozer and he cheated on his wife for years and years and years (no, Kate Hepburn was not his wife), but he kicked ass on screen and he gave Humphrey Bogart his nickname, so I hope you like your dog Steve because you still suck.
There are about five actors in history who can carry a great movie with virtually no help. Spencer's one of them. James Cagney's another one and I'm about to do a review in the next couple of days of a third. Who else would I add to that list since I had to open my mouth and say five; Clark Gable and...let's say...I don't know...me, if I acted. Don't hold me to that list because the idiot doctors say I lost brain cells and I'm sure there's someone I'm forgetting. Do I even have brain cells now? I have to ask someone.) To show how hard this is to do, even Bogart couldn't do it.
So the movie starts at the end with Spencer rubbing his feet outside of his trashed house and announcing that he has "something to say about weddings." And like E.F. Hutton, if Spencer has something to say, I pick up my breakfast martini (I throw some grapefruit juice in there) and move in a little closer. This starts the flashback and off we go.
The basic premise is that Tracy's daughter (Elizabeth Taylor - looking tastier than a mint julep here) is getting engaged to this guy that Spencer can't remember. Vince Minnelli (Liza's dad) is the director here and he has a nice montage of the guys that Liz has dated as Spencer tries to figure out which one it is. Each guy is screwing something up or looking like an idiot and Spencer ends each little tableau by saying "It can't be him. She wouldn't do that to me, would she?" If memory serves, it ended up being the guy who messed up the toaster.
I've always been a Minnelli fan. He's unobtrusive, but I can always tell it's him calling the shots. He has such an elegant style. It's obvious that he was a former hoofer.
Back to the movie, Spencer finally meets the guy and he' s okay, he guesses, but now the problem is that he has to pay for the wedding. The mother and daughter go about this task like the Queen of Sweden is getting hitched and Spence has a daily conniption. Tracy really is marvelous here and it's not even his best work. He's the best at taking off the wall satire and making it realistic. He's also great at taking curmudgeons and making them lovable. He's just great period. It's such a pleasure to watch him. His work is so subtle. Like the scene where he's supposed to make the announcement, but he gets caught in the kitchen making drinks. He made a tub of martinis (which look delicious) thinking this would solve the problem, but of course everyone wants Old Fashioneds (haven't had one of those in a while), high balls (love high balls), and everything else under the sun (mmmm). At the end, he never gets to make his speech.
He has a similar scene toward the end when he gets caught up in the reception and he thinks his daughter leaves without getting to say goodbye. In both cases, Tracy made the audience feel sympatico. They were both wonderful and emotional moments that others (certainly not the wild and crazy guy) would not be able to pull off. Many actors specialize in showing certain emotions or portraying certain characters, and having successful careers doing so (see Wayne, John), but Tracy can do everything.
His best scene is the night before the wedding when neither he or his daughter could sleep. There were both downstairs drinking milk and having a snack. Tracy was scared to death (dreaming that he showed up drunk at the wedding and couldn't make it down the aisle...trust me, that is embarrassing), but he found out Liz was too (this was the first of her 27 weddings). So while still subtlely showing his fear to the audience, he was able to act as her rock and calm her down. Just marvelous.
A couple of years ago when Hanks won his second straight Oscar, he became the second man to do it twice in a row along with Spence, so the inevitable comparison went up. That was the reason I started the push for my return because no one stated what a joke that was. Tracy could have and should have won four more. There is no comparison. Tracy's the man and Hanks is the boy.
Once again, run to see this. If you already saw the Martin one and figure there's no need to see this...I still have some anthrax left.
I'm sure ol' Steve is a wonderful father and husband and is kind to animals and doesn't poison his candy on Halloween or place anthrax in the water supply of stupid people; and yes, Spencer Tracy was a monstrous drunk (nothing necessarily wrong with that...hmmm, while on that topic.)...
Okay, that's better. Where was I? Oh, yeah Tracy was a big boozer and he cheated on his wife for years and years and years (no, Kate Hepburn was not his wife), but he kicked ass on screen and he gave Humphrey Bogart his nickname, so I hope you like your dog Steve because you still suck.
There are about five actors in history who can carry a great movie with virtually no help. Spencer's one of them. James Cagney's another one and I'm about to do a review in the next couple of days of a third. Who else would I add to that list since I had to open my mouth and say five; Clark Gable and...let's say...I don't know...me, if I acted. Don't hold me to that list because the idiot doctors say I lost brain cells and I'm sure there's someone I'm forgetting. Do I even have brain cells now? I have to ask someone.) To show how hard this is to do, even Bogart couldn't do it.
So the movie starts at the end with Spencer rubbing his feet outside of his trashed house and announcing that he has "something to say about weddings." And like E.F. Hutton, if Spencer has something to say, I pick up my breakfast martini (I throw some grapefruit juice in there) and move in a little closer. This starts the flashback and off we go.
The basic premise is that Tracy's daughter (Elizabeth Taylor - looking tastier than a mint julep here) is getting engaged to this guy that Spencer can't remember. Vince Minnelli (Liza's dad) is the director here and he has a nice montage of the guys that Liz has dated as Spencer tries to figure out which one it is. Each guy is screwing something up or looking like an idiot and Spencer ends each little tableau by saying "It can't be him. She wouldn't do that to me, would she?" If memory serves, it ended up being the guy who messed up the toaster.
I've always been a Minnelli fan. He's unobtrusive, but I can always tell it's him calling the shots. He has such an elegant style. It's obvious that he was a former hoofer.
Back to the movie, Spencer finally meets the guy and he' s okay, he guesses, but now the problem is that he has to pay for the wedding. The mother and daughter go about this task like the Queen of Sweden is getting hitched and Spence has a daily conniption. Tracy really is marvelous here and it's not even his best work. He's the best at taking off the wall satire and making it realistic. He's also great at taking curmudgeons and making them lovable. He's just great period. It's such a pleasure to watch him. His work is so subtle. Like the scene where he's supposed to make the announcement, but he gets caught in the kitchen making drinks. He made a tub of martinis (which look delicious) thinking this would solve the problem, but of course everyone wants Old Fashioneds (haven't had one of those in a while), high balls (love high balls), and everything else under the sun (mmmm). At the end, he never gets to make his speech.
He has a similar scene toward the end when he gets caught up in the reception and he thinks his daughter leaves without getting to say goodbye. In both cases, Tracy made the audience feel sympatico. They were both wonderful and emotional moments that others (certainly not the wild and crazy guy) would not be able to pull off. Many actors specialize in showing certain emotions or portraying certain characters, and having successful careers doing so (see Wayne, John), but Tracy can do everything.
His best scene is the night before the wedding when neither he or his daughter could sleep. There were both downstairs drinking milk and having a snack. Tracy was scared to death (dreaming that he showed up drunk at the wedding and couldn't make it down the aisle...trust me, that is embarrassing), but he found out Liz was too (this was the first of her 27 weddings). So while still subtlely showing his fear to the audience, he was able to act as her rock and calm her down. Just marvelous.
A couple of years ago when Hanks won his second straight Oscar, he became the second man to do it twice in a row along with Spence, so the inevitable comparison went up. That was the reason I started the push for my return because no one stated what a joke that was. Tracy could have and should have won four more. There is no comparison. Tracy's the man and Hanks is the boy.
Once again, run to see this. If you already saw the Martin one and figure there's no need to see this...I still have some anthrax left.
Friday, June 09, 2006
Sweet Smell of Success *****
In my right hand, I'm holding a beautiful martini with two ripe green olives resting at the bottom of the glass. An absolutely perfect shake - no bruising at all. This will probably be the first of several I will have over the course of our next movie, so if we get a little incoherent at the end, that would be why.
What's the reason for celebrating, you might ask? Because we're going back to 1950s Manhattan, the home of the 21, Toots Shor's, the Copacabana, Jack Dempsey's and the Stork Club. The time and the place where all men were debonair and wore fedoras, all women were elegant and wore gowns and all hat check girls went home with me. Today, we're reviewing The Sweet Smell of Success. How do the kids say it today...boo yah?
This one came out after my untimely passing, so I didn't get a chance to see it until I got up here which took some string pulling and deal making to even get past the pearly gates, so I actually missed the first run as well. But it was worth the wait.
The film starts with a kick ass wailing jazz theme by Elmer Bernstein. I could tell you the basic story, it's not too complicated, but it doesn't do this flick justice. Alex Mackendrick was the director, but he really never did anything thing of note before or after this, so considering his pedigree, I have to guess legendary screenwriter Ernie Lehman had influence here. Cliff Odets is a co-writer, but this is not really his style, so it's tough to see his contribution. At least that's what I thought at first, but after taking everything into consideration, this is a Cliff Odets operation. There's an old saying about picking fights with guys who buy ink by the barrel. Orson Welles once decided to pick a fight with newspaper titan William Randolph Hearst and he ended up making fish stick commercials. Even though Ernie Lehman, an up-and-comer at the time, wrote the original novella, there's a big difference between a novella and a feature-length film. Lehman wanted nothing to do with this stick of dynamite. The only guy that would burn both sides of a bridge that he was standing on would either have to be insane or dead already. Odets was probably both. When the Communist Witch Hunt started, the famed playwrite Odets was public enemy number one and there weren't enough rocks for his former friends to crawl out from under. They came from everywhere trying to find more room on his back to shove another shiv. Kazan stabbed him, then ran him over in his Corvette, then backed up.
Sweet Smell of Success, the movie, was written by an angry, bitter man, who had no fear. Sweet Smell of Success was written by Cliff Odets.
Either way the dialogue here is just marvelous. I make it a point to fit a few of the quotes from this movie into regular conversation everyday. Try it, it's fun. Right before a big meeting with your boss, tell you co-worker to "watch me run the 50 yard-dash with my legs cut off." Or when you wife asks you to take out the garbage, tell her that "the cat's in the bag and the bag's in the river." How 'bout after your kid comes in late and starts pleading for mercy, you say "you're dead son. Get yourself buried." The possibilities are endless.
But I digress. Back to our feature. Between the writing, the beautiful camera work by noted noir DP James Wong Howe (the streets look like it's rained though the whole movie), and the acting - oh what acting. Like Double Indemnity, the acting here is a little top heavy with Lancaster doing phenomenal work and Curtis even better, but it's written that way. These two are virtually in every scene - Lancaster storming threw frames and Curtis slithering around them - and they drive the picture.
The story line is pretty simple. Sidney Falco (Curtis) is a press agent who makes his living feeding stuff to the heavyweight gossip columnist in New York, J.J. Hunsecker (Lancaster). But when the movie starts, times are tough for Sidney because he is frozen out of the Hunsecker column. Why is not clear in the beginning of the picture, but later on it's learned that Hunsecker asked Falco to break his sister's engagement and Falco botched it. Hunsecker's got a little incest thing going on here. It's understandable. She's damn cute. Can't even taste the gin in this one.
Well, anyway, Falco follows Hunsecker around, begs for forgiveness and tries to hustle up business on his own, but none of this works, so he begs Hunsecker for one last shot to break off the relationship. Hunsecker agrees on one condition. He doesn't want to just end the relationship now, he wants to destroy the punk. See, earlier on in the movie, during another one of Falco's breakup attempts, not only did it fail, but the punk (I don't remember who played him and I don't care. He was boring as hell and quite as ass to boot) mouthed off to J.J. in public. That isn't done, so now the punk gets the death penalty and Hunsecker offers Falco his column during J.J.'s vacation if he can get this horrible plan done. Falco agrees. Go rent it and find out of rest for yourself.
The plot doesn't mean much here. This one is made in the Wilder and Hawks style where the story is just and excuse to have great looking scenes with memorable dialogue between engaging characters and you get that in spades here. I can't think of too many throwaway scenes. The only potential problems are when Curtis or Lancaster run up against one of the lesser actors (like what'shisname), but to solve that Tony and Burt just roll over them like tar. End of problem.
I am biased here, because I am a Tony Curtis guy. I know he's become a characture of himself with that towering gray pompadour and the huge gut, but his stuff in the '50s was just great. Between this and The Defiant Ones and Sparticus and The Great Race and Some Like it Hot, he was just feeling it for a good seven or eight years there. This is his best movie. He steals every scene that isn't nailed down here and he's in most of the scenes. Just great work. I get emotional after...what is this?...seven martinis. I'm starting to remember those good old days when I could walked down Broadway, hold out my cigarette and yell "match me" and four weaselly little press agents like Falco would come running, matches in hand. It was beautiful.
Overall, nothing today compares to this movie. So if you can't decide whether to rent this or Failure to Launch, do a public service and get spade or neutered, so at least you can't reproduce.
What's the reason for celebrating, you might ask? Because we're going back to 1950s Manhattan, the home of the 21, Toots Shor's, the Copacabana, Jack Dempsey's and the Stork Club. The time and the place where all men were debonair and wore fedoras, all women were elegant and wore gowns and all hat check girls went home with me. Today, we're reviewing The Sweet Smell of Success. How do the kids say it today...boo yah?
This one came out after my untimely passing, so I didn't get a chance to see it until I got up here which took some string pulling and deal making to even get past the pearly gates, so I actually missed the first run as well. But it was worth the wait.
The film starts with a kick ass wailing jazz theme by Elmer Bernstein. I could tell you the basic story, it's not too complicated, but it doesn't do this flick justice. Alex Mackendrick was the director, but he really never did anything thing of note before or after this, so considering his pedigree, I have to guess legendary screenwriter Ernie Lehman had influence here. Cliff Odets is a co-writer, but this is not really his style, so it's tough to see his contribution. At least that's what I thought at first, but after taking everything into consideration, this is a Cliff Odets operation. There's an old saying about picking fights with guys who buy ink by the barrel. Orson Welles once decided to pick a fight with newspaper titan William Randolph Hearst and he ended up making fish stick commercials. Even though Ernie Lehman, an up-and-comer at the time, wrote the original novella, there's a big difference between a novella and a feature-length film. Lehman wanted nothing to do with this stick of dynamite. The only guy that would burn both sides of a bridge that he was standing on would either have to be insane or dead already. Odets was probably both. When the Communist Witch Hunt started, the famed playwrite Odets was public enemy number one and there weren't enough rocks for his former friends to crawl out from under. They came from everywhere trying to find more room on his back to shove another shiv. Kazan stabbed him, then ran him over in his Corvette, then backed up.
Sweet Smell of Success, the movie, was written by an angry, bitter man, who had no fear. Sweet Smell of Success was written by Cliff Odets.
Either way the dialogue here is just marvelous. I make it a point to fit a few of the quotes from this movie into regular conversation everyday. Try it, it's fun. Right before a big meeting with your boss, tell you co-worker to "watch me run the 50 yard-dash with my legs cut off." Or when you wife asks you to take out the garbage, tell her that "the cat's in the bag and the bag's in the river." How 'bout after your kid comes in late and starts pleading for mercy, you say "you're dead son. Get yourself buried." The possibilities are endless.
But I digress. Back to our feature. Between the writing, the beautiful camera work by noted noir DP James Wong Howe (the streets look like it's rained though the whole movie), and the acting - oh what acting. Like Double Indemnity, the acting here is a little top heavy with Lancaster doing phenomenal work and Curtis even better, but it's written that way. These two are virtually in every scene - Lancaster storming threw frames and Curtis slithering around them - and they drive the picture.
The story line is pretty simple. Sidney Falco (Curtis) is a press agent who makes his living feeding stuff to the heavyweight gossip columnist in New York, J.J. Hunsecker (Lancaster). But when the movie starts, times are tough for Sidney because he is frozen out of the Hunsecker column. Why is not clear in the beginning of the picture, but later on it's learned that Hunsecker asked Falco to break his sister's engagement and Falco botched it. Hunsecker's got a little incest thing going on here. It's understandable. She's damn cute. Can't even taste the gin in this one.
Well, anyway, Falco follows Hunsecker around, begs for forgiveness and tries to hustle up business on his own, but none of this works, so he begs Hunsecker for one last shot to break off the relationship. Hunsecker agrees on one condition. He doesn't want to just end the relationship now, he wants to destroy the punk. See, earlier on in the movie, during another one of Falco's breakup attempts, not only did it fail, but the punk (I don't remember who played him and I don't care. He was boring as hell and quite as ass to boot) mouthed off to J.J. in public. That isn't done, so now the punk gets the death penalty and Hunsecker offers Falco his column during J.J.'s vacation if he can get this horrible plan done. Falco agrees. Go rent it and find out of rest for yourself.
The plot doesn't mean much here. This one is made in the Wilder and Hawks style where the story is just and excuse to have great looking scenes with memorable dialogue between engaging characters and you get that in spades here. I can't think of too many throwaway scenes. The only potential problems are when Curtis or Lancaster run up against one of the lesser actors (like what'shisname), but to solve that Tony and Burt just roll over them like tar. End of problem.
I am biased here, because I am a Tony Curtis guy. I know he's become a characture of himself with that towering gray pompadour and the huge gut, but his stuff in the '50s was just great. Between this and The Defiant Ones and Sparticus and The Great Race and Some Like it Hot, he was just feeling it for a good seven or eight years there. This is his best movie. He steals every scene that isn't nailed down here and he's in most of the scenes. Just great work. I get emotional after...what is this?...seven martinis. I'm starting to remember those good old days when I could walked down Broadway, hold out my cigarette and yell "match me" and four weaselly little press agents like Falco would come running, matches in hand. It was beautiful.
Overall, nothing today compares to this movie. So if you can't decide whether to rent this or Failure to Launch, do a public service and get spade or neutered, so at least you can't reproduce.
Only Angels Have Wings *****
Back in the 1940s, when I was a boozy, thinner version of Roger Ebert, my most famous review was regarding Chaplin's first talkie called Monsieur Verdoux. Every critic hated it and it tanked at the box office. I became the film's John the Baptist and kept writing about it and kept calling the other critics idiots and kept pushing the film, which I thought was one of the greatest of all time.
The movie is now considered a classic. Which would make me right...again. And to all my collegues at the time, RIDE ON THIS!!! I'm looking at you, Bosley Crowthers. Go screw. The New York Times should hire you back, just so they could fire you again. No talent hack.
Okay, back on point. In the case of the movie here, I'm 60 years late, but not too late to work my magic, so I'm picking up the baton now for Only Angels Have Wings. I've never read anything bad about it. It's just ignored.
I missed this one when it originally premiered, so the first time I saw this movie was a few years ago when my back started acting up at about 3 a.m. one night and I couldn't sleep, so I started flipping though the channels and there it was. There were no red flags here, just all black and white, down and dirty, Cary-Grant-Thomas-Mitchell-Howard-Hawks-1930s goodness. It was just...just...just great. That's the only word I can come up with for it. I kept thinking over and over again, "why have I never seen this before?"
Onto the plot, Bonnie Lee (Jean Arthur) gets stuck at this South American airport where she meets two cargo pilots. Both take her out to dinner and start working on her. Before dinner is served one gets called away to make a drop off. This is where we meet Geoff Carter, the boss, and Cary Grant is one of his better ones. Cynical, dark, funny with that screw you look that is lost in many of his light comedies, he's just great (there's that phrase again) here.
As far as business goes for Cary, there is one problem, actually two. First of all, the planes have to get over the Andies to go anywhere. Second, the planes aren't good enough to do it. So the pilots have to fly virtually blind though fog to get to this small pass between the mountains. It's almost a suicide mission, but these guys are so good they do it over and over.
Bonnie's friend almost makes it. He probably would have if it took it around one more time, but he was in a rush to see Bonnie. These scenes is a white-knuckler and a perfect example of less is more and greatness through editing. Hawks cuts from the pilot's POV, to the plane, to the look of tension on the faces of those guiding him in, over and over again. It's brilliant work and standard operating procedure for Hawks.
After the pilot's death, the guys all eat and sing because what else are you going to do - cry? If you did that each time someone died then it's over. Bonnie doesn't get it. Geoff's friend Kid (Thomas Mitchell doing his thing) tries to explain it to her, but she can't and won't grasp it. I'm not a big Jean Arthur fan and her role is a plot device here to introduce you to everyone and push everything along. It works.
Geoff can't mourn because he needs a new pilot. One died and he had to ground Kid due to bad eyesight. Enter Bat Kilgallen (Richard Barthelmess) to fill that void. Barthelmess was usually a leading man back in the early 30s, but he was starting to slip at this point. He did some nice work here though.
There's one problem with Bat. Geoff often forgets a name, but he never forgets a face. Bat's real name is MacPherson and he was involved in an accident where he jumped out of a plane and left his mechanic to die. That mechanic was Kid's brother. After Geoff keeps his crew from lynching MacPherson, he agrees to keep him on only for suicide missions. The first was to get a doctor to over the Andies through pea-soup fog to a dying boy. The second was to take a load of nitro to a destination over the mountains. Geoff called him off this mission because it got too dangerous, but Bat was willing to go. This proved his courage.
At the end there was one more suicide mail delivery. It had to go within the hour in order for the company to survive by getting a huge contract with the US Postal Service. Geoff wanted to go, but Bonnie shot him in the arm to prevent it. It had to be Bat one last time and Kid volunteered to go as his engineer. I'll stop there.
This is Grant's and Hawk's best work and that's saying a lot. The locale is great. The drama is built in with a beautiful Jules Furthman script. There's back story up the wazoo here. All the players have it running on all cylinders. I don't know who the editor was, but this deserved an Oscar just for the flight scenes. It was 95 minutes and it felt like a sitcom. Was there any redeeming social value in this movie? Not really. Don't care. It was fun.
This one's a little tough to find. Might need Amazon here, but it won't be too expensive and it's worth it. Just a kick ass little movie.
The movie is now considered a classic. Which would make me right...again. And to all my collegues at the time, RIDE ON THIS!!! I'm looking at you, Bosley Crowthers. Go screw. The New York Times should hire you back, just so they could fire you again. No talent hack.
Okay, back on point. In the case of the movie here, I'm 60 years late, but not too late to work my magic, so I'm picking up the baton now for Only Angels Have Wings. I've never read anything bad about it. It's just ignored.
I missed this one when it originally premiered, so the first time I saw this movie was a few years ago when my back started acting up at about 3 a.m. one night and I couldn't sleep, so I started flipping though the channels and there it was. There were no red flags here, just all black and white, down and dirty, Cary-Grant-Thomas-Mitchell-Howard-Hawks-1930s goodness. It was just...just...just great. That's the only word I can come up with for it. I kept thinking over and over again, "why have I never seen this before?"
Onto the plot, Bonnie Lee (Jean Arthur) gets stuck at this South American airport where she meets two cargo pilots. Both take her out to dinner and start working on her. Before dinner is served one gets called away to make a drop off. This is where we meet Geoff Carter, the boss, and Cary Grant is one of his better ones. Cynical, dark, funny with that screw you look that is lost in many of his light comedies, he's just great (there's that phrase again) here.
As far as business goes for Cary, there is one problem, actually two. First of all, the planes have to get over the Andies to go anywhere. Second, the planes aren't good enough to do it. So the pilots have to fly virtually blind though fog to get to this small pass between the mountains. It's almost a suicide mission, but these guys are so good they do it over and over.
Bonnie's friend almost makes it. He probably would have if it took it around one more time, but he was in a rush to see Bonnie. These scenes is a white-knuckler and a perfect example of less is more and greatness through editing. Hawks cuts from the pilot's POV, to the plane, to the look of tension on the faces of those guiding him in, over and over again. It's brilliant work and standard operating procedure for Hawks.
After the pilot's death, the guys all eat and sing because what else are you going to do - cry? If you did that each time someone died then it's over. Bonnie doesn't get it. Geoff's friend Kid (Thomas Mitchell doing his thing) tries to explain it to her, but she can't and won't grasp it. I'm not a big Jean Arthur fan and her role is a plot device here to introduce you to everyone and push everything along. It works.
Geoff can't mourn because he needs a new pilot. One died and he had to ground Kid due to bad eyesight. Enter Bat Kilgallen (Richard Barthelmess) to fill that void. Barthelmess was usually a leading man back in the early 30s, but he was starting to slip at this point. He did some nice work here though.
There's one problem with Bat. Geoff often forgets a name, but he never forgets a face. Bat's real name is MacPherson and he was involved in an accident where he jumped out of a plane and left his mechanic to die. That mechanic was Kid's brother. After Geoff keeps his crew from lynching MacPherson, he agrees to keep him on only for suicide missions. The first was to get a doctor to over the Andies through pea-soup fog to a dying boy. The second was to take a load of nitro to a destination over the mountains. Geoff called him off this mission because it got too dangerous, but Bat was willing to go. This proved his courage.
At the end there was one more suicide mail delivery. It had to go within the hour in order for the company to survive by getting a huge contract with the US Postal Service. Geoff wanted to go, but Bonnie shot him in the arm to prevent it. It had to be Bat one last time and Kid volunteered to go as his engineer. I'll stop there.
This is Grant's and Hawk's best work and that's saying a lot. The locale is great. The drama is built in with a beautiful Jules Furthman script. There's back story up the wazoo here. All the players have it running on all cylinders. I don't know who the editor was, but this deserved an Oscar just for the flight scenes. It was 95 minutes and it felt like a sitcom. Was there any redeeming social value in this movie? Not really. Don't care. It was fun.
This one's a little tough to find. Might need Amazon here, but it won't be too expensive and it's worth it. Just a kick ass little movie.
Double Indemnity *****
Every five or six years someone tries to remake Double Indemnity. The remake might not be about an insurance salesman, but it's the same basic idea of woman domineering some dupe leading to a murder (Body Heat comes to mind).
This movie is based on a great James M. Cain novella, which was also based on a true story which took place in California. The insurance salesman guy was so whipped in the script that just about every leading guy in 1940s Hollywood turned it down. Finally a minor star decided to give it a shot and Billy Wilder had to talk HIM into it. The role made him a star.
In these days before the newfangled cable crap with 7,000 station all on 24 hours, there was only one thing on in Boston on a Sunday night after the news - Frank Avruch and The Great Entertainment on Channel 5 (for some reason we get great reception from Boston up here). I can still see the opening of that show in my mind's eye and that show's been off the air for years. Love Frank Avruch. Love Frank's rug. Usually love his movie tastes. But on one Sunday, he said he has a classic for us...starring Fred MacMurray...huh?...ugh!
Great! Flubber. My Three Sons. Before I could get up to change the channel, he also mentioned Edward G. Robinson...okay, I'll give it a shot. Thank God for the lack of a remote control in my dingy little apartment back then. Paradise, my ass.
Now, I guess I reviewed this ages ago when it just came out and I really wasn't too into it. I've got the review here somewhere...one second...here it is. And I quote, "In many ways Double Indemnity is really quite a gratifying and even a good movie, essentially cheap I will grant, but smart and crisp like a whole type of American film which developed softening of the brain after the early thirties. But if at the same time you are watching for all that could have been got out of it, you cannot help being disappointed as well as pleased." That's from the October 14, 1944 issue of "The Nation." I don't know. Back then, I hated giving glowing notices to anything. Makes you look like some ass kisser like all the guys today that you see quoted on every billboard. Of course earlier in the review, I compared it to Madame Bovary, so with that in mind and the fact that I don't remember watching this the first time, we'll just assume I was sauced up during this one.
Right from the opening scene where Walter Neff (MacMurray), bleeding, starts to tell his story into a dictaphone (tape recorder for the 40s), this movie oozes attitude and atmosphere. All you have to do is hear the dialogue for five minutes and you know Raymond Chandler had a hand in it. ("You're not smarter, Walter. Just taller.")
The basic plot is Neff, a slick insurance salesman for Pacific All-Risk, goes to the valley to talk to a client about some renewals. Mr. Dietrichson is not there. But Mrs. Dietrichson (Barbara Stanwyck) is. She is just wearing a towel when Neff first sees her and he wants her. Neff drops a couple of lines to the "cleaning woman" ("The liquor cabnet is locked." "Don't worry. I always bring my own key.") while Phyllis gets dressed. Once "fully covered," Phyllis tries to be helpful since her husband is not there. She flirts with him, asks him about all kinds of other insurance, she's especially interested about accident insurance. You never know when one of those crown blocks might fall on that poor unlucky Mr. Dietrichson. He's in construction, you know. Neff gets the hint, tells her to go to hell and leaves.
But he can't let it drop. Even after a little bowling and a glass of beer, he can't let it drop. He knows the business back and forth and it would be like a roulette coupier rigging the wheel. Phyllis shows up at his house later that night and after sex, he comes up with a full proof plan to not only get the insurance money, but hit it for double indemnity (a clause to double the pay out in the case of an unusual type of death)...but there's one mistake and finally claims manager Barton Keyes (Robinson) pounces.
It's worth it to see this movie for Robinson alone. He has several great scenes. One took place with Neff while they were meeting with the boss. The boss was convinced that Mr. Dietrichson's death was a suicide. Keyes, realizing the man was a minion and far from his intellectual equal, finally exploded, listing off all of the actuarial tables that he knows and the boss doesn't, tells the boss he's a moron, apologizes for not wearing a tuxedo, and takes the bosses water...thank you very much...and storms out of the room. I swear in the middle of that scene they should have stopped the movie and just awarded the the Oscar right there. Of course that would make sense, so why bother.
MacMurray's wise ass, cynical and slick salesman was completely again type as compared to all of the roles that he's known for and here he was great. Completely opened my eyes to Fred. (To digress for a second, I once heard a story about Fred where it was said he was so cheap that even when he was a big star, he would bring a hard boiled egg in a brown paper bag to the set for lunch every day. One guy he worked with said he would bring Easter eggs as well...IN AUGUST!!! I have no clue what that has to do with anything.) I've never been a big Stanwyck fan and I sure as hell don't get her as a sex symbol, but she's perfect here. Everyone else basically sucks, except Porter Hall, but Billy Wilder, the director, does a good job hiding them. Hall played the last person to see Diectrichson alive. This made him a very important witness for Neff. He was only in the movie for one scene, but he stuck out and I now know where Medford, Oregon is. ("I'm a Medford man; Medford, Oregon. If I say it, I mean it and if I mean it I'll swear to it...allexpensespaidright.")
The music is moody and perfect. The dialogue drives the story on top of being witty and filled with innuendo. (This is a big difference between movies today and back then. Writers then has a strict code they had to follow and were forced to slip things in subtlely. It's truly beautiful when done well). The acting by the three leads is great.
Overall I have a personal test I use to judge if a movie is near perfect. How many times do I groan during the course of a picture? For example, the "rain drops keep falling on my head" scene from Butch and Sundance elicited about five groans, an unfortunate slip in an otherwise great movie.
In conclusion, if you haven't seen this movie you're a moron and will continue to be one until you fix this problem.
This movie is based on a great James M. Cain novella, which was also based on a true story which took place in California. The insurance salesman guy was so whipped in the script that just about every leading guy in 1940s Hollywood turned it down. Finally a minor star decided to give it a shot and Billy Wilder had to talk HIM into it. The role made him a star.
In these days before the newfangled cable crap with 7,000 station all on 24 hours, there was only one thing on in Boston on a Sunday night after the news - Frank Avruch and The Great Entertainment on Channel 5 (for some reason we get great reception from Boston up here). I can still see the opening of that show in my mind's eye and that show's been off the air for years. Love Frank Avruch. Love Frank's rug. Usually love his movie tastes. But on one Sunday, he said he has a classic for us...starring Fred MacMurray...huh?...ugh!
Great! Flubber. My Three Sons. Before I could get up to change the channel, he also mentioned Edward G. Robinson...okay, I'll give it a shot. Thank God for the lack of a remote control in my dingy little apartment back then. Paradise, my ass.
Now, I guess I reviewed this ages ago when it just came out and I really wasn't too into it. I've got the review here somewhere...one second...here it is. And I quote, "In many ways Double Indemnity is really quite a gratifying and even a good movie, essentially cheap I will grant, but smart and crisp like a whole type of American film which developed softening of the brain after the early thirties. But if at the same time you are watching for all that could have been got out of it, you cannot help being disappointed as well as pleased." That's from the October 14, 1944 issue of "The Nation." I don't know. Back then, I hated giving glowing notices to anything. Makes you look like some ass kisser like all the guys today that you see quoted on every billboard. Of course earlier in the review, I compared it to Madame Bovary, so with that in mind and the fact that I don't remember watching this the first time, we'll just assume I was sauced up during this one.
Right from the opening scene where Walter Neff (MacMurray), bleeding, starts to tell his story into a dictaphone (tape recorder for the 40s), this movie oozes attitude and atmosphere. All you have to do is hear the dialogue for five minutes and you know Raymond Chandler had a hand in it. ("You're not smarter, Walter. Just taller.")
The basic plot is Neff, a slick insurance salesman for Pacific All-Risk, goes to the valley to talk to a client about some renewals. Mr. Dietrichson is not there. But Mrs. Dietrichson (Barbara Stanwyck) is. She is just wearing a towel when Neff first sees her and he wants her. Neff drops a couple of lines to the "cleaning woman" ("The liquor cabnet is locked." "Don't worry. I always bring my own key.") while Phyllis gets dressed. Once "fully covered," Phyllis tries to be helpful since her husband is not there. She flirts with him, asks him about all kinds of other insurance, she's especially interested about accident insurance. You never know when one of those crown blocks might fall on that poor unlucky Mr. Dietrichson. He's in construction, you know. Neff gets the hint, tells her to go to hell and leaves.
But he can't let it drop. Even after a little bowling and a glass of beer, he can't let it drop. He knows the business back and forth and it would be like a roulette coupier rigging the wheel. Phyllis shows up at his house later that night and after sex, he comes up with a full proof plan to not only get the insurance money, but hit it for double indemnity (a clause to double the pay out in the case of an unusual type of death)...but there's one mistake and finally claims manager Barton Keyes (Robinson) pounces.
It's worth it to see this movie for Robinson alone. He has several great scenes. One took place with Neff while they were meeting with the boss. The boss was convinced that Mr. Dietrichson's death was a suicide. Keyes, realizing the man was a minion and far from his intellectual equal, finally exploded, listing off all of the actuarial tables that he knows and the boss doesn't, tells the boss he's a moron, apologizes for not wearing a tuxedo, and takes the bosses water...thank you very much...and storms out of the room. I swear in the middle of that scene they should have stopped the movie and just awarded the the Oscar right there. Of course that would make sense, so why bother.
MacMurray's wise ass, cynical and slick salesman was completely again type as compared to all of the roles that he's known for and here he was great. Completely opened my eyes to Fred. (To digress for a second, I once heard a story about Fred where it was said he was so cheap that even when he was a big star, he would bring a hard boiled egg in a brown paper bag to the set for lunch every day. One guy he worked with said he would bring Easter eggs as well...IN AUGUST!!! I have no clue what that has to do with anything.) I've never been a big Stanwyck fan and I sure as hell don't get her as a sex symbol, but she's perfect here. Everyone else basically sucks, except Porter Hall, but Billy Wilder, the director, does a good job hiding them. Hall played the last person to see Diectrichson alive. This made him a very important witness for Neff. He was only in the movie for one scene, but he stuck out and I now know where Medford, Oregon is. ("I'm a Medford man; Medford, Oregon. If I say it, I mean it and if I mean it I'll swear to it...allexpensespaidright.")
The music is moody and perfect. The dialogue drives the story on top of being witty and filled with innuendo. (This is a big difference between movies today and back then. Writers then has a strict code they had to follow and were forced to slip things in subtlely. It's truly beautiful when done well). The acting by the three leads is great.
Overall I have a personal test I use to judge if a movie is near perfect. How many times do I groan during the course of a picture? For example, the "rain drops keep falling on my head" scene from Butch and Sundance elicited about five groans, an unfortunate slip in an otherwise great movie.
In conclusion, if you haven't seen this movie you're a moron and will continue to be one until you fix this problem.
The return of James Agee
It's been over 50 years since I've written a review. Over fifty years since I've been alive actually. Back in the days when I wrote reviews for the Nation, I was the best and I had a lot of good stuff to work with. Now, the whiny little bitch DiCaprio screams "King of the World" in "Titanic," and everyone declares it a classic.
Because of this, I asked the almighty for a bit of a reprieve to educate some people about what real classics are (Wellman, Hawks and Ford backed me). He concurred and here I am. Some of these movies that I will talk about here are well known. Some are not, but should be. It's your job to run and go see these the second you finish each review.
I'll try to do a few of these reviews a week. They could be documentaries, foreign movies, or the American types. Most of these movies will be from the teens, '20s, '30s, and '40s...but there are exceptions. The '70s is my second favorite decade for films outside of the '40s. And every once in a while (IN A RARE WHILE) something measures up from today.
If I'm in a really pissed off mood, I'll do a classic bad movie so I can rip it to shreads.
But for the first one, we'll go with a pantheon-level, five star classic - Double Indemnity. This should be a movie IQ test for anyone. Anyone who does not think this movie is amazing is basically not worth your time. Talk about the weather or politics instead.
Because of this, I asked the almighty for a bit of a reprieve to educate some people about what real classics are (Wellman, Hawks and Ford backed me). He concurred and here I am. Some of these movies that I will talk about here are well known. Some are not, but should be. It's your job to run and go see these the second you finish each review.
I'll try to do a few of these reviews a week. They could be documentaries, foreign movies, or the American types. Most of these movies will be from the teens, '20s, '30s, and '40s...but there are exceptions. The '70s is my second favorite decade for films outside of the '40s. And every once in a while (IN A RARE WHILE) something measures up from today.
If I'm in a really pissed off mood, I'll do a classic bad movie so I can rip it to shreads.
But for the first one, we'll go with a pantheon-level, five star classic - Double Indemnity. This should be a movie IQ test for anyone. Anyone who does not think this movie is amazing is basically not worth your time. Talk about the weather or politics instead.
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