Babel

Babel

2006

Director: Alejandro Gonzalez Innaritu

Starring: Cate Blanchett, Brad Pitt, Adriana Barraza, Rinko Kikuchi

My husband rarely watches my 1001 Movies flicks with me.  He’s not a movie buff the way I am, and I would never want to force him to watch, say, an intense Swedish film – like Bergman – unless, for some reason, he really wanted to.  Which normally, he doesn’t.  But he wound up watching Babel with me, almost on accident, in that he was playing a video game in the same room and wound up getting pulled into the film, watching the last hour with the video game on pause.  Do not let this be a comment on Babel amazing quality, however, as when it was over, we turned to look at one another and vocalized our almost identical reactions. 

“That could have been so much better.”

Waving the ride of the concept of telling multiple interconnected stories, Babel’s interconnected stories are in Morocco, California and Mexico, and Tokyo.  An American couple (Blanchett and Pitt) are vacationing in Morocco when the wife is accidentally shot on their tour bus.  The shooter is a young Moroccan boy out tending goats with his older brother; the two were simply monkeying around with the new rifle their father bought for killing jackals.  While the young boys panic and try to hide what they did, the husband of the stricken wife desperately searches for medical attention in the remote farmland of a country whose language and custom he does not know.  Meanwhile, back in California, the children of the American couple are taken to Mexico by their live-in nanny Amelia (Barraza) because her son is getting married and she can find no one to look after them.  While things are fine initially, problems eventually arise.  And finally, in Japan, a teenage deaf-mute Chieko (Kikuchi) is frustrated enough at the world for not understanding her condition; her distant father and dead mother don’t make things any easier.  Chieko starts acting out in possibly dangerous ways as we begin to understand just how angry and hurt she really is.

The reason I said above that this could have been so much better is because the central themes of Babel are good ones, solid ones, even necessary ones.  The very idea that we live in an age of international connectivity is one that is vital to moving forward, and yet this remains an idea that many people, cultures, and countries eschew.  The issues Babel raises around this theme, that of language barriers and lack of communication, are equally profound.  We are all connected to one another, and we must embrace this as the world becomes smaller and smaller, but we have a great deal of barriers in our way that prevent us from truly embracing the similarities we all have.  This idea is important.  Babel deals with important and significant cultural debates. 

It just doesn’t delve into these questions nearly as well as it thinks it does.

Three of the four central tales in Babel are all clearly linked to one another.  The American woman is shot by kids in Morocco while the woman’s own children attend their nanny’s son’s wedding in Mexico back home.  Yes, three stories, all with a very clear thread of connectivity.  Then there’s the Tokyo story.  Yes, there is a link between Chieko’s tale and what’s happening with the other characters, but it’s flimsy at best and feels like a big stretch, as if the writers came up with this great Tokyo plotline but had to find a way to shoehorn it in to the other threads.  Right away, this takes away from Babel’s strength as a film, as there seems to be an oddball tale awkwardly fitted in between the other, related plotlines.  Which is really a shame, because for my money, the Tokyo plotline was easily the most interesting part of the film.  Granted, the type of story and characters in this chapter make me predisposed to liking it more – few, introspective characters, internal turmoil, drama and angst, as opposed to the distinct action/adventure/thriller aspect of the other three tales – but even my husband admitted to finding the Tokyo story (a phrase I cannot type without thinking Ozu) the most compelling, and he’s definitely an action/adventure/thrilling kind of guy.  Honestly, I wish it had been its own film; Kikuchi’s Chieko is devastatingly honest and a frightening pillar of uncontrolled strength and emotion.  When she is not commanding the screen, the film lags, as if Babel itself wishes it could have spent more time with Chieko.

Although for my money, Kikuchi is the best of the bunch, the performances in Babel are all stellar and were probably the biggest strength of the film.  Naturally, Cate Blanchett is amazing, but that’s rather a given.  It’s easy to understand why Adriana Bazzara earned a Best Supporting Actress Oscar nomination, but it’s Brad Pitt and the nonprofessional Moroccan actors who really manage to buoy the entire film.  Pitt is an actor easy to underestimate; his non-stop tabloid presence and impossible good looks can work against him.  But here, he is very good, very strong as a man who finds himself entirely out of his league and facing a life and death situation.  Right alongside him, the actors portraying the Moroccan family torn asunder by a rifle do a tremendous job.  The two young boys underplay most of their scenes, a fact that works best with child actors, and the Moroccan father believably carries the role of emotional heavy in what is a gut-wrenching tale.  Innaritu must be commended for coaxing such strong performances from every single member of such a varied cast.

*********************************SPOILERS FOR THE ENDING************************************

But ultimately, I have a bit of a problem with the overall message of the film, and this is why I say it could have been such a better movie.  When considering the ending of all four stories, I have to ponder what exactly Innaritu managed to say.  Think: the Moroccan family is completely torn apart, facing jail and possibly the death of one of its own.  Their lives will never be the same again.  The Mexican maid is ungraciously deported, forced to leave behind her entire life and not allowed even a suitcase of her belongings.  Chieko’s emotional future is anything but certain as she pushed herself to dangerous places.  Three of the four stories have distinctly downer endings.

But what happens to the white people?  Oh, no worries, everyone survives and gets back home in one piece.  Really, is that the message we’re going with?  Everyone’s interconnected in this world of ours, and bad stuff happens all over the place, but if you’re American, everything will be fine?  Is this some sort of subtle commentary on white privilege by Innaritu?  Although you may disagree with me on this one, I don’t think it is.  Rather, I feel like the writers felt the need to have one story end happily and they picked the white Americans one.  I really wish they hadn’t.  It would have felt so much stronger to have one of the stories involving a different culture, a different set of people, end well and to have something sad happen to the Americans.  But no, Babel is fundamentally an American film, marketed and shown to American audiences, and we can’t have our American audiences having their delicate sensibilities upset.  So we’ll force all the tragedy onto the people of color and ensure that our own get through unscathed.  This wrapping up of the plotlines undercuts the international message of the film, and thus much of the power of Babel.  Again, this could have been better.

Edit to add: After a bit of time away from this, perhaps the above is the point? Perhaps Innaritu is actually brilliantly calling out white privilege by having that plot line be the only one that has anywhere near a happy resolution. Actually, I don’t believe that is the case, I don’t feel this movie is quite that… clever, but I admit it’s a possibility.

***************************************DONE WITH THAT THEN*******************************

Babel smacks too much of a film specifically designed to make you feel like crap.  The stories continually scream at you to “BE SAD!!”  And if that isn’t enough, all the ancillary filmmaking techniques, such as score and cinematography, belabor the point, yelling at you to “BE SADDER!!!!!!!!”  While a perfectly acceptable film in that there isn’t anything too egregiously wrong with it, I was left a touch underwhelmed.  This is disappointing, as the issues Babel raises are interesting ones.  Again, I reiterate that the biggest message I got from it was wishing that Chieko’s plotline had been developed into a standalone film, as I would rather have watched that.

Arbitrary Rating: 7/10.

The Philadelphia Story

The Philadelphia Story

1940

Director: George Cukor

Starring: Katharine Hepburn, Cary Grant, James Stewart

While I make it no secret that MGM musicals were the movies of my youth, they were, for the most part, the only classic Hollywood movies I saw. When I first went through the pages of 1001 Movies, making note of which films I had already seen, I was truly shocked to realize just how few classic films I had already seen.  But one of the few classic films I had already seen prior to embarking on my cinematic journey was The Philadelphia Story. My parents introduced me to this one at a young age, and frankly, it only gets better as I get older.

Tracy Lord (Hepburn) is a New England wealthy socialite about to embark on her second marriage to the bland and blustery George. Naturally, there is no better time for her first husband, C.K. Dexter Haven (Grant), to make an appearance at the family compound. Turns out, though, that Dex has good reason to turn up, as he is actually trying to head off at the pass a sniveling paparazzi journalist who wants to unearth some sordid family secrets about the Lord clan. Reporter ‘Mike’ Macauley Conner (Stewart) and photographer Liz Imbrie (Ruth Hussey) are strong-armed into covering the wedding against their wishes.  Things get complicated as all these people around her turn Tracy’s normal, even-keeled emotional life on its head.

How on earth am I supposed to talk about the verbal perfection that is the dialogue and its delivery in this movie? How unbelievably quotable is every other line that comes out of someone’s mouth? It’s clear that this was a stage play first because of the sheer import that is placed on the specific phrasing of the lines, along with how much they are allowed to shine. This is not a film that shines due to fancy camerawork or flashy special effects, or even on a genius conceit. No, it’s the dialogue that is pitch perfect and painfully brilliant. When you aren’t howling with laughter over Dinah’s pronunciation of “innuendo” or snorting over Mike crank calling as the Voice of Doom, you’re feeling Tracy start to come across at the seams as she hears again and again language of statues and goddesses and ice queens. In my opinion, The Philadelphia Story is easily one of the most quotable films of all time.

When I was younger, it was the broad comedy, found mostly in the dialogue, which I loved in The Philadelphia Story, and it was why I liked the film. But as I got older and I inevitably kept revisiting the movie, I slowly began to understand something more. I really, truly enjoy watching Tracy’s journey from well-meaning but somewhat blind and insulated pride to a more open, more understanding, and definitely happier woman. I didn’t understand Tracy’s story when I was a child; it’s a subtler journey than one typically sees in film, as it’s not as simplistic as “she starts evil and is shown the error of her ways.” No, she somehow manages to start the heroine and end the heroine. But that’s precisely why I like it so much, why I like HER so much.

I identify with Tracy Lord, which maybe isn’t entirely a good thing to admit. But I do. I like her strength throughout the entire film. She starts out as strong but stubborn, and she ends strong as well. I think it takes a lot of guts for her to confront her faults and try to come to terms with them, to admit that she might be making a mistake for marrying someone like George, and for admitting that she has things to learn. She makes mistakes throughout the film, gets sloppily drunk, and generally throws everything into disarray. She isn’t perfect. And you know what? I love that. It’s refreshing. Hers is the sort of character I haven’t seen out of Hollywood in quite some time. Hepburn pulls off the role with aplomb, and it’s easy to see why this is the film that convinced the American public at large to forgive her for… whatever it was they had accused her of. I love the remake of The Philadelphia Story, but damn, it’s hard to one-up how perfectly Hepburn pulls off Tracy Lord.

But the character of Tracy Lord and Hepburn’s performance would not be nearly as interesting if she weren’t surrounded by two equally wonderful roles performed by two equally amazing actors, Cary Grant and Jimmy Stewart. Dexter and Macauley represent choices Tracy can make as she approaches her wedding. Watching Macauley set her free throughout their drunken revels is brilliant. While I would be hard-pressed to call this Jimmy Stewart’s most impressive film performance (it is the only one for which he won an Oscar), it is certainly a fine performance and it is easy to see why the Academy saw fit to recognize it. He is not simply the drunken fool, but full of heart as well, and not afraid to call shenanigans when he sees them. But really, Cary Grant’s Dexter just ties everything together. I absolutely adore Cary Grant, but I do feel like he tends to play different aspects of his celebrity persona in most of his films. His C.K. Dexter Haven, though, is reserved and hard in a way that one doesn’t expect from Cary Grant. He is unsettlingly stoic. And yet Grant has to convince us that Dexter really loves Tracy, that he never stopped loving her despite divorcing her, and that he loves her while being unafraid to speak the truth to her.  Convince us he does, through several sometimes small, sometimes not so small gestures throughout the movie. How he hides the bracelet, how he hits Macauley first, how he stays out of her way when she asks him to at the party, how he doesn’t judge her too harshly, how he is all too willing to save Tracy’s family from incendiary press, and finally, how he tries to help her save face at her botched wedding.  Grant doesn’t try to make Dexter perfect, but he does make him perfect for Tracy. He is wonderful in this role, and I easily think it’s one of his best.

Lovely dialogue, well-formed and interesting adult characters, actors who fully inhabit their roles, and a rollicking comedy with a happy ending. Really, it shouldn’t take anyone by surprise that I have loved this movie ever since I saw it and I will continue to love it for the rest of my life.

Arbitrary Rating: 10/10. Duh.

Hold Me While I'm Naked

Hold Me While I’m Naked

1966

Director: George Kuchar

Starring: Donna Kerness, George Kuchar

I just plain don’t get, or like, experimental films.  Whenever I see that tag of “avant-garde” on a flick, I tense up.  Oh dear lord, what will this one do to me now?  But 1001 Movies always has a lesson or two to teach me about never discounting an entire genre of films.  There are always exceptions to the rules, and I can’t help but enjoy Hold Me While I’m Naked.  Well, as much as I could enjoy an experimental film.

The scant plot of this scant film (it clocks in at 15 minutes) is of a director (Kuchar) trying to make a movie.  One of his lead actresses pulls out halfway through the shoot (Kerness) so he has to find a replacement.  Meanwhile, off screen, we see said actress having sexy fun times with a significant other while our poor director leads a rather solitary, lonely life.

And that’s it.  I mean, at 15 minutes, it’s barely there.  But I’ve seen films where 15 minutes can feel like a chore, and it doesn’t here.  In fact, I’d even go so far to say I wouldn’t mind this particular film being a bit longer.  Wow, did I really just say that?

Why is this so much more amusing than a typical sixties experimental film?  Simple: George Kuchar.  As both director and star, this film is clearly HIS, and it’s evident from the opening that Kuchar has a huge sense of humor.  His voiceover as he coaches his actress through her scenes makes me smile.  And his dialogue as he’s shooting a love scene later just slays me with its bizarre juxtapositions: “Tomorrow we do the massage table scene and maybe we’ll do the scene where you’re found naked in a fallout shelter and there are those radioactive welts on your thigh.”  Wait… WHAT?  Radioactive welts?  Fallout shelter?  From a love scene?  I honestly can’t help but laugh at that sort of ridiculous swing in imagery.  The circus-esque music in the opening credits sets the stage for such an approach. 

Kuchar also makes me laugh later in the film when we continually cut back and forth between couples having sexy times in a shower and him, Kuchar, taking a shower alone, by himself, and banging his head against the wall.  It’s a bit sad, and there’s definitely a poignancy there about a man sacrificing everything for his “art” even though the art is a bit crap.  It’s rather reminiscent of Ed Wood, really.  And yet, despite the pathetic nature, it’s also funny.  Going back and forth between two people obvious each enjoying their time together to Kuchar banally taking off his socks and stepping in his tiny shower… really, it’s funny.  At least to me.

I first saw Hold Me While I’m Naked at the Dryden when they did an evening of screening art house/experimental shorts from the sixties and seventies, and this was before I could see these shorts on youtube or anyplace else.  This was my only chance to see these films.  There were several Andy Warhol films on the docket that evening, and Blonde Cobra was shown as well.  Hold Me While I’m Naked was shown by Kuchar, as was his later short from the seventies, I, An Actress.  I am sure that this is why I’m rather keen on Hold Me While I’m Naked – because when you spend an evening watching Blonde Cobra and Andy Warhol, and then you watch something by George Kuchar, you leap all over that last stuff.  Kuchar’s sense of play, optimism, and humor, really shines through amongst all the ridiculous posturing of the other shorts.  And I think I, An Actress makes a great companion piece to Hold Me While I’m Naked.  It’s even shorter (9 minutes) but again we have Kuchar playing a director making a movie.  Instead, though, in I, An Actress, the entire short is Kuchar coaching his lead actress through a scene, and it’s hysterical as he grows even more over the top in his delivery of her lines (even the actress can’t keep a straight face).  This wacko crazy approach to film works well for me, at least when you contrast it with the other experimental shorts of the time that drive me absolutely bonkers. 

Hold Me While I’m Naked may not make much sense, but at least it laughs at itself.  At least it will make you laugh.  George Kuchar seemed like a really fun guy, and he clearly loved film.  Honestly, I’m glad this selection is in 1001 Movies.  It’s a diverting, campy little 15 minutes of your life.

Arbitrary Rating: 7/10

The Wizard of Oz

The Wizard of Oz

1939

Director: Victor Fleming

Starring: Judy Garland, Frank Morgan, Ray Bolger, Bert Lahr, Jack Haley, Margaret Hamilton

The Wizard of Oz is what I call an “exception” movie.  People who don’t like musicals tend to like The Wizard of Oz, despite the fact that it’s a musical.  People who say they don’t like old movies tend to like The Wizard of Oz, despite the fact that it’s 75 years old.  It’s a film that has transcended its origins and become a part of the national film lexicon.  Everyone and their dog knows, and most likely loves, The Wizard of Oz.

The story revolves around Kansas farm girl Dorothy (Garland) who is dissatisfied with her simple life and longs for more.  When a tornado picks up Dorothy’s house with Dorothy inside it and drops her in the magical land of Oz, it seems like Dorothy’s wish has come true, but she is quick to realize that you need to be careful what you wish for.  Dorothy soon wishes that she can return home to her family and friends in Kansas, and enlists the aid of the Scarecrow (Bolger), the Tin Man (Lahr), the Cowardly Lion (Lahr), and the Wizard himself (Morgan) to battle the evil Wicked Witch of the West (Hamilton) so she can find her way back home.  After all, there’s no place like home.

Now here’s where I make a pretty darn big confession: I am not in love with The Wizard of Oz.  And more than that, I never have been.  (Did I just quote Gilbert and Sullivan? Yes I did. Bonus points to those who can tell me which operetta I just referenced.)

Let me explain a bit more: I do not think The Wizard of Oz is a bad or inferior film.  I think it’s great that so many people know and adore this film.  It just never found its way into my heart the same way it apparently has with the rest of the Western Hemisphere.  And before y’all go screaming at me about having ice in my heart for not being enamored of this film, try to give me a chance to explain.  And stop judging, because that’s not very nice.

I have a theory why this isn’t a personal favorite of mine, and it has a lot to do with my disposition as a young Siobhan.  Like pretty much everyone else, this movie was screened quite a bit when I was a child.  I remember watching it over and over and over again. 

A significant fact you must know about me: young Siobhan was a sissy. 

I hated scary books, scary cartoons, and scary movies.  I remember going to a sleepover in elementary school where one of the other girls was hell bent on us watching A Nightmare on Elm Street and I practically had a panic attack from the very THOUGHT of us watching a horror movie.  I watched Star Wars: A New Hope for the first time when I was six, and the trash compactor scene terrified me so deeply, I pointedly refused to watch Star Wars again for another eight years.

And I think the reason I don’t love The Wizard of Oz is because it scared me too much as a kid, but my family kept on watching it anyway and I couldn’t tell anyone.

So, what parts of The Wizard of Oz traumatized me?

Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?

1. Miss Gulch trying to take Toto away from Dorothy.  I’ve always had an affinity to animals, even as a youngster, and to watch Dorothy as her beloved pet is forcibly removed from her hands broke my heart.  I didn’t like that, no I didn’t like that one bit.

2. Dorothy being locked out of the storm shed.  As I mentioned early on, I’ve seen this film many many times, but I still got anxious every single time the tornado comes.  It’s as if I thought that hoping Dorothy would reach safety would somehow change the plot of the film.  Just one time, just ONE time, I’d love it for Dorothy to not be stuck outside in a natural disaster. 

3. The first arrival of the Wicked Witch of the West.  SHE APPEARS FROM NOWHERE IN A PUFF OF ORANGE SMOKE.  AND THEN SHE IMMEDIATELY TRIES TO KILL DOROTHY.  The Wicked Witch of the West wholeheartedly deserves her spot as one of the greatest villains of all time because she basically scared the crap out of me as a child, and she is so very frightening from the very beginning on.

4. The moving trees that throw apples at Dorothy when she meets the Tin Man.  It’s how they stand stock still and then start mercilessly beating on Dorothy and the Scarecrow.  I mean honestly, this is the stuff of my nightmares.

5. When the Wicked Witch of the West throws fire balls at the Scarecrow.  HE’S MADE OF STRAW.  SHE’S TRYING TO KILL HIM.  Do you know how horrible it is for a six year old to imagine a beloved character burning to death?  Because that’s what went through my head in that scene.

6.  The scary forest when we meet the Cowardly Lion for the first time.  The set designers did their job when they made this incredibly creepy forest, and every single time Dorothy entered this place, I wanted to look away.

7. The poppies.  The goddamned poppies.  The Wicked Witch drugs our gang to try to stop them.  What’s truly frightening in this scene is how she manages to do this from far away in her castle, nowhere near the Emerald City.  She’s incredibly powerful and insidious in her methods. 

8. “Surrender Dorothy.”  Because nothing says frightening like death threats in the sky.

9. Approaching the Wizard of Oz for the first time.  THERE ARE FIREBALLS AND A GIGANTIC DISEMBODIED HEAD WHO YELLS AT EVERYONE.  THIS IS NOT SOMETHING THAT MADE ME HAPPY AS A CHILD.  Y’know the Cowardly Lion in this scene?  Yeah, that was me.

  10. The forest surrounding the Wicked Witch of the West’s castle.  Again, I think I hate the set designers of this film. 

   11.  Flying monkeys.  Fuck no.  Stop giving me nightmares.  “Fly, my pretties!” What you just heard was the sound of child Siobhan running away from this movie. 

12.  The hourglass with red sand ticking away the remaining moments of Dorothy’s life when she’s trapped in the Wicked Witch’s castle.  Having that kind of time limit put on her life made me so anxiety-ridden as a child.

13. When the Lion, the Tin Man, and the Scarecrow go undercover as the guards to break into the Witch’s Castle.  The music (which is heavily pulled from Mussorgsky’s Night on Bald Mountain, a genuinely frightening classical music composition), the costumes, the dark lighting and dangerous set, all made this a big pile of “NOPE” to me.

14. The death of the Wicked Witch.  You’d think that by this point in the picture, I’d be overjoyed to watch the villain die.  Nope, not scaredy cat little Siobhan, oh no.  I found her death traumatizing, watching her shrivel and burn away as if she is being corroded by acid. 

Yep.  This movie basically scared the pants off of me as a kid.  And I had to watch it over and over and OVER again.  So you’ll pardon me if it’s not a personal favorite.

Now, having made that rather exhaustive list, you can perhaps understand why this film, frankly, filled me with terror as a young child and why I never quite managed to fall in love with it.  And while the things on that list don’t really scare me anymore, I had to watch this movie SO many times as a child and I didn’t have the nerve to tell my parents that it scared me so heartily that I made myself sit through this frightfulness too many times to ever develop an emotional affinity for the film.  

I told you I was a sissy when I was a kid.  Seriously, you don’t understand just how much everything scared me.

Which isn’t to say there weren’t parts of this film that I enjoyed.  The stand out setpieces are easily the Munchkinland sequence and the arrival the Emerald City.  These two scenes are still my favorite parts of The Wizard of Oz, and I DO love them, very much.  Both are happy parts of the film, which meant I wasn’t cowering behind my hands as a youngster.  Both are towering examples of brilliant uses of Technicolor to achieve a fantasy look.  The colors are rich and luxurious, and both scenes are filled with a multitude of interesting side characters.  I love the costuming and set design of both of these lands.  It’s the rotund, Seussian, illustration-feel of Munchkinland, and the sleek art deco design of the Emerald City, all sophistication and smooth lines, that I really love.  Add on top of that two fantastic songs that leave you humming the tunes for the rest of the day and yeah, for sure, these are my two favorite parts of the film.

The Wizard of Oz will always be considered a great film, and rightfully so.  It’s a visual achievement with a heartwarming message, full of indelible characters and charming songs.  But it’s not my favorite.  It’s basically the first horror film I ever saw, and because I was terrible at communicating my fear as a child, I was forced to watch it time and time and time again.  No, it doesn’t scare me anymore, but it’s really too late to reverse the damage.  I appreciate The Wizard of Oz and I can appreciate its stature in the film world, but it will never be a personal favorite.

Arbitrary Rating: 8/10.  Again, I think this is a legitimately good film, full of so many iconic film moments.  But… JESUS it scared me as a kid.

ETA: I will always remember Margaret Hamilton going on Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood and getting dressed in the Wicked Witch costume in order to show young children that the Wicked Witch was just a character and not a real monster.  

Additional ETA: and yes, I've seen Return to Oz.  And I rather like it, even as a kid, despite the fact that it's exponentially creepier than this film.  The difference was that everyone around me acknowledged that Return to Oz was a scary film and didn't make me watch it unless I wanted to.  I couldn't vocalize my fear of Wizard, so my parents just kept... putting it on.  

Singin' in the Rain

Singin’ in the Rain

1952

Director: Stanley Donen, Gene Kelly

Starring: Gene Kelly, Debbie Reynolds, Donald O’Connor, Jean Hagen

Alright, ladies and gents.  This is a big one.  A BIG one.  When I think about “perfect movies,” only very few films come to mind, but Singin’ in the Rain… wow, this is definitely one of them.

1927 is a time of great change for Hollywood.  Successful screen couple Don Lockwood (Kelly) and Lina Lamont (Hagen) have chemistry onscreen and vicious hatred offscreen.  When sound comes roaring to Hollywood, Lockwood and Lamont have to find a way to adjust to the new technology.  While Don can sing and dance, most frequently with his best friend Cosmo (O’Connor), Lina is another story, having a voice akin to a dozen screeching raccoons.  Don and Cosmo devise a plan whereby newcomer Kathy Selden (Reynolds), who has the voice of an angel, records Lina’s lines.  Lina, though, is more than a bit of a snake in the grass and hopes to derail both Kathy’s budding career and Don and Kathy’s romance.

I mean… where to begin… so much… so awesome… so perfect…

I, like many others, am fascinated by movies about the movies, and Singin’ in the Rain is easily one of the best movies about Hollywood.  I have a feeling this is the film’s biggest draw to those people who aren’t huge fans of musicals.  The little hints, jabs, winks, and references that abound in Singin’ in the Rain make it a rich tableau for those who know ANYTHING about early Hollywood history.  Nearly every supporting character is a direct reference to an early Hollywood legend, including Arthur Freed, Clara Bow, Pola Negri, and even Erich von Stroheim.  I love all these fun little bits, but it’s much more than just the characters.  I love how Don’s career, pre-Dancing Cavalier, is nothing but the same melodramatic love story rehashed over and over and over again, because YES, that is precisely what early (and, well, current) Hollywood did when they found a successful formula for anything.  And then, once sound comes barreling onto the screen, how there’s an onslaught of loud, noisy, and superficial musicals that are little more than vapid showcases for the new technology.  I love the montage where Don and Cosmo walk through the sound stage and there are three or four different movies filming all at once – and they all look like crap.  Singin’ in the Rain is about as vicious as an MGM musical could get when it comes to calling out Hollywood on its mediocrity, mass production, and lack of originality.  Although it definitely has a happy ending and creativity wins out, I love all the jabs at Hollywood that Singin’ in the Rain takes, probably because the film manages to do it in the least bitter way possible.  There’s fun to be had at Hollywood’s expense, to be sure, but Singin’ in the Rain does it in a “Hollywood may be ridiculous, but by gum we love it, warts and all” kind of way. 

So we’ve got the fun due to tongue-in-cheek Hollywood mocking in place.  Add on top of that the fun of some top-notch songs.  What’s so fantastic about the musical numbers in Singin’ in the Rain is that they all come from other shows or movies that were written right around the time the film is set.  (And don’t try to tell me “Make ‘Em Laugh” is an original song, not until you’ve heard “Be a Clown” from 1948.)  Long before someone had the cash cow idea of making a musical from ABBA songs, it was done in Singin’ in the Rain.  I like the idea of pulling from existing songs rather than using new ones because it adds to feeling of late twenties Hollywood. 

Has Technicolor ever looked more exquisite than when it was illuminating the GORGEOUS costumes and production design of Singin’ in the Rain?  No, I think not.  The costumes are beyond heavenly.  The silks, the lace, the satin, the colors… I could gaze at this film all day and never get tired of it.  The costume designer seemed like they had so much fun making all the costumes for this film; even a “throwaway” costume for Jean Hagen that she wears in one scene that gets less than 30 seconds of screen time is beyond fabulous.  And it’s not just the women who get the great costumes; Gene Kelly gets to flounce about in plus-fours, wearing an argyle sweater vest that matches his socks, for crying out loud.  Everything is illustration-perfect, everything.  This film is visually sumptuous. 

And how about funny!  I contend that Singin’ in the Rain is not just one of the best musicals ever made, but one of the best comedies ever made.  Barely a few lines go by without some sort of gag coming from somewhere.  Sometimes it’s lowbrow physical comedy, sometimes it’s some high culture reference, but crap it’s funny.  Leading the comedic aspect of this film is, without a doubt, Jean Hagen.  She goes to town as Lina Lamont, playing her as a full tilt idiotic evil genius (yes, I don’t know how she does it, but she’s the stupidest evil genius you’ve ever met).  O’Connor’s “Make ‘Em Laugh” always did when I was a kid, and was probably my single favorite musical number when I was growing up because it was so amazing and hysterical. 

The previous points are reasons that I believe the average, ambivalent-to-musicals viewer might enjoy Singin’ in the Rain.  But jesus, if you love musicals (like I do), then there’s even more to discuss.  Because this is the most hyper-musical musical to ever musical.  It’s brilliant.  The musical numbers are staged to perfection; this is Gene Kelly at the height of his creative genius.  His tap dance solo in the rain (performed while he was allegedly sick with a 100+ degree fever) is the stuff of Hollywood legend, the extended “Broadway Melody” ballet dream sequence is beyond heaven, but the other numbers are just as much fun.  Personally, I always like to call attention to some lesser-remembered musical numbers.  First is the “All I Do the Whole Night Through is Dream of You” song, when Kathy jumps out of the cake at R.F.’s party.  There’s something about the ridiculous sweetness and sassy twenties attitude of the girls as they sing the chorus that I find completely charming.  I adore the costumes with those perfectly pink caps.  Next up is the very first musical number in the film, “Fit as a Fiddle.”  I am so in love with this number and it gets constantly overlooked.  I love that Gene Kelly was all “screw that, the first number is gonna be a wham-bam tap dance duet where Donald and I impress the shit out of everyone.  That’ll wake them up.”  And given my love for “Fit as a Fiddle,” it should surprise no one that I MUST TALK ABOUT “MOSES SUPPOSES.”  “Moses Supposes” is… should I say it? Yes, I’m going to say it.  “Moses Supposes” is my favorite number in the whole movie.  And easily in my top five favorite musical numbers of all time.  I love love LOVE this song and routine.  It’s so high energy and so much fun and so ridiculously insane to watch.  I’ve said it before, but I love it when Gene Kelly (oh my heart, Gene Kelly) dances with other people in duets or trios, mostly because it’s then that you truly understand his brilliance.  Because try as he might to tone his level down to match that of the other dancer, he can’t help but be SO MUCH BETTER than whoever he’s dancing with.  Donald O’Connor was no hack.  Donald O’Connor was insanely talented.  But in both “Fit as a Fiddle” and “Moses Supposes,” when I compare him to Kelly, I see a bit of strain come through on his face, whereas Kelly makes it look thoroughly effortless.  The greatest geniuses make their craft seem ridiculously easy, and man if that isn’t the best description of Gene Kelly’s dancing I’ve ever heard.

Oh, and did I mention that I’m madly, passionately, and eternally in love with Gene Kelly?  Because I am.  Utterly and completely.  Forever and always.  And I’m sorry, but wow is he sexy in Singin’ in the Rain.  I love how he’s always clad in tight-fitting tweeds, how his hair is always coiffed with that middle part of the twenties, and especially how he embraces every opportunity to roll up his shirt sleeves.  ROLLED UP SHIRT SLEEVES.  I just… no.  Done.  Gene Kelly is sex on a stick and always will be.  I will always love him with the passion of a thousand fires, and YES, please, SHOW THE SCAR.  THE SCAR MAKES HIM EVEN SEXIER.

Stop it, Gene.  Gene.  Cut it out.  My ovaries cannot handle that expression.

Excuse me, I'm dying from the rolled up shirtsleeves.

I had the chance to see this on the big screen at the Dryden a few years ago.  Now, Singin’ in the Rain has long been one of my favorite movies, ever since I was old enough and interested enough in films to compile such a list.  In fact, it (and a few others) holds the distinction of being one of my favorite movies both before and after my epic 1001 Movies journey.  So when I walked into the Dryden screening, I knew what I was going to see.

Except that I didn’t.

I don’t through around the word “transcendent” all that often, but watching Singin’ in the Rain on the big screen with a packed and appreciative audience was a transcendent experience.  It was like I was seeing it for the very first time.  I never stopped smiling, not once.  The seven year old boy sitting next to me kept singing along with the numbers, a fact which made me smile even more (to his parents: you’re doing it right).  I was brimming with joy from the minute the movie started to when it ended, and I was on a Singin’ in the Rain high for the rest of the evening.  It was, simply put, one of the most amazing theatrical experiences I’ve ever had, and it was with a movie I’ve seen easily fifty times.

It’s remarkable that a movie that was my favorite as an eight year old child is still my favorite as a thirtysomething adult.  But that is Singin’ in the Rain.  That’s why it’s as epic as it is. 

Always and forever, Singin’ in the Rain.

Arbitrary Rating: 10/10.  Funny side story: my sister and I, growing up in the late eighties and nineties, requested my parents to rent this movie so often from the video store that this was one of the first films my family bought – because my parents realized it would be cheaper in the long run than renting it every weekend.

Bringing Up Baby

Bringing Up Baby

1938

Director: Howard Hawks

Starring: Katharine Hepburn, Cary Grant

Every filmgoer, no matter how hard they may try to be pretentiously objective and critical about the movies they watch, has a weak spot.  Maybe a certain director, maybe a certain actor or actress, maybe a certain genre.  Me?  I have plenty.  Loads, even.  And one of them, a huge one, is Cary Grant.

Cary Grant can do no wrong.  Cary Grant is reason alone for me to watch – and most likely love – a film.

Paleontologist Dr. David Huxley (Grant, the original GQMF) thinks he’s having a good day when the last missing fossil for his dinosaur skeleton is found AND he’s about to marry his boring-as-dirt fiancée Alice (Virginia Walker).  But fate has other plans and soon, while trying to solicit donations for his museum, he meets madcap heiress Susan Vance (Hepburn) who starts by stealing his golf ball, then steals his car, then rips his suit jacket, then tries to get him to take care of a pet leopard, then steals his clothes and makes him wear marabou-trimmed nighties and ill-fitting equestrian costumes. 

When it comes to screwball comedies, Bringing Up Baby might possibly take the largest piece of cake in the entire world, because I don’t think it gets much screwier than this.  All hope at sticking to a strong central and sensible plot gets thrown maniacally out the window as soon as a leopard, of all things, gets thrown into the mix about a third of the way through the film.  It was hardly tending towards sanity previously, what with ripped clothing and mad dinner parties and Cary Grant riding a side board, but a leopard?  And then a dog stealing a dinosaur bone?  And a kooky uncle back from big game hunting in Africa?  AND THEN A SECOND LEOPARD WHO IS NOT TAME LIKE THE FIRST ONE?!?!?!?  Bringing Up Baby does not do shenanigans by halves, oh no indeed.  You want screwball?  This, THIS is screwball.

Really, though, considering this was directed by Howard Hawks, this makes sense.  Hawks directed a myriad of genres of films, but even if he was making a western (Red River, Rio Bravo) or a noir (The Big Sleep) or a historical drama (Sergeant York), there is always a sense of zaniness somehow, somewhere.  Frankly, it’s something I’ve come to appreciate about his films, something I actually look forward to when I see his credit at the opening of a movie.  Hawks has a habit of embracing the crazy and being unafraid to let a situation escalate quickly and not at all realistically, and I like that.  I’ve come to the realization in the past year that I tend to prefer films that eschew reality.  I like suspension of disbelief; it’s a good friend that has served me well over the years.  You certainly need quite a bit of suspension of disbelief for Hawks’ Bringing Up Baby but if you’re willing, it’ll take you on quite the ride.

On several occasions, Bringing Up Baby’s kookiness threatens to derail completely and fall apart at the seams, but somehow it manages to maintain forward momentum, thanks both to Hawks and to its two legendary leads.  I adore Katharine Hepburn as Susan in this film because she is utterly bereft of seriousness.  Susan is all over the place, a perfectly addle-brained, madcap heiress.  She goes from zero to sixty in about two seconds and then maintains that speed for as long as the scene requires it.  Most Hepburn films I’ve seen have Hepburn playing something more serious than this, but man, is she great at playing funny as well.

And what’s more, I like Susan’s character.  I think she’d drive me crazy in real life, but that’s the thing: she doesn’t exist in real life, she’s a crazy fictional character from a movie that’s practically a Looney Toons short.  What I like about Susan the most is her take-charge attitude towards… well, her entire life.  She meets David quickly, drives him crazy, then decides that he’s in love with her, then finds out he’s actually engaged to someone else, then she immediately decides it doesn’t matter and by gum she’s going to do what she needs to do to win her perceived man.  It’s the not-so-hidden feminist in me that responds incredibly well to a film from the thirties showing a woman with a backbone.  The fact that Susan is also utterly crazy is just an added bonus. (And shoot, she goes out and catches the un-tame leopard on her own.  She’s kind of badass.)

And then there’s Cary Grant.

I honestly don’t know where to begin because it’s goddamned Cary Grant.  He’s perfection.  Utter perfection.  In everything.  Ever.  EVER.  And the fact that he spends a majority of this film with that little wayward curl falling over his forehead just makes… oh, oh no, there go my ovaries.  Blast. 

Trying to be a bit more objective, I love Cary Grant in Bringing Up Baby because he isn’t afraid to play the fool.  David Huxley spends most of the movie in over his head and dumbfounded, and Grant plays befuddled incredibly well.  David walks around in a daze, and I just can’t get enough of seeing Cary Grant – usually so damn suave and sophisticated – taking pratfalls, wearing silly negligees, and exerting utterly no control over a zany situation.  The stuttering and hapless Cary Grant, contrasted with, for example, his role as uber-serious and sadistic government agent in Notorious, is a reminder that Grant wasn’t just famous for his looks.  Dude had it in him to play such a great variety of roles.  And while I think I personally prefer my Grant suave and debonair, I do rather adore him all geeked out, bespectacled, and nebbish as well. 

Basically, as I said at the beginning, Cary Grant can do no wrong.  And him continually saying "intercostal clavicle" is like a gift from heaven.

There is little in this world I find sexier than my Holy Trinity of Classic Hollywood Actors, of which Grant is most definitely a part, and I love watching him stand absolutely no chance against the force of nature that is Katharine Hepburn in this film.  This film is fun and zany and absolutely unrealistic but for me, that is its charm.  

Arbitrary Rating: 9/10.