On the Waterfront is one of the greatest movies ever made and I can't watch it because it makes my skin crawl. Make sense? No? Well, allow me to explain.
I usually can't stand the thought of this movie, but just the other day I was discussing this it with a friend of director Elia Kazan’s and an old movie pro by the name of Robert Jirus. Bob, who believes Kazan could do no wrong, basically dared me to review this fairly, so here I am.
Every critic has biases; just like every person has biases. The difference between me and all the rest is that I admit them. By admitting them, you can separate that opinion from your review. I’ll admit mine now. I don’t like Elia Kazan. I didn’t like him then and I don’t like him now.
I should give you some background here first. Kazan started his career as an jack-of-all-trades with the Group Theatre, the crew that popularized method acting and started the career of John Garfield, Clifford Odets and Lee Strasberg among others.Some members of this group were known for their liberal, even radical, politics and when the Communist scare started after World War II this crew was an easy target. Most of them held tough and protected their friends. Garfield refused to name names and saw his career and his life end as a result (he died of a heart attack in 1952 at 39).
Kazan on the other hand felt the need to protect his flourishing career, so he turned on six people including, Strasberg's wife, Odets and J. Edward Bromberg, who had been dead for a year when Kazan named him (talk about kicking you when you’re down). Kazan's public reasoning was that he couldn't take the guilt of knowing all those Communists were running around. Of course, he could take $500,000 that the studio offered him right after he proved his was a good American by burying his friends.
Now the problem was that the studios and Congress might love him, but ever since the days of Benedict Arnold, turncoats have never been popular with the public. So Benedict Kazan dilema is that he has to find a way to educate (brainwash) the public as to why ruining the lives of your friends is good for America.
Just about this time, Malcolm Johnson of the New York Sun was putting the finishing touches on a magnificent series of articles about the mob's control of the New York docks. Johnson started by looking stevedore Andy Hintz’s murder at the hands of union bosses John Dunn and Andy Sheridan and from there covered decades of corruption on the waterfront from the lowest grunt in the hole up to the Anastasia clan.
Screenwriter Budd Schulberg was inspired by this effort and did some further research on his own before buying the rights of the series from Johnson. Schulberg then finished the first draft of a screenplay and tried to peddle it to the mindless idiots that produce movies in Hollywood. Everyone passed on it. The movie seem dead until red-hot director Elia Kazan decided he wanted to work with Schulberg. Budd tried to push his waterfront script again and Kazan saw potential - potential to rework the story to show why squealing is as good for you as spinach and broccholi.
The final draft of the script is about longshoreman Terry Malloy (Marlon Brando), a former boxer and brother of union leader Charlie (Rod Steiger), who has a cushy job on the docks, but every once in a while has to help out the gangsters who run his local. One of those favors led to the death of Joey Doyle. This was a bit much for Terry and he begins to have his doubts about his brother and the union head, Johnny Friendly (Lee J. Cobb). While the union tries to keep Terry in line, a priest (Karl Malden) and Joey’s sister, Edie (Eva Marie Saint), try and get Terry to join their movement against the union and do the right thing – testify before the commission.
From my earlier tirade, you can guess how it ends. As an aside, a commission was not involved in Johnson’s articles. In the cases mentioned by Johnson and Schulberg, the longshoremen used force and the democratic process to take back their unions.
The movie itself is phenomenal. The acting is top notch from Marlon Brando to Rod Steiger to Lee J. Cobb all the way down to the actual longshoremen playing bit parts. The location photography cannot be grittier or more appropriate. Budd’s screenplay is one of the best you’ll ever see. But here it all comes back to the acting.I hate to single out the obvious scene to point out why this movie is so good, but I want to look at something you might not have noticed. In the famous “contenda” scene, watch Brando’s reactions when his brother pulls out the gun. The standard here would be to look shocked or frightened. Brando just looks depressed and sad, which seems stupid at first, but then it makes perfect sense. What have these thugs done to my brother to make him pull a gun on his own blood? It’s scenes like this that show why early Brando was so good before he became a bloated parody of himself.
There are no scenes or even moments when I roll my eyes in the entire movie. It’s probably the most realistic film I’ve ever seen and a credit to everyone on the staff. And everytime I watch it I see the justification for John Garfield's death. On the Waterfront is a great movie. It is also a momument to Kazan's greed and cowardace. I hope you enjoy it.
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Monday, July 24, 2006
Woodstock ****
If you have any desire to watch a live conniption, just mention “It’s All True” to Orson Welles and watch the memories flow back.
This seed was planted in 1942 when the folks at RKO were a little worried about Orson’s new film, The Magnificent Ambersons. Orson believed this was going to be his masterpiece and if the last two hours were anything like the first fifteen minutes I would be inclined to agree. The studio thought the whole thing was a little avant guard and asked Orson to edit it. Of course the dogmatic director said no and instead of pressing the issue, RKO sent him to Brazil to do a documentary about Carnival. While he was gone, “those pigs” did a complete reedit and “destroyed my beautiful film.”
As much as he hated it due to the above reasons, It’s All True, ended up being a good film as well as his other documentary, F is for Fake, where he looks at con men.
I often talked with Orson about It’s All True for two reasons. First, his vitriol on the topic always amused me.
The second and more important reason for our discussion here, is that he is one of the few directors that I know of that is equally adept when working on documentaries or feature films. One night, I asked Orson how he succeeded where others failed and he said, “It both cases, you’re just telling a story. In a documentary, you just have to find it.”
This brings up two subdivisions of documentaries - the propaganda film and cinema verite. Propaganda is not the correct word for the first type of film, but I can’t think of a better one. The basic difference between the two films is that in propaganda films you know what story you want to tell ahead of time and you manipulate the film to tell that story (think Michael Moore), in cinema verite, the film itself tells the story.
The one of the best cinema verite documentary that I’ve seen is Woodstock. As an aside, you might have noticed this if you have read many of my reviews, but I’ll take this moment to put it in black and white – I don’t care about politics in movies. What I mean by that is I will only look at how effective a director is in getting his point across, what that point is doesn’t concern me. I’m not a political writer. It’s not my job. (I will make an exception to this rule when I get to On the Waterfront, because politics has something to do with the actual making of the movie).
The key to filming an event like Woodstock is to capture the moment. The director’s job here is to convey the energy and passion being experienced by those who were there. This has really only been effectively done twice while capturing a once-in-a-lifetime event like this. One was a pseudo documentary called Medium Cool which contained live segments from the Chicago riots at the Democratic National Convention in 1968. The other time was Triumph of the Will, where Leni Riefenstahl captured the fury of the 1934 Nazi convention in Nuremburg. I think Michael Wadleigh, a director who hasn’t done much of note aside of this, accomplishes that goal here.
There are some editorial decisions that Wadleigh makes that serve as an unwanted distraction, such as his habit of using the mirror split screen for no apparent reason or putting on Arlo Guthrie (a musical criticism, not a political one) at all, but overall he gives his viewers an idea about what it was like to be at the 3-day event. The editing job must have either been tortuous or a labor of love because I can only image the amount of film they went through.
In addition, Wadleigh either must have had cameras everywhere or he’s a very lucky man because he was about to get some great footage of the rains and the mudslides.
To focus on the music here would have been a massive mistake because the music is almost secondary to the event if the director is looking to make a truly great documentary. Unfortunately you could have made many concert documentaries about Country Joe and the Fish (another musical criticism), but there is only one Woodstock. The crowd is probably even more of a story here than the musicians and Wadleigh correctly emphasizes that here.
Wadleigh also makes some interesting decisions in filming the bands. He changes styles which each new band, using the extreme close-ups on Country Joe, then going to the wide shots of Santana, giving each band a distinctive visual appearance.
One key to finding out if a music documentary is great is if a viewer can watch and enjoy the movie without having to love the music accompanying the movie because movies are a visual medium at heart and if you can’t enjoy the pictures first, then the director failed. I sat through two songs by Country Joe and his little tirade; so I guess that means Wadleigh succeeded.
This seed was planted in 1942 when the folks at RKO were a little worried about Orson’s new film, The Magnificent Ambersons. Orson believed this was going to be his masterpiece and if the last two hours were anything like the first fifteen minutes I would be inclined to agree. The studio thought the whole thing was a little avant guard and asked Orson to edit it. Of course the dogmatic director said no and instead of pressing the issue, RKO sent him to Brazil to do a documentary about Carnival. While he was gone, “those pigs” did a complete reedit and “destroyed my beautiful film.”
As much as he hated it due to the above reasons, It’s All True, ended up being a good film as well as his other documentary, F is for Fake, where he looks at con men.
I often talked with Orson about It’s All True for two reasons. First, his vitriol on the topic always amused me.
The second and more important reason for our discussion here, is that he is one of the few directors that I know of that is equally adept when working on documentaries or feature films. One night, I asked Orson how he succeeded where others failed and he said, “It both cases, you’re just telling a story. In a documentary, you just have to find it.”
This brings up two subdivisions of documentaries - the propaganda film and cinema verite. Propaganda is not the correct word for the first type of film, but I can’t think of a better one. The basic difference between the two films is that in propaganda films you know what story you want to tell ahead of time and you manipulate the film to tell that story (think Michael Moore), in cinema verite, the film itself tells the story.
The one of the best cinema verite documentary that I’ve seen is Woodstock. As an aside, you might have noticed this if you have read many of my reviews, but I’ll take this moment to put it in black and white – I don’t care about politics in movies. What I mean by that is I will only look at how effective a director is in getting his point across, what that point is doesn’t concern me. I’m not a political writer. It’s not my job. (I will make an exception to this rule when I get to On the Waterfront, because politics has something to do with the actual making of the movie).
The key to filming an event like Woodstock is to capture the moment. The director’s job here is to convey the energy and passion being experienced by those who were there. This has really only been effectively done twice while capturing a once-in-a-lifetime event like this. One was a pseudo documentary called Medium Cool which contained live segments from the Chicago riots at the Democratic National Convention in 1968. The other time was Triumph of the Will, where Leni Riefenstahl captured the fury of the 1934 Nazi convention in Nuremburg. I think Michael Wadleigh, a director who hasn’t done much of note aside of this, accomplishes that goal here.
There are some editorial decisions that Wadleigh makes that serve as an unwanted distraction, such as his habit of using the mirror split screen for no apparent reason or putting on Arlo Guthrie (a musical criticism, not a political one) at all, but overall he gives his viewers an idea about what it was like to be at the 3-day event. The editing job must have either been tortuous or a labor of love because I can only image the amount of film they went through.
In addition, Wadleigh either must have had cameras everywhere or he’s a very lucky man because he was about to get some great footage of the rains and the mudslides.
To focus on the music here would have been a massive mistake because the music is almost secondary to the event if the director is looking to make a truly great documentary. Unfortunately you could have made many concert documentaries about Country Joe and the Fish (another musical criticism), but there is only one Woodstock. The crowd is probably even more of a story here than the musicians and Wadleigh correctly emphasizes that here.
Wadleigh also makes some interesting decisions in filming the bands. He changes styles which each new band, using the extreme close-ups on Country Joe, then going to the wide shots of Santana, giving each band a distinctive visual appearance.
One key to finding out if a music documentary is great is if a viewer can watch and enjoy the movie without having to love the music accompanying the movie because movies are a visual medium at heart and if you can’t enjoy the pictures first, then the director failed. I sat through two songs by Country Joe and his little tirade; so I guess that means Wadleigh succeeded.
Friday, July 21, 2006
Breathless (no stars)
Somewhere toward the end of 1951, I was having drinks with John Huston at the Brown Derby while talking about a movie we were putting the finishing touches on called the African Queen when a writer from a new French magazine interrupted us.
Francois Truffaut at the time was a film critic for a French publication called Cahiers du Cinema, a sheet that would unfortunately become quite influential. This was before Francois came out with his famous auteur theory, but the young journal still had some clout. Cahiers just came out with their top ten movie list for 1951 and I spent much time making fun of them. The list was ridiculous. Diary of a Country Priest was ranked two and Sunset Boulevard chimed in at eight.
What? Never heard of Diary of a Country Priest? The title pretty much explains the plot, except it should say Diary of a Dying Country Priest to be complete, I guess. I have a personal rule-of-thumb. If I ever have to use the word microcosm to describe a movie, it’s not good. Of course, ol’ Francois said Diary was a microcosm of the universal struggles of human kind. Yep, bring the kids.
Francois and the guys took Cahiers (and everything else) seriously and didn’t take too kindly to my constant criticisms and we started to debate the issue. I was a little loaded at this point and began to resort to my trademark caustic humor. As misguided as he is on just about everything, Francois does have a temper and this potentially intellectual debate quickly deteriorated into something unpleasant.
Here’s the odd thing. If you read Truffaut’s and Jean-Luc Godard’s theories and compare them to my ideas, we aren’t too far off. I’m all for the auteur theory which stipulates that the director’s vision must be what you watch on the screen and this is coming from a screenwriter. I’ve often deferred to Johnny during the making of African Queen and never had a problem doing things his way.
Truffaut and Godard love Hitchcock and Hawks. So do I.
Our differences can be seen in the final product. They believe in making film for the sake of making film – no story necessary. I see film as the highest form of story-telling and all tools in the movie making process should be utilized in telling the story with all of the clarity and emotion necessary to fulfill the director’s vision.
I also believe films should be entertaining. Have you ever watched a film and said “that was a nice shot” or “that was a nice cut.”? Probably not. If the final product is not entertaining, no one will see it and then what’s the point.
This is how our discussion should have gone. I believe the confrontation was my fault and in retrospect I feel guilty. I should have debated Francois with the merits of my argument because there is no question in my mind that I’m right. To prove my point, I will take one of the French New Wave masterpieces and dissect it. The movie I’m choosing is Jean-Luc Godard’s Breathless which is the grandfather of the New Wave.
Allow me to make a quick concession here before someone else realizes it. Bosley Crowthers panned this movie for the New York Times. He also panned Diary. But he’s still a clown because his reviews focused on trivial complaints like Jean Paul Belmondo’s physical appeal in Breathless or that he was “confused” (not hard) in Diary. My problem with both is that they are not referential enough to the medium and only desire to show what they can do with a camera. Anyone can do that. Utilizing the camera and the moviola to make them part of the story – that takes talent.
Roger Ebert has written that Breathless was the most influential movie since Citizen Kane. To be more precise, this movie influenced the most influential movie since Citizen Kane – Bonnie and Clyde (which Bosley also panned). It is the difference between those two movies that makes my point as to why the French New Wave is trivial.
Watch the scene where Bonnie and Clyde die. There were dozens of cuts during that sequence, but those cuts quickened the pace to the scene and added a sense of desperation. There was a point to the technique. Breathless was one of the earliest movies to rely that heavily on the jarring edits that director Arthur Penn used so effectively in Bonnie and Clyde, but those edits not only do not add to the story, they take away from it. The cuts actually serve as a distraction to the viewer.
The plot in Breathless is really nothing. Belmondo (who is actually a talented actor) plays a Bogart-worshipping thief that shot a policeman and is hiding out at his American girlfriend’s (Jean Seberg) apartment. They spend most of the movie avoiding the police and hanging out in her bedroom. Breathless is basically homage to American film actors and movies while showing the difference between the old and the new. It’s a movie about movies basically with the actors using certain mannerism that were made famous in other films.
Okay, I needed a break here in order to drink a few martinis.
I’m ready.
I’ve been trying to avoid this, but I really have no choice when talking about this movie. Breathless is an early reference to post-structuralism where a character is not a person, but an archetype of something larger. This is a New Wave standard. In post-structuralism, the idea of a single meaning also extends to the story as well where it is considered more important what the viewer thinks, then what the auteur intends.
Sounds like fun, huh?
The fact that I had to go through that stupid description is everything that is wrong with Breathless and the New Wave. Great directors get their points in almost subconsciously while entertaining the viewer. There is nothing about the previous paragraph that is entertaining.
Film is such a powerful medium that it can be the highest form of human communication, but a movie like Breathless is no better than any Steven Segal movie because both experiences are mind-numbing and nothing comes across. Both are just exercises. All Godard is saying is that he likes films. This is fine.
What isn’t fine about Godard and his buddies is that people not only take them seriously, but look down on others who have a differing view. For those contrarians out there, take heart, they don’t get more intellectual than me and I can’t make it to the end of Breathless. Not because I can’t, but because Godard hasn’t shown me why I should.
Francois Truffaut at the time was a film critic for a French publication called Cahiers du Cinema, a sheet that would unfortunately become quite influential. This was before Francois came out with his famous auteur theory, but the young journal still had some clout. Cahiers just came out with their top ten movie list for 1951 and I spent much time making fun of them. The list was ridiculous. Diary of a Country Priest was ranked two and Sunset Boulevard chimed in at eight.
What? Never heard of Diary of a Country Priest? The title pretty much explains the plot, except it should say Diary of a Dying Country Priest to be complete, I guess. I have a personal rule-of-thumb. If I ever have to use the word microcosm to describe a movie, it’s not good. Of course, ol’ Francois said Diary was a microcosm of the universal struggles of human kind. Yep, bring the kids.
Francois and the guys took Cahiers (and everything else) seriously and didn’t take too kindly to my constant criticisms and we started to debate the issue. I was a little loaded at this point and began to resort to my trademark caustic humor. As misguided as he is on just about everything, Francois does have a temper and this potentially intellectual debate quickly deteriorated into something unpleasant.
Here’s the odd thing. If you read Truffaut’s and Jean-Luc Godard’s theories and compare them to my ideas, we aren’t too far off. I’m all for the auteur theory which stipulates that the director’s vision must be what you watch on the screen and this is coming from a screenwriter. I’ve often deferred to Johnny during the making of African Queen and never had a problem doing things his way.
Truffaut and Godard love Hitchcock and Hawks. So do I.
Our differences can be seen in the final product. They believe in making film for the sake of making film – no story necessary. I see film as the highest form of story-telling and all tools in the movie making process should be utilized in telling the story with all of the clarity and emotion necessary to fulfill the director’s vision.
I also believe films should be entertaining. Have you ever watched a film and said “that was a nice shot” or “that was a nice cut.”? Probably not. If the final product is not entertaining, no one will see it and then what’s the point.
This is how our discussion should have gone. I believe the confrontation was my fault and in retrospect I feel guilty. I should have debated Francois with the merits of my argument because there is no question in my mind that I’m right. To prove my point, I will take one of the French New Wave masterpieces and dissect it. The movie I’m choosing is Jean-Luc Godard’s Breathless which is the grandfather of the New Wave.
Allow me to make a quick concession here before someone else realizes it. Bosley Crowthers panned this movie for the New York Times. He also panned Diary. But he’s still a clown because his reviews focused on trivial complaints like Jean Paul Belmondo’s physical appeal in Breathless or that he was “confused” (not hard) in Diary. My problem with both is that they are not referential enough to the medium and only desire to show what they can do with a camera. Anyone can do that. Utilizing the camera and the moviola to make them part of the story – that takes talent.
Roger Ebert has written that Breathless was the most influential movie since Citizen Kane. To be more precise, this movie influenced the most influential movie since Citizen Kane – Bonnie and Clyde (which Bosley also panned). It is the difference between those two movies that makes my point as to why the French New Wave is trivial.
Watch the scene where Bonnie and Clyde die. There were dozens of cuts during that sequence, but those cuts quickened the pace to the scene and added a sense of desperation. There was a point to the technique. Breathless was one of the earliest movies to rely that heavily on the jarring edits that director Arthur Penn used so effectively in Bonnie and Clyde, but those edits not only do not add to the story, they take away from it. The cuts actually serve as a distraction to the viewer.
The plot in Breathless is really nothing. Belmondo (who is actually a talented actor) plays a Bogart-worshipping thief that shot a policeman and is hiding out at his American girlfriend’s (Jean Seberg) apartment. They spend most of the movie avoiding the police and hanging out in her bedroom. Breathless is basically homage to American film actors and movies while showing the difference between the old and the new. It’s a movie about movies basically with the actors using certain mannerism that were made famous in other films.
Okay, I needed a break here in order to drink a few martinis.
I’m ready.
I’ve been trying to avoid this, but I really have no choice when talking about this movie. Breathless is an early reference to post-structuralism where a character is not a person, but an archetype of something larger. This is a New Wave standard. In post-structuralism, the idea of a single meaning also extends to the story as well where it is considered more important what the viewer thinks, then what the auteur intends.
Sounds like fun, huh?
The fact that I had to go through that stupid description is everything that is wrong with Breathless and the New Wave. Great directors get their points in almost subconsciously while entertaining the viewer. There is nothing about the previous paragraph that is entertaining.
Film is such a powerful medium that it can be the highest form of human communication, but a movie like Breathless is no better than any Steven Segal movie because both experiences are mind-numbing and nothing comes across. Both are just exercises. All Godard is saying is that he likes films. This is fine.
What isn’t fine about Godard and his buddies is that people not only take them seriously, but look down on others who have a differing view. For those contrarians out there, take heart, they don’t get more intellectual than me and I can’t make it to the end of Breathless. Not because I can’t, but because Godard hasn’t shown me why I should.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Paths of Glory *****
I died on May 16, 1955. I was 46. My youthful demise was the result of a rather rambunctious life. At the end I was a little nervous because I wasn’t sure what was on the other side and I wasn’t what you would call “Heaven material.” After a couple of years in Purgatory and a good word or two from a few friends, I made it.
Overall its been a pleasant experience, I got to meet a lot of my heroes at first, then as the years went on, some of my old friends came up to join me. Looking back, there was no need to be afraid at all.
The only time I feel any regret is when I see one of my old friends struggling with a problem and I can see they need an encouraging word or some support. I try to give it from here, but sometimes you need to see someone in the flesh. It’s those times, when I’m the outsider looking in, that are the toughest.
I first felt this sensation in 1960 when Kirk Douglas was just putting the finishing touches on Spartacus and he was deciding whether or not to give screenwriting credit to Dalton Trumbo, one of the blacklisted Hollywood Ten, who had not had his name on a screenplay in years. Trumbo was still working, but he would also have to use pseudonyms. He actually won an Oscar for the Brave One using the name Robert Rich. I knew Dalton was a member of the Communist Party for a while. I don’t think he was very involved. Most theatre and film guys weren’t. Anyway, Trumbo wouldn’t rat anyone out like Budd Schulberg did, so Dalton took the hit.
In 1960, Stanley Kubrick, being Stanley Kubrick, wanted to be credited as the screenwriter of Spartacus. Kirk, who was producer, wasn’t comfortable with this and started to toy with the idea of giving Dalton credit. The advisors in his company said he was crazy and this move would force the company into bankruptcy. Kirk, being Kirk, did it anyway and that broke the blacklist. When Dalton and I spoke later, he said he was so proud of Kirk for giving him his name back. So am I.
I want to celebrate the independent spirit of Kirk Douglas here, but not by looking at Spartacus, which was never one of my favorites. I want to look at another movie that would have never been made without Kirk Douglas – Paths of Glory.
In 1952, Kirk and I were in Havana drinking Hurricanes at the Copacabana. It was a vacation and I had worked in Havana years earlier, so I was the de facto tour guide. Kirk needed some time away because he was getting frustrated with the studio system. Back then, you signed a seven year contract with a studio and that was it. You did whatever they asked you to do – or else.
Kirk had just finished Big Trees, which wasn’t what you would call a classic. He couldn’t understand this. He just had four or five monster hits in a row, pulling down a couple of Oscar nominations in the process and he’s relegated to this drivel. As the night progressed, I said if he was so unhappy, he should break away and start his own company. Now before anyone thinks I’m giving myself credit for this, I was joking. It was unheard of to break away back then. It wasn’t even discussed. But Kirk didn’t take my quip as a joke. He said he was going to do it and once I got over my shock, I started to egg him on, telling him what a perfect idea it was and what great movies he could make.
One of the first films he made was Paths of Glory. The film was adapted from a book and based loosely on a true story. It takes place during World War I where a French general (George MacCready), seeking a promotion, sends three of his regiments on a suicidal mission to take a hill. One third of the soldiers do not leave the trench, some because of the unreasonableness of the order and some because of they can’t get past the German shelling.
The general orders one of his artillery to execute the straggling men. The soldier refuses to do so without the order in writing. Instead the general decides to court-martial 100 men for cowardice. That number is lowered to three – one from each regiment. The first soldier (Ralph Meeker) is chosen because he doesn’t get along with his captain. The second soldier (Timothy Carey) is picked because he does not fit in with the other men. The third soldier is chosen randomly and he just happens to be one of the most decorated in the unit. The colonel, who led the men (Douglas), defends his soldiers during the trial. I’ll stop there, so as not to give up the ending. But I’ll give you a hint; this ending would not have taken place today.
Without Douglas, this movie would not have taken place at all. The only star here is Douglas. All the other roles are filled by talented actors who usually only do bit parts. This is a dark grim movie that tells an important story from a unique perspective. The plotting of the film is different in almost everyway from any type of movie you’ve seen before.
This was one of Kubrick’s earlier films. I’m not a big Kubrick fan. He has a few great films, but most of those were early in my opinion. This film is probably one of his best, if not the best. Every shot is utilized in telling this story. It almost feels like a documentary. There’s no extra flourish here. If Kubrick using a tracking shot, it’s meant to convey an emotion or catch another side of a person, it’s meant to push along the story.
I like Kubrick’s work here, but I still don’t like him. Another blacklisted writer Jim Thompson did a lot of work on this screenplay, but his name couldn’t be used in the credits. Guess whose name was used? I have one other regret about being dead; that I couldn’t be in the room when Kirk told Kubrick to go to hell in 1960.
Overall its been a pleasant experience, I got to meet a lot of my heroes at first, then as the years went on, some of my old friends came up to join me. Looking back, there was no need to be afraid at all.
The only time I feel any regret is when I see one of my old friends struggling with a problem and I can see they need an encouraging word or some support. I try to give it from here, but sometimes you need to see someone in the flesh. It’s those times, when I’m the outsider looking in, that are the toughest.
I first felt this sensation in 1960 when Kirk Douglas was just putting the finishing touches on Spartacus and he was deciding whether or not to give screenwriting credit to Dalton Trumbo, one of the blacklisted Hollywood Ten, who had not had his name on a screenplay in years. Trumbo was still working, but he would also have to use pseudonyms. He actually won an Oscar for the Brave One using the name Robert Rich. I knew Dalton was a member of the Communist Party for a while. I don’t think he was very involved. Most theatre and film guys weren’t. Anyway, Trumbo wouldn’t rat anyone out like Budd Schulberg did, so Dalton took the hit.
In 1960, Stanley Kubrick, being Stanley Kubrick, wanted to be credited as the screenwriter of Spartacus. Kirk, who was producer, wasn’t comfortable with this and started to toy with the idea of giving Dalton credit. The advisors in his company said he was crazy and this move would force the company into bankruptcy. Kirk, being Kirk, did it anyway and that broke the blacklist. When Dalton and I spoke later, he said he was so proud of Kirk for giving him his name back. So am I.
I want to celebrate the independent spirit of Kirk Douglas here, but not by looking at Spartacus, which was never one of my favorites. I want to look at another movie that would have never been made without Kirk Douglas – Paths of Glory.
In 1952, Kirk and I were in Havana drinking Hurricanes at the Copacabana. It was a vacation and I had worked in Havana years earlier, so I was the de facto tour guide. Kirk needed some time away because he was getting frustrated with the studio system. Back then, you signed a seven year contract with a studio and that was it. You did whatever they asked you to do – or else.
Kirk had just finished Big Trees, which wasn’t what you would call a classic. He couldn’t understand this. He just had four or five monster hits in a row, pulling down a couple of Oscar nominations in the process and he’s relegated to this drivel. As the night progressed, I said if he was so unhappy, he should break away and start his own company. Now before anyone thinks I’m giving myself credit for this, I was joking. It was unheard of to break away back then. It wasn’t even discussed. But Kirk didn’t take my quip as a joke. He said he was going to do it and once I got over my shock, I started to egg him on, telling him what a perfect idea it was and what great movies he could make.
One of the first films he made was Paths of Glory. The film was adapted from a book and based loosely on a true story. It takes place during World War I where a French general (George MacCready), seeking a promotion, sends three of his regiments on a suicidal mission to take a hill. One third of the soldiers do not leave the trench, some because of the unreasonableness of the order and some because of they can’t get past the German shelling.
The general orders one of his artillery to execute the straggling men. The soldier refuses to do so without the order in writing. Instead the general decides to court-martial 100 men for cowardice. That number is lowered to three – one from each regiment. The first soldier (Ralph Meeker) is chosen because he doesn’t get along with his captain. The second soldier (Timothy Carey) is picked because he does not fit in with the other men. The third soldier is chosen randomly and he just happens to be one of the most decorated in the unit. The colonel, who led the men (Douglas), defends his soldiers during the trial. I’ll stop there, so as not to give up the ending. But I’ll give you a hint; this ending would not have taken place today.
Without Douglas, this movie would not have taken place at all. The only star here is Douglas. All the other roles are filled by talented actors who usually only do bit parts. This is a dark grim movie that tells an important story from a unique perspective. The plotting of the film is different in almost everyway from any type of movie you’ve seen before.
This was one of Kubrick’s earlier films. I’m not a big Kubrick fan. He has a few great films, but most of those were early in my opinion. This film is probably one of his best, if not the best. Every shot is utilized in telling this story. It almost feels like a documentary. There’s no extra flourish here. If Kubrick using a tracking shot, it’s meant to convey an emotion or catch another side of a person, it’s meant to push along the story.
I like Kubrick’s work here, but I still don’t like him. Another blacklisted writer Jim Thompson did a lot of work on this screenplay, but his name couldn’t be used in the credits. Guess whose name was used? I have one other regret about being dead; that I couldn’t be in the room when Kirk told Kubrick to go to hell in 1960.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Fury *****
Somewhere in the early 1950s, I’m drinking Cutty Sark with Pat O’Brien and Spencer Tracy at Toot Shors and we’re all breaking up because we just heard a new “Method” story.
Method acting was pretty new at the time and mostly New York stage guys used it. Only a handful of film actors were trained that way (John Garfield, Monty Clift, Rod Steiger, Brando, Karl Malden, off the top of my head), so they were certainly in the minority, but guys like Brando were getting so much press that everyone thought it was the next big thing.
Some of the old-timers got offended by the kid gloves treatment that the kids got from reviewers, but others were just amused. That was pretty much the way O’Brien and Tracy looked at it. But there was one thing about the Method for which they took great pleasure – the stories about the ridiculous extremes that some Method actors would go to prepare for a role.
On that day at Toots, I was telling Pat and Spence about two Brando stories I just heard. One took place during the filming of Viva Zapata. There was one scene where Brando was supposed to be drunk, so of course he got drunk. So fall-over drunk that he couldn’t function and the shoot had to be postponed until the next day. During that shoot, he got drunk again and it got postponed again, and so on. Don’t bother to look for the scene in the film, they ended up scrapping it. (“It’s very important for these Method kids to learn how to hold their booze,” Tracy said after hearing the story.)
The second story had the two great Irish actors nearly on the floor. I can’t remember during what shoot it took place, but there was one scene where Brando was supposed to be suffering from severe burns. Marlon read somewhere that burn victims felt a freezing sensation. Being the Method actor that he is, Brando covered himself in ice. Problem was he stayed in the ice too long and got frost bitten.
This reminded Pat of something that Jack Barrymore said after being asked about the Method. “Method acting? There are quite a few methods. Mine involves a lot of talent, a glass and some cracked ice."
Being the good reporter that I am, I asked Pat and Spence how they would describe their acting styles. “I always think of my dead mother,” O’Brien said.
“Your mother’s not dead,” Tracy said.
“That’s why I’m not a very good actor. All good Method actors need a dead mother.”
Tracy’s answer to the same question was a little simpler. “I remember my lines and try not to hit the damn furniture.” It’s that simplicity that made him so wonderful.
Of all the great performances that Tracy has given, my two favorites were ones where he wasn’t even nominated for Academy Awards. The first was The Last Hurrah where he played a roguish mayor of a large eastern city (read Mayor James Curley from Boston). Even though the guy would cheat or rob anyone to get his way, Tracy was so likable in the role that you found yourself rooting for him. In that movie it was the simple things he did, almost unnoticeable, like when he was trying to intimidate an opponent and in the middle of the grilling, Tracy patted and rubbed the guy’s arm and with that trademark Tracy growl said, “Oh, you don’t want to do that” before his eyes widened and he got to the threat.
He was great in The Last Hurrah. He was better in Fury.
Fury was made 20 years before The Last Hurrah, but Tracy, unschooled and working off natural talent, was the same actor he would be in his later years.
The movie was about a regular guy whose car broke down in some god forsaken small town. It just happens that as this poor schlep was looking for help, word leaks out that there was a kidnapping and rape in the town. Of course, the new face becomes suspect number one for a variety of reasons. The police toss him in jail, almost for his own protection, but the town storms the jail and burns it down. All the residents and Tracy’s fiancé and brother believe Tracy died in the fire, but the town tries to cover it up. The fiancé and brother press the issue hard and charges are filed against some leaders of the mob. When the trial starts random and incriminating evidence begins to appear against the mob leaders. Unbeknownst to anyone, the evidence is being leaked by Tracy who actually survived the fire and is hell-bent on getting revenge.
This is one of the more interesting roles I’ve ever seen in a film because the Tracy character is acting like a villain would, but his actions are justified in the minds of the audience because of what the mob put him through. This is another movie that ends up having a theme and a point, but once again this movie works because it is so entertaining. I don’t care how peace-loving you are. I guarantee that you will be frothing at the mouth and rooting on Tracy in his search for revenge by the middle of this one.
I am convinced that this movie would have failed if anyone other than Tracy did this part. He is the best at justifying his actions on screen while staying within character, so the audience can understand and still like him, no matter what he does.
Looking back at all the great actors during that era, the Bogarts, the Cagneys, the Tracys, the Grants, I always laugh at the acting schools today and wonder what they could have done with giants like that. These guys all learned on the job. There was only one great old-time actor that tried to learn the Method, Marilyn Monroe, and it ruined her because it took away her natural ability.
You can’t argue with the quality of the work that guys like DeNiro, Pacino, Hackman, Garfield and, yes, Brando, have produced. But when I see Tracy in Fury, it makes me think that the job just isn’t that complicated.
Method acting was pretty new at the time and mostly New York stage guys used it. Only a handful of film actors were trained that way (John Garfield, Monty Clift, Rod Steiger, Brando, Karl Malden, off the top of my head), so they were certainly in the minority, but guys like Brando were getting so much press that everyone thought it was the next big thing.
Some of the old-timers got offended by the kid gloves treatment that the kids got from reviewers, but others were just amused. That was pretty much the way O’Brien and Tracy looked at it. But there was one thing about the Method for which they took great pleasure – the stories about the ridiculous extremes that some Method actors would go to prepare for a role.
On that day at Toots, I was telling Pat and Spence about two Brando stories I just heard. One took place during the filming of Viva Zapata. There was one scene where Brando was supposed to be drunk, so of course he got drunk. So fall-over drunk that he couldn’t function and the shoot had to be postponed until the next day. During that shoot, he got drunk again and it got postponed again, and so on. Don’t bother to look for the scene in the film, they ended up scrapping it. (“It’s very important for these Method kids to learn how to hold their booze,” Tracy said after hearing the story.)
The second story had the two great Irish actors nearly on the floor. I can’t remember during what shoot it took place, but there was one scene where Brando was supposed to be suffering from severe burns. Marlon read somewhere that burn victims felt a freezing sensation. Being the Method actor that he is, Brando covered himself in ice. Problem was he stayed in the ice too long and got frost bitten.
This reminded Pat of something that Jack Barrymore said after being asked about the Method. “Method acting? There are quite a few methods. Mine involves a lot of talent, a glass and some cracked ice."
Being the good reporter that I am, I asked Pat and Spence how they would describe their acting styles. “I always think of my dead mother,” O’Brien said.
“Your mother’s not dead,” Tracy said.
“That’s why I’m not a very good actor. All good Method actors need a dead mother.”
Tracy’s answer to the same question was a little simpler. “I remember my lines and try not to hit the damn furniture.” It’s that simplicity that made him so wonderful.
Of all the great performances that Tracy has given, my two favorites were ones where he wasn’t even nominated for Academy Awards. The first was The Last Hurrah where he played a roguish mayor of a large eastern city (read Mayor James Curley from Boston). Even though the guy would cheat or rob anyone to get his way, Tracy was so likable in the role that you found yourself rooting for him. In that movie it was the simple things he did, almost unnoticeable, like when he was trying to intimidate an opponent and in the middle of the grilling, Tracy patted and rubbed the guy’s arm and with that trademark Tracy growl said, “Oh, you don’t want to do that” before his eyes widened and he got to the threat.
He was great in The Last Hurrah. He was better in Fury.
Fury was made 20 years before The Last Hurrah, but Tracy, unschooled and working off natural talent, was the same actor he would be in his later years.
The movie was about a regular guy whose car broke down in some god forsaken small town. It just happens that as this poor schlep was looking for help, word leaks out that there was a kidnapping and rape in the town. Of course, the new face becomes suspect number one for a variety of reasons. The police toss him in jail, almost for his own protection, but the town storms the jail and burns it down. All the residents and Tracy’s fiancé and brother believe Tracy died in the fire, but the town tries to cover it up. The fiancé and brother press the issue hard and charges are filed against some leaders of the mob. When the trial starts random and incriminating evidence begins to appear against the mob leaders. Unbeknownst to anyone, the evidence is being leaked by Tracy who actually survived the fire and is hell-bent on getting revenge.
This is one of the more interesting roles I’ve ever seen in a film because the Tracy character is acting like a villain would, but his actions are justified in the minds of the audience because of what the mob put him through. This is another movie that ends up having a theme and a point, but once again this movie works because it is so entertaining. I don’t care how peace-loving you are. I guarantee that you will be frothing at the mouth and rooting on Tracy in his search for revenge by the middle of this one.
I am convinced that this movie would have failed if anyone other than Tracy did this part. He is the best at justifying his actions on screen while staying within character, so the audience can understand and still like him, no matter what he does.
Looking back at all the great actors during that era, the Bogarts, the Cagneys, the Tracys, the Grants, I always laugh at the acting schools today and wonder what they could have done with giants like that. These guys all learned on the job. There was only one great old-time actor that tried to learn the Method, Marilyn Monroe, and it ruined her because it took away her natural ability.
You can’t argue with the quality of the work that guys like DeNiro, Pacino, Hackman, Garfield and, yes, Brando, have produced. But when I see Tracy in Fury, it makes me think that the job just isn’t that complicated.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Footlight Parade **
One judge of superstardom is when people not only look for your films 70 years later, but look for your bad films and even call some of those classics.
I’m not one of those old-timers who insist that all movies made back then were classics or even good. The only reason it might seem that way is that the bad movies for the most part don’t last the test of time. There were no videos or DVDs back then, so if a studio wanted to kill a movie, they just would. There are some bad cult classics that can be found today like Reefer Madness, but most of those clunkers die a peaceful death.
But movies don’t die when Jimmy Cagney is involved. The man could do everything and anything – sing, dance, comedic roles, dramatic roles, tough guy roles – and he did it all brilliantly. He’s probably the single most versatile performer in the history of cinema with the possible exception of Lon Chaney Sr. He can mesmerize an audience so much that they don’t realize that they are watching an absolutely indescribable piece of garbage like Footlight Parade. Notice I didn’t say unwatchable because nothing Cagney is in is unwatchable.
With that description, it might seem odd that I would choose Footlight Parade as the first Cagney movie to review. It’s not odd at all. It’s easy to shine in a great movie where everything in clicking. Greatness is judged when the wheels are falling off. With that in mind, the wheel-less Footlight Parade is the best judge of Cagney’s greatness.
I’ve seen this movie five times, once sober. You can’t watch this movie sober. Once you see Ruby Keeler as the Asian prostitute, you’ll go into convulsions. Ruby’s always puzzled me. She dances like a sumo wrestler at a ho-down, can’t really sing too well and those are usually two qualifications for being a star of musicals. She also can’t act and that would usually be a qualification for WASPish woman to portray an Asian prostitute. With all this considered, she was probably the most famous musical star of her day. I have a headache now and it’s time for some Tequila.
Usually at this point, I’d give a brief description of the plot. I’ve only seen this five times, and I have no clue. It has something to do with Cagney playing a former musical producer who wants to get back into the business. Then Dick Powell falls in love with the pseudo-Asian prostitute for unknown reasons. The wonderful Guy Kibbee makes a quick appearance. There’s three-foot tall Billy Barty playing a child, even though he’s about 52 years-old. During a lull in the action, Busby Berkeley takes a moment to break into his trademark camera-100-feet-in-the-air-women-in-bathing-suits-pretending-to-be-objects “dance” routine. It was always a big crowd-pleaser in the day (unless I was in the crowd).
Now for the big finale. Jimmy Cagney goes searching for Ruby Keeler (hopefully to deport her) in an opium den. I’m not sure where the opium den came from. This may be the first time an opium den has been mentioned in the history of cinema. Historic. There’s a black sailor sitting with a white prostitute (well, isn’t that progressive?). Cagney breaks into the horrible song Shang Hi (Shang Hai?) Lil, which he heroically tries to save. Cagney finds Keeler (AND THERE’S A CLOSE-UP OF HER!!! MAKE IT STOP!!!), carries her out of the den and throws her into a pit of sulfuric acid (Okay, the last part didn’t happen, I just wanted to see what it looked like in print. I like it.). At the end, everyone lives happily-ever-after and Busby does one more routine where sailors dance and from above appear to be the American flag, then they shift and it appears to be FDR’s face in the middle of the flag, then they shift again and there is the NRA eagle (portrayed by the white swimming caps of Busby’s dancers) in the middle of the American flag. Sorry for giving away the ending.
Now I know you’re all sitting there thinking, “Jim, that was a poorly-written account of this movie and we are under the impression that you’re drunk.” Well, you watch it and try to do better. Granted I just ate the worm, but I’m telling you there was some morphine involved when this was written. Those weird movies in the 1960s were meant to be weird. They were meant to be anti-establishment. That’s why it was weird. That was the point. How the hell do you explain this debacle? When a movie ends with an endorsement of the National Recovery Administration, it’s usually not meant to be avant-garde. I’m sure Roosevelt was thrilled to see his program’s symbol portrayed with dozens of swimming caps.
Now look up this movie on-line. Look for other reviews. They will all be glowing and fawning. People write about what a wondrous work this was. I don’t get it. Please watch it and honestly defend it using specifics without sounding like Jerry Garcia. It can’t be done.
This movie is just garbage, but again it was not unwatchable because no movie with Cagney is unwatchable. That’s why Cagney is the greatest movie star ever. You have a problem with that statement. I present Footlight Parade as Exhibit A.
I’m not one of those old-timers who insist that all movies made back then were classics or even good. The only reason it might seem that way is that the bad movies for the most part don’t last the test of time. There were no videos or DVDs back then, so if a studio wanted to kill a movie, they just would. There are some bad cult classics that can be found today like Reefer Madness, but most of those clunkers die a peaceful death.
But movies don’t die when Jimmy Cagney is involved. The man could do everything and anything – sing, dance, comedic roles, dramatic roles, tough guy roles – and he did it all brilliantly. He’s probably the single most versatile performer in the history of cinema with the possible exception of Lon Chaney Sr. He can mesmerize an audience so much that they don’t realize that they are watching an absolutely indescribable piece of garbage like Footlight Parade. Notice I didn’t say unwatchable because nothing Cagney is in is unwatchable.
With that description, it might seem odd that I would choose Footlight Parade as the first Cagney movie to review. It’s not odd at all. It’s easy to shine in a great movie where everything in clicking. Greatness is judged when the wheels are falling off. With that in mind, the wheel-less Footlight Parade is the best judge of Cagney’s greatness.
I’ve seen this movie five times, once sober. You can’t watch this movie sober. Once you see Ruby Keeler as the Asian prostitute, you’ll go into convulsions. Ruby’s always puzzled me. She dances like a sumo wrestler at a ho-down, can’t really sing too well and those are usually two qualifications for being a star of musicals. She also can’t act and that would usually be a qualification for WASPish woman to portray an Asian prostitute. With all this considered, she was probably the most famous musical star of her day. I have a headache now and it’s time for some Tequila.
Usually at this point, I’d give a brief description of the plot. I’ve only seen this five times, and I have no clue. It has something to do with Cagney playing a former musical producer who wants to get back into the business. Then Dick Powell falls in love with the pseudo-Asian prostitute for unknown reasons. The wonderful Guy Kibbee makes a quick appearance. There’s three-foot tall Billy Barty playing a child, even though he’s about 52 years-old. During a lull in the action, Busby Berkeley takes a moment to break into his trademark camera-100-feet-in-the-air-women-in-bathing-suits-pretending-to-be-objects “dance” routine. It was always a big crowd-pleaser in the day (unless I was in the crowd).
Now for the big finale. Jimmy Cagney goes searching for Ruby Keeler (hopefully to deport her) in an opium den. I’m not sure where the opium den came from. This may be the first time an opium den has been mentioned in the history of cinema. Historic. There’s a black sailor sitting with a white prostitute (well, isn’t that progressive?). Cagney breaks into the horrible song Shang Hi (Shang Hai?) Lil, which he heroically tries to save. Cagney finds Keeler (AND THERE’S A CLOSE-UP OF HER!!! MAKE IT STOP!!!), carries her out of the den and throws her into a pit of sulfuric acid (Okay, the last part didn’t happen, I just wanted to see what it looked like in print. I like it.). At the end, everyone lives happily-ever-after and Busby does one more routine where sailors dance and from above appear to be the American flag, then they shift and it appears to be FDR’s face in the middle of the flag, then they shift again and there is the NRA eagle (portrayed by the white swimming caps of Busby’s dancers) in the middle of the American flag. Sorry for giving away the ending.
Now I know you’re all sitting there thinking, “Jim, that was a poorly-written account of this movie and we are under the impression that you’re drunk.” Well, you watch it and try to do better. Granted I just ate the worm, but I’m telling you there was some morphine involved when this was written. Those weird movies in the 1960s were meant to be weird. They were meant to be anti-establishment. That’s why it was weird. That was the point. How the hell do you explain this debacle? When a movie ends with an endorsement of the National Recovery Administration, it’s usually not meant to be avant-garde. I’m sure Roosevelt was thrilled to see his program’s symbol portrayed with dozens of swimming caps.
Now look up this movie on-line. Look for other reviews. They will all be glowing and fawning. People write about what a wondrous work this was. I don’t get it. Please watch it and honestly defend it using specifics without sounding like Jerry Garcia. It can’t be done.
This movie is just garbage, but again it was not unwatchable because no movie with Cagney is unwatchable. That’s why Cagney is the greatest movie star ever. You have a problem with that statement. I present Footlight Parade as Exhibit A.
Monday, July 17, 2006
Midnight Run *****
After finishing the Untouchables, Robert DeNiro wanted to do a comedy, so he started to talk to Penny Marshall about the lead in a movie that she was about to start shooting called Big. I’ll pause here so you can read that again.
The director and actor were in serious discussions about this until the studio put the kybosh on it and the role went to Tom Hanks instead. DeNiro ended up taking the lead role in another comedy called Midnight Run.
I love these little near train-wrecks that clutter movie history. These stories go back to the times when directors had to carry firearms to defend their cameras from Edison men in the old silent days. For example, some brass at Warner Brothers actually threw out Ronald Reagan’s name for the role of Rick Blaine in Casablanca. That threat wasn’t as serious as the time George Raft was actually offered the Sam Spade role in Maltese Falcon. Raft turned that one down because he didn’t want to work with a rookie director (John Huston), so that role went to Bogart.
You can’t call DeNiro’s professional flirting with Penny Marshall on par with the two above referenced near disasters because I actually preferred Midnight Run even though Big might have been more profitable. I say might have because in all honesty I can’t even picture Big with DeNiro. It may have been the funniest movie of all time. I’m chuckling just thinking about it.
In this case, I’m glad we film gods intervened because in my opinion Midnight Run in one of the best comedies of the past 30 years. The best part about it is that its only positive attribute is that it is a damn entertaining film (god forbid, we have one of those). There’s no big message. There’s no theme. There’s barely even any character development. The two lead characters basically stay the same to the end. The only difference is that they change their opinion about each other.
The movie starts as a quick character study on a Monday morning of the down-and-out bounty hunter, Jack Walsh (DeNiro), who wears shabby clothes and works out of the dingy office. While there, DeNiro takes a call from a local bail bondsman, Eddie Moscone (the always marvelous Joe Pantoliano). Moscone wants Walsh to go find this guy Jonathan Mardukas (Charles Grodin), an accountant that embellezed $15 million from a Las Vegas mob boss, Jimmy Serrano. The payoff is $100,000 if Welsh can get Markdukas to Los Angeles by midnight on Friday. Moscone convinces Walsh that this will be a easy job, a “midnight run.” Of course, it’s not. Not only are the F.B.I., Serrano’s crew and a second bounty hunter that Moscone hired as insurance after Mardukas, but once Welsh catches the accountant in New York, he turns out to be a whiny, pompous, anal pain – perfect for a cross-country trip.
This scenerio provide a nice chance for some good chase sequences, but the crux of the movie is the non-stop banter between DeNiro and Grodin, who is perfect in these obnoxious rich guy roles. There were several phases to the ending which I won’t give away. Let’s just say the ending made sense and it worked.
Everything here just works. Sometimes having a director staying out of the way isn’t a bad thing. There are no frills here, no trick lighting or camera work. It’s just an entertaining movie.
Some critics make reference to DeNiro’s rare turn as a comedic actor, but Robert basically played it like he does all of his tough guy roles and let writer George Gallo’s lines do the work. Grodin does the same thing. The acting isn’t particularly noteworthy here. It’s just perfect casting.
Bogart once said after he won his Oscar that the Best Actor award is just a popularity contest and the only way to really compare acting chops is to have everyone take a turn as Hamlet. Well I’m sure Bogey would be great as the Danish prince, but I’ll take him as Rick Blaine, thank you. I’m also sure DeNiro would have been great dancing out chop sticks on a giant piano in a toy store, but I’ll take him in Midnight Run.
I’ll also take Grodin as the rich jerk. He was about the fourth choice for this role behind Robin Williams and Bruce Willis, who took the John McClain role in Die Hard after being turned down here. Cher was even considered at one point to add sexual tension. Grodin probably provided more sexual tension. Thankfully for you, us film gods stopped that one. We work in funny ways up here.
The director and actor were in serious discussions about this until the studio put the kybosh on it and the role went to Tom Hanks instead. DeNiro ended up taking the lead role in another comedy called Midnight Run.
I love these little near train-wrecks that clutter movie history. These stories go back to the times when directors had to carry firearms to defend their cameras from Edison men in the old silent days. For example, some brass at Warner Brothers actually threw out Ronald Reagan’s name for the role of Rick Blaine in Casablanca. That threat wasn’t as serious as the time George Raft was actually offered the Sam Spade role in Maltese Falcon. Raft turned that one down because he didn’t want to work with a rookie director (John Huston), so that role went to Bogart.
You can’t call DeNiro’s professional flirting with Penny Marshall on par with the two above referenced near disasters because I actually preferred Midnight Run even though Big might have been more profitable. I say might have because in all honesty I can’t even picture Big with DeNiro. It may have been the funniest movie of all time. I’m chuckling just thinking about it.
In this case, I’m glad we film gods intervened because in my opinion Midnight Run in one of the best comedies of the past 30 years. The best part about it is that its only positive attribute is that it is a damn entertaining film (god forbid, we have one of those). There’s no big message. There’s no theme. There’s barely even any character development. The two lead characters basically stay the same to the end. The only difference is that they change their opinion about each other.
The movie starts as a quick character study on a Monday morning of the down-and-out bounty hunter, Jack Walsh (DeNiro), who wears shabby clothes and works out of the dingy office. While there, DeNiro takes a call from a local bail bondsman, Eddie Moscone (the always marvelous Joe Pantoliano). Moscone wants Walsh to go find this guy Jonathan Mardukas (Charles Grodin), an accountant that embellezed $15 million from a Las Vegas mob boss, Jimmy Serrano. The payoff is $100,000 if Welsh can get Markdukas to Los Angeles by midnight on Friday. Moscone convinces Walsh that this will be a easy job, a “midnight run.” Of course, it’s not. Not only are the F.B.I., Serrano’s crew and a second bounty hunter that Moscone hired as insurance after Mardukas, but once Welsh catches the accountant in New York, he turns out to be a whiny, pompous, anal pain – perfect for a cross-country trip.
This scenerio provide a nice chance for some good chase sequences, but the crux of the movie is the non-stop banter between DeNiro and Grodin, who is perfect in these obnoxious rich guy roles. There were several phases to the ending which I won’t give away. Let’s just say the ending made sense and it worked.
Everything here just works. Sometimes having a director staying out of the way isn’t a bad thing. There are no frills here, no trick lighting or camera work. It’s just an entertaining movie.
Some critics make reference to DeNiro’s rare turn as a comedic actor, but Robert basically played it like he does all of his tough guy roles and let writer George Gallo’s lines do the work. Grodin does the same thing. The acting isn’t particularly noteworthy here. It’s just perfect casting.
Bogart once said after he won his Oscar that the Best Actor award is just a popularity contest and the only way to really compare acting chops is to have everyone take a turn as Hamlet. Well I’m sure Bogey would be great as the Danish prince, but I’ll take him as Rick Blaine, thank you. I’m also sure DeNiro would have been great dancing out chop sticks on a giant piano in a toy store, but I’ll take him in Midnight Run.
I’ll also take Grodin as the rich jerk. He was about the fourth choice for this role behind Robin Williams and Bruce Willis, who took the John McClain role in Die Hard after being turned down here. Cher was even considered at one point to add sexual tension. Grodin probably provided more sexual tension. Thankfully for you, us film gods stopped that one. We work in funny ways up here.
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