Saturday, June 30, 2012

The Ghost and Mrs. Muir


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The Ghost and Mrs. Muir
1947
Director: Joseph Mankiewicz
Starring: Gene Tierney, Rex Harrison, George Sanders

A young widow (Tierney) emancipates herself from her in-laws and moves herself and her young daughter (a young Natalie Wood) to a rustic seaside cottage. Problem is, the cottage is haunted by the singularly unthreatening ghost of a former sea captain (Harrison). The two strike up a friendship, as the captain allows Mrs. Muir to occupy his former house. When she is in need of money, he helps her get some by having her pen his biography. When she falls for a sleazy gentlemen (when has George Sanders ever NOT played a sleazeball?) he tries to protect her. Can the relationship between the ghost and Mrs. Muir overcome obstacles of love and mortality?

I can’t help but get the feeling that in the hands of a more competent actress, this would have been a much more compelling romantic drama. Despite the fact that she’s the title character in one of my all-time favorite films (Laura), Tierney was the weakest link of that particular film, and she is unquestionably the weakest link here. She is flat and unconvincing in her portrayal of Mrs. Lucy Muir. Mrs. Muir is supposedly some sort of Victorian feminist: insisting on casting off her obnoxious in-laws, anxious to live her own life, undeterred by the prospect of ghosts. Tierney, however, just can’t pull it off. We are supposed to watch Mrs. Muir’s voyage from uptight snooty widow to hair-let-down romantic, but Tierney is too clunky in her transition. When Mrs. Muir actually swears (granted, by saying “blast” and “push off”), it’s not in any way shocking or sensational or liberating. It’s awkward and laughable.

Friday, June 29, 2012

The Right Stuff


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The Right Stuff
Director: Philip Kaufman
Starring: Sam Shephard, Dennis Quaid, Ed Harris, Scott Glenn
1983

Unquestionably one the best American films to emerge in the 1980’s, spicing up a decade that is a veritable wasteland when it comes to Hollywood productions, The Right Stuff is a gripping tale of the early days of the space program, starting with the breaking of the sound barrier in 1947 and ending in 1963 with the conclusion of the Mercury missions.

The film’s major strength is its approach to the story. Chronologically speaking, it’s told in a linear fashion, yet the film hardly fits into a standard Hollywood historical retelling mold. Interesting but seemingly historically unimportant episodes are given heavy weight, while certain historically significant events, such as John Glenn’s dangerous re-entry with a handicapped craft, are not shown. It’s fascinating watching the “behind the scenes” tales play out, and the film feels fresh because of it. It’s not so much about the technology but the people, especially the people. Furthermore, Kaufman is a careful and philosophical director, unafraid to spin off into tantalizing tangents, or to suggest at further, unexplored story lines. What really happened, after all, with those two hot girls at the bar who said, “Four down, three to go”? It’s a small scene that doesn’t have much to do with anything else, but it’s a delicious little hint at other stories left untold. In one of the few truly taut moments, when Gus Grissom (played by Fred Ward) is suffering from claustrophobia inside his water-landed pod, we don’t see whether Grissom blew the hatch himself or whether it happened by accident, as he always claimed. Kaufman cut away to the outside of the shuttle so we don’t know what went on inside. There is a mystery there, and Kaufman wants to preserve it, not resolve it. The intercutting between the NASA developments and Chuck Yeager, test pilot extraordinaire, is vital in shaping the overall film, constantly reminding us of the true roots of the astronauts as their fame and paparazzi following grow to absurd heights.


Whisky Galore!


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Whisky Galore!
1949
Director: Alexander Mackendrick
Starring: Basil Rathford, Bruce Seton, Wylie Watson, Joan Greenwood

Recently I’ve been rewatching a number of films, films I saw once five or six years ago and which failed to make a deep impression on me. They are films that I know I’ve seen, but I really cannot comment on them intelligently. In an effort to rectify that situation, I’ve been making an effort to see them for a second time, to pay more attention to them, and to write up a critique for them. Whisky Galore! is one such movie, and I was pleasantly surprised to discover how much I enjoyed it in its second attempt. This film whistled right past me the first time around, causing no more than a blip on the radar, but it definitely had an impact on the second time around.

A Scottish island in the Hebrides loves its whisky. When whisky is rationed due to the war, the villagers go into mourning. One night, a huge ship carrying thousands of crates of whisky runs ashore off the island, and the villagers are eager to loot the cargo. Only bumbling, blustering Captain Waggett (Rathford), the head of the Home Guard, stands in their way.


Thursday, June 28, 2012

Kandahar


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Kandahar
2001
Director: Mohsen Makhmalbaf
Starring: Nelofer Pazira, Hassan Tantai

A woman (Pazira), Nafas, travels from Iran to Afghanistan in order to rescue her sister. Her sister has written to tell her that she plans to commit suicide at the final eclipse of the century, so Nafas must hurry to Kandahar. Along the way she is escorted by local families and children, landmine victims, expatriates, and more.

Kandahar is, if nothing else, a peek behind the deeply veiled wall of an Afghanistan ruled by the Taliban. As Westerners, this is not a world we are exposed to often, not even on Dateline. This is a story of that world told through an inhabitant - of sorts. Nafas and her family were raised in Afghanistan but fled to Canada, accidentally leaving behind the suicidal sister who drives the plot. Nafas is a journalist and certainly sides more with Western values and viewpoints, but has respect enough for the staunchly conservative traditions of the area to obey them without fuss.

Notorious


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Notorious
1946
Director: Alfred Hitchcock
Starring: Ingrid Bergman, Cary Grant, Claude Rains

Made in between his early, admired British films (The 39 Steps, The Lodger) and his creative peak in Hollywood in the fifties and early sixties (Rear Window, Vertigo, Psycho, North by Northwest), Notorious is unlike other Hitchcock films. Yes, the suspense element makes it classic Hitchcock, but the relationship at the core of the film is such a damaged, dirty, unhealthy one, it is Hitchcock’s most clearly realized interpretation of film noir as well.

Alicia Huberman's (Bergman) father is jailed for treason for working with the Nazis after the end of WWII. She is pressed into servitude for the US government by an agent named Devlin (Grant) to atone for her father's actions. The agency takes her to Rio to spy on some old friends of her father's. One of her pop's old friends, Alex Sebastian, (Rains) takes quite an interest in her, which causes no end of grief for Devlin, who has also fallen in love with Alicia.


Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Ordinary People


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Ordinary People
1980
Director: Robert Redford
Starring: Timothy Hutton, Mary Tyler Moore, Donald Sutherland, Judd Hirsch

Before I dive right in with my thoughts on Ordinary People, I have to say something about myself and my film tastes. I hate melodramas. There is nothing worse for me than overly emotional film. They make me want to use my fingernails to peel back the skin on my arms. I think they are maudlin and manipulative, and I absolutely detest feeling as though a movie is overtly emotionally manipulating me. I’m thinking of movies like Stepmom, Swing Kids, and pretty much any Robin Williams drama. My most detested movie of all time – OF ALL TIME – is Dead Poets Society. There isn’t enough money in the world to make me watch that piece of tripe again, unless I play the drinking game where I have to drink every time the movie makes me roll my eyes. At that rate, I’d be drunk about twenty minutes in. I hate hate HATE overly emotional sappy sentimentalism. I have little to no patience for it in movies I choose to watch. It’s my least favorite type of movie ever.

All of which made me very nervous to watch Ordinary People, because that’s what I thought it was.

Holy f**k was I wrong.


Tuesday, June 26, 2012

3-Iron

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3-Iron
2004
Director: Ki-duk Kim
Starring: Hyun-kyoon Lee, Seung-yeon Lee, Hyuk-ho Kwon

Sometimes the best experiences you have with a film are when you know absolutely nothing at all about it. Such was my experience with 3-Iron, a little film I had barely heard of, and randomly decided to borrow from the library. It far surpassed my expectations.

Sun-hwa, a young man (Hyun-kyoon Lee), breaks into people’s homes while they are away on vacation. He stays there, sleeps in their beds, eats their food. In return, he does small menial tasks around the house: laundry, fixing appliances, etc. After breaking into a seemingly empty house one night, he realizes that the wife (Seung-yeon Lee) is still there, and clearly being abused by her husband (Hyuk-ho Kwon). Thus begins 3-Iron; the rest of a film is a play out of the relationship between these three people.

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This is a very unique movie. I wouldn’t go quite so far as I’ve never seen another quite like it (not far from the truth), but this is far from typical film fare. The largest discrepancy between this and “traditional” movies is the fact that the two main characters, Sun-hwa and the wife, are nearly completely silent throughout the film. “So what,” you may say, “The Artist was a silent movie and it just won Best Picture, that’s not so unique.” Lemme finish. These two characters are not just silent; they are stoic as well. It’s not enough that they don’t speak; they emote extraordinarily little. And therein lies the triumph of 3-Iron; for two such seemingly “flat” performances, the film delivers an incredibly complex and nuanced relationship between them. While watching the film, I found myself “learning” what their merest actions meant. What that glance up meant, why she slowly looked to the side there. There is a profound relationship between these two characters, but it is extremely quietly built. This, according to IMDb, is a trademark of the director, Ki-duk Kim. It’s really a fascinating commentary on human communication and connectivity. These two characters feel as if they are soulmates, as if they were destined for one another, and Kim gives us very little of them. It doesn’t matter; we get it.

The central tension of the film comes from the triangle between Sun-hwa, the wife, and the husband. By the end of the film, there is resolution to this triangle (naturally), but what I enjoyed very much about the story is its multiple interpretations. About halfway through the film, partly due to the lack of dialogue between the two main characters, the thought popped into my head about the possibility of one of the characters being a ghost. Kim’s direction is so subtle that this interpretation of the plot works. I argue that 3-Iron can very easily be read, in the second half, as a ghost tale. In my opinion, there is a very clear point where one of the characters dies, and every time we see that character afterwards, it is simply a premonition. On the other hand, this interpretation is not necessary. The death is never shown on screen; it was something I interpolated from other information in the film, not something that was overt. One can also read the film at face value, following the straightforward narrative structure through to the finish. What I love about movies like this is that both interpretations work. One isn’t necessarily right or wrong, or better or worse than the other; both work, both are valid ways of reading the film. If the character is a ghost, it lends the film an air of the supernatural; if the character is not a ghost and never died, it provides fascinating social commentary. There are no losers here.

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My final note: I watched this movie with my husband in the room. My husband doesn’t watch everything I watch; he’s not as crazy about film as I am. I asked him if I could watch this on our big screen in our living room, and he said yes, then asked me if he could play his video game on the other television in the room. (Yes, we have two televisions in our living room: one for video games and one for movies – this is not the first time we’ve had conflicting interests about what to put on the screen.) I popped in 3-Iron and started watching it. So did Rob. Ninety minutes later, the video game was not turned on. Rob had watched the entire thing without meaning to. When it finished, he said, “That was a little weird. But that was good.” Trust me, from my husband, the fact that the film sucked him in without his permission and kept him from playing Skyrim is high praise indeed.

Kim’s movie is slow and elegiac in tone. This is not a fast-paced shoot ‘em up; please do not expect that. This is quiet, this is thoughtful, and very carefully paced. If, however, you are in the mood for a moody story, one where the world is quiet, the sky is gray and cloudy, and there are long, lingering shots of homes and the faces in them, then this will thrill you.

Arbitrary Rating: 8/10. Not for everybody, but if this description sounds interesting, I don’t think you will be disappointed.

Les Vampires

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Les Vampires
Director: Louis Feuillade
Starring: Edouard Mathe, Musidora
1915-1916

A French serial from the early – very early – days of cinema, Les Vampires is grandiose and epic in pretty much everything it attempted. It tells the story of a criminal gang calling themselves “Les Vampires” (not actually vampires, sorry Edward fans) and the detective Guerande who is investigating them.

The plot is convoluted to say the least. The episodes range from 25 to 60 minutes or so in length, and they all involve some sort of nefarious scheme of Les Vampires to come after Guerande in one way, shape, or form. There are hidden identities, hidden passageways, codes that need cracking – no one reveals their true intentions right away. It watches like a classic magazine murder mystery serial, just captured on camera. It’s easy to see why it captivated French audiences when it came out; back in 1915, I’m sure it was seen as positively gripping.

Today, however, it has lost much of its appeal. The over-the-top, melodramatic plot devices feel hackneyed and worn, better suited for trashy airplane novels than the cinema.

And did I mention it’s LONG?

To devote oneself to watching Les Vampires requires a commitment of six and a half hours of one’s life. Six and a half hours of watching one hidden identity after another makes each subsequent plot twist less shocking, and by the end, you’re pulling your hair out, waiting for it to end. For goodness sake, don’t try to watch this in one sitting (if you insist on watching it all); it was produced as a film serial, after all – take a break every now and then!

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And yet, I will admit I’m glad to have seen it. Why? Because it made me appreciate film technique and the evolution of that technique much more than I previously had. Both Les Vampires and D.W. Griffith’s ground-breaking Birth of a Nation came out in 1915. I have seen both of these films, and the former truly made me appreciate the latter. Feuillade filmed Les Vampires in the same way that many early directors worked – as if a movie was nothing more than a recorded theater production. The camera is stagnant. It is pointed at a room, we see the room, characters enter the room, talk to one another, then leave the room. The camera never changes position once. Next scene – repeat the pattern. In Birth of a Nation, however unpalatable the plot, Griffith does absolutely amazing things with his camera, single-handedly developing the language of camera shots in this one film. There are close-ups, there are zooms, there are cross-cuts. The camera is fluid and dynamic; it enhances the story rather than merely recording it. After watching these two films within a few months of each other, I suddenly understood why Griffith was such a big deal, and why he rightly deserves his place among cinema’s greats, despite having a warped view of humanity.

Would I rewatch Les Vampires? Sure, but you’d have to tie me down and force me, like Alex in A Clockwork Orange. It’s sooooo long, and pretty dull. It’s worth watching for those who are really interested in the evolution of film and early film history. For modern viewers, I would steer you very far clear of it.

4/10 – for an early attempt at telling an epic mystery.

High Plains Drifter

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High Plains Drifter
1972
Director: Clint Eastwood
Starring: Clint Eastwood, Verna Bloom, Billy Curtis, Geoffrey Lewis

I can see it now. Orson Welles and Luis Bunuel are at a bar, having spent the night drinking whiskey and big pink fruity cocktails. Luis looks over at Orson and says, “Why haven’t we ever made a movie together?”

“Ooh, we should totally make a movie, Luis! Let’s do a western!”

“Sure! What should it be about?”

“A desperate tale of revenge, filled with morally reprehensible characters who spend the entire movie torturing one another.”

“Sounds good, Orson. But I’ll only do it if the sheriff’s a midget and we stage a big picnic at the end and the entire town gets painted red.”

“Brilliant, Luis! Let’s do it!”

Well, how do YOU explain how High Plains Drifter got made?

Clint Eastwood’s second outing as a director is a heady brew indeed. I’m really not lying about the plot description. Revenge, torture, midget sheriffs, bizarre picnics… and yet, it is high praise indeed that the two directors I’m comparing Eastwood to here are Welles and Bunuel.

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A man with no name (Eastwood) appears out of the heat wave of the desert and rides into the town of Lago. After demonstrating proficiency as a gunfighter, the town hires him to protect them against three desperados who are coming to wreak havoc on the town. The only way that the gunfighter agrees to this, however, is if the town gives him anything he wants. He takes this carte blanche and quickly proceeds to dismantle the town. He keeps his word and protects the town, but not nearly in the way they were expecting.

Thing is, the town isn’t exactly populated with innocents.

There is something immensely satisfying watching this mysterious stranger ride into town and exact such a methodical and vicious revenge. He is so blatant in his punishment, so vicious in his actions and yet so calm in his demeanor. What sets this performance apart from Eastwood’s more well-known Man With No Name role is his apparent lack of conscience. The Man With No Name seemed to always be operating off of a basic moral code, but the character in this movie seemingly has no such code. It’s as if Eastwood took the characters he had played in previous westerns and then turned off any internal compass.

The fascinating thing about this film is that the above isn’t actually true. The mysterious stranger is actually acting upon an intensely honed sense of justice and right and wrong, but it takes awhile to understand why, or to what end. As the story unfolds and his intentions become clearer, the film starts to transcend the western genre and becomes something far more fascinating. The film raises some pretty damn serious moral issues, and no character in the film is left blameless or unaccountable. When a western, of all things, has me reevaluating certain events from my life, you know you’re dealing with a film that goes beyond typical.

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I must say, Eastwood is also pretty damn sexy in this movie.


The production of the film is fascinating. The first 8 minutes are virtually silent. There’s music over the opening credits, but as soon as the mysterious stranger arrives in town, all soundtrack music drops away. There is nothing but the clopping of hooves as the stranger rides his horse through the town. People stop and stare. Silence. It’s incredibly disconcerting, and a fantastic way to reel the viewer in. The lighting is ugly and harsh and unforgiving and absolutely perfect, given the overall tone of the film. Characters are shot in shadow, then in light, then back in shadow. Eastwood uses such creativity in the use of light and sound in this film, it’s damn impressive. For so early on in his directorial career, it’s even more impressive, and incredibly ballsy. Definitely reminiscent of Orson Welles.

The more films I watch, the more I begin to understand my own taste in film and what exactly I like, and what turns me off. Rewatching High Plains Drifter, and enjoying it immensely, made me realize that I enjoy well-written vicious characters doing horrible things to people. Perhaps because I’m a goody-goody in real life, I enjoy seeing meanies on the screen. That’s one of the reasons I love film noir so much (and there is certainly a vein of noir running through High Plains Drifter). I’ve also found that I enjoy films where a little bit of insanity is unleashed (but not too much – there is such a thing as too far off the deep end… El Topo, anyone?). High Plains Drifter is a fantastic combination of the two. It’s definitely unhinged and bitter, and yet it manages to deliver a dramatic knockout punch to the gut in between all the midget sheriffs and town painting. It is a surprising revelation in the crossover genre of western-horror-noir-acid trip-morality play.

Arbitrary Rating: 9/10

Monday, June 25, 2012

Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans

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Sunrise
1927
Director: F.W. Murnau
Starring: George O’Brien, Janet Gaynor, Margaret Livingston

1927 was a turning point for Hollywood. With the commercial success of The Jazz Singer, audiences wanted to hear their films speak to them. At the same time, the silent masters were producing some of the true masterpieces of that era. Sunrise remains one of those masterpieces, making it onto Sight and Sound’s 2002 Critic’s List of the Top Ten Movies of All Time.

The story is, like most silent films, very straightforward. A man from the country (O’Brien) has been cheating on his wife (Gaynor) with a trampy girl from the city (Livingston). The trampy girl, seducing him, asks him to sell his farm and run away with her to the city, drowning his wife in the process. Horrified but unable to escape his girlfriend’s entrancing power, the man sets out to attempt to kill his wife, but guilt stops him at the last second. This is the first half of the film; the second half is a celebration, albeit a bit of an ironic one, of the renewed relationship between husband and wife.

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From a very simple premise of infidelity and its repercussions, Sunrise manages unexpected emotional profundity. O’Brien’s performance is stellar. There is certainly some of the typical “silent film mugging,” but for the most part, O’Brien turns in a very honest portrayal of a conflicted man. We understand the attraction to the girlfriend, but also the guilt in seeing his affair through to its bitter end. When he is desperately trying to reconcile with his now terrified wife, we see him begin to understand how much he already has, and what he would be throwing away. It’s an impressive performance. I found myself quite unexpectedly crying in two scenes; the film had managed to sweep me up into its simple story.

Gaynor as his wife is angelic and demur, clearly representing “the correct choice,” what with her halo of blond hair and her sweetly open face. Livingston as the trampy city girlfriend has little to do other than wear black, smoke cigarettes, and generally treat people badly. She’s my least favorite character, and not because she’s separating O’Brien and Gaynor, but because she’s mostly a caricature. Frankly, she looks like Tony Curtis in drag from Some Like It Hot, and I did feel that I was being beat over the head with “Look at how horrible she is! She’s evil!” I could have done with a more subtle villain.

As strong as the emotional journey is, however, the biggest star of Sunrise is Murnau’s camerawork. This is camerawork beyond compare. The sheer inventiveness of Murnau in his shot composition is astounding. Early on, when the husband is contemplating running away with his mistress, the mistress appears as if a spectral ghost, surrounding him, caressing him, whispering to him. Given that there were absolutely zero computer effects in 1927, all these effects had to be done in camera. In this case, it was a double exposure. Later on, when the husband and wife are reconciling, they walk through a city street, only having eyes for each other. Using rear projection, we see all the cars in the street nearly missing the couple, but they don’t notice. Slowly the street fades and turns into a country path. All the while, our couple walks on, oblivious. These are only two examples of Murnau’s original camerawork, all coming to a brilliant head in Sunrise.

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Additionally, Murnau was one of the first to use sound as a special effect. There is no spoken dialogue in Sunrise, and refreshingly few intertitles (because really, the story doesn’t need them), but Murnau does employ crowd sounds. Unlike early sound films, however, the sound in Sunrise is natural and unobtrusive. I barely noticed that the crowd was yelling, the horn was honking, or the church bell was ringing, until I remembered halfway through that this was a silent film and wasn’t *supposed* to have sound. I wish more directors had taken a cue from this film and not The Jazz Singer in their early employ of matching recorded sound with images on the screen.

While the special effects are fresh and unexpected, the shot composition itself is just stunning. Clouds, fog, light, and shadows all interplay effectively to produce what can only be described as a gorgeous film. Each shot looks like an expert photograph. The wide shots of the pastoral sets are deliberately reminiscent of Dutch paintings, with farmhouses that look far too idyllic to be real. The city shots of an amusement park seem surreal, they are so full of light and magic.

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Seriously. How gorgeous. I mean honestly, how amazing is this shot?!?!?!


To be honest, the film does lag in its second half, when our couple is reveling in a night out in The Big City. The emotional core of the film is in its first half; the second half feels a little dragged out. Murnau seems to move from elegant photography and profound emotions to gimmicky hijinks and simple laughs. After going on a bit too long, though, Murnau brings the film back to its initial superiority with a brilliant ending, so we are not left with a sour taste.

How good is Sunrise? Let me put it this way: while gladly rewatching it in order to write this review, I honestly felt sad that sound came to movies. This movie is such an artistic triumph, so brilliant in what it manages to accomplishment, and yet with the commercial success of The Jazz Singer the same year as Sunrise, no studio was interested in producing this kind of film anymore. Early sound films were awkward and clunky. Sunrise is glorious and graceful. Sound, coupled with Murnau’s death in 1931 in a car accident, helped to ensure that Hollywood would not make a film like this… ever again. In that respect, Sunrise marks a glorious, bittersweet end to the willing production of brilliant silent films.

Arbitrary Rating: 9.5/10

It Happened One Night

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It Happened One Night
1934
Director: Frank Capra
Starring: Clark Gable, Claudette Colbert
The basic pattern has been repeated in romantic comedies for decades: bickering man and woman quarrel repeatedly until they realize they love one another. Even going a little deeper, the idea of an heiress/princess/president’s daughter (oh god, could someone please erase Katie Holmes in First Daughter from my brain?) who makes a break for freedom, only to be escorted around by a reporter/bodyguard, ultimately leading to romance, has been done time and time again. But really, does it ever get more sublime than It Happened One Night? The more I see it, the more I think the answer to that question is a resounding ‘No!’
Alright, so what sets this particular incarnation of the formula apart from all the clones that have followed? Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert. Screen chemistry is something that cannot be manufactured, and these two have it but how. Colbert is Ellie Andrews, who jumps off her rich daddy’s yacht so she can be married to her fool of a boyfriend, the outrageously named King Wesley. Gable is Peter Warne, the on-the-outs reporter who smells a scoop even his blowhard boss couldn’t resist. Watching the two of them maneuver an ever-decreasing pocketbook and increasingly dire travel circumstances leads to scene after scene of crackling romantic chemistry.
Frank Capra has a true gift in channeling and displaying what we now think of as classic Americana, but there is always a bit of an edge, a slight dark side, that isn’t discussed as frequently. In this film, it’s displayed through the overt sexuality. 1934 was the year that the Hayes Code cracked down on morality in Hollywood film. It’s difficult to tell if this came pre- or post- crackdown; probably pre-Code, based on the number of scenes that involve undressing, but it’s not quite as blatant as other pre-Code films I’ve seen. Still, watching Clark Gable very purposely and adamantly undress in an effort to scare Colbert over to her half of the room is breathlessly sexy. The fact that she doesn’t leave – and the scene doesn’t end - until the bare-chested Gable literally starts undoing his zipper is deliciously tantalizing. (Hollywood lore has it that when Gable undressed in this scene and it was clear that he wasn’t wearing an undershirt, sales of undershirts plummeted as American men rushed out to emulate the biggest screen star of the day.) Shortly afterwards, as she throws her lace-trimmed lingerie over the “Walls of Jericho,” he stares up at them, a knowing grin plastered over his face. The next morning, pretending to be man and wife to investigating cops, as Gable undoes a few buttons on her blouse, the heat practically jumps off the screen. Even when he does them up again after scaring the cops away, one wonders why she couldn’t do it herself. Then again, if Clark Gable was anywhere near the buttons on MY blouse, I wouldn’t be in a big hurry to push him away either. And holy cow, when Gable puts Colbert to bed in the haystack, she practically invites him in with her for the night. Damn it all, how could any man refuse that look?
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Apart from their simply amazing chemistry, the characters in the film lend it far more depth than the brainless romantic comedies that come out of current Hollywood. Everyone is flawed, thereby making them much less of a caricature and much more a character. Ellie Andrews is not a one-note spoiled heiress. Yes, she is spoiled, but she simply doesn’t know any other way. She says herself she’d rather be a plumber’s daughter, and we believe her. She is naïve, having no concept of how little money she has, and yet she also manages to take all of Peter Warne’s chiding and scolding with grace and dignity. Warne, on the other hand, is the loudmouth, brash reporter, a bit too caustic for his own good, with a hidden, sensitive underbelly. It becomes clear from the get-go that as he watches over Ellie, it is not simply driven by his need for a story. Any man who looks at a woman like that is not doing it for his career. Initially, he simply wants to look out for a woman who seems incapable of looking out for herself, but it quickly morphs into a real attraction.
Perhaps most enjoyable of all, and most surprising, is Ellie’s father. How many times have we seen the blowhard rich father, not understanding his own children, who only wants things his way? This stereotype is most certainly NOT Ellie’s father, a much more complex man who truly loves his daughter but knows she is being silly in wanting to marry such a nondescript nothing of a man as King Wesley. It is not that King Wesley does not have money that makes him undesirable, it’s the fact that he is bland as a saltine and just as dry, and he knows his daughter can do better. When Peter Warne shows up at the end of the picture to break up the wedding (thus establishing another Hollywood stereotype that has been endlessly imitated but never bettered), old Pops practically jumps with joy in seeing that a far worthier man has entered his daughter’s life. Who cares if he’s a lowly reporter? Peter Warne’s got panache, and will certainly keep Ellie on her toes! No wonder that Ellie’s father willingly gives his go ahead for THIS union.
The script and pacing of the film are crackling. The plot moves briskly, wasting absolutely no time in setting up the central situation. It’s a refreshing reminder that we don’t always need twenty odd minutes of exposition in order to have an effective movie. All the little travel vignettes that our pair encounter are light-hearted and enjoyable, from an obnoxious salesman to being forced to eat raw carrots. And the lines! Perhaps my favorite is when Gable pointedly says to a sitting Colbert, “That upon which you sit is mine.” Oh, those double entendres!
The more I watch this film, the more I fall in love with it, and with Peter Warne – I admit, I have developed a particular weakness for Clark Gable based on his performance here. Whenever I bemoan the state of current romantic comedies, I know I can turn to the king of them all to pick me back up again. Chemistry, check. Believable characters, check. Crackling setpieces, check. Clark Gable topless, check. Sign me up anytime.
Arbitrary Rating: 9.5/10

Taste of Cherry



Taste of Cherry
1997
Director: Abbas Kiarostami
Starring: Homayoun Ershadi

Loud, raucous, and ebullient are NOT words to describe Taste of Cherry. Philosophical, allegorical, and pondering are FAR better descriptors, as well as it being quietly critical of government and religious institutions. Impressive, especially considering this is an Iranian film.

Mr. Badii (Ershadi) is driving around in his car. He keeps looking at people on the side of the street. Some of them, he appears interested in; others, not so much. Eventually, he takes three strangers, one at a time, for a drive through the rolling dusty hills at the outskirts of Tehran, and offers each of them the same job: to bury him after he commits suicide, or save him if the attempt doesn’t work.

I adore ambiguity in film. I love it when a filmmaker trusts his or her audience well enough to allow them to make up their own mind, to allow them to draw their own conclusions about a film, rather than having to explicitly explain every tiny little thing. And wow, but is this film ambiguous on so many levels. Which, therefore, makes it awesome for me, but which, I will concede, make it incredibly frustrating for others.
No reason is ever given for Mr. Badii’s suicide ideation. I love that. It makes the film less about Mr. Badii’s individual story, and much more about mankind in general. Here is a man who is apparently healthy and wealthy and wants to kill himself. The film is definitely not so concerned with the why, but much more with the implication of the actual act. How the three strangers react to the idea is telling. The soldier, the theology student, and the nature lover – each displays markedly different responses to Badii’s proposition, and these reactions are, to me, more telling than any possible reason for Badii’s suicide in the first place. The government, the church, and nature: how is suicide viewed by these various institutions?

Ershadi’s performance as Mr. Badii is one of the finest restrained performances I have ever seen. He has a Herculean task as an actor: portray a suicidal man to an audience who is never given a reason for it. At the beginning of the film, before we know what this mysterious job entails, he can’t be too desperate in his actions, otherwise he would scare off prospective grave diggers. He seems like an ordinary middle-aged man who, for some reason, keeps inviting strangers to have a ride with him. When the truth comes out, Ershadi gradually makes Mr. Badii more and more desperate, but not in a gratuitous way. He paces, he rubs his hand together, he looks around nervously. We – actually, I’ll rephrase that, because so much of this film is in how you personally read it – I can see him starting to worry about getting someone to take care of him in his final hours, but also start to rethink the whole thing. In his final of the three conversations, with a Turkish taxidermist, Mr. Badii, who has, to this point in the film, dominated the conversations, is significantly suddenly silent. This is the man who has finally agreed to bury him. Why has he stopped talking? Instead, the taxidermist takes control of the situation as Badii silently sits and drives. Through his silence, Ershadi portrays so much emotion. In one of the final scenes of the film, we see Mr. Badii only through his curtained apartment window; even from a distance, Ershadi had me on the edge of my seat. I was drawn in. I was entranced. I really cannot say enough about this performance. It does everything it needs to without ever, EVER being over the top.

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I find it incredibly telling about Kiarostami’s philosophy that he has a main character who wants to kill himself, but in order to kill himself, he must make connections with other people. For whatever reason, Mr. Badii wants to die, but he also cannot die without reaching out to the human race first. I interpret this as a profoundly humanist viewpoint from Kiarostami. Badii does not close himself off, but rather opens himself up to others, even in his darkest hours. Is this Kiarostami sharing a story of his past with us? I believe so.
Before writing about a film, I like to research it a bit in various places. To my shock, Roger Ebert gave this film one star when it came out. His critique? Boring. Really, Roger? That’s it? The film was boring? I argue vehemently against this. Although it’s not fast-paced, the film managed to build tension quite effectively through Ershadi’s carefully evolving performance, and at the end, I was on the edge of my seat with concern for Mr. Badii, wondering if he would actually go through with it or not. And a tremendous amount of what a viewer gets from this film is based on how much the viewer puts in; how I read the three passengers might be wholly different from how others read them, and Kiarostami leaves the door open for multiple interpretations. I really wonder if Roger Ebert should watch this film a second time; after all the health issues he’s had in the past ten years, I wonder if he wouldn’t read Badii’s journey a little differently now.

Ultimately, I am cautious about who I recommend this film to. It’s not a typical story, not told in any sort of typical manner, and it’s far more ambiguously allegorical than any standard Hollywood fare. If metaphysical discussions and minimalist cinema are your bag, then I cannot recommend Taste of Cherry enough. If you think Inception was a little slow-paced, then dear god, steer clear.

Arbitrary Rating: 9/10
I wrote this review about a month ago. I have since seen a second film of Kiarostami's, and I am even more fascinated by Taste of Cherry than I was at first. Taste of Cherry had real staying power with me. It's one of those movies that just wouldn't leave my brain. Made me like it even more. Dare I say that I'm becoming a Kiarostami fan girl? Perhaps!

Delicatessen


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Delicatessen
Director: Marc Caro and Jean-Pierre Jeunet
Starring: Dominique Pinon, Marie-Laure Dougnac, Jean-Claude Dreyfus
1991

Very dark. Very bleak. Very gorgeous. Pretty funny. Pretty cute. All terms I would use to describe Delicatessen, an odd little duck of a film that almost taunts IMDB to categorize it. With plot keywords that include “chimpanzee,” “cannibalism,” and “Rube Goldberg device,” you know you’re in for something original.

In an unexplained post-apocalyptic world, the butcher Clapet (Dreyfus) runs his delicatessen from the ground floor of the apartment building he owns. Food is so scarce it is used as money. After “dispensing” of his previous odd-jobs man in his apartment building, he puts out an ad for a “replacement.” What he gets is the former circus clown Louison (Pinon), a kind soul who entrances Clapet’s daughter Julie (Dougnac). Julie tries to save her clown, but Clapet is determined to serve up Louison.

Sunday, June 24, 2012

Russian Ark



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Russian Ark
2002
Director: Aleksandr Sokurov
Starring: Sergei Dontsov and thousands upon thousands of others.

Some films are must see films because of iconic performances. Some, because of the fantastic stories they tell. Still others are considered must see films because of some sort of profound technical achievement. Russian Ark, originally included in 1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die but cut in subsequent years, earned its must-see status due to the latter.

The unseen central character of the film wakes up and finds himself in the nineteenth century at the Russian State Hermitage museum in St. Petersburg. He follows in some aristocrats there for a party, but apparently they cannot see him. The only person who can see him is a stranger dressed in black (Dontsov) who, like our central character, is an apparent time-traveler, and French. The man in black leads our character through the Hermitage, in and out of rooms, in and out of different centuries, all while discussing Russian art and culture from the last five hundred years.

Saturday, June 23, 2012

Top Hat


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Top Hat
Director: Mark Sandrich
Starring: Fred Astaire, Ginger Rogers, Edward Everett Hooper, Eric Blore, Helen Broderick
1935

When it comes to the classic Fred and Ginger musicals, they range from good to sublime. They all share similar ingredients, but out of all of them Top Hat makes the most out of the raw materials to produce the most scrumptious soufflé of a film.

The plot, such as it is, centers around a case of mistaken identity. Jerry Travers (Astaire) meets Dale Tremont (Rogers) and they fall for each other. Things get complicated, however, when Miss Tremont is lead to believe that Jerry is actually Horace Hardwick (Hooper), who is married to one of her dearest friends (Broderick). Thinking that her friend’s husband has been hitting on her all this time, she is disgruntled and upset, and therein lies the conflict that is, of course, ultimately resolved.

One does not watch a Fred and Ginger movie for the plot. It is typically the least interesting thing about the film. Instead, it’s everything else you could think of that makes it worth watching. The music, the set, the costumes, the supporting players, the dancing… these make the films special, and make Top Hat almost perfect.


Friday, June 22, 2012

Titanic


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Titanic
1997
Director: James Cameron
Starring: Leonardo DiCaprio, Kate Winslet, Billy Zane

Sigh. So someone over at my “1001 Movies Blog Club” picked Titanic to be the movie of the week. For realz.

Here we go.

First things first, there’s something you need to know about me, as this will inform most of my opinion of this film.

I.

Hate.

Epics.

Not just “dislike.” Not just “well, I would never choose to watch one, it’s just not my preferred genre.”

No.

Actively loathe. I loathe epics.

Probably my least favorite genre of films ever. It’s just not what I want out of my films.

Why? First of all, no one ever made a short epic. So whatever story you find yourself trapped in, get comfortable, because jesus, you’re not getting out of it for at least three hours. In the case of this one, it’s four. I mean honest to god, there is a virtue to telling a story economically, but you never get that in an epic. EVER. Why so long, epics? Why so long? Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate on epics just because they’re long, though. There are long movies that I love. But epics are dull. Mind-numbingly dull, filled with show-offy set pieces, one after another, a nonstop litany of drudgery that lasts forever and ever and ever. They are long and dull. They make me want to peel the iris out of my eyes to save myself the pain of ever watching them again.


Thelma & Louise


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Thelma & Louise
1991
Director: Ridley Scott
Starring: Susan Sarandon, Geena Davis, Harvey Keitel

Louise (Sarandon) is a waitress at a diner and Thelma (Davis) has a boor of a husband. The two plan a weekend getaway, but wind up shooting a would-be rapist, and then find themselves on the run. Their vacation morphs into something beyond their imagination as the two panic, grow desperate, then embrace their newfound lawlessness.

I feel like I’m a little late to the game with Thelma & Louise. I only just saw it for the very first time a few days ago, yet I knew the ending, mostly from The Simpsons episode where it was heavily parodied. I feel like Thelma & Louise is a cultural touchstone of the early 1990s, yet seeing it for the first time now, in 2012, it didn’t have the same kind of impact I was expecting. I enjoyed it, mostly for the feminism inherent in a story line like this, but I think it would have had greater effect on me had I seen it twenty years ago. Today, ass-kicking gun-toting females have, blessedly, become highly visible in action films. We have seen the Lara Crofts, the Alices, the Ziva Davids, and they have been proven capable of opening and carrying a film or television series. Prior to Thelma & Louise, there was Ripley and there was Sarah Connor in the Terminator films, and that pretty much taps me out of ass-kicking females. It’s not nearly as much of a “novelty,” for lack of a better word, to see women take charge anymore. I’m very grateful for that, but it does help explain why I wasn’t as blown away, pun intended, by Thelma & Louise as I was quite expecting.


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In A Lonely Place


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In a Lonely Place
1950
Director: Nicholas Ray
Starring: Humphrey Bogart, Gloria Grahame

My enduring memory of In a Lonely Place is that of an apartment building. In the relatively straightforward story, so much of the action takes place within two apartments and the Spanish courtyard that separates them. How the apartments change or are changed throughout the course of the film is reflective of how the central relationship in the film changes in this suburban film noir.

Dixon Steele (wow, what a name, played by Humphrey Bogart) is a hard drinking Hollywood screenwriter on the verge of being washed up. His agent lands him a gig adapting a crappy sounding romance novel, and instead of reading it himself, he hires the coat check girl at his favorite hangout to come home and tell him the story of the novel; after all, she’s read it, and he hasn’t. Troubles arise when the very same coat check girl is found brutally murdered only hours after she left Steele’s apartment. When Steele’s neighbor Laurel Gray (Grahame) provides him an alibi, the two strike up a romance. But Steele has a dark streak, and his involvement in the murder case remains undetermined.


Tuesday, June 19, 2012

Kiss Me Deadly


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Kiss Me Deadly
1955
Director: Robert Aldrich
Starring: Ralph Meeker, Maxine Cooper, Gaby Rodgers

I originally saw Kiss Me Deadly about five years ago. I only thought it was alright. Since then, I have developed a full blown passion for film noir. I absolutely adore it, and can’t get enough. I was looking forward, therefore, to giving Kiss Me Deadly a second gander in the hopes that it would rise meteorically in my estimation.

Um, no.

The plot (convoluted as always, but what do you expect from a noir?) centers on private detective Mike Hammer (Meeker) who specializes in dirty divorce cases. One night, a woman comes running at him down the road, naked under her trench coat. He gets caught up in her case, and after she is killed, he keeps on investigating. Enter lots of unsavory characters, random plot turns, and some bizarre references to nuclear warfare, and, well, there you go, that’s your movie.


Monday, June 18, 2012

A Man Escaped


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A Man Escaped
1956
Director: Robert Bresson
Starring: Francois Leterrier

A Man Escaped is a rare little bird of a film. It’s easily one of the most thrilling prison break films I’ve ever seen, but it doesn’t fit the mold of a prison break film. It’s easily one of the most suspenseful films I’ve ever seen, but it lacks so many of the basic components of suspense films. The director, Bresson, manages to craft an enormous film by keeping things incredibly small.

The film opens on a shot of Fontaine’s (Leterrier) hands. He is in a car, being driven to prison. His hands slowly move toward the door handle. He watches the traffic like a hawk, looking for an opportunity. There is a cart up ahead – he sees his chance – the door opens, he makes a break for it… and is then immediately escorted back to the car. Once he gets to his prison, he is punished, but immediately starts planning his escape. The title is a little (well, a lot) of a giveaway, but tells you very clearly what the story is about. This is clearly about Fontaine’s escape.


Pépé le Moko


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Pépé le Moko
1937
Director: Julien Duvivier
Starring: Jean Gabin (be still my heart), Lucas Gridoux, Mireille Balin, Line Noro

Before American filmmakers started to sink their gritty, grimy teeth into film noir, that most beloved genre of mine, there was Pépé le Moko. So much of the essence of noir is painted across this picture, a full five years before the first official noirs started being made by Hollywood. This, right here, this is a turning point towards everything that noir would become. The nihilism, the doomed and fatally flawed hero, the temptation, the world of crime versus law and order… it’s all there. And, just like nearly every noir I’ve ever seen, the first time I saw this film about five years ago, it was okay. I was not bowled over. When I recently rewatched it, I found it so much more enjoyable, so much more inspiring. Noir grows on you, and Pépé le Moko is no exception.

Pépé (Gabin), our titular character, is the gangster lord of the Casbah in Algiers. The police are desperate to get their hands on him for multiple armed robbery counts, but the Casbah cannot be penetrated. As long as he is there, he is secure. A clever cop (Gridoux), though, knows that if he waits long enough, Pépé will slip up and leave the safety of the Casbah. No sooner are these words spoken when temptation arises in the form of lovely young Gaby (Balin), a Parisian tourist. Pépé longs to leave Algiers and return to Paris with her, but he also knows what waits for him beyond the shelter of the Casbah.


American Graffiti


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American Graffiti
1973
Director: George Lucas
Starring: Ron Howard, Richard Dreyfuss, Cindy Williams, Paul Le Mat, Charles Martin Smith

It’s the night before Steve (Howard) and Curt (Dreyfuss) are leaving for college. They are determined to have one last night hanging out with friends John (Le Mat) and Terry the Toad (Smith), getting into teenage mischief. Curt is plagued by doubts about whether he should take the big leap and leave the nest of their small town, and Steve is finding it difficult to leave his long-term girlfriend Laurie (Williams).

This is the sort of movie that my father absolutely loves. Lucas lovingly paints a portrait of a certain time and place in American history. It’s a good portrait, but almost too good. Why? Because it is forever linked to its particular time. Will it age well? I’m going with “no” because already, the movie is showing its wrinkles. While certain facets about the film, most notably the pain and trauma of leaving home, friends, and family for the first time to go off to college, are still fresh and still affecting, many others – cruising the strip, spending Friday night at the sock hop, wanting to join a petty gang called “The Pharaohs” – haven’t been a part of American culture for, well, decades.


I Know Where I'm Going!


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I Know Where I'm Going!
1945
Director: Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger
Starring: Wendy Hiller, Roger Livesey

Sometimes it happens – you fall totally and completely in love. You weren’t expecting it. You weren’t prepared for it. You certainly didn’t plan on it happening, but before you know it, you’re over the moon, and joy and elation abound. Sometimes it’s hard to tell why – you can’t really say why you fell so much in love – but does logic every really apply to grand passion?

Am I speaking of the plot of the romantic drama I Know Where I’m Going?

Nope.

I’m talking about how I feel about this film.

Joan (Hiller) knows where she’s going. She’s going to a remote Hebridean island to marry her very much older and very much richer fiancé (a character who, coincidentally, is never seen on screen). Along the way she meets dashing but penniless Torquil MacNeil (Livesey) – which, by the way, is perhaps the single best name for a hero ever – who is the laird of the island in question. Joan’s determination to marry rich starts to waiver as Torquil, who is immediately taken with Joan, begins pursuing her.


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Torquil is desperately trying to woo Joan, and finds that ladders help.



Black Swan


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Black Swan
2010
Director: Darren Aronofsky
Starring: Natalie Portman, Mila Kunis, Barbara Hershey, Vincent Cassel

Black Swan is the best ballet movie I’ve ever seen, but frankly, that’s not hard to do. What ballet movies is it in competition with? Center Stage, The Turning Point, The Company, the first of which is pretty damn bad, the next two are mediocre at best, and The Red Shoes, which is good, but my praise stops there. Thing is, though, Black Swan is a good movie because it’s not about ballet. It happens to be set in the world of ballet, but it’s not a ballet movie. Not really. The theme of obsessively striving for perfection and the psychological damage therein inflicted, could be set in any microcosm. Aronofsky simply happened to set his tale in the world of ballet.

Nina Sayers (Portman) is a consummate professional ballerina, constantly striving for perfection. When she finally lands her big break, dancing the role of Swan Queen in Swan Lake, her boss Thomas (Cassel) gets on her case about getting in touch with her sexual side in order to play the passionate and seductive Black Swan. Nina, though, has trouble letting go, and her repressive mother (Hershey) is no help. Meanwhile, another dancer, Lily (Kunis), seems to be gunning for Nina’s part.


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Sunday, June 17, 2012

The Untouchables






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The Untouchables
1987
Director: Brian De Palma
Starring: Kevin Costner, Sean Connery, Robert De Niro

De Palma’s ode to the Prohibition era gangster mythology is a taut, suspenseful story that, despite his trademark wide brushes of violence, also manages to be an interesting look at daily life in the 1930s. 

The story is right up there in the annals of great American folklore: Al Capone (De Niro, in full scene-chewing mode) is the Gangster King of Chicago, giving the people the booze they so crave during Prohibition. Eliot Ness (Costner) is a federal agent intent on bringing him down. Typical stakeout stuff gets him nowhere, so he assembles the classic “rag tag” group to bring down Capone. There’s the accountant (Charles Martin Smith), the sharpshooter (Andy Garcia), and most importantly, the world-weary beat cop who has seen it all and, more importantly, seems to know it all (Connery, in an Academy Award winning performance). Together, they are The Untouchables. 


Friday, June 8, 2012

The Great Escape






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The Great Escape
1963  
Director: John Sturges  
Starring: Steve McQueen, David Attenborough, Charles Bronson, James Garner, James Coburn, Donald Pleasence, and lots and lots of other men.

When you think “Nazi POW film,” you don’t really think of a light-hearted romp. And yet, while I would refrain from calling The Great Escape a comedy, there is a levity to it that is both refreshing and wildly unexpected. That is one of the biggest reasons I love this film.

Sick of dealing with repeated escape attempts at other prisons, the Germans, rather unwisely, round up all the major POW escape artists and put them all in the same camp. Lead by their appointed commander “Big X,” (Attenborough) a grand plan to attempt to move 250 prisoners out of the camp at once begins to form. The film follows the construction of three separate escape tunnels, the escape itself (not really a spoiler, the title of the film gives that away), and the fates of the escaped POWs.

This is a war film unlike so many other war films. For one thing, we know the backstory of almost none of the characters. Steve McQueen’s Hilts mentions that he went to college for chemical engineering (a big woot from the chemistry teacher for that one!) and joined up after that, but that’s about it. We are not subjected to long winded speeches of “Before the war, I blah blah blah, and now that I’m here, I have to escape to get back to blah blah bloobity blah.” These men are not motivated by their desire to return to previous lives, but rather, by the simple need to escape. They cannot and will not accept being penned against their will. As their commander says, they will try to escape because it will tie up German resources fighting them, thus diverting the forces from the Allied Front.