I understand it’s a true story. At the end of the movie, a large, brooding man stands before a crowd of Jews during a ceremony in Jerusalem, honoring him as a “Righteous Person.” Everyone is there to honor him. Before he starts his speech, the man looks at a silver watch on his wrist with the stretched bands. He pulls the watch off and looks at it.
“I could have saved one with this. I could have saved one more.”
As his eyes tear up, he pulls off the golden ring off his left hand – off his ring finger. After staring at it for a couple of second, the tears run down his cheeks and he said to the crowd, but more to himself, “I could have save another with this. I had this then. I could have saved another.”
There’s an old saying in athletics – great teams aren’t always great; they’re just great when they have to be. The line can be used for humanity as well. People aren’t always great; they’re just great when they have to be.
Oskar Schindler wasn’t great before 1939 and he wasn’t great after 1945. He was just great when he had to be.
The chief goal of the human race is perfection. That goal has never been achieved and probably never will. This is a bad thing I guess for our people, but a good thing for literature. Perfect people are boring. Take Shakespeare for example – King Lear was not perfect, Hamlet was not perfect, and Richard III was sure as hell not perfect. Great literature is about people overcoming personnel defects and worldly obstacles. Without that drama, great fiction could not exist.
For many years, certainly when I was alive, this man did not get his due by a long shot, but it appears because of Thomas Keneally majestic book, Steven Zaillian’s beautiful screenplay, Steven Spielberg’s brilliant film and Liam Neeson’s chilling performance, he will not be not be forgotten.
Schindler’s List is about as perfect a movie as there is. The acting is superlative; the camera work is remarkable and you could tell Spielberg was feeling this.
For those who don’t know (and shame on you if you don’t), here’s the story. Oskar Schindler was a member of the Nazi party by convenience only. He didn’t like what they were doing, but he saw a business opportunity here. To borrow Zallian’s line, “I finally figured out what I needed to be a success. War.” Schindler owned an enamel factory that produced pots and pans and others items for the German war machine.
One of the first executives he hired was Itzhak Stern, a Jewish accountant (playing so brilliantly by Ben Kingsley that I didn’t even recognize him; it actually took me two screenings to realize that it was Ghandi). Stern took the opportunity to convince his boss to hire as many of his doomed race as possible to save them from the gas chamber. At great risk to both of them, Jews of various abilities were saved from the gas chamber by these heroic men. I’m not a big fan of the adjective heroic since it is so over used, but in this case it doesn’t say enough. At the end of the way, Schindler save about 1,100 Jews from execution.
The story itself is dramatic enough, but it is the little touches that Zaillian and Spielberg add that make this film truly great. How better to describe the horrors of the Nazis that to have a bunch of Jewish women in a gas chamber waiting for execution only to have water spill out of the spigots instead of the noxious fumes? How about Neeson sitting on horseback while watching Jews being herded into carts destined for the concentration camps agonizing what his country is doing? There’s also the brutal scene where Amon Goeth, the sadistic Nazi (sorry for the oxymoron) played memorably by Ralph Finnes, stood on his balcony, bare-chested, gut hanging out, with a rifle on his shoulder, picking off people below him.
With all that in mind, my favorite scene was when Oskar met one of Stern’s recent hires for the assembly line and realized that he only had one arm. As you read this dialogue, keep in mind that company’s like Schindler’s were only allowed to hire “useful” Jews, so this man, if caught, might have put the whole operation in jeopardy.
“The man only has one arm,” Schindler told his accountant.
“He’s very useful,” Stern said as he tries to walk away.
“He only has one arm!” Schindler said incredulously as he chases after his assistant.
“Very useful.”
In many films, you can tell who the driving force was, but as I’ve discovered over the decades, with the truly great films, there are many driving performers. In the case of this film, there’s Zaillian’s script, Janusz Kamiński’s haunting black and white photography, the great acting, Michael Kahn’s smooth editing, and so on.
The great directors, like Scorsese, Lubitsch, and many others, can credit to their success the ability to hire good and appropriate people for each job, and then guide them to their vision while mostly staying out of their way. Spielberg has not always been able to do this, but here he did. And it shows.
With all that said, the main reason this movie achieved greatness is the subject matter for whom history finally paid his due. Let me put it this way – I see Oskar up here. I don’t see Amon Goeth.
Monday, July 09, 2007
Saturday, July 07, 2007
The Trial of Billy Jack (- a lot of stars)
During The Trial of Billy Jack, the remake of the sadistically horrible Billy Jack, the title character tells his lawyer that “death” is his constant companion. Apparently, death doesn’t actually do anything, at least not to Billy Jack, it just hangs around. By the third hour of this movie, death was my only hope. I was even open to bribery.
By the way, that wasn’t a typo. Three hours. Three hours! Three God forsaken hours! Three hours of Billy Jack pulling off his shoes and socks off and kicking people. Three hours of Billy Jack whining about how the “system” is out to get him. Three hours. You go to hell, Laughlin. I hope you rocket to hell and burn in molten lava for eternity for inflicting this piece of feces on the world. I can’t believe someone read this script (written by guess who) and pulled out a real check and actually wrote numbers down, then signed it. What the hell is wrong with people?
Dolemite was better than this. At least, Dolemite was so bad it was funny. The only preaching (i.e. whining) in Dolemite was about the…uh…sanitary conditions in regards to some of the working girls.
The Trial in question is referring to the murder at the end of “Billy Jack – The First Abomination”. It was a very controversial case, considering the fact that, you know, he did it. There he goes. The Man’s sticking it to Billy Jack again. How dare they put Billy Jack in jail for killing other people? In all honesty, I was pissed off about the verdict as well. Involuntary manslaughter? I’m assuming this is over the Bernard thing after he raped Jean in “Billy Jack – The First Abomination”. If that’s the case, he wiped Bernard out in cold blood. I’m not saying Bernard wasn’t a swine and deserved to spend some quality time in agonizing pain, but so does Billy Jack as far as I’m concerned. Either way, it was murder. I can’t believe I’m analyzing this
The whole trial sequence lasts about 15 minutes - just enough time for Billy to explain to the court that the government is evil, the Marines are evil and he did the whole thing because of My Lai. You think I’m exaggerating? I’m just stunned that Laughlin, he of the Disraeli-sized monologues, actually kept this within 15 minutes. They probably let him off with involuntary manslaughter just to shut him up. Beside the point, I thought he killed Bernard because the kid raped Jean. How did Lt. Calley get into this? Maybe Bernard is a metaphor for William Calley. Sure.
Okay, so let me get this straight. The movie is called the Trial of Billy Jack, we’re 15 minutes in, the trial is over, and we’ve got 2 hours and 45 minutes to go. 165 minutes. Christ. The Ten Commandments wasn’t this long and that story might have been a little more, you know, significant. Don’t tell Laughlin that though. I really hate Tommy boy.
One hundred and 65 minutes. Gone with the Wind was only 42 minutes longer and that was unbearable. I can’t do this. I’ll be back.
That’s better. Seven old-fashioneds and a pack of cigarettes in a little over an hour and I’m ready to go. Well, the Freedom School, the place on Indian grounds that was the cause of all the problems the first time around, is doing well. They’ve expanded their curriculum to including band marching and belly dancing. Really.
Back when this was made, these Laughlin films were said to be wonderful for showing the plight of the Indians. I don’t get it. At least in Ford’s movies, the Native Americans fought back. Here they get their revenue by belly dancing them into the ground. To think that the incredible resourceful Native Americans would do that is in my mind offensive.
I like the true story better. The Indians take a tiny piece of land and beg for sovereignty from the feds. Once they get that they build the world’s biggest casino and send millions scurrying to Gambler’s Anonymous. When the money started rolling in, Uncle Sam, after damning the evils of gambling, of course, starts looking for his cut and, God bless them, the Indians respond with a short guttural verb followed by “you.” Sovereignty, remember. He he he. That’s how you stick it to the Man. Why doesn’t someone do a movie about this?
Where was I? Oh, so, some rich guy hates this school and does everything he can to polish them off. At least Ben Gazzara in Road House had a motive – greed. Unless the belly dancing industry has skyrocketed since I kicked off, these folks aren’t making any money.
Just when things look worse for the Freedom School, Billy Jack gets released. You’d think if the government is so against him, they would have left him in stir long enough for the Ben Gazzara guy to take over the school, but that’s neither here nor there, I guess. I spoke too soon, the F.B.I. is bugging the school because the kids start a newspaper and expose a scandal connecting American corporations (none specifically) to the energy crisis and the Israeli war. The Times dropped the ball on that one.
Thankfully, the “students” find and destroy the taps. They also invent a thinkymabob that, by analyzing a person's voice, can prove when someone’s lying. The person doesn’t even need to be in the room works just as well though the television screen or radio. Now this almost sounds interesting. Sounds like you could have the F.B.I. try to capture this secret and get thwarted by the very device they are trying to find. Of course, the thinnymabob is never mentioned again.
Now that Laughlin is out of jail, he has something very important to do before saving the little Einstein kids – vision quests. What the hell? Guess I’ve got to look this one up while pouring another drink.
I knew I was going to regret this.
“A vision quest is a rite of passage, similar to an initiation, in some Native American cultures. Vision quest preparations involve a time of fasting, the guidance of a tribal Medicine Man and sometimes ingestion of natural entheogens; this quest is undertaken for the first time in the early teenage years….” Whatever.
You pray to this guy, take mind altering stuff, nearly go insane and it lasts two to three days, just like watching this movie.
A bunch of stuff happens, a bomb goes off and the National Guard is sent in by the governor. In a subtle reference to Kent State, Laughlin has the Guard open fire on the school. After which, Laughlin defends the school against the soldiers (the platoon of soldiers, by the way) in a Mexican Standoff. Fade to Black
Of course, they don’t shoot him, just the kids. On one side you have a bunch of kids who can outsmart the F.B.I. and invent devices that N.A.S.A. couldn’t dream of and on the other side you have a guy who insists on taking off his sock every time he kicks someone.
There’s government efficiency for you.
By the way, that wasn’t a typo. Three hours. Three hours! Three God forsaken hours! Three hours of Billy Jack pulling off his shoes and socks off and kicking people. Three hours of Billy Jack whining about how the “system” is out to get him. Three hours. You go to hell, Laughlin. I hope you rocket to hell and burn in molten lava for eternity for inflicting this piece of feces on the world. I can’t believe someone read this script (written by guess who) and pulled out a real check and actually wrote numbers down, then signed it. What the hell is wrong with people?
Dolemite was better than this. At least, Dolemite was so bad it was funny. The only preaching (i.e. whining) in Dolemite was about the…uh…sanitary conditions in regards to some of the working girls.
The Trial in question is referring to the murder at the end of “Billy Jack – The First Abomination”. It was a very controversial case, considering the fact that, you know, he did it. There he goes. The Man’s sticking it to Billy Jack again. How dare they put Billy Jack in jail for killing other people? In all honesty, I was pissed off about the verdict as well. Involuntary manslaughter? I’m assuming this is over the Bernard thing after he raped Jean in “Billy Jack – The First Abomination”. If that’s the case, he wiped Bernard out in cold blood. I’m not saying Bernard wasn’t a swine and deserved to spend some quality time in agonizing pain, but so does Billy Jack as far as I’m concerned. Either way, it was murder. I can’t believe I’m analyzing this
The whole trial sequence lasts about 15 minutes - just enough time for Billy to explain to the court that the government is evil, the Marines are evil and he did the whole thing because of My Lai. You think I’m exaggerating? I’m just stunned that Laughlin, he of the Disraeli-sized monologues, actually kept this within 15 minutes. They probably let him off with involuntary manslaughter just to shut him up. Beside the point, I thought he killed Bernard because the kid raped Jean. How did Lt. Calley get into this? Maybe Bernard is a metaphor for William Calley. Sure.
Okay, so let me get this straight. The movie is called the Trial of Billy Jack, we’re 15 minutes in, the trial is over, and we’ve got 2 hours and 45 minutes to go. 165 minutes. Christ. The Ten Commandments wasn’t this long and that story might have been a little more, you know, significant. Don’t tell Laughlin that though. I really hate Tommy boy.
One hundred and 65 minutes. Gone with the Wind was only 42 minutes longer and that was unbearable. I can’t do this. I’ll be back.
That’s better. Seven old-fashioneds and a pack of cigarettes in a little over an hour and I’m ready to go. Well, the Freedom School, the place on Indian grounds that was the cause of all the problems the first time around, is doing well. They’ve expanded their curriculum to including band marching and belly dancing. Really.
Back when this was made, these Laughlin films were said to be wonderful for showing the plight of the Indians. I don’t get it. At least in Ford’s movies, the Native Americans fought back. Here they get their revenue by belly dancing them into the ground. To think that the incredible resourceful Native Americans would do that is in my mind offensive.
I like the true story better. The Indians take a tiny piece of land and beg for sovereignty from the feds. Once they get that they build the world’s biggest casino and send millions scurrying to Gambler’s Anonymous. When the money started rolling in, Uncle Sam, after damning the evils of gambling, of course, starts looking for his cut and, God bless them, the Indians respond with a short guttural verb followed by “you.” Sovereignty, remember. He he he. That’s how you stick it to the Man. Why doesn’t someone do a movie about this?
Where was I? Oh, so, some rich guy hates this school and does everything he can to polish them off. At least Ben Gazzara in Road House had a motive – greed. Unless the belly dancing industry has skyrocketed since I kicked off, these folks aren’t making any money.
Just when things look worse for the Freedom School, Billy Jack gets released. You’d think if the government is so against him, they would have left him in stir long enough for the Ben Gazzara guy to take over the school, but that’s neither here nor there, I guess. I spoke too soon, the F.B.I. is bugging the school because the kids start a newspaper and expose a scandal connecting American corporations (none specifically) to the energy crisis and the Israeli war. The Times dropped the ball on that one.
Thankfully, the “students” find and destroy the taps. They also invent a thinkymabob that, by analyzing a person's voice, can prove when someone’s lying. The person doesn’t even need to be in the room works just as well though the television screen or radio. Now this almost sounds interesting. Sounds like you could have the F.B.I. try to capture this secret and get thwarted by the very device they are trying to find. Of course, the thinnymabob is never mentioned again.
Now that Laughlin is out of jail, he has something very important to do before saving the little Einstein kids – vision quests. What the hell? Guess I’ve got to look this one up while pouring another drink.
I knew I was going to regret this.
“A vision quest is a rite of passage, similar to an initiation, in some Native American cultures. Vision quest preparations involve a time of fasting, the guidance of a tribal Medicine Man and sometimes ingestion of natural entheogens; this quest is undertaken for the first time in the early teenage years….” Whatever.
You pray to this guy, take mind altering stuff, nearly go insane and it lasts two to three days, just like watching this movie.
A bunch of stuff happens, a bomb goes off and the National Guard is sent in by the governor. In a subtle reference to Kent State, Laughlin has the Guard open fire on the school. After which, Laughlin defends the school against the soldiers (the platoon of soldiers, by the way) in a Mexican Standoff. Fade to Black
Of course, they don’t shoot him, just the kids. On one side you have a bunch of kids who can outsmart the F.B.I. and invent devices that N.A.S.A. couldn’t dream of and on the other side you have a guy who insists on taking off his sock every time he kicks someone.
There’s government efficiency for you.
Friday, June 22, 2007
AFI Top 100
Two stories from Hollywood lore:
First, years ago a screenwriter got aggravated about the whole damn process, so he took a script and sent it to 100 movie producers. I don't recall the exact numbers, but something like 94 of them hated it, 3 thought it had potential and the other three recognized it as Arthur Miller's classic "Death of a Salesman."
Years later, a screenplay called "The Madness of King George III" was making the rounds and it was universally (and correctly) hailed as a fine piece of writing. One producers was so impressed that he asked for a copy of the original and the sequel. I stop here so you can read that again. Of course, since society is happy to dumb everything down to the lowest common denominator (movie producers), the title was changed to "The Madness of King George."
Yes, folks, these are the voters for the American Film Institute list of the Top 100 Movies of All Time. With that in perspective, my expectations ended at the hope that "Billy Jack" was not included.
In all, the list is not the total horror show I was expecting. "Citizen Kane's" at one, which is where it has to be. I don't have a vast passion for the film, but there is no question that between the camera work, the screenplay, the acting and the editing, that it was revolutionary. Every movie that's worth a damn out there today and stolen from Orson Welles's classic. The two and three spots are taken by the Godfather and Casablanca respectively. I prefer Casablanca, but I can at least see the point of view of the hound here.
After that the moron contingent raises their voice. Raging Bull at Number 4? Raging Bull is a fine movie, but to put it ahead of at least 30 others on that list is laughable. Vertigo at Number 9? Hitchcock himself has made seven better movies. "Oh, honey, what was that movie where Jimmy Stewart played the necrophiliac? Come on, it's right on the tip of my tongue." The template for every feature-length movie ever made is "Birth of a Nation." I don't care what you think of the despicable content matter, this is a top ten film without question.
Overall, there was nothing completely offensive aside of the ubiquitous presence of Titanic (I keep having the dream about DiCaprio falling over and getting hit by the boat during the stupid "King of the World" scene). Some films are way too low (Maltese Falcon, Double Indemnity) and some are way to high (if you trimmed about three hours off of Gone with the Wind then maybe) and at least one is a little strange (Toy Story?), but nothing is worth wishing locusts on anyone's houses or anything like that.
But even if there was something offensive about this list, I still would still cede it merit if just one teen who just watched Scary Movie Part 42 looked at the list then asked about Treasure of the Sierra Madre.
Maybe because of this list someone will go out and rent City Lights or Chinatown or something that doesn't look like a chimp just threw someone of his own excrement against celluloid. Maybe someone young writer will be inspired by Doctor Strangelove instead of something by Ernest Going somewhere.
Do I really think this can help stem the tide of crap one person at a time?
Absolutely not. It's hopeless, but I'm completely loaded and I tend to get sentimental when I get loaded. Martguerita's anyone.
First, years ago a screenwriter got aggravated about the whole damn process, so he took a script and sent it to 100 movie producers. I don't recall the exact numbers, but something like 94 of them hated it, 3 thought it had potential and the other three recognized it as Arthur Miller's classic "Death of a Salesman."
Years later, a screenplay called "The Madness of King George III" was making the rounds and it was universally (and correctly) hailed as a fine piece of writing. One producers was so impressed that he asked for a copy of the original and the sequel. I stop here so you can read that again. Of course, since society is happy to dumb everything down to the lowest common denominator (movie producers), the title was changed to "The Madness of King George."
Yes, folks, these are the voters for the American Film Institute list of the Top 100 Movies of All Time. With that in perspective, my expectations ended at the hope that "Billy Jack" was not included.
In all, the list is not the total horror show I was expecting. "Citizen Kane's" at one, which is where it has to be. I don't have a vast passion for the film, but there is no question that between the camera work, the screenplay, the acting and the editing, that it was revolutionary. Every movie that's worth a damn out there today and stolen from Orson Welles's classic. The two and three spots are taken by the Godfather and Casablanca respectively. I prefer Casablanca, but I can at least see the point of view of the hound here.
After that the moron contingent raises their voice. Raging Bull at Number 4? Raging Bull is a fine movie, but to put it ahead of at least 30 others on that list is laughable. Vertigo at Number 9? Hitchcock himself has made seven better movies. "Oh, honey, what was that movie where Jimmy Stewart played the necrophiliac? Come on, it's right on the tip of my tongue." The template for every feature-length movie ever made is "Birth of a Nation." I don't care what you think of the despicable content matter, this is a top ten film without question.
Overall, there was nothing completely offensive aside of the ubiquitous presence of Titanic (I keep having the dream about DiCaprio falling over and getting hit by the boat during the stupid "King of the World" scene). Some films are way too low (Maltese Falcon, Double Indemnity) and some are way to high (if you trimmed about three hours off of Gone with the Wind then maybe) and at least one is a little strange (Toy Story?), but nothing is worth wishing locusts on anyone's houses or anything like that.
But even if there was something offensive about this list, I still would still cede it merit if just one teen who just watched Scary Movie Part 42 looked at the list then asked about Treasure of the Sierra Madre.
Maybe because of this list someone will go out and rent City Lights or Chinatown or something that doesn't look like a chimp just threw someone of his own excrement against celluloid. Maybe someone young writer will be inspired by Doctor Strangelove instead of something by Ernest Going somewhere.
Do I really think this can help stem the tide of crap one person at a time?
Absolutely not. It's hopeless, but I'm completely loaded and I tend to get sentimental when I get loaded. Martguerita's anyone.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Apocalypse Now ****
Well, the great journalist, author and gadfly David Halberstam just arrived about 10 years too soon and to celebrate my gain and your loss, I’ll break custom. I’ll take a request.
Dave would like me to look at his favorite movie about Vietnam, “Apocalypse Now.” No Martini’s for this one. Mai Tai’s all the way, baby. I’m on my forth as we speak.
Is Apocalypse the perfect movie? Absolutely not. Brando almost single handedly took care of that. But you just have to sit back and appreciate a director who wants it this bad. This may be the single most ambitious movie ever made. You’re talking big time when even Orson Welles has to give up on a project. And God Bless Him, Coppola nearly pulled it off.
If you want to know why I complain about guys like James Cameron and soulless movies like Titanic, check this one out. If you’re going to shoot the moon and try to make the greatest movie ever, this is how you do it, sacrificing your bankroll and sanity at the same time.
Coppola’s made better movies (The Godfather) and worse movies (One from the Heart), but nothing is as explosive and enthralling as this. Even the bad moments are thrilling.
The best way to describe Francis Ford Coppola here is to take a young Orson Welles and inject him with the DNA of Che Guevera, Pablo Picasso and Joseph Stalin.
Let me get the weak points out of the way early because I don’t want to dwell on them. First, the screenplay is all over the place. Coppola is a fine writer when he has a steadying influence with him like he did in the first two Godfathers and Patton. John Milius is many things in the world, but a steadying influence is not one of them.
Second, he used a lot of young actors and their inexperience shows in their inconsistency.
Third, Brando. What the hell. The character from Heart of Darkness is a lean hungry type. Brando got the hungry part down. He’s about the size of a Ford Caravan here and despite the fact that’s he’s about the only one not to get malaria from the cast, he’s sweating like he has the illness. On top of all that, there is a difference between adlibbing and not knowing your damn lines.
Aside of that, it’s just amazing.
The basic story, if I can try to sum it up (not an easy task here), is that Coppola wanted to try and do what many (including Welles) have failed to accomplish – make a film version of Joseph Conrad’s epic novel “Heart of Darkness.” Coppola’s take here is to transport the setting from the Congo to the jungles of Vietnam. Aside of that the story is basically the same, a soldier sent to take out this maniac hiding in the jungle, trying to start his own tribe, placing himself as a god.
Take that starting point and add the jungle, people going insane, natives, sea creatures, nude playmates, a great soundtrack, guerrilla war, exploding sets and anything else you could possible want for a Saturday night.
Plus, and this is the beautiful part, the film has a point. Through the insanity, Coppola tries and damn near succeeds in capturing the madness of Vietnam – the war that broke all conventions. I asked Dave about it’s accuracy in theme and he said it wasn’t far off.
If you’re up for a double feature, check out the documentary about the making of the movie. It’s almost better than the movie itself. How Coppola let his wife conduct all these interviews and shoot all this inside film is beyond me?
Overall, the film is not as muscular and faultless as, say, Lawrence of Arabia, but after finishing this, I don’t think you’ll care. Another Mai Tai?
Dave would like me to look at his favorite movie about Vietnam, “Apocalypse Now.” No Martini’s for this one. Mai Tai’s all the way, baby. I’m on my forth as we speak.
Is Apocalypse the perfect movie? Absolutely not. Brando almost single handedly took care of that. But you just have to sit back and appreciate a director who wants it this bad. This may be the single most ambitious movie ever made. You’re talking big time when even Orson Welles has to give up on a project. And God Bless Him, Coppola nearly pulled it off.
If you want to know why I complain about guys like James Cameron and soulless movies like Titanic, check this one out. If you’re going to shoot the moon and try to make the greatest movie ever, this is how you do it, sacrificing your bankroll and sanity at the same time.
Coppola’s made better movies (The Godfather) and worse movies (One from the Heart), but nothing is as explosive and enthralling as this. Even the bad moments are thrilling.
The best way to describe Francis Ford Coppola here is to take a young Orson Welles and inject him with the DNA of Che Guevera, Pablo Picasso and Joseph Stalin.
Let me get the weak points out of the way early because I don’t want to dwell on them. First, the screenplay is all over the place. Coppola is a fine writer when he has a steadying influence with him like he did in the first two Godfathers and Patton. John Milius is many things in the world, but a steadying influence is not one of them.
Second, he used a lot of young actors and their inexperience shows in their inconsistency.
Third, Brando. What the hell. The character from Heart of Darkness is a lean hungry type. Brando got the hungry part down. He’s about the size of a Ford Caravan here and despite the fact that’s he’s about the only one not to get malaria from the cast, he’s sweating like he has the illness. On top of all that, there is a difference between adlibbing and not knowing your damn lines.
Aside of that, it’s just amazing.
The basic story, if I can try to sum it up (not an easy task here), is that Coppola wanted to try and do what many (including Welles) have failed to accomplish – make a film version of Joseph Conrad’s epic novel “Heart of Darkness.” Coppola’s take here is to transport the setting from the Congo to the jungles of Vietnam. Aside of that the story is basically the same, a soldier sent to take out this maniac hiding in the jungle, trying to start his own tribe, placing himself as a god.
Take that starting point and add the jungle, people going insane, natives, sea creatures, nude playmates, a great soundtrack, guerrilla war, exploding sets and anything else you could possible want for a Saturday night.
Plus, and this is the beautiful part, the film has a point. Through the insanity, Coppola tries and damn near succeeds in capturing the madness of Vietnam – the war that broke all conventions. I asked Dave about it’s accuracy in theme and he said it wasn’t far off.
If you’re up for a double feature, check out the documentary about the making of the movie. It’s almost better than the movie itself. How Coppola let his wife conduct all these interviews and shoot all this inside film is beyond me?
Overall, the film is not as muscular and faultless as, say, Lawrence of Arabia, but after finishing this, I don’t think you’ll care. Another Mai Tai?
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
The Moon Is Blue -***
There is nothing more insignificant than a revolutionary bad film. It’s like if a hermit up in the Himalayas sets himself on fire to protest world hunger. The goat smelling your demise might care, but aside of that what point did you make?
You can make a movie containing the cure for cancer and if it was starring Steve Guttenberg it wouldn’t matter because no one would see it.
I understand that guys like Otto Preminger and Stanley Kramer like to buck convention and stick it to Hollywood’s self-appointed Naughty Police (The Breen Office), but if you want to make a farce about how stupid the NPs are, than why not make a good movie at the same time.
For example, a popular misconception is that the shower scene in Psycho is one of the most violent in film history and many were at the time surprised it got past the censors. Well, it got past the censors because the blood was actually chocolate syrup and the knife never made contact with the skin. The power of that scene is in the editing and the music. Period. Hitchcock made his point in a witty and powerful way.
I had this argument with Otto around 1950 something-or-other while shoveling down drinks at the Copacabana in New York. Otto said he had a great idea to tweak the code by adapting the hit Broadway play A Moon Is Blue with Bill Holden and David Niven. See, the Moon Is Blue used words like “Virgin” and “Pregnant” and other such thing that lead to the end of Western Civilization as we know it.
Intrigued by this I decided to take in the play, and Otto was right. The actors did say those words. After watching the play, my discussion with Otto went something like:
“Were you offended?” Otto said grinning.
“Yes,” I responded.
“Really? You never seemed like the squeamish type on issues like this. Which words bothered you?”
“Everything between Act 1 and The End. You’re seriously going to waste Niven and Holden on that piece of garbage?”
The whole production was on the cusp of horrible. Screw the words; the whole play was offensively bad.
It wasn’t just the writing, the acting, the directing, the set design, the music, but the concept as a whole. Here’s the pitch – a girl meets an architect on the Empire State Building and turns his live upside down eventually involving him in a love triangle. It’s basically a weaker episode of “That Girl” expanded to two painful hours. I mean I’d go into more detail, but that’s about it and if you can’t figure out the ending on your own please close this web page and don’t come back.
At least Otto had the decency to shorten the movie to 90 minutes, but the film was just as bad despite having Holden and Niven in it. I refused to watch the talented Maggie McNamara for years because I always associated her with this. You’d wish you were that hermit in the Himalayas by the time this film’s over.
To this day and I don’t know why, but I’m just absolutely positive that the movie had a laugh track. I’m not saying it actually had one, but I just seem to remember it. Not a normal laugh track either, but like the one that DeNiro had on in the background while he was doing his bits in his mother’s basement during the “King of Comedy.”
I told Otto at the time that he might take some grief for it for a little while, but don’t worry about it. In 20 years everyone would forget this movie had ever been made. I was wrong. It was forgotten
If you want to make a statement or you want to change the world, you better be good and articulate, because if you can’t keep Sam Goldwyn’s ass from itching for two hours, then it doesn’t matter what you say. You’ll be forgotten.
You can make a movie containing the cure for cancer and if it was starring Steve Guttenberg it wouldn’t matter because no one would see it.
I understand that guys like Otto Preminger and Stanley Kramer like to buck convention and stick it to Hollywood’s self-appointed Naughty Police (The Breen Office), but if you want to make a farce about how stupid the NPs are, than why not make a good movie at the same time.
For example, a popular misconception is that the shower scene in Psycho is one of the most violent in film history and many were at the time surprised it got past the censors. Well, it got past the censors because the blood was actually chocolate syrup and the knife never made contact with the skin. The power of that scene is in the editing and the music. Period. Hitchcock made his point in a witty and powerful way.
I had this argument with Otto around 1950 something-or-other while shoveling down drinks at the Copacabana in New York. Otto said he had a great idea to tweak the code by adapting the hit Broadway play A Moon Is Blue with Bill Holden and David Niven. See, the Moon Is Blue used words like “Virgin” and “Pregnant” and other such thing that lead to the end of Western Civilization as we know it.
Intrigued by this I decided to take in the play, and Otto was right. The actors did say those words. After watching the play, my discussion with Otto went something like:
“Were you offended?” Otto said grinning.
“Yes,” I responded.
“Really? You never seemed like the squeamish type on issues like this. Which words bothered you?”
“Everything between Act 1 and The End. You’re seriously going to waste Niven and Holden on that piece of garbage?”
The whole production was on the cusp of horrible. Screw the words; the whole play was offensively bad.
It wasn’t just the writing, the acting, the directing, the set design, the music, but the concept as a whole. Here’s the pitch – a girl meets an architect on the Empire State Building and turns his live upside down eventually involving him in a love triangle. It’s basically a weaker episode of “That Girl” expanded to two painful hours. I mean I’d go into more detail, but that’s about it and if you can’t figure out the ending on your own please close this web page and don’t come back.
At least Otto had the decency to shorten the movie to 90 minutes, but the film was just as bad despite having Holden and Niven in it. I refused to watch the talented Maggie McNamara for years because I always associated her with this. You’d wish you were that hermit in the Himalayas by the time this film’s over.
To this day and I don’t know why, but I’m just absolutely positive that the movie had a laugh track. I’m not saying it actually had one, but I just seem to remember it. Not a normal laugh track either, but like the one that DeNiro had on in the background while he was doing his bits in his mother’s basement during the “King of Comedy.”
I told Otto at the time that he might take some grief for it for a little while, but don’t worry about it. In 20 years everyone would forget this movie had ever been made. I was wrong. It was forgotten
If you want to make a statement or you want to change the world, you better be good and articulate, because if you can’t keep Sam Goldwyn’s ass from itching for two hours, then it doesn’t matter what you say. You’ll be forgotten.
Monday, April 23, 2007
To Be or Not to Be ****
I was never a big television fan, especially after the shows went to tapes, but a couple of decades after my demise, I discovered the Dean Martin roasts.
Considering my undying love of Dino, I decided to mix myself a very dry martini in his honor and check them out. Within minutes, I felt ancient because there on stage are my contemporaries Red Skelton, Bob Hope and Milton Berle looking like they all just got back from the taxidermists.
In the middle of the show, the marvelous Don Rickles starts to get heckled and he snaps back at the crowd that “one more outburst and he’s going to let Bob come up and do his jokes.” Of course, everyone laughed. It was a funny line. I didn’t laugh. I just thought, “I didn’t heckle you, Don. Why do I deserve this?”
It was depressing enough seeing these guys looking one step from the grave (with that one step being on a banana peel), but it’s even worse thinking that those three clowns would be joining me soon. When I died, I didn’t see too many benefits to it, but, in time, I noticed the bright spots – my hangovers weren’t that bad and I never had to watch those above referenced jackasses again.
Well, now they’re here, and headlining all the hot spots. Huzza. Before I got to change the channel in a fit of rage and sadness, I saw a light at the end of the tunnel. At the end of the stage sat the man, the king, the funniest man of all time – Jack Benny.
This is proof positive that I only love old movies or performers because they’re old. I just love the one’s that are good. My opinion on drama is more set in stone because making a dramatic movie can be taught. No one can teach comedy. You’re either funny or you’re not, and Jack, Red and Uncle Miltie, aren’t.
Do you’re eyes need some exercising? Maybe you can roll them here with some of Miltie’s bon mots.
“The company accountant is shy and retiring. He's shy a quarter of a million dollars. That's why he's retiring.”
“We owe a lot to Thomas Edison - if it wasn't for him, we'd be watching television by candlelight.”
How about a couple from Bob Hope?
“Middle age is when your age starts to show around your middle.”
“You know you are getting old when the candles cost more than the cake.”
Those all got big laughs during Reconstruction. I can’t even be bothered to deal with Skelton. Just his face will give me another heart attack.
The lines are bad enough, but the brilliance of Jack is the fact that he could probably say the same lines and they’d be hysterical. The quality of the line didn’t matter to Jack because his timing was so perfect.
One of his most famous gags was during his show when he was the victim of a hold up. The robber stuck a gun in his face and said, “Your money or your life.” Jack paused for what seemed like forever until the robber said, “So what’ll it be?”
“I’m thinking it over,” Benny said.
The line doesn’t look funny in print, but it was Jack’s expression and timing that sold it.
To prove my point about comic timing being a natural instinct I could either review one of Hope or Skelton’s movies, but I’m not where near drunk enough for that or I could watch Benny’s classic, “To Be or Not to Be.”
It was a strange idea. Benny and the wonderful Carole Lombard were members of a theatre group in Poland at the time of the Nazi occupation. Benny disguised himself as a Nazi officer to filter information to the underground. Not exactly what you would call prime comic material and there were more than anyone’s share of tasteless jokes. (“We do the concentrating and the Poles do the camping,” the pseudo-Nazi Benny said.) But Benny made them work.
How? I couldn’t tell you. To show the man’s brilliance, Mel Brooks remade the movie. I like some of Mel’s stuff, but to say he lacks Benny’s timing and understatement would be like saying – I don’t know – there’s nothing to compare.
I usually like to try and teach something in these little reviews, but the only lesson here is that a great comedian is like a great wife, cherish them, because they don’t come around too often.
Take Bob Hope – please.
Considering my undying love of Dino, I decided to mix myself a very dry martini in his honor and check them out. Within minutes, I felt ancient because there on stage are my contemporaries Red Skelton, Bob Hope and Milton Berle looking like they all just got back from the taxidermists.
In the middle of the show, the marvelous Don Rickles starts to get heckled and he snaps back at the crowd that “one more outburst and he’s going to let Bob come up and do his jokes.” Of course, everyone laughed. It was a funny line. I didn’t laugh. I just thought, “I didn’t heckle you, Don. Why do I deserve this?”
It was depressing enough seeing these guys looking one step from the grave (with that one step being on a banana peel), but it’s even worse thinking that those three clowns would be joining me soon. When I died, I didn’t see too many benefits to it, but, in time, I noticed the bright spots – my hangovers weren’t that bad and I never had to watch those above referenced jackasses again.
Well, now they’re here, and headlining all the hot spots. Huzza. Before I got to change the channel in a fit of rage and sadness, I saw a light at the end of the tunnel. At the end of the stage sat the man, the king, the funniest man of all time – Jack Benny.
This is proof positive that I only love old movies or performers because they’re old. I just love the one’s that are good. My opinion on drama is more set in stone because making a dramatic movie can be taught. No one can teach comedy. You’re either funny or you’re not, and Jack, Red and Uncle Miltie, aren’t.
Do you’re eyes need some exercising? Maybe you can roll them here with some of Miltie’s bon mots.
“The company accountant is shy and retiring. He's shy a quarter of a million dollars. That's why he's retiring.”
“We owe a lot to Thomas Edison - if it wasn't for him, we'd be watching television by candlelight.”
How about a couple from Bob Hope?
“Middle age is when your age starts to show around your middle.”
“You know you are getting old when the candles cost more than the cake.”
Those all got big laughs during Reconstruction. I can’t even be bothered to deal with Skelton. Just his face will give me another heart attack.
The lines are bad enough, but the brilliance of Jack is the fact that he could probably say the same lines and they’d be hysterical. The quality of the line didn’t matter to Jack because his timing was so perfect.
One of his most famous gags was during his show when he was the victim of a hold up. The robber stuck a gun in his face and said, “Your money or your life.” Jack paused for what seemed like forever until the robber said, “So what’ll it be?”
“I’m thinking it over,” Benny said.
The line doesn’t look funny in print, but it was Jack’s expression and timing that sold it.
To prove my point about comic timing being a natural instinct I could either review one of Hope or Skelton’s movies, but I’m not where near drunk enough for that or I could watch Benny’s classic, “To Be or Not to Be.”
It was a strange idea. Benny and the wonderful Carole Lombard were members of a theatre group in Poland at the time of the Nazi occupation. Benny disguised himself as a Nazi officer to filter information to the underground. Not exactly what you would call prime comic material and there were more than anyone’s share of tasteless jokes. (“We do the concentrating and the Poles do the camping,” the pseudo-Nazi Benny said.) But Benny made them work.
How? I couldn’t tell you. To show the man’s brilliance, Mel Brooks remade the movie. I like some of Mel’s stuff, but to say he lacks Benny’s timing and understatement would be like saying – I don’t know – there’s nothing to compare.
I usually like to try and teach something in these little reviews, but the only lesson here is that a great comedian is like a great wife, cherish them, because they don’t come around too often.
Take Bob Hope – please.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Oh, Brother, Where Art Thou? *****
It seems to me that there is a rule that if you don’t like certain directors, you are considered gauche.
For example, Robert Altman. And let me be blunt here.
I don’t get Robert Altman. I don’t know why everyone loves him. I can’t make it through any of his movies with the exception of M*A*S*H without at least two naps. I was personally offended by the arrogance of his take on Raymond Chandler’s classic, “The Long Goodbye.”
In Altman’s view, Chandler’s private detective, Philip Marlowe was a ridiculous anachronism that deserved to be skewered by a rumbled, clowning Eliot Gould. I don’t get the point. Even Chandler himself has said that the character was an anachronism even back in the ’30s and ‘40s, but was necessary to tell his stories.
You can modernize without belittling. I’m not a big fan of television, but I thought Jim Rockford was a fine update of Marlowe. To do a proper update, there has to be some affection for what you are updating and Altman doesn’t seem to have much affection for anything…maybe his dog.
Now, one of my favorite updates was a modern movie done a few years ago by two of the best filmmakers going today – the Coen brothers.
As a quick aside, there are times when I’m not sure if I’m watching the same movies as some of those film critics down there. I’m not talking about the clowns like Rex Reed, who would write that a movie about two donkeys fornicating is brilliant just to get the quote on the poster. I’m referring to the supposedly legitimate people. It doesn’t matter how many times I see Fargo, it’s just not that good. Maybe I’m just biased against North Dakota or where ever the hell it took place. Why do a movie about a boring place with boring people?
On the other hand, I loved “Oh, Brother, Where Art Thou,” the marvelous modernization of Odysseus, and I seem to be alone.
Roger Ebert, who I consider the one-eyed critic in a world of blind morons, said the story seemed wonderful in segments, but disjointed overall.
Mr. Ebert may need a refresher course on Homer’s classic. Last time I checked, the book was pretty disjointed as well. That was the point. It was the story of some lordly hero from the Trojan War who is desperately trying to find his way home, but the god Poseidon decides to try and stop him at every turn.
Now how do you update something like this from ancient Greece to the South in the Depression? Who would be the American version of Odysseus? Why a hustling con man who just broke out of jail just to keep his wife from marrying again of course. This is brilliant because it doesn’t make fun of the story. It makes fun of us. Odysseus is the best the Greeks can do. Ulysses Everett McGill and his lifetime supply of Dapper Dan pomade is the best we can do.
The best Poseidon can do is two monsters side by side and a Cyclops. The best we can do is a lynch mob and a one-eyed Bible selling Klansman. Plus, where Odysseus consistently succeeds, McGill constantly fails, but somehow survives.
(One of my favorite scenes is the one with the lynch mob impersonating the two monsters. How do I know they were impersonating the two monsters? While they were planning their escape, McGill kept saying over and over again, “We’re in a tight spot. We’re really in a tight spot.” Just great.)
On top of the insane characters and witty dialogue, the visuals are remarkable. The Coens absolutely capture the sandy, grayish, windswept South of the Depression. The way they film each character is also captivating, emphasizing each disability. The Klansman’s eye patch seems to take up his whole face and the entire screen as well. Doing this stays with the theme of our pock-marked culture as compared to the pristine ancient Greeks.
The best part of all of this symbolism is that it’s there – if you want it. If you don’t, it’s still a funny and captivating movie. It’s not only an interesting story, but its beautiful filmmaking as well.
Basically, what the Coens did is combine the avant-garde techniques of the pompous French New Wave with the story telling of Hawks.
See, Francois, I told you it could be done.
For example, Robert Altman. And let me be blunt here.
I don’t get Robert Altman. I don’t know why everyone loves him. I can’t make it through any of his movies with the exception of M*A*S*H without at least two naps. I was personally offended by the arrogance of his take on Raymond Chandler’s classic, “The Long Goodbye.”
In Altman’s view, Chandler’s private detective, Philip Marlowe was a ridiculous anachronism that deserved to be skewered by a rumbled, clowning Eliot Gould. I don’t get the point. Even Chandler himself has said that the character was an anachronism even back in the ’30s and ‘40s, but was necessary to tell his stories.
You can modernize without belittling. I’m not a big fan of television, but I thought Jim Rockford was a fine update of Marlowe. To do a proper update, there has to be some affection for what you are updating and Altman doesn’t seem to have much affection for anything…maybe his dog.
Now, one of my favorite updates was a modern movie done a few years ago by two of the best filmmakers going today – the Coen brothers.
As a quick aside, there are times when I’m not sure if I’m watching the same movies as some of those film critics down there. I’m not talking about the clowns like Rex Reed, who would write that a movie about two donkeys fornicating is brilliant just to get the quote on the poster. I’m referring to the supposedly legitimate people. It doesn’t matter how many times I see Fargo, it’s just not that good. Maybe I’m just biased against North Dakota or where ever the hell it took place. Why do a movie about a boring place with boring people?
On the other hand, I loved “Oh, Brother, Where Art Thou,” the marvelous modernization of Odysseus, and I seem to be alone.
Roger Ebert, who I consider the one-eyed critic in a world of blind morons, said the story seemed wonderful in segments, but disjointed overall.
Mr. Ebert may need a refresher course on Homer’s classic. Last time I checked, the book was pretty disjointed as well. That was the point. It was the story of some lordly hero from the Trojan War who is desperately trying to find his way home, but the god Poseidon decides to try and stop him at every turn.
Now how do you update something like this from ancient Greece to the South in the Depression? Who would be the American version of Odysseus? Why a hustling con man who just broke out of jail just to keep his wife from marrying again of course. This is brilliant because it doesn’t make fun of the story. It makes fun of us. Odysseus is the best the Greeks can do. Ulysses Everett McGill and his lifetime supply of Dapper Dan pomade is the best we can do.
The best Poseidon can do is two monsters side by side and a Cyclops. The best we can do is a lynch mob and a one-eyed Bible selling Klansman. Plus, where Odysseus consistently succeeds, McGill constantly fails, but somehow survives.
(One of my favorite scenes is the one with the lynch mob impersonating the two monsters. How do I know they were impersonating the two monsters? While they were planning their escape, McGill kept saying over and over again, “We’re in a tight spot. We’re really in a tight spot.” Just great.)
On top of the insane characters and witty dialogue, the visuals are remarkable. The Coens absolutely capture the sandy, grayish, windswept South of the Depression. The way they film each character is also captivating, emphasizing each disability. The Klansman’s eye patch seems to take up his whole face and the entire screen as well. Doing this stays with the theme of our pock-marked culture as compared to the pristine ancient Greeks.
The best part of all of this symbolism is that it’s there – if you want it. If you don’t, it’s still a funny and captivating movie. It’s not only an interesting story, but its beautiful filmmaking as well.
Basically, what the Coens did is combine the avant-garde techniques of the pompous French New Wave with the story telling of Hawks.
See, Francois, I told you it could be done.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
The Kid *****
The Life of Samuel Johnson by James Boswell is widely considered to be the finest biography written in our shared tongue. I disagree.
The book is marvelous and often quite funny, but the subject himself just isn’t worthy of such lofty accolades. Granted, Johnson did write one of the most influential dictionaries chronicling the English language, but that’s not what the book is about. Instead, it basically drags you along with Johnson as he goes to one dinner party after another, tossing out funny lines and acting as his usual pompous self. I could have written a biography about Louis B. Mayer and accomplished the same thing. Except he wasn’t as funny.
My point in bringing this book and Johnson up is that old Sammy I believe is the first known “intellectual” to use his gifts to destroy rather than actually find answers. This form of intellectualism has permeated into modern society with the leading components of my generation being – all together now – the French; particularly the fine editors and writers of Cahier du Cinema.
I’m all for taking the contrarian view on a topic when it is necessary. For years, I was the sole person who argued that Chaplin’s Monsieur Verdoux was a magnificent movie when everyone else (and I mean everyone else) panned it. I didn’t take on that fight to be different. I took it on because I was right. History has proven me right, but you don’t see that movie around anymore because of the bad reputation it unjustly got back in the day.
Now, and this started with the boys from Cahier, not only are people trashing that one Chaplin film, but all of his works just to raise the profile of Buster Keaton. This comparison puts me in an awkward situation because I’m a big fan of Keaton’s work, but he doesn’t have the power of Chaplin. People don’t laugh and cry during Buster’s movies.
Overall, it’s an unfair comparison because their movies are so different. Keaton’s movies were a brilliant combination of pure athleticism, derring-do and perfectly timed gags tied into a tight storyline. Chaplin was more concerned with character development, knowing that the way to the heart of movie-goers were the people on the screen. This is why if you ask your standard people on the street to identify Chaplin or Keaton, you will find more people recognize Charlie, than Buster.
And this is exactly what I did not want to do. It’s the equivalent of asking me who is a better director – Ford or Hitchcock. I don’t know. Each is too different to compare. I probably prefer Hitchcock for the same reasons I prefer Chaplin, but that certainly doesn’t take away any of Ford’s brilliance. And it isn’t a truly intellectual answer.
But for the people like Francois Truffaut and Samuel Johnson, it is necessary to destroy one to build up the other. These are the same people that say Chaplin’s stuff is too melodramatic and hokey while they’re passing the tissues. Is the ended of “The Kid” hokey when the little boy is being taking away on the back of the truck, screaming and reaching out to Charlie while the Little Tramp desperately runs after him? Probably. Does each and every one of you tear up when you see it? Probably. So?
Now, I’m going to head off the obvious objection right now. What about James Cameron? You criticize him for doing the exact same thing. First of all, I’m offended by the comparison and I wish gangrene on everyone who said it or even thought it. Second, I don’t criticize Cameron for trying it; I criticize him for failing miserably at it. Cameron has no ability to make three-dimensional characters. For that matter neither does Keaton, but in Keaton’s movies that doesn’t matter. He doesn’t try. Buster’s more interested in entertaining you though humor and action, then emotion.
What I just gave you is an intellectual argument? At least intellectual by the old definition of the word. Intellectual meaning to look at an issue and find the truth though clinical observation and analysis devoid of emotion. With Sammy Johnson and my dear friends at that French hack-sheet, that definition has changed to one who looks at a popular issue and debunks it as being wrong because it has the support of the unwashed masses. If Joey the Teamster likes the movie, how could it be intellectual, goes the thinking.
Now, never it let it be me to come to the defense of the unwashed masses because I too am convinced that they are often wrong, but I tell you why. It is this portion of our populace that has allowed Steven Segal, James Cameron and Tom Laughlin to live in large mansions.
On the other hand, these contrarians who go opposite the popular view just to be “intellectual” and different have allowed Godard, Ozu and Ken Russell to move right next door.
My intellectual answer to the six of them is that they all suck.
The book is marvelous and often quite funny, but the subject himself just isn’t worthy of such lofty accolades. Granted, Johnson did write one of the most influential dictionaries chronicling the English language, but that’s not what the book is about. Instead, it basically drags you along with Johnson as he goes to one dinner party after another, tossing out funny lines and acting as his usual pompous self. I could have written a biography about Louis B. Mayer and accomplished the same thing. Except he wasn’t as funny.
My point in bringing this book and Johnson up is that old Sammy I believe is the first known “intellectual” to use his gifts to destroy rather than actually find answers. This form of intellectualism has permeated into modern society with the leading components of my generation being – all together now – the French; particularly the fine editors and writers of Cahier du Cinema.
I’m all for taking the contrarian view on a topic when it is necessary. For years, I was the sole person who argued that Chaplin’s Monsieur Verdoux was a magnificent movie when everyone else (and I mean everyone else) panned it. I didn’t take on that fight to be different. I took it on because I was right. History has proven me right, but you don’t see that movie around anymore because of the bad reputation it unjustly got back in the day.
Now, and this started with the boys from Cahier, not only are people trashing that one Chaplin film, but all of his works just to raise the profile of Buster Keaton. This comparison puts me in an awkward situation because I’m a big fan of Keaton’s work, but he doesn’t have the power of Chaplin. People don’t laugh and cry during Buster’s movies.
Overall, it’s an unfair comparison because their movies are so different. Keaton’s movies were a brilliant combination of pure athleticism, derring-do and perfectly timed gags tied into a tight storyline. Chaplin was more concerned with character development, knowing that the way to the heart of movie-goers were the people on the screen. This is why if you ask your standard people on the street to identify Chaplin or Keaton, you will find more people recognize Charlie, than Buster.
And this is exactly what I did not want to do. It’s the equivalent of asking me who is a better director – Ford or Hitchcock. I don’t know. Each is too different to compare. I probably prefer Hitchcock for the same reasons I prefer Chaplin, but that certainly doesn’t take away any of Ford’s brilliance. And it isn’t a truly intellectual answer.
But for the people like Francois Truffaut and Samuel Johnson, it is necessary to destroy one to build up the other. These are the same people that say Chaplin’s stuff is too melodramatic and hokey while they’re passing the tissues. Is the ended of “The Kid” hokey when the little boy is being taking away on the back of the truck, screaming and reaching out to Charlie while the Little Tramp desperately runs after him? Probably. Does each and every one of you tear up when you see it? Probably. So?
Now, I’m going to head off the obvious objection right now. What about James Cameron? You criticize him for doing the exact same thing. First of all, I’m offended by the comparison and I wish gangrene on everyone who said it or even thought it. Second, I don’t criticize Cameron for trying it; I criticize him for failing miserably at it. Cameron has no ability to make three-dimensional characters. For that matter neither does Keaton, but in Keaton’s movies that doesn’t matter. He doesn’t try. Buster’s more interested in entertaining you though humor and action, then emotion.
What I just gave you is an intellectual argument? At least intellectual by the old definition of the word. Intellectual meaning to look at an issue and find the truth though clinical observation and analysis devoid of emotion. With Sammy Johnson and my dear friends at that French hack-sheet, that definition has changed to one who looks at a popular issue and debunks it as being wrong because it has the support of the unwashed masses. If Joey the Teamster likes the movie, how could it be intellectual, goes the thinking.
Now, never it let it be me to come to the defense of the unwashed masses because I too am convinced that they are often wrong, but I tell you why. It is this portion of our populace that has allowed Steven Segal, James Cameron and Tom Laughlin to live in large mansions.
On the other hand, these contrarians who go opposite the popular view just to be “intellectual” and different have allowed Godard, Ozu and Ken Russell to move right next door.
My intellectual answer to the six of them is that they all suck.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Mobsters **
After he won his only Oscar in 1951, Humphrey Bogart "joked" that the only way to judge actors is to have the five nominees take on Hamlet and then decide. I put joked in quotes since he did have a flippant tone while making the coment, as he usually did, but there is some truth to what The Man said.
The art of acting really isn't important or at least anywhere near as important as casting. For example, Ernie Borgnine, who couldn't act his way out of a cracked paper mache, has not only made a nice living for decades in the business, but he actually won an Oscar. Why? Because he was always cast well. Ernie does lovable schlubs and sadistic heavies as well as anyone. Why reinvent the wheel?
The one way you can tell if a movie is truly great is if you can't picture anyone one else in the lead roles. You're a director assigned to remake Casablanca. Who's Rick Blaine? That is not only a tribute to Bogart, but the casting director. Bogart used the analogy of five actors playing Hamlet. Well, I'll turn that around. The best Hamlet I've ever seen was Olivier. How do you think Lord Larry would do if given a shot at Sam Spade? I don't care how good the actor is, if he's miscast, it's not going to work. Don't believe me. Go check out Lord Larry in the Jazz Singer.
I was thinking of all this when I started to watch this modern day movie call Mobsters. Chris Penn was up here describing the plot to me and I thought it was a great idea for a movie and decided to check it out. To go one step further, I'm shocked that this movie hasn't been done before.
The basic story is the steps leading to the Castellammarese Gang War in New York resulting in the establishment of the Commission and New York's Five Families. You want to talk about great characters? How's Charles Luciano, Benjamin Siegel, Meyer Lansky, Arnold Rothstein, Frank Costello for starters?
I started to get a strange feeling in my stomach when I saw that the movie starred Patrick Dempsey and Christian Slater. I'm not personally offended by the talents of either actor, but in my mind's eye, they seemed to lack some...what's the word...gravitas.
But I got past that. It wasn't until I saw the credits roll when I got really annoyed.
We'll call this James' Movie Rule #23. There are certain actors, no matter how big the roll, that all movie-goers should know will be in there before they drop down the cabbage. People like Jerry Lewis, that guy with the bug-eyes in all of Mel Brooks's movies, Tippy Hedren, Steven Segal, Doris Day, Gena Lee Nolan, Richard Chamberlain, Dom Deluise all need to be put at the top of the billboard as a flashing warning signal to stay away. If the producers don't like this, then don't cast these people. At the top of this list is Richard Grieco, so the second I saw that he was portraying Benjamin Siegel, my martini glass went flying toward the screen.
"He's really not that bad," Penn told me. I didn't bother answering him.
Anyone who spent any time in Hollywood during the 1930s and 1940s and knew some movie stars spent some time with Benjamin Siegel. I didn't know Ben well, but I knew him enough to say "hello." I also knew him enough to never call him by that nickname. I won't even write it. Ben has been dead for over fifty years and he's still not dead enough for me to dare call him by that nickname.
This guy did not intimidate by size. He intimidated because you were afraid of him and he wasn't afraid of you and you both knew it. He was nuts. Between us, mind you. He had this look in his eyes, even when he was in a good mood, that said that he would rip you head off at any moment. I meant that literally. Take a switch blade. Take your head off.
And of course I was right, Grieco couldn't pull it off. He emphasized the playboy aspects of his personality, which was there, but that wasn't what defined him. The guy was barking mad; that's what defined him.
The rest of the crew did a noble job. Dempsey did not embarrass himself as Lansky. Slater was kind of feeling it here as Lucky. F. Murray Abraham was absolutely superb as Rothstein. He just nailed it. But it wasn't enough.
You can always tell when a actor is doing well when he's paired with a pro like Abraham or Tony Quinn, who is playing one of the mob family bosses. No one here can match up with those two.
I know the mobsters were young back then, but look at it this way. Arnold Rothstein saw something in them back then. Rothstein was the Red Auerbach of the mob world, the man knew talent. There must have been some type of gravitas here to begin with if Arnold recruited them to do his very profitable rum running and it doesn't completely come across.
The movie looks great. The writing is solid. The story is great. But the casting sinks it. We need a remake here.
The art of acting really isn't important or at least anywhere near as important as casting. For example, Ernie Borgnine, who couldn't act his way out of a cracked paper mache, has not only made a nice living for decades in the business, but he actually won an Oscar. Why? Because he was always cast well. Ernie does lovable schlubs and sadistic heavies as well as anyone. Why reinvent the wheel?
The one way you can tell if a movie is truly great is if you can't picture anyone one else in the lead roles. You're a director assigned to remake Casablanca. Who's Rick Blaine? That is not only a tribute to Bogart, but the casting director. Bogart used the analogy of five actors playing Hamlet. Well, I'll turn that around. The best Hamlet I've ever seen was Olivier. How do you think Lord Larry would do if given a shot at Sam Spade? I don't care how good the actor is, if he's miscast, it's not going to work. Don't believe me. Go check out Lord Larry in the Jazz Singer.
I was thinking of all this when I started to watch this modern day movie call Mobsters. Chris Penn was up here describing the plot to me and I thought it was a great idea for a movie and decided to check it out. To go one step further, I'm shocked that this movie hasn't been done before.
The basic story is the steps leading to the Castellammarese Gang War in New York resulting in the establishment of the Commission and New York's Five Families. You want to talk about great characters? How's Charles Luciano, Benjamin Siegel, Meyer Lansky, Arnold Rothstein, Frank Costello for starters?
I started to get a strange feeling in my stomach when I saw that the movie starred Patrick Dempsey and Christian Slater. I'm not personally offended by the talents of either actor, but in my mind's eye, they seemed to lack some...what's the word...gravitas.
But I got past that. It wasn't until I saw the credits roll when I got really annoyed.
We'll call this James' Movie Rule #23. There are certain actors, no matter how big the roll, that all movie-goers should know will be in there before they drop down the cabbage. People like Jerry Lewis, that guy with the bug-eyes in all of Mel Brooks's movies, Tippy Hedren, Steven Segal, Doris Day, Gena Lee Nolan, Richard Chamberlain, Dom Deluise all need to be put at the top of the billboard as a flashing warning signal to stay away. If the producers don't like this, then don't cast these people. At the top of this list is Richard Grieco, so the second I saw that he was portraying Benjamin Siegel, my martini glass went flying toward the screen.
"He's really not that bad," Penn told me. I didn't bother answering him.
Anyone who spent any time in Hollywood during the 1930s and 1940s and knew some movie stars spent some time with Benjamin Siegel. I didn't know Ben well, but I knew him enough to say "hello." I also knew him enough to never call him by that nickname. I won't even write it. Ben has been dead for over fifty years and he's still not dead enough for me to dare call him by that nickname.
This guy did not intimidate by size. He intimidated because you were afraid of him and he wasn't afraid of you and you both knew it. He was nuts. Between us, mind you. He had this look in his eyes, even when he was in a good mood, that said that he would rip you head off at any moment. I meant that literally. Take a switch blade. Take your head off.
And of course I was right, Grieco couldn't pull it off. He emphasized the playboy aspects of his personality, which was there, but that wasn't what defined him. The guy was barking mad; that's what defined him.
The rest of the crew did a noble job. Dempsey did not embarrass himself as Lansky. Slater was kind of feeling it here as Lucky. F. Murray Abraham was absolutely superb as Rothstein. He just nailed it. But it wasn't enough.
You can always tell when a actor is doing well when he's paired with a pro like Abraham or Tony Quinn, who is playing one of the mob family bosses. No one here can match up with those two.
I know the mobsters were young back then, but look at it this way. Arnold Rothstein saw something in them back then. Rothstein was the Red Auerbach of the mob world, the man knew talent. There must have been some type of gravitas here to begin with if Arnold recruited them to do his very profitable rum running and it doesn't completely come across.
The movie looks great. The writing is solid. The story is great. But the casting sinks it. We need a remake here.
The Big Sleep *****
Politics is not my job. It's an interest of mine, but it's not my job and I don't even claim to be an expert on the matter. But recently politics have become involved in movies and in my opinion have caused a deterioration of today's films. Now, it is my job.
If I was a history teacher, the one thing I would want to get across is Newton's Third Law. What does physics have to do with history? Let me explain. The law states that every action has an equal and opposite reaction. This law not only regards two physical objects, but two or more social forces as well.
Union's started only because large Trusts in a thirst for money deprived their workers of a livable wage. This situation left many coal miners and factory workers living with large families in single room slum apartments. The social force of the trusts' pushed until the reaction was inevitable and the result of Newton's Third Law is the powers of unions that you see today.
In late 18th Century France, King Louis XVI tried to support his government by taxing the lower classes since the wealthy would not accept a tax. Newton's Third Law takes effect and the result is the bloody French Revolution.
What does this have to do with movies? In the 1960s and 1970s, the outdated New Dealers were frantically trying to retain power and their savage tax rates and unnecessary programs led to Newton's Third Law going into effect - meet the Christian Conservatives, who even scared right wing stalwarts like Barry Goldwater. These characters have been running the show for about 13 years now down there and have made every effort to rip the First Amendment out of the Constitution.
Now here's where the movie part comes. You are starting to see the reaction now and in all societies, revolutions, not matter how beign, usually begin with the arts. The result in these cases is a series of outlandish and extremist fringe movies that are getting publicity that is completely undeserved. The first is a documentary about men who fornicate horses. The second is a film containing a scene where you see a 12-year-old girl being raped. Not off camera, mind you, but right there - front and center.
Back in the day, when people promoted common sense instead of political agendas, it would have been universally agreed by all that these films are completely outrageous and the directors would have been drummed out of the business.
That can't happen today because the extreme left is afraid to insult their "base" and the extreme right has no credibility anymore after doing things like accusing the creators of some stupid kid's cartoon named SpongeBob Squarepants of promoting a gay agenda. And there's no one left in the middle.
This new shock tactic further hurts movie-making today because the act of subtlety has been obliterated. Thirty years ago, you'd hear the toilet flush and see Archie walk down with the newspaper. It was crude, but funny. Today, you'd be right in there with Archie reading the funnies. Just hysterical.
Back in the days, you could talk about anything, as long as you were smart about it. The writers and directors were creative enough back then to imply just about anything. It made you think, God forbid.
Take the Big Sleep - directed by the great Howard Hawks and written by the equally great Jules Furthman and William Faulkner. Bogart and Bacall are both great, but I'm not concerned with that here. It's the sublety that Hawks and his writers used to get points across.
The basic premise is a nonsensical adaptation of a nonsensical detective novel by Raymond Chandler. (As an aside, Bogart and Hawks got into an argument about who killed a certain character. They sent a telegram to Chandler to get the definitive answer. Chandler wrote back, "How the hell do I know?" Of course, Jack Warner got pissed about the cost of the telegrams.) The movie and book are about a Los Angeles detective hired by a rich dying magnate to find out why his daughters are being blackmailed. Chandler's books are not about the plots as much as they are about the scenes - the interplay between characters - and this is right up Hawks alley.
There's one scene where Bogart, who plays private investigator Philip Marlowe, finds the daughter of his client in an empty house. He looks in another room waiting for her. Bogart knows she's there, but looks away. She walks into the room looking discheveled and acting flighty. Bogart looks through draws in a desk and finds a case. He opens the case, looks inside, looks at the woman in disgust, and puts the case back. In the same desk, he finds pictures. After looking at the pictures, he give the woman the same look and pockets the pictures for evidence.
What does that scene tell you? You have drugs involved, a potential rape, and pornography. All told through implication.
Why can't something like the be done today? Is it laziness, crudeness or a combination of the two? I don't know. But the bottom line is this, no matter how much you want to shock, what is not on screen is always more powerful that what is. Let's call that James's First Law of Movies.
There was a German film called M made in the 1930s. During one pivotal moment, you see a man in the shadows (you can't see his face) walking behind a little girl bouncing a red ball. The girl walks down an alley and the man follows off camera. The director holds the shot for a moment and all you see is a long red ball bounce across the screen.
Can you think of anything scarier than that?
If I was a history teacher, the one thing I would want to get across is Newton's Third Law. What does physics have to do with history? Let me explain. The law states that every action has an equal and opposite reaction. This law not only regards two physical objects, but two or more social forces as well.
Union's started only because large Trusts in a thirst for money deprived their workers of a livable wage. This situation left many coal miners and factory workers living with large families in single room slum apartments. The social force of the trusts' pushed until the reaction was inevitable and the result of Newton's Third Law is the powers of unions that you see today.
In late 18th Century France, King Louis XVI tried to support his government by taxing the lower classes since the wealthy would not accept a tax. Newton's Third Law takes effect and the result is the bloody French Revolution.
What does this have to do with movies? In the 1960s and 1970s, the outdated New Dealers were frantically trying to retain power and their savage tax rates and unnecessary programs led to Newton's Third Law going into effect - meet the Christian Conservatives, who even scared right wing stalwarts like Barry Goldwater. These characters have been running the show for about 13 years now down there and have made every effort to rip the First Amendment out of the Constitution.
Now here's where the movie part comes. You are starting to see the reaction now and in all societies, revolutions, not matter how beign, usually begin with the arts. The result in these cases is a series of outlandish and extremist fringe movies that are getting publicity that is completely undeserved. The first is a documentary about men who fornicate horses. The second is a film containing a scene where you see a 12-year-old girl being raped. Not off camera, mind you, but right there - front and center.
Back in the day, when people promoted common sense instead of political agendas, it would have been universally agreed by all that these films are completely outrageous and the directors would have been drummed out of the business.
That can't happen today because the extreme left is afraid to insult their "base" and the extreme right has no credibility anymore after doing things like accusing the creators of some stupid kid's cartoon named SpongeBob Squarepants of promoting a gay agenda. And there's no one left in the middle.
This new shock tactic further hurts movie-making today because the act of subtlety has been obliterated. Thirty years ago, you'd hear the toilet flush and see Archie walk down with the newspaper. It was crude, but funny. Today, you'd be right in there with Archie reading the funnies. Just hysterical.
Back in the days, you could talk about anything, as long as you were smart about it. The writers and directors were creative enough back then to imply just about anything. It made you think, God forbid.
Take the Big Sleep - directed by the great Howard Hawks and written by the equally great Jules Furthman and William Faulkner. Bogart and Bacall are both great, but I'm not concerned with that here. It's the sublety that Hawks and his writers used to get points across.
The basic premise is a nonsensical adaptation of a nonsensical detective novel by Raymond Chandler. (As an aside, Bogart and Hawks got into an argument about who killed a certain character. They sent a telegram to Chandler to get the definitive answer. Chandler wrote back, "How the hell do I know?" Of course, Jack Warner got pissed about the cost of the telegrams.) The movie and book are about a Los Angeles detective hired by a rich dying magnate to find out why his daughters are being blackmailed. Chandler's books are not about the plots as much as they are about the scenes - the interplay between characters - and this is right up Hawks alley.
There's one scene where Bogart, who plays private investigator Philip Marlowe, finds the daughter of his client in an empty house. He looks in another room waiting for her. Bogart knows she's there, but looks away. She walks into the room looking discheveled and acting flighty. Bogart looks through draws in a desk and finds a case. He opens the case, looks inside, looks at the woman in disgust, and puts the case back. In the same desk, he finds pictures. After looking at the pictures, he give the woman the same look and pockets the pictures for evidence.
What does that scene tell you? You have drugs involved, a potential rape, and pornography. All told through implication.
Why can't something like the be done today? Is it laziness, crudeness or a combination of the two? I don't know. But the bottom line is this, no matter how much you want to shock, what is not on screen is always more powerful that what is. Let's call that James's First Law of Movies.
There was a German film called M made in the 1930s. During one pivotal moment, you see a man in the shadows (you can't see his face) walking behind a little girl bouncing a red ball. The girl walks down an alley and the man follows off camera. The director holds the shot for a moment and all you see is a long red ball bounce across the screen.
Can you think of anything scarier than that?
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
Nightmare Alley *****
Horror movies today just aren't scary. And this is why. If you go out for a night at the movies, go home and have a nightmare that the doll in the corner of your room could pick up a knife and chase you around the house, you're an idiot.
If you come out of the theater and look at your car twice because you're not sure whether or not it's going to come to life, P.T. Barnum would like to have a word with you. When you go camping, and can't sleep because you're not sure whether or not a man in a hockey mask that you've never met is going to come after you, there's a sale on the Brooklyn Bridge. If you have done any of the above three things, I guarantee you have watched one of those informertials about how any moron could make a million with this revolutionary real estate program and made a phone call. Why not? Plus, if you call by the end of the show, there's a 10 percent discount for you.
I shouldn't indict people today for this because we had our share of beauts back in the day (Frankenstein vs. the Wolfman, anyone?). Stupid people are eternal as are hustlers to make money off them. Why make honest money though effort when you can dupe the masses?
True fear for functioning minds lives in realism. I still insist that the final frame of M is the scariest in the history of film, especially if you have children. Horror exists in this world. The movies that deal with this are the ones that should keep you up at night.
Nightmare Alley was listed as a melodrama, but that's not accurate. It's a horror movie, and an effective one at that because it deals with the ultimate nightmare - the worst case scenerio. The worst case scenerio in Nightmare Alley is the show business boogey man. That creature which exists in ghost stories that we tell each other by the jukebox light. The geek. Children today use the phrase in the playground as an insult without knowing it's true meaning. Oh, the geek existed. Today, it would be a metaphor for using people at their weakest for profit because the geek is no more.
At least I hope it's not. I thought it wasn't in 1947 after Nightmare Alley came out, but Tyrone Power set me straight. Ty was the star of the movie and while we were having a drink, I asked about the use of the geek as a metaphor in the film.
"Metaphor?," Power said while grinning that sardonic grin he used so effectly in the movie. "Oh, make no mistake, you can still find a geek."
What? I didn't believe him. Couldn't be. Power offered to show me. I wasn't sure I wanted to actually see this, but he insisted. Power was still a little mad at me over an incident that occured earlier in the evening when I had a little too much amazement in my voice while telling him how great he was in Nightmare Alley. It was an award-winning effort, but let's not fool ourselves, no one ever confused Ty with Lawrence Olivier.
Nonetheless, we picked up a cab and head to the Valley where Power knows of a floating carnival in the area. He wasn't lying. We walked over to the sideshow part of the carnival in the front and there was the sign advertising the geek. I refused to pay money for this, so Ty paid. Slowly creeping in, I saw the pit and inched my head over the threshold like one looking over the edge of a cliff. And there it was. I refuse to address what I saw with human pronouns. It had long greasy hair, was missing teeth, reeked of moonshine, but the look in its eyes had nothing to do with moonshine; other substances were involved. The creature was wearing shorts and a blood-stained white t-shirt. The geek had one job and one job alone; it bit the heads off of live chickens.
Most performers wont work at a carnival with a geek because by the grace of God go thee. I call these creatures it, but they weren't always an it. They were once a him or her that made mistakes. Bad mistakes. And with people being people, they're happy to pay and collect money to watch this pain. There's where the horror lies.
Nightmare Alley is the story of how a him turns into an it and the finished product deprived me of sleep for years.
The movie starts with Tyrone Power (playing carny hand Stanton Carlyle) asking the carnival director how someone could become a geek. Or why? These are questions you don't ask. It's a sensitive topic since the morality and legality of the act is beyond debate as the always great Joan Blondell (as mentalist Zeena) tells him just that.
Stanton is Zeena's assistant. Her act involved getting questions from the audience that she answers without actually looking at the written queries. This is accomplished by giving the question to another assistant, a rummy called Pete, that signals her from under the stage. After the show, Power discovers that this isn't always the way the act went. Once Zeena and Pete used a code system that made them quite successful before Pete fell off the wagon.
The code is an old trick. It goes something like this. Blindfold the mentalist and have the assistant go into the audience. Say she holds up an earring from a volunteer and asks the mentalist, "What am I holding here?" Here, hear, ear, earring. That's how it works. From what Zeena says here, their code is much more involved with words representing numbers and cadence changing meanings.
While Zeena, Pete and Stanton are driving between shows, Stanton inquires about the code. Zeena tells him that they have been offered a lot of money for it, but it's their nest egg. She won't give up on Pete because he's in his condition because of her. She "has the heart of a artechoke, a leaf for everyone" (a great subtle line in a great subtle screenplay by the underrated Jules Furthman).
Zeena considers using the code in the act, but after looking at her Tarot cards, she discovers that while the future looks great for Stanton and herself, Pete drew the death card.
Stanton disregards this nonsense until Pete begging for booze one night sets an unfortunate series of events in motion. Stanton hid his quart of moonshine in Zeena's clothes trunk. After hearing Pete's sob story and listening to him tell lucid and entertaining stories of the old days, Stanton breaks down and give him his clear unlabeled bottle. Stanton's motive for giving Pete the bottle at first is unclear and that's thanks to Power's marvelously nuanced performance. In this movie, everything lives in the noir shadows within the screen.
The next morning, Stanton discovered that he grabbed the wrong bottle. He accidently gave Pete the pure alcohol that Zeena uses to take off her makeup.
After Pete's death, Zeena decides to teach the code to Stanton and a young beauty in the carnival, Molly. Stanton learns quickly and the act is quite successful. Until, that is, Stanton is discovered sleeping with Molly. It was assumed that Stanton was with Zeena, but he rested his hat on the fact that he never said that. That's how Stanton works.
Molly and Stanton end up getting married, leave the carnival and take their act to the nightclub circuit where they start raking in the cash. The Great Stanton becomes the hottest mentalist act around.
But that wasn't enough. Stantion wanted more. Greed can blind even the smartest of men and here it started to corrupt the act. Stanton decided to expand his repetitour to include speaking to the dead. With little information, this can be done by filling out what you know with generalities such as people walking though a field with a dog. "Every boy has a dog."
Before adjusting the act, Zeena returns to congratulate Stanton and Molly on their successes. At the end of the night, Zeena does a Tarot card reading for Stanton and she sees disaster is he takes this next step. Stanton disregards her and, with the help of a local psychologist, dupes a local socialite into believing that he could hear her daughter. (Actually, the introduction of the psychologist was marvelous. She was at one of the acts and asked about her mother. Stanton correctly saw though this and gambled by saying the mother was dead. She was.)
In the end, the psychologist was hustling the hustler. Something Stanton should have caught if greed didn't get the best of him. His great plan blew up on him and the demons of what he did to Pete and others in his path came back to torment him. Booze and mental illness broke Stanton and down he fell. All the way down.
I don't give away endings, but this wasn't a surprise, which made it scarier. We all knew it was coming. We all knew how Stanton was going to end up. Hitchcock aways said the difference between shock and suspense is simple. Shock is when a bomb goes off under your table. Suspense is when we see the bomb there, ticking, as the victim sits unaware. Suspense is harder. This was suspense. We all knew it was coming and there was nothing to do to stop it.
Stanton wasn't a really sympathic character. Actually, no one was. Zeena, Pete, Molly, the psychologist...saints need not apply here. But the geek is something you never wish on anyone.
By the grace of God, go thee.
If you come out of the theater and look at your car twice because you're not sure whether or not it's going to come to life, P.T. Barnum would like to have a word with you. When you go camping, and can't sleep because you're not sure whether or not a man in a hockey mask that you've never met is going to come after you, there's a sale on the Brooklyn Bridge. If you have done any of the above three things, I guarantee you have watched one of those informertials about how any moron could make a million with this revolutionary real estate program and made a phone call. Why not? Plus, if you call by the end of the show, there's a 10 percent discount for you.
I shouldn't indict people today for this because we had our share of beauts back in the day (Frankenstein vs. the Wolfman, anyone?). Stupid people are eternal as are hustlers to make money off them. Why make honest money though effort when you can dupe the masses?
True fear for functioning minds lives in realism. I still insist that the final frame of M is the scariest in the history of film, especially if you have children. Horror exists in this world. The movies that deal with this are the ones that should keep you up at night.
Nightmare Alley was listed as a melodrama, but that's not accurate. It's a horror movie, and an effective one at that because it deals with the ultimate nightmare - the worst case scenerio. The worst case scenerio in Nightmare Alley is the show business boogey man. That creature which exists in ghost stories that we tell each other by the jukebox light. The geek. Children today use the phrase in the playground as an insult without knowing it's true meaning. Oh, the geek existed. Today, it would be a metaphor for using people at their weakest for profit because the geek is no more.
At least I hope it's not. I thought it wasn't in 1947 after Nightmare Alley came out, but Tyrone Power set me straight. Ty was the star of the movie and while we were having a drink, I asked about the use of the geek as a metaphor in the film.
"Metaphor?," Power said while grinning that sardonic grin he used so effectly in the movie. "Oh, make no mistake, you can still find a geek."
What? I didn't believe him. Couldn't be. Power offered to show me. I wasn't sure I wanted to actually see this, but he insisted. Power was still a little mad at me over an incident that occured earlier in the evening when I had a little too much amazement in my voice while telling him how great he was in Nightmare Alley. It was an award-winning effort, but let's not fool ourselves, no one ever confused Ty with Lawrence Olivier.
Nonetheless, we picked up a cab and head to the Valley where Power knows of a floating carnival in the area. He wasn't lying. We walked over to the sideshow part of the carnival in the front and there was the sign advertising the geek. I refused to pay money for this, so Ty paid. Slowly creeping in, I saw the pit and inched my head over the threshold like one looking over the edge of a cliff. And there it was. I refuse to address what I saw with human pronouns. It had long greasy hair, was missing teeth, reeked of moonshine, but the look in its eyes had nothing to do with moonshine; other substances were involved. The creature was wearing shorts and a blood-stained white t-shirt. The geek had one job and one job alone; it bit the heads off of live chickens.
Most performers wont work at a carnival with a geek because by the grace of God go thee. I call these creatures it, but they weren't always an it. They were once a him or her that made mistakes. Bad mistakes. And with people being people, they're happy to pay and collect money to watch this pain. There's where the horror lies.
Nightmare Alley is the story of how a him turns into an it and the finished product deprived me of sleep for years.
The movie starts with Tyrone Power (playing carny hand Stanton Carlyle) asking the carnival director how someone could become a geek. Or why? These are questions you don't ask. It's a sensitive topic since the morality and legality of the act is beyond debate as the always great Joan Blondell (as mentalist Zeena) tells him just that.
Stanton is Zeena's assistant. Her act involved getting questions from the audience that she answers without actually looking at the written queries. This is accomplished by giving the question to another assistant, a rummy called Pete, that signals her from under the stage. After the show, Power discovers that this isn't always the way the act went. Once Zeena and Pete used a code system that made them quite successful before Pete fell off the wagon.
The code is an old trick. It goes something like this. Blindfold the mentalist and have the assistant go into the audience. Say she holds up an earring from a volunteer and asks the mentalist, "What am I holding here?" Here, hear, ear, earring. That's how it works. From what Zeena says here, their code is much more involved with words representing numbers and cadence changing meanings.
While Zeena, Pete and Stanton are driving between shows, Stanton inquires about the code. Zeena tells him that they have been offered a lot of money for it, but it's their nest egg. She won't give up on Pete because he's in his condition because of her. She "has the heart of a artechoke, a leaf for everyone" (a great subtle line in a great subtle screenplay by the underrated Jules Furthman).
Zeena considers using the code in the act, but after looking at her Tarot cards, she discovers that while the future looks great for Stanton and herself, Pete drew the death card.
Stanton disregards this nonsense until Pete begging for booze one night sets an unfortunate series of events in motion. Stanton hid his quart of moonshine in Zeena's clothes trunk. After hearing Pete's sob story and listening to him tell lucid and entertaining stories of the old days, Stanton breaks down and give him his clear unlabeled bottle. Stanton's motive for giving Pete the bottle at first is unclear and that's thanks to Power's marvelously nuanced performance. In this movie, everything lives in the noir shadows within the screen.
The next morning, Stanton discovered that he grabbed the wrong bottle. He accidently gave Pete the pure alcohol that Zeena uses to take off her makeup.
After Pete's death, Zeena decides to teach the code to Stanton and a young beauty in the carnival, Molly. Stanton learns quickly and the act is quite successful. Until, that is, Stanton is discovered sleeping with Molly. It was assumed that Stanton was with Zeena, but he rested his hat on the fact that he never said that. That's how Stanton works.
Molly and Stanton end up getting married, leave the carnival and take their act to the nightclub circuit where they start raking in the cash. The Great Stanton becomes the hottest mentalist act around.
But that wasn't enough. Stantion wanted more. Greed can blind even the smartest of men and here it started to corrupt the act. Stanton decided to expand his repetitour to include speaking to the dead. With little information, this can be done by filling out what you know with generalities such as people walking though a field with a dog. "Every boy has a dog."
Before adjusting the act, Zeena returns to congratulate Stanton and Molly on their successes. At the end of the night, Zeena does a Tarot card reading for Stanton and she sees disaster is he takes this next step. Stanton disregards her and, with the help of a local psychologist, dupes a local socialite into believing that he could hear her daughter. (Actually, the introduction of the psychologist was marvelous. She was at one of the acts and asked about her mother. Stanton correctly saw though this and gambled by saying the mother was dead. She was.)
In the end, the psychologist was hustling the hustler. Something Stanton should have caught if greed didn't get the best of him. His great plan blew up on him and the demons of what he did to Pete and others in his path came back to torment him. Booze and mental illness broke Stanton and down he fell. All the way down.
I don't give away endings, but this wasn't a surprise, which made it scarier. We all knew it was coming. We all knew how Stanton was going to end up. Hitchcock aways said the difference between shock and suspense is simple. Shock is when a bomb goes off under your table. Suspense is when we see the bomb there, ticking, as the victim sits unaware. Suspense is harder. This was suspense. We all knew it was coming and there was nothing to do to stop it.
Stanton wasn't a really sympathic character. Actually, no one was. Zeena, Pete, Molly, the psychologist...saints need not apply here. But the geek is something you never wish on anyone.
By the grace of God, go thee.
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