JOIN US AT OUR NEW HOME

Hello!

For those of you who have been following along loyally or sporadically, on our website or through RSS, we would like to invite you to join us over at our brand new blog home: http://81bestpictures.wordpress.com. Yes, on Sunday the Academy will crown its 81st feature film, and we just have to keep up with the changing times. 80bestpictures.blogspot.com is hereby officially retired.

It's been a long, wonderful two years with these Best Picture winners, and although we tend to move in fits and starts, we're enjoying this rewarding project now more than ever. If you've had fun reading us thus far, stay tuned as we take on the last 35 films on our lineup. (Hopefully, the next few decades will move faster than the last few!)

All the best,
Eitan and Shira
81bestpictures.wordpress.com

The Godfather Part II (1974): Shira's Take

I don't get it. How can anyone possibly think that this movie is better than the Godfather? I honestly think that this movie is worse in every way. No, scratch that. Talia Shire is slightly less annoying in this movie. But Marlon Brando's Vito is way better than Robert DeNiro's (though all that background was definitely interesting), and I'd rather sympathize with Michael than see him as this ice king. In the first movie, you see his amazing transformation, and it's so sad and powerful. Where is the equivalent in the Godfather Part II? Maybe it's like the people whose genetic code makes cilantro taste like soap to them...it's just not in me to understand what's so great about this movie.

In addition to judging it as part of this Godfather saga, I also made sure to keep an open mind and watch it as a movie, separate from the first. As a movie, not as a sequel, it was definitely good. There was a lot of great drama--Robert Duvall's Tom Hagen and Talia Shire's Connie Corleone started to actually feel like substantial characters. And, of course, John Cazale's Fredo. Fredo is really the star of this movie. He is the only character we genuinely feel for. The whole Hyman Roth and Frank Pentangeli business was a little bit hard to follow, and I think I'm gonna have to watch it again to fully grasp it all. I think my favorite scene was when Tom Hagen went to Senator Geary, who had been with a prostitute when she was murdered. It's implied that Michael orchestrated this to get Geary on his side as an ally, and it is just so totally messed up (in a way that I love movies to be).

I think the biggest problem about this movie is that 1958-1959 Nevada is just not as pretty as 1945-early 50s in New York. The colors of the first movie are so much eerier and prettier. Everything about this movie felt very much like my least favorite part of the first movie--when Michael goes to talk to Moe Greene in Vegas. Trashy, bright t-shirts do not mesh well with elegant Sicilian mafia families. The only shots I remember loving in this movie took place in the prequel portion with Robert DeNiro. Anyway, it's an 8/10.

The Godfather Part II (1974): Eitan's Take

"Seeing you reminds me of New York... the old days."

I've been waiting for almost two years to have this chance to rewatch The Godfather Part II and fully articulate my numerous problems with it. I had seen it at the beginning of my college career and felt truly disappointed, but before watching it tonight, my father implored me to give this film a second chance. Sorry, Dad.

Imagine you're Francis Ford Coppola for a second. You've just made your sprawling yet intimate masterpiece, and everyone wants more. You have a three-plus hour palette on which to flesh out the brilliant tragedies of the first installment. But instead, you opt for a cumbersome, jarring sketch of a handful of tiny, trivial moments in the lives of previously fascinating film characters. This Frankenstein of a film -- culled from a grab bag of decent parts and stitched together awkwardly and obtusely -- serves little purpose but to remind us of what an organic, warm, intelligent treat the first film is. For the entire running time of Part II, as ideas get stretched thin and the plot aggressively overstays its welcome, we can't help but recall the tremendous pleasures of its predecessor -- the funny and subtle performance of Marlon Brando, the rise (or is it fall?) of Michael Corleone and the intimate time we spend watching his descent into the crime underworld, the rich subplots in Italy and elsewhere. I could go on. The Michael segments of Part II are a bleak death march. The rich emotional tones of the first film are replaced here by one single sustained note: Michael is cruel, ruthless, vindictive, etc., and there is no way to approach this other than overdone pathos. Soul-crushingly banal plotlines, such as Michael's various business dealings in Vegas/Cuba, the Senate hearings, the shocking revelation about Kay's abortion, keep the Michael parts trudging along in a constant state of morose self-possession. In widening the scope of the Corleone drama, Coppola and Puzo completely lose themselves. It's like C-SPAN and CNBC rolled into one.

There is still quite a bit of good in this film, and I should state emphatically that I don't dislike this film the way I dislike American Pie: Band Camp. I dislike it partially because the Michael segments are such an insult to the first film, and partially because they're such an insult to the flawless -- yes, absolutely flawless -- handling of the "young Vito" narrative. I don't have a broad enough vocabulary to express my deep admiration for the artistry in this third (or so) of the film. First of all, it may contain some of the most beautiful, iconic moments in cinematography history: the festa, the train leaving Corleone, nearly every scene on the busy and beautiful streets of tenement-era New York City. DeNiro's performance matches Brando's note for note, in humor, physical presence, and hypnotic fascination. Is Michael simply an uninteresting character? This film would suggest that Vito's life arc is really the only interesting one, but we know from the first film that Michael is a brilliant character, and that the weak and joyless turns his life takes in the late 50's are really just an embarrassing mishandling of a potentially great epic life story.

The ultimate shame of The Godfather Part II is that in overemphasizing the unbearably bleak and tepid Vegas/Cuba Michael story, Coppola and Puzo miss out on giving young Vito his full due. This dark, haunting, gorgeous, and highly atmospheric section deserves a full, proper film of its own. Instead, it's gracelessly glued to a lumbering 2-hour slog, full of soulless ghosts wandering around their tacky homes. It's sort of like watching Padma Lakshmi tie the knot with Salman Rushdie, or Carla Bruni with Nicolas Sarkozy, or Marilyn Monroe with Arthur Miller. Why do beautiful things always pair up with such ugly ones?

Vito's 1/3 of the film gets a 10. Michael's 2/3 gets a 5. The film overall, however, is a muddled mess that clearly needed some more work, some more love, and clearly some more Brando. 6/10.

The Sting (1973): Shira's Take

I love watching movies I grew up on and understanding the prostitution references and homosexual undertones (which are always present in Robert Redford movies). I also love watching movies in which the screenplay and visuals overshadow the actors. I mean, it's hard to steal the spotlight from Redford and Paul Newman, two of the greatest American actors, but they really do take a backseat to the amazing story and great setting (including costumes by one of my favorite strong women, Edith Head). Really, though Redford is technically the star, this is an ensemble movie with great ensemble actors. Lots of "I know her!" and "Wasn't he in Fast Times at Ridgemont High?"

There's not really much to say about the Sting. It's really just entertaining and fun 'til the end. The viewer is in on the joke, but there is a little bit of a twist, which really makes the con as delightful for us to watch as it must have been for Hooker and Gondorff to carry out. Eitan pointed out a similarity to the French Connection (a chase scene underneath and in the subway station). I think everything about the Sting is like the muted, family-friendly French Connection. Instead of a sleazy drug ring, we see the glamour of conning Irish mafia lords. Clearly, in 1936, the Great Depression was nearing its end, but it seems to me that it's still a time period conducive to a depressing atmosphere. The Sting acknowledges its chronological setting when Hooker mentions the Depression, but it gives us an alternate view. On the other hand, the French Connection takes a time period that is not especially gritty and shows us the scummiest, most unsavory side of it. Of course, I could just be falling victim to the typical moviegoing trap--thinking anything with Robert Redford in it is polished and pretty and everything else is dirty by comparison.

I think I've stopped making sense. This happens when I have little to say about a movie. But I like it. 9/10

The Sting (1973): Eitan's Take

One of the best things about watching these films chronologically is that we really get to see trends emerging. During a long stretch of the 30's, I remarked about how Best Picture winners tend to be films about ambitious, powerful, larger-than-life men. During other periods, we've been treated to the rise of the epic, the gritty New York drama, the stage-to-screen musical, and with the dawn of the 70's, New Hollywood and the reimagining of the complex American psyche. This is what makes The Sting such a blast to watch -- amid a sea of self-important films, propelled or hampered by their bloated ambitions, here's a film that doesn't give a damn if it's the Great American Film or just another silly studio backlot period caper. That it's a really great film, funny and clever and warm, is like some happy accident.

Of course, reuniting the two boy geniuses from Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid has something to do with it. Sometimes, it seems like "chemistry" was a term invented to describe what Paul Newman and Robert Redford share; every sly look, every thumb of the nose, every boyish cackle and shared moment of too-clever planning is executed flawlessly by these guys. It's a shame they only made two films together. Nowadays, we're used to con man or crime movies where everyone is playing everyone, and the whole film is nothing but a shambolic web of blink-and-you-miss-it lies and deception -- yeah, we get it... the audience gets the biggest con. Here though, mostly because Newman and Redford are too good together, we assume that the film isn't playing nasty tricks on us. It's their show, and we're along for the ride.

The film looks and sounds great too. While The Godfather uses dark browns and beiges to capture the slippery morals and dark machinations of the crime world, The Sting uses the very same color palette to create a playful and engaging world. The back alleys, the sham storefronts, the poker room on the train, and the "FBI lair" are drained of their color so we can pay attention to the richness of the performances and the decidedly non-showy cleverness of the screenplay. (It does take a lot of work to craft a screenplay this quick and witty and have it not descend into smug, self-referential gooeyness.) This is a film that wisely asks the audience to view its inner world as a comedy, even as most of the actors are playing it straight. There are no cheap-o gags and no yuks. Every laugh, especially the ones after a long buildup, such as in the pitch-perfect Newman vs. Shaw poker scene, is well-earned.

I'll admit I'm a sucker for a good heist/con caper. Even the pompous and self-important Oceans Eleven has stayed with me over the years. There's something magical about watching a long con unfold. I love sitting back and seeing how every little element -- the bogus sets, the fake accents and mustaches, the slick sleights of hand, every little prop required to make "The Wire" con work so simply and so well -- comes together to form something too sinister and well-thought-out to dismiss as just a prank. And it helps the film, rather than hinders, that George Roy Hill and author David Ward lay out the film within the simple narrative framework of showing each part of the con ("The Set-Up," "The Hook," "The Sting," etc.) as it plays out.

The Sting is really just a lovely film, and one of the only Best Picture winners that allows itself to be nothing more than pure, smart entertainment. It's far from perfect, and it definitely drags at the end, but it's tough to give it demerits when it all congeals so perfectly. 9/10.

The Godfather (1972): Shira's Take

Gosh, this movie sucks.

But seriously, I feel like I did when I was forced to write about Casablanca. What can you possibly say about such a cinematic masterpiece that hasn't been said? Absolutely nothing. So I'll say the things that have been said by others but that come to my mind right now. I think that about 90% of the shots in this movie are completely iconic. If you'd never seen it before, you would still recognize it from almost any still image. Part of this is the use of color and light. No other movie looks like the Godfather (though I haven't seen parts 2 or 3 yet, so maybe they do as well).

Though I've never read Mario Puzo's book upon which this movie is based, I have heard pretty awful things. But Puzo collaborated with Coppola on the screenplay, and it turned out pretty amazing, so I think maybe this story just needed the medium of film. This was my second time watching the Godfather, and it was actually better this time. I am very much looking forward to seeing part 2 now and recognizing all the classic lines I know so well (especially, "I know it was you, Fredo. You broke my heart.") You can tell I'm scrounging for things to say.

Oh, one stupid little note. I remember the first time I saw Boogie Nights, which was a few months after the first time I saw the Godfather. In the scene in Boogie Nights where Floyd Gondoli came to Jack Horner to ask him to switch to video, I was reminded of the scene in the Godfather where Virgil "The Turk" Sollozzo asks Don Corleone to join the narcotics industry. Boogie Nights has since become one of my favorite movies, but this is the first time I've had the privilege to watch the Godfather since. Honestly, there are a number of Jack Horner/Don Corleone parallelisms, and I'm excited to watch Boogie Nights soon (as I probably watch it every other month or so) in this context. Obviously, the Godfather gets a 10/10

The Godfather (1972): Eitan's Take

Whenever characters in a movie or TV show go out to the movies -- and this happens in Seinfeld quite a bit -- they always end up seeing some vaguely anonymous, obviously fake popcorn flick. I watch these scenes and wonder: do they have all the same movies we have in real life? Or in this parallel universe, do they have a completely different history of cinema and thousands of movies that don't exist in our universe? What I'm getting at is this: we should consider ourselves privileged, maybe even humbled, that we live in a world where a film like The Godfather exists. Like Casablanca, this film is ingrained in our consciousness regardless of whether or not we've seen it; it's just who we are. We were all born to love this film, and watching it for the first or second, or in my case the fifth or sixth time, one gets the sense that the film satisfies some crazy, innate Platonic ideal -- we all have to discover it on our own, but it waits for us and reveals itself slowly, poetically, elegantly, until we can do nothing but acquiesce to its awesome power.

It's basically pointless to try to write something breezy and clever about The Godfather. So much ink has been spilled over it already, and by much more talented and insightful people -- not to mention the fact that every human who takes him or herself seriously has seen this film by now and has their own approach. Someone once said that batting against Sandy Koufax was like eating soup with a fork, and that's pretty much how I feel about tackling The Godfather in a critical way. Like any great art -- Shakespeare, Da Vinci, Mozart -- The Godfather is too epic, too perfect, too unassailably well-constructed to comment on and then feel good about myself in the morning. Maybe this is a cop-out, but I honestly can't start breaking this film apart into its constituent units and letting you know how much I love it. My admiration for and fear of this movie should be self-evident.

Most American films live in the shadow of this behemoth, and for good reasons. From the first lines -- a paean to immigrant values -- to the last -- a powerful passing of the torch to a first-generation American -- it is truly our nation's finest film. It's not my favorite, not by a long shot, but if there has ever been a better rendering of the 20th century American story on film, I definitely don't know about it.

10/10.

The French Connection (1971): Shira's Take

First and foremost it must be said that the first half of this movie is not good. It is totally uninteresting, and the details of the smuggling plot are hard to follow. Second, there is not much character development, which is typically the most important thing to me in any narrative-based art-form. Disclaimers aside...The French Connection is great. I don't miss the character development when Gene Hackman is just so totally awesome. And the second half really makes up for the first. The moment the movie gets interesting is when Jimmy "Popeye" Doyle (Gene Hackman) desperately tries repeatedly to get on the same subway train as Frog #1, Alain Charnier (Fernando Rey). That scene is followed soon after by the classic car/subway chase scene, which is just so incredible in every way. That fifteen minutes (or so) of no dialogue develops Popeye's lust for the job more than hours of dialogue in any modern cop movie (Michael Mann's Heat for example). Add to that, of course, the fact that he absolutely does not care a bit when he kills Mulderig at the end. Priceless.

Really, the car chase scene on its own is the perfect movie, edited flawlessly. Nearing forty years later, and they're still making video games that attempt to be as cool. This endless determination, never looking back (except for when you almost run over a baby carriage), running into everything in your way, smashing up the car like crazy -- it is the ultimate cop movie scene. So yes, I will be giving this movie a 9/10, in spite of its awful first 45 minutes.

The French Connection (1971): Eitan's Take

It could be argued that The French Connection is the purest genre film to ever win Best Picture. From the first frame to the last, this is a film that never pretends to be anything but a smart, propulsive thriller about the dark alleys and gangland hideouts of New York City. Its characters barely have time to speak; they're mostly running, shooting, plotting, catching glances, leaning around corners. You get the drift. The film's major flaw is perhaps its biggest asset as a straightforward thriller: we never really get to know anyone in the film. The film's protagonist, Popeye Doyle, and its villain, Alain Chenier, are just tokens -- two unstoppable forces set into motion. Chenier's primary goal is to be swarthy and evil and to groom his lush salt and pepper beard while cackling over heroin deals. Doyle's primary goal is to run, yell, and shoot until he has his man. We never learn what motivates these men (and the various cops-and-robbers archetypes that surround them). We only see what they DO. Arguably, this is enough.

After Patton, which is a largely cerebral exercise, The French Connection is a huge relief. It's a big, loud, kinetic, bloody pulp film with porkpie hats, big guns, the best (and best-edited) car chase in the history of cinema, and a host of absolutely iconic shots featuring various police officers snooping through the gritty streets of Manhattan and Brooklyn, hot in pursuit of deliciously evil French goons who somehow discover a way out every time. That was a run-on sentence, but this is really a run-on movie; it's constantly in a state of dizzy climax, moving from setpiece to setpiece with that zippy, intoxicating "New Hollywood" feel. Hackman and Scheider deliver pitch-perfect performances; even though I don't think their characters are that deep per se, there's a lot in Cloudy and Popeye that you can sink your teeth into. There's no showy compassion, there's no silly moments of introspection, there's no feigned complexity. These are guys who do their job well and live by the skin of their teeth, and Hackman and Scheider capture the grit and professionalism of these two characters perfectly. The only misstep, perhaps, is the gratuitous post-coital scene in Popeye's apartment. Sure, it's funny that he picked up the biker girl, and it's even funnier that she cuffed him to the bed with his own cuffs, but a scene so removed from the plot should tell us something about who these guys are. Instead, it's a five minute piffle in the middle of a taut, suspenseful police procedural.

And about that car chase, because no discussion of The French Connection is complete without a discussion of those fifteen glorious minutes. A lot of films since 1971 have attempted to recapture the magic of Friedkin's most audacious setpiece. Speed, The Matrix Reloaded, The Italian Job, Ronin, Terminator 3, Crank, every post-Moore Bond film, you name it. This particular car chase is incredible because it feels real and terrifying, and it's absolutely integral to the plot. There's no goofy-ass fruit carts or plate glass windows here; it's basically hand-to-hand combat, but the fighters are a busted coupe and a speeding subway. The tension and excitement of the scene doesn't come from shit blowing up -- it comes from Doyle's raw desperation and heroism.

This is far from a perfect film, and it feels quite dated. But it's hard to deny that the Academy made a VERY non-traditional pick here -- even moreso than with Midnight Cowboy, which was basically a romance film -- and they picked a truly exciting genre film at that. A solid 8/10.

Patton (1970): Shira's Take

I think I should preface this by saying movies like this are so not my thing. I find Patton an entertaining character, which is what kept me awake and sane while watching this movie (other things that contributed to my not-gouging-my-eyeballs-out: Karl Malden's adorableness and Patton's aide Codman's-Paul Stevens's-resemblance to Scott Bakula). Early on, I enjoyed myself by seeing Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade in everything from the Nazi headquarters to tanks. This is how I survive while watching long movies about things I'm not interested in.

I guess I'm supposed to talk about George C. Scott's performance and how great it was. It was great. Really. I can see why it's ranked in great performances lists. And I love the anecdote about why he refused to accept his Oscar--the competition between actors being a "meat parade." Interesting dude, playing an interesting dude. But I have little interest in watching an interesting actor play an interesting asshole for three hours, interspersed with battle scenes. Not my thing.

Awesome editing and cool cinematography/art direction bring it up to a 7/10.