A disclaimer: I absolutely hate Romeo and Juliet. Now, I can appreciate the passion in Zeffirelli's version and the artistry in Luhrman's, but I will never, ever, ever like the story. I hate the two leads, with their doe-eyed teenage idiocy, and I almost always hate anything in which characters fall in "love" at first sight. I am more of a Benedick and Beatrice in Much Ado About Nothing girl myself (two characters who have known and teased each other forever, and fall in love despite themselves). Keep in mind that any plot based on misunderstandings and poor decisions will frustrate me, and I will therefore only like it to some extent.
Aside from my obvious problems with the plot, I actually have some problems with the songs. Now, don't get me wrong. The memorable songs in this movie are BRILLIANT. "Gee, Officer Krupke", "Tonight", and "I Feel Pretty" are all appropriate, fun, and they all get in your head and stay there for days. This is what songs in musicals should do. Unfortunately, those are about all of them. I had forgotten how many songs are in West Side Story, and how little I care for almost all of them.
Finally, now I can get to the good stuff. I have seen this movie about ten times before, but I tried to get more out of it this time. I paid more attention to the visuals. Clearly, the choreography is phenomenal. One thing I've never paid too much attention to is the use of colors. Good examples include Maria's colorful glass door, which casts warm, bright, multicolored glows on her room, and the amazing cinammon-red underbelly of the overpass below which the rumble occurs (it juxtaposes the grey, dirty walls and ground so perfectly). Also notable is the hip, daddy-o-style camera angles and lighting. Lots of slightly askew shots and dark silhouettes near shadowy fences. Visually, I have one pet peeve. I absolutely hate the blurring of the surrounding areas in the scene where Tony (Richard Beymer) and Maria (Natalie Wood) meet and later, in (I believe) the "Tonight" scene.
The only acting Oscars for which anyone in this movie was nominated were supporting, and they both won: Rita Moreno (who played Anita) and George Chakiris (who played Bernardo). They are seriously the only good performances in the movie. I mean, Russ Tamblyn is entertaining, but not in an Oscar-worthy way, and both Richard Beymer and Natalie Wood are so lame that their performances are just too sappy. Interestingly enough, Natalie Wood WAS nominated for Best Actress that year, except it was for Splendor in the Grass. So, if you ignore the main characters, and if you change the plot completely, but you leave everything else the same, it is a perfect movie. As is, it is less-than-perfect, but still an 8/10
Friday, March 21, 2008
West Side Story (1961): Eitan's Take
West Side Story is a movie that inspires near-blasphemous ambivalence in me. Like the pop art movement that was emerging at the time Jerome Robbins and Stephen Sondheim cooked it up, the film is colorful, strange, gritty, explosive, and ultimately very, very empty. Like its pathetically weak source material, Shakespeare's overrated Romeo and Juliet, it has barely enough plot points to sustain its 150-minute running time, and it blows its artistic load on three or four mind-bogglingly brilliant song and dance numbers, leaving the rest to drag. And drag. And drag. One cup Zeferelli's "Romeo and Juliet," one heaping teaspoon of "The Warriors," and a bit of Bob Fosse leaves us with a very colorful and very bland stew.
I'll focus on the positives of this iconic film first. The dance routines are, perhaps, the best ever captured on camera. Jerome Robbins' vision of a violent gangland ballet comes to life in ways that still inspire awe 47 years later. The high kicks, the spins, the snaps, the explosive arm gestures, the leapfrogs, and even the more subtle motions like scurrying up fences and racing through the street... it's all phenomenal eye candy, and it all definitely captures the simmering inner drama of young gang members. The attitude and bravado of these thugs comes through, and for a few moments we can even see the appeal of living like they do. Likewise, the cinematography is breathtaking; bright 60's yellows and blues and greens mix with the dark grit of Manhattan to great effect. The interplay of light and shadow adds to the general feeling of despair hanging over the movie. It's New York at a completely different angle from the melancholy sweetness of Billy Wilder's imaginary Manhattan. It's really quite akin to On the Waterfront, if the shipping yards were painted in glorious pastels. These two elements alone almost make the movie worth watching, and I have no doubt that along with Leonard Bernstein's epic score, these are the reasons why people return time and time again to West Side Story.
But there are so many elements of this movie -- again, this iconic movie -- are too overcooked to take seriously. At times, the singing is downright atrocious, even in some of my favorite tunes ("America," "Cool," "Gee Officer Krupke"). The love story is too hammy for its own good, and the changes from Romeo and Juliet actually weaken the overall thrust of the story. These two "star-crossed lovers" are supposed to die TOGETHER; seriously, one dies and the other is led away by a police as the camera cranes upwards?
While recontextualizing the violence and romance in the guise of an immigrant story is, of course, an interesting twist, it's hard to a) get past the feeling that these are just a bunch of really stupid and short-sighted kids and b) get past the fact that half of them don't even look like the ethnicity they're supposed to be portraying. By this point in the history of Western art, this story had been hashed and rehashed until all but a gloppy goo was left, and the tired storyline (which Shakespeare himself cribbed from several writers before him) really shows its age. Maybe "high-concept" reinterpretations of Shakespeare were new then, but by now they're old hat -- I've personally seen WWII-era "Much Ado," silent-film-era "Midsummer Night's Dream," a junkyard "Midsummer," an all-black "Othello," and pretty much every mushy Shakespeare-lite movie that Hollywood has cooked up ("Ten Things I Hate About You," et al). So while I can imagine the early-60's fervor over these hot kids doing Shakespeare in an alleyway (remember, this was even before Zeferelli's version), I'm viewing this from a 21st century lens, and I always find myself unimpressed with this movie, which everyone else seems to love.
Call me a grump, but I give this a 6/10. And once again, Natalie Wood does not LOOK, SOUND, or ACT Puerto Rican!
I'll focus on the positives of this iconic film first. The dance routines are, perhaps, the best ever captured on camera. Jerome Robbins' vision of a violent gangland ballet comes to life in ways that still inspire awe 47 years later. The high kicks, the spins, the snaps, the explosive arm gestures, the leapfrogs, and even the more subtle motions like scurrying up fences and racing through the street... it's all phenomenal eye candy, and it all definitely captures the simmering inner drama of young gang members. The attitude and bravado of these thugs comes through, and for a few moments we can even see the appeal of living like they do. Likewise, the cinematography is breathtaking; bright 60's yellows and blues and greens mix with the dark grit of Manhattan to great effect. The interplay of light and shadow adds to the general feeling of despair hanging over the movie. It's New York at a completely different angle from the melancholy sweetness of Billy Wilder's imaginary Manhattan. It's really quite akin to On the Waterfront, if the shipping yards were painted in glorious pastels. These two elements alone almost make the movie worth watching, and I have no doubt that along with Leonard Bernstein's epic score, these are the reasons why people return time and time again to West Side Story.
But there are so many elements of this movie -- again, this iconic movie -- are too overcooked to take seriously. At times, the singing is downright atrocious, even in some of my favorite tunes ("America," "Cool," "Gee Officer Krupke"). The love story is too hammy for its own good, and the changes from Romeo and Juliet actually weaken the overall thrust of the story. These two "star-crossed lovers" are supposed to die TOGETHER; seriously, one dies and the other is led away by a police as the camera cranes upwards?
While recontextualizing the violence and romance in the guise of an immigrant story is, of course, an interesting twist, it's hard to a) get past the feeling that these are just a bunch of really stupid and short-sighted kids and b) get past the fact that half of them don't even look like the ethnicity they're supposed to be portraying. By this point in the history of Western art, this story had been hashed and rehashed until all but a gloppy goo was left, and the tired storyline (which Shakespeare himself cribbed from several writers before him) really shows its age. Maybe "high-concept" reinterpretations of Shakespeare were new then, but by now they're old hat -- I've personally seen WWII-era "Much Ado," silent-film-era "Midsummer Night's Dream," a junkyard "Midsummer," an all-black "Othello," and pretty much every mushy Shakespeare-lite movie that Hollywood has cooked up ("Ten Things I Hate About You," et al). So while I can imagine the early-60's fervor over these hot kids doing Shakespeare in an alleyway (remember, this was even before Zeferelli's version), I'm viewing this from a 21st century lens, and I always find myself unimpressed with this movie, which everyone else seems to love.
Call me a grump, but I give this a 6/10. And once again, Natalie Wood does not LOOK, SOUND, or ACT Puerto Rican!
The Apartment (1960): Shira's Take
THE SIXTIES! WOOO!
The Apartment is of a rare breed in best picture winners. It starts off interesting and entertaining, and it stays that way throughout. It has a PERFECT Billy Wilder screenplay, quality-wise and otherwise-wise. What's funny about it is that I felt The Apartment actually got worse about 3/4 of the way through and never got as good as it had been in the beginning, and somehow, it was still a great movie. In terms of other BP winners we've watched, it was most similar to Marty, in that it felt like a play instead of a movie (and in that it featured a charmingly pathetic protagonist).
The plot was GREAT, the characters were GREAT (especially the neighbor, Dr. Dreyfuss, played by Jack Kruschen), and the actors were GREAT. The Apartment does not have everything I ask for in a best picture winner, but it has everything I ask for in a likeable movie. 9/10
The Apartment is of a rare breed in best picture winners. It starts off interesting and entertaining, and it stays that way throughout. It has a PERFECT Billy Wilder screenplay, quality-wise and otherwise-wise. What's funny about it is that I felt The Apartment actually got worse about 3/4 of the way through and never got as good as it had been in the beginning, and somehow, it was still a great movie. In terms of other BP winners we've watched, it was most similar to Marty, in that it felt like a play instead of a movie (and in that it featured a charmingly pathetic protagonist).
The plot was GREAT, the characters were GREAT (especially the neighbor, Dr. Dreyfuss, played by Jack Kruschen), and the actors were GREAT. The Apartment does not have everything I ask for in a best picture winner, but it has everything I ask for in a likeable movie. 9/10
The Apartment (1960): Eitan's Take
The 30's and 40's gave us rich and dark films about masculine ambition, but in the 50's and now 60's, we're being treated to stories of human kindness and decency -- no surprise, considering that these were the years of quaint domesticity, Ozzie and Harriet, and white picket fences. But beneath the nice-guy veneer of The Apartment lies an incredible meditation on sadness, human communication, and the kind of loneliness so big and so overwhelming that it fills up a whole home. Billy Wilder directed this movie right after Some Like It Hot, which, for all of its traipsing joy, has a hint of sadness to it as well. And we first witnessed his skillful arrangement of sad human drama in The Lost Weekend, which remains one of my favorite Best Picture winners so far.
In Jack Lemmon, Wilder finds an incredible, tragic everyman -- the kind of guy it's possible to both sympathize for and empathize with. The way he carries himself, the neuroses, the runny noses, the expression on his face when he opens up the box with his new bowler hat, the sad way flips through his rolodex trying to manage the appointments for all the corporate thugs who commandeer his apartment for their adulterous charades... Woody Allen spent years trying to recreate this sort of pathos, but Jack Lemmon does it so much better because he looks like, talks like, acts like, and could be anyone. Jaded by years of watching romance fail, Lemmon's C.C. Baxter is a portrait of resignation. He's sweet and chivalrous, but he also has deep flaws and deep emotional scars. When he tells Ms. Kubilek (the radiant and smart Shirley MacLaine, who we saw previously as an imprisoned Indian princess in Around the World in Eighty Days) about his suicide attempt, he adds a punchline so as not to disturb her -- or us -- too deeply, but it's impossible to escape the tragedy of the moment. Luckily, he reaches out to her and her famous reciprocation, "Shut up and deal," is all the more rewarding for it. The whole time, I kept thinking, "This is like Marty... but sophisticated."
Pinned up next to the lives of his colleagues, Baxter's own life has a strange twist of lemon to it. Though he's continually "sexiled" from his own home, the love he finds is so much deeper and more resonant than anything they could ever hope to experience. Halfway through the film, during the Christmas party, Kubilek learns from her lover Sheldrake's secretary that she's not the first -- and won't be the last -- of his illicit affairs. As an audience, it's natural for our heart to sink with her, and in her case that moment of despair seems to last forever, as she recedes into herself and begins to rethink the value of love. But then we're reminded of the graciousness and generosity of Baxter and the endless emotional support he lends (often at his own expense), and everything feels aligned again. The world can be a great place when the right people find each other and make love and life and hope work. Over and over, the movie breaks your heart, but then bends down next to you to help pick up the pieces. That's why the ending of The Apartment is so brilliant. There's nothing cliche about it. There's no cutesy kiss or wedding bells or grandiose speech. There's just the recognition -- on the characters' parts, as well as our own -- that after the reel flips up and the theater lights come up, life goes on. There's just optimism and uncertainty and honesty, laid out on the table like gin rummy cards. It's rarely so important for me that my friends and family see the Best Picture winners that Shira and I watch, but this one is a must-see. It crumbles to a 9/10, cookie-wise of course.
In Jack Lemmon, Wilder finds an incredible, tragic everyman -- the kind of guy it's possible to both sympathize for and empathize with. The way he carries himself, the neuroses, the runny noses, the expression on his face when he opens up the box with his new bowler hat, the sad way flips through his rolodex trying to manage the appointments for all the corporate thugs who commandeer his apartment for their adulterous charades... Woody Allen spent years trying to recreate this sort of pathos, but Jack Lemmon does it so much better because he looks like, talks like, acts like, and could be anyone. Jaded by years of watching romance fail, Lemmon's C.C. Baxter is a portrait of resignation. He's sweet and chivalrous, but he also has deep flaws and deep emotional scars. When he tells Ms. Kubilek (the radiant and smart Shirley MacLaine, who we saw previously as an imprisoned Indian princess in Around the World in Eighty Days) about his suicide attempt, he adds a punchline so as not to disturb her -- or us -- too deeply, but it's impossible to escape the tragedy of the moment. Luckily, he reaches out to her and her famous reciprocation, "Shut up and deal," is all the more rewarding for it. The whole time, I kept thinking, "This is like Marty... but sophisticated."
Pinned up next to the lives of his colleagues, Baxter's own life has a strange twist of lemon to it. Though he's continually "sexiled" from his own home, the love he finds is so much deeper and more resonant than anything they could ever hope to experience. Halfway through the film, during the Christmas party, Kubilek learns from her lover Sheldrake's secretary that she's not the first -- and won't be the last -- of his illicit affairs. As an audience, it's natural for our heart to sink with her, and in her case that moment of despair seems to last forever, as she recedes into herself and begins to rethink the value of love. But then we're reminded of the graciousness and generosity of Baxter and the endless emotional support he lends (often at his own expense), and everything feels aligned again. The world can be a great place when the right people find each other and make love and life and hope work. Over and over, the movie breaks your heart, but then bends down next to you to help pick up the pieces. That's why the ending of The Apartment is so brilliant. There's nothing cliche about it. There's no cutesy kiss or wedding bells or grandiose speech. There's just the recognition -- on the characters' parts, as well as our own -- that after the reel flips up and the theater lights come up, life goes on. There's just optimism and uncertainty and honesty, laid out on the table like gin rummy cards. It's rarely so important for me that my friends and family see the Best Picture winners that Shira and I watch, but this one is a must-see. It crumbles to a 9/10, cookie-wise of course.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Ben-Hur (1959): Shira's Take
The most pressing order of business: this felt NOTHING like the William Wyler movies we've watched so far. Mrs. Miniver and The Best Years of Our Lives both show the painful effects of war, while Ben-Hur is the type of movie to ignore the subtleties and show you the whole war instead. In fact, it wouldn't just show you the whole war. It would show you the drama building up to the war, then some flashy battle scenes, then more drama, then more flashy battle scenes, etc. until you're just so completely sick of the characters that you can't stop looking at the time and wishing those three-and-a-half-plus hours would go by quicker.
Not since Gone with the Wind have I seen a movie that tried so hard and failed so miserably. You would think that a movie this long would somehow find a way to make me interested in the characters or the plots, but you would be completely wrong. Unlike a movie like Gigi, where I'm actually frustrated with the plot, Ben-Hur didn't keep me invested enough to get frustrated in the first place. I just couldn't care, no matter how hard I tried, about anything.
Now on to the good stuff. Good performances all around (except Haya Harareet, who was simultaneously the only convincing Israeli and the only nonconvincing human). The chariot race scene lived up to its fame. It was exciting and gorgeous. I actually liked that we never saw Jesus's face.
In general, I think that Cecil B. DeMille should have been alive to make this movie, and if he had, it would have been no different. Wyler did a good DeMille impression, but it's still a generic, big, uninteresting DeMille picture. Note to myself: There was soooo much gay subtext between Judah (Heston) and Messala (Boyd). The scene in which Judah says that Messala saved his life and Messala says something like, "It was the best thing I ever did," and then looks Judah up and down as if picturing him naked is priceless. I said to Eitan early on, "It's a story of star-crossed lovers!" 5/10
Not since Gone with the Wind have I seen a movie that tried so hard and failed so miserably. You would think that a movie this long would somehow find a way to make me interested in the characters or the plots, but you would be completely wrong. Unlike a movie like Gigi, where I'm actually frustrated with the plot, Ben-Hur didn't keep me invested enough to get frustrated in the first place. I just couldn't care, no matter how hard I tried, about anything.
Now on to the good stuff. Good performances all around (except Haya Harareet, who was simultaneously the only convincing Israeli and the only nonconvincing human). The chariot race scene lived up to its fame. It was exciting and gorgeous. I actually liked that we never saw Jesus's face.
In general, I think that Cecil B. DeMille should have been alive to make this movie, and if he had, it would have been no different. Wyler did a good DeMille impression, but it's still a generic, big, uninteresting DeMille picture. Note to myself: There was soooo much gay subtext between Judah (Heston) and Messala (Boyd). The scene in which Judah says that Messala saved his life and Messala says something like, "It was the best thing I ever did," and then looks Judah up and down as if picturing him naked is priceless. I said to Eitan early on, "It's a story of star-crossed lovers!" 5/10
Ben-Hur (1959): Eitan's Take
The subtitle of Ben-Hur is "A Tale of the Christ," and it's difficult to watch the movie without acknowledging the gracious hand of (fictional, narrative-based) Jesus Christ moving the elements of goodness and kindness against the elements of hatred and betrayal. I'm not Christian, but I definitely felt the good will of the original teachings in the Gospels moving the film along, and giving hope and a sense of purpose to Judah Ben-Hur (the magnificent and robust Charlton Heston). But even more than the hand of Christ, I felt the power of Jewish values seeping into every part of the story. It's a definitively Jewish tale about perseverance, loyalty, hard work, family, faith, and being great at sports. This is why it fits so well in the (unofficial) Charlton-Heston-as-a-beefy-Jew trilogy, which also includes The Ten Commandments and Exodus.
Three times wider than it is tall, the scope of the print itself lends an incredible gravitas to the film. The cinematography, production design, special effects, and costumes allow us to become completely immersed in the grandiose world of Roman Judea. But unlike The Ten Commandments, this story of the Jewish people feels raw and personal. The hurt we feel when Messala watches his childhood friend and his friend's mother and sister be sent to the dungeon over a false accusation is real. When Judah is unshackled in the galleys, we feel just as confused and determined and awed as he does -- that he will survive, and watch his friends die. Usually in big-budget movies (see: Michael Bay), so much gets lost in creating a spectacle that we forget that the spectacle of death, religion, and politics is brutal to those involved. Ben-Hur never lets us forget that these are real people.
People often talk about this movie solely from the perspective of the chariot race, and it's definitely magnificent in every conceivable way. The wide-wide-wide aspect ratio is our portal into one of the most incredible moments in cinema history. Every second of it feels real and urgent. The spikes on Messala's chariot glisten with pure evil. The horses gallop round the turns and you feel the intensity in the pit of your stomach. George Lucas tried to mimic this scene in Star Wars Episode I, but watching this today I was only reminded of how miserably stupid that whole sequence is. CGI alien bugs racing around in hovering special effects while Jake Lloyd shouts and hollers in prepubescent glee? It's no contest. Also, the same narrative elements (betrayal, revenge, Roman tyranny, swords/sandals, and coliseum sports) are used in Gladiator to much, much weaker ends. To even compare the two movies is almost heretical; real movie buffs know which was is up, and know that Gladiator is a pale imitation of Ben-Hur.
Either way, the movie is so much deeper and so much more important than just a single scene, exciting and innovative as it may be. Every scene is finely crafted to blend religious parable and real life drama in such a way that you can't tell where the plot ends and the inspirational and awe-inspiring subtext begins. At almost three and a half hours, I can honestly say I didn't want it to end. A truly deserved 10/10. It earned every one of the 11 Oscars it won, a feat matched only by Titanic (which falls victim to its own spectacle) and Return of the King, which is a towering cinematic achievement in very similar respects.
Three times wider than it is tall, the scope of the print itself lends an incredible gravitas to the film. The cinematography, production design, special effects, and costumes allow us to become completely immersed in the grandiose world of Roman Judea. But unlike The Ten Commandments, this story of the Jewish people feels raw and personal. The hurt we feel when Messala watches his childhood friend and his friend's mother and sister be sent to the dungeon over a false accusation is real. When Judah is unshackled in the galleys, we feel just as confused and determined and awed as he does -- that he will survive, and watch his friends die. Usually in big-budget movies (see: Michael Bay), so much gets lost in creating a spectacle that we forget that the spectacle of death, religion, and politics is brutal to those involved. Ben-Hur never lets us forget that these are real people.
People often talk about this movie solely from the perspective of the chariot race, and it's definitely magnificent in every conceivable way. The wide-wide-wide aspect ratio is our portal into one of the most incredible moments in cinema history. Every second of it feels real and urgent. The spikes on Messala's chariot glisten with pure evil. The horses gallop round the turns and you feel the intensity in the pit of your stomach. George Lucas tried to mimic this scene in Star Wars Episode I, but watching this today I was only reminded of how miserably stupid that whole sequence is. CGI alien bugs racing around in hovering special effects while Jake Lloyd shouts and hollers in prepubescent glee? It's no contest. Also, the same narrative elements (betrayal, revenge, Roman tyranny, swords/sandals, and coliseum sports) are used in Gladiator to much, much weaker ends. To even compare the two movies is almost heretical; real movie buffs know which was is up, and know that Gladiator is a pale imitation of Ben-Hur.
Either way, the movie is so much deeper and so much more important than just a single scene, exciting and innovative as it may be. Every scene is finely crafted to blend religious parable and real life drama in such a way that you can't tell where the plot ends and the inspirational and awe-inspiring subtext begins. At almost three and a half hours, I can honestly say I didn't want it to end. A truly deserved 10/10. It earned every one of the 11 Oscars it won, a feat matched only by Titanic (which falls victim to its own spectacle) and Return of the King, which is a towering cinematic achievement in very similar respects.
Gigi (1958): Shira's Take
Not making a good first impression, Gigi starts off with a song that may have been charming and whimsical in 1958 but is just disturbing now: "Thank Heaven for Little Girls", which includes the line, "Those little eyes so helpless and appealing..." Okay, I'm sorry, but how could that not be misconstrued? Honestly, I can't even see any way that that song could ever have been anything other than messed up. It didn't help that it was sung by Maurice Chevalier (who played Honore Lachaille). If you grew up on Disney movies, you may recognize his voice from The Aristocats title track. I did, and I was deeply disturbed.
From then on, I could not help but compare the movie to The Aristocats. The trials and tribulations of the aristocratic Parisian life at the turn of the 20th century are not particularly interesting. Fortunately, Aristocats features the late great Phil Harris (Baloo, Little John, etc.), really great songs (unlike Gigi--the only one that stuck with me was the perverted one, and it will NOT be a good song to have stuck in my head in public), and an awesome story. The movies share a setting and an Eva Gabor, but the main difference between them is Gigi sucks and The Aristocats...doesn't.
I truly gave it a chance. Leslie Caron (who played Gigi) is an incredibly talented dancer, as we learned in An American in Paris, and a relatively talented singer, so I was not dreading this movie the way I presume Eitan was. But she hardly danced at all. Work with what ya got, people. I cared so little about the characters, and I found that as the movie went on, I hated Gaston (played by Louis Jordan) more and more. I don't think that was supposed to happen.
One more complaint/question. Did they ever explain why Gigi's family is so poor, when they obviously are well aware of aristocratic behavior? How did her family know how to teach her to act like a proper woman when they had no money to begin with? Actually, don't answer these questions, because I just don't care about the movie at all. On which movie do others spit their loogies? Naturellement! Gigi! 5/10
From then on, I could not help but compare the movie to The Aristocats. The trials and tribulations of the aristocratic Parisian life at the turn of the 20th century are not particularly interesting. Fortunately, Aristocats features the late great Phil Harris (Baloo, Little John, etc.), really great songs (unlike Gigi--the only one that stuck with me was the perverted one, and it will NOT be a good song to have stuck in my head in public), and an awesome story. The movies share a setting and an Eva Gabor, but the main difference between them is Gigi sucks and The Aristocats...doesn't.
I truly gave it a chance. Leslie Caron (who played Gigi) is an incredibly talented dancer, as we learned in An American in Paris, and a relatively talented singer, so I was not dreading this movie the way I presume Eitan was. But she hardly danced at all. Work with what ya got, people. I cared so little about the characters, and I found that as the movie went on, I hated Gaston (played by Louis Jordan) more and more. I don't think that was supposed to happen.
One more complaint/question. Did they ever explain why Gigi's family is so poor, when they obviously are well aware of aristocratic behavior? How did her family know how to teach her to act like a proper woman when they had no money to begin with? Actually, don't answer these questions, because I just don't care about the movie at all. On which movie do others spit their loogies? Naturellement! Gigi! 5/10
Gigi (1958): Eitan's Take
With all due respect to Gena's lovely mother, Gigi is just not my thing. At two hours, it was two hours too long. These French parlor movies are just miserable for me; take everything I loved about An American in Paris and everything I hate about the Princess Diary movies, mash them together for a 116 minute homage to manners, big dresses, gentlemen in tophats and canes, cheese, fountains, and how to turn women into coffee-serving machines for a man's infinite pleasure, and you get Gigi. Shira seemed unsurprised to find that I was far more interested in playing with our kitten Leroy than actually watch the movie.
After the complex moral fables woven through The Bridge on the River Kwai, Gigi is not just a letdown because it is so empty and trivial and garish; it is a letdown because it advocates ridiculous and offensive morals. Early in the film, Gaston is congratulated for his amazing achievement... breaking a woman's heart so badly that she commits suicide. "Congratulations on the suicide!" all his friends cheer. This is not only bad plot. It made me ill. Ditto to the opening and closing song, "Thank Heaven for Little Girls," sung by Honore with such pedophilic glee that I would have turned off the movie the first time had I not committed myself to watching the it for this project.
The movie also sets a really poor example: listen to your nitwit grandmother and great aunt, commit yourself to a life of corset-bound unhappiness, obsess over emeralds and pearls, lose your ENTIRE sense of fun and spunky attitude, and maybe -- just maybe, if you compromise everything that could make you a fun and NORMAL person -- you'll get to wear a big purple dress and ride around in a carriage while an old man sings about how he spies on young girls playing in parks. The rest of the songs are awful and unmemorable, especially the one where the "chorus" whispers nasty things about Gaston and his first girlfriend while they pass through a ballroom. Hideous tempos, awful lyrics, and even more ghastly melodies.
I was told to look out for this movie, and now I know why. 3/10, ONLY for the impeccable production design and lush cinematography, as well as for Leslie Caron's eyelash-batting.
After the complex moral fables woven through The Bridge on the River Kwai, Gigi is not just a letdown because it is so empty and trivial and garish; it is a letdown because it advocates ridiculous and offensive morals. Early in the film, Gaston is congratulated for his amazing achievement... breaking a woman's heart so badly that she commits suicide. "Congratulations on the suicide!" all his friends cheer. This is not only bad plot. It made me ill. Ditto to the opening and closing song, "Thank Heaven for Little Girls," sung by Honore with such pedophilic glee that I would have turned off the movie the first time had I not committed myself to watching the it for this project.
The movie also sets a really poor example: listen to your nitwit grandmother and great aunt, commit yourself to a life of corset-bound unhappiness, obsess over emeralds and pearls, lose your ENTIRE sense of fun and spunky attitude, and maybe -- just maybe, if you compromise everything that could make you a fun and NORMAL person -- you'll get to wear a big purple dress and ride around in a carriage while an old man sings about how he spies on young girls playing in parks. The rest of the songs are awful and unmemorable, especially the one where the "chorus" whispers nasty things about Gaston and his first girlfriend while they pass through a ballroom. Hideous tempos, awful lyrics, and even more ghastly melodies.
I was told to look out for this movie, and now I know why. 3/10, ONLY for the impeccable production design and lush cinematography, as well as for Leslie Caron's eyelash-batting.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957): Shira's Take
I have a question. Did Colonel Nicholson (played by Alec Guinness, a man of genuine class) blow up the bridge on purpose? I think my understanding of the movie would be much greater if I knew what the intention of the filmmakers was on this matter. Was he upset about getting Shears (played by William Holden, who just loved getting shot and falling into water in the 1950's) killed, and so he saw the "error of his ways" and blew up the bridge on his dying breath? Or was that just a tragic, ironic end to his life? I suppose it doesn't matter too much.
Absolutely beautiful setting, so my eyes were very happy. I felt that the movie took longer to get started than necessary. Everything up until Nicholson was let out of the "oven" under Colonel Saito's (Sessue Hayakawa's) amnesty was pretty boring. I think it's probably bad that I've seen Apocalypse Now before ever seeing The Bridge on the River Kwai, because all I could think in the ending lines ("Madness! Madness!") was, "The horror!"
Alec Guinness totally deserved his Oscar for this movie, as he was really amazing. I think the movie was, considering how huge and important it still is fifty years later, actually imperfect. Still, it was pretty close. 9/10
Absolutely beautiful setting, so my eyes were very happy. I felt that the movie took longer to get started than necessary. Everything up until Nicholson was let out of the "oven" under Colonel Saito's (Sessue Hayakawa's) amnesty was pretty boring. I think it's probably bad that I've seen Apocalypse Now before ever seeing The Bridge on the River Kwai, because all I could think in the ending lines ("Madness! Madness!") was, "The horror!"
Alec Guinness totally deserved his Oscar for this movie, as he was really amazing. I think the movie was, considering how huge and important it still is fifty years later, actually imperfect. Still, it was pretty close. 9/10
The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957): Eitan's Take
Like On the Waterfront, the Bridge on the River Kwai is about making tough decisions and standing up for justice, no matter how imperfect it may be. And, like On the Waterfront, it is a genuine masterpiece. Early in the film, we witness Maj. Nicholson's (Alec Guinness) stubbornness and petulance in the face of Japanese commander Saito. In refusing to let the officers in his unit participate in the POW camp's manual labor tasks, he appears to be foolhardy and selfish... putting his own life and the lives of his colleagues at risk. Over what? But as he loosens the nerves from Saito and grabs hold of the reins of the bridge project, we watch as his gambit pays off tenfold.
Nicholson displays a unique kind of leadership in this film; to use an analogy I've heard a lot during the 2008 presidential campaign, his managerial philosophy is more like chess and less like boxing. In looking ahead and keeping tabs on the men most important to the cohesiveness of the POWs, he boosts morale down the road, inspires creativity and workmanship, and pushes the hundreds of gaunt prisoners above and beyond to successfully craft a beautiful bridge for their Japanese captors. When Nicholson nails the final plank to the bridge -- bearing the date and the names of the honorable British soldiers who built the gigantic structure -- we feel an immense pride in him.
The film could just be a typical "overcoming the odds" story, but it's much more crafty than that. It's cliche to say so, but the narrative is quite a bit like the bridge itself -- in the wrong hands, it would have been a haphazard project, but under the guidance of maestro and director David Lean, it's dense, grandiose, and highly detailed. Each storyline, from the bridge construction to Shears' (William Holden) ingenious commando operation to destroy the bridge, is held together with brilliant acting and a keen sense of purpose. Never stepping into the realm of the political or even the allegorical, we watch as the intensity thickens, as the bridge and all the craftsmanship that went into it become a reality, as the British and American mission to destroy it becomes a consuming passion for those involved, and as a catharsis nears that pits these two forces against one another. Sometimes, as we also learned in All Quiet on the Western Front, man is his own worst enemy, and the Bridge on the River Kwai pulls no punches and omits no human flaw to show that incredible truth. For its inspiration, for its portrayal of the undefeatable beat of the human spirit, and for its epic conclusion, 9/10
I have deep admiration for every war movie to ever win Best Picture. Remind me again why Saving Private Ryan isn't one of them?
Nicholson displays a unique kind of leadership in this film; to use an analogy I've heard a lot during the 2008 presidential campaign, his managerial philosophy is more like chess and less like boxing. In looking ahead and keeping tabs on the men most important to the cohesiveness of the POWs, he boosts morale down the road, inspires creativity and workmanship, and pushes the hundreds of gaunt prisoners above and beyond to successfully craft a beautiful bridge for their Japanese captors. When Nicholson nails the final plank to the bridge -- bearing the date and the names of the honorable British soldiers who built the gigantic structure -- we feel an immense pride in him.
The film could just be a typical "overcoming the odds" story, but it's much more crafty than that. It's cliche to say so, but the narrative is quite a bit like the bridge itself -- in the wrong hands, it would have been a haphazard project, but under the guidance of maestro and director David Lean, it's dense, grandiose, and highly detailed. Each storyline, from the bridge construction to Shears' (William Holden) ingenious commando operation to destroy the bridge, is held together with brilliant acting and a keen sense of purpose. Never stepping into the realm of the political or even the allegorical, we watch as the intensity thickens, as the bridge and all the craftsmanship that went into it become a reality, as the British and American mission to destroy it becomes a consuming passion for those involved, and as a catharsis nears that pits these two forces against one another. Sometimes, as we also learned in All Quiet on the Western Front, man is his own worst enemy, and the Bridge on the River Kwai pulls no punches and omits no human flaw to show that incredible truth. For its inspiration, for its portrayal of the undefeatable beat of the human spirit, and for its epic conclusion, 9/10
I have deep admiration for every war movie to ever win Best Picture. Remind me again why Saving Private Ryan isn't one of them?
Monday, March 17, 2008
Around the World in Eighty Days (1956): Shira's Take
It was a fine movie, but it was a bad best picture winner. I remember associating this movie with It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World as a kid (similarities being that both movies include a crazy race and both feature about a thousand familiar faces), but, as far as I remember, It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World is Way Way Way Way Better than Around the World in Eighty Days. Don't get me wrong. I appreciate the guy at the piano turning around and being Frank Sinatra, or the conductor on the train that is getting attacked by Indians being a really old Buster Keaton, or Passepartout (played by Cantinflas) waking up on a ship to a particularly rotund Peter Lorre playing a ship steward. Even better were the ones I didn't notice and saw in the ending credits. That woman in the saloon was Marlene Dietrich? The "Indian" princess was a young Shirley MacLaine? Awesome!
Basically, I guess this movie was pretty entertaining, and it was big in a way I often like movies to be, but it had no place winning BP. 1956 was a weak year, and I don't really care too much about ANY of the movies that were nominated (Wyler's Friendly Persuasion, Giant, The King and I, and The Ten Commandments).
My final comment has to be that as Eitan and I were watching this movie, I got the corresponding songs from the Chipmunk Adventure in my head for each scene. When they were in Spain, I got the Mexico song in my head ("I yi yi yi yi yi like you verrrry much...") Then, when they were in India, and we saw snake charmers, I started singing, "Tell me what I need to do to get lucky with you." Anyway, it's a very basic 6/10.
Basically, I guess this movie was pretty entertaining, and it was big in a way I often like movies to be, but it had no place winning BP. 1956 was a weak year, and I don't really care too much about ANY of the movies that were nominated (Wyler's Friendly Persuasion, Giant, The King and I, and The Ten Commandments).
My final comment has to be that as Eitan and I were watching this movie, I got the corresponding songs from the Chipmunk Adventure in my head for each scene. When they were in Spain, I got the Mexico song in my head ("I yi yi yi yi yi like you verrrry much...") Then, when they were in India, and we saw snake charmers, I started singing, "Tell me what I need to do to get lucky with you." Anyway, it's a very basic 6/10.
Around the World in Eighty Days (1956): Eitan's Take
Around the World in 80 Days is the first Best Picture winner, to my recollection, to be filmed in both Technicolor and beautiful panoramic widescreen and boy does it earn that distinction. Though it's an imperfect film, it's so abundantly imaginative and exciting that, like the Greatest Show on Earth, it's hard to hate it. However, with its charming British wit and its adventurous cinematography, it clearly goes places -- both tangibly and narratively -- that the Greatest Show on Earth could never even dream of doing. By the end, I'd concluded that it's not quite a deserving Best Picture winner, but it's a classic that should have a place among the world's great global capers (It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World, etc.).
David Niven has the perfect gravitas to play Phileas Fogg, who is a rather one-dimensional character, and Cantinflas is positively delightful as right-hand man Passepartout. The situations they get into are, of course, absurd -- floating over the Alps (and grabbing snow to cool their champagne), bullfighting in Spain, rescuing a princess from the horrific practice of Sati in India, evading Scotland Yard detectives, riding steamboats to Hong Kong and Yokohama and San Francisco, getting into a ridiculous 30 minute steampunk train fight with a gang of wild Sioux, etc. But it all makes for a rather wondrous journey, at times quaint, riveting, mysterious, and genuinely pulse-quickening. Some of the sequences are so dense and so epic, that you can forget that you're not just watching a full-length movie about the Wild West or a steamboat journey or an elephant adventure through the forests of India.
But two things must be said: first, this is merely a VERY LARGE BUDGET adaptation of the work of one of the world's greatest science fiction novelists, so it's not as though story credit can truly go to the people who made the book a reality. And second, you might as well watch it on mute, as it must be one of the most visually sumptuous films to come out of the 50's. The cinematography is done by Lionel Lindon, who also photographed episodes of the richly textured television seriesAlfred Hitchcock Presents... as well as Rod Serling's dark noir Night Gallery. Watching this movie using the digital projector in my bedroom was a great treat. The colors leap off of the screen, and many of the great vistas could have just gone on forever. A truly beautiful color film, with unique and exciting international scenes, that provides an easy counterpoint to the dark (and also brilliant) B&W cinematography of On the Waterfront. You could easily mistake this movie with films from the 60's that were shot with much better technology.
This delightful, if a little empty-headed, G-rated romp earns a 7/10. As a movie. As a Best Picture winner, I think most would agree it falls short of greatness. But if you don't have a place in your heart for a movie this FUN, I don't know what to say.
Great cameos, by the way.
David Niven has the perfect gravitas to play Phileas Fogg, who is a rather one-dimensional character, and Cantinflas is positively delightful as right-hand man Passepartout. The situations they get into are, of course, absurd -- floating over the Alps (and grabbing snow to cool their champagne), bullfighting in Spain, rescuing a princess from the horrific practice of Sati in India, evading Scotland Yard detectives, riding steamboats to Hong Kong and Yokohama and San Francisco, getting into a ridiculous 30 minute steampunk train fight with a gang of wild Sioux, etc. But it all makes for a rather wondrous journey, at times quaint, riveting, mysterious, and genuinely pulse-quickening. Some of the sequences are so dense and so epic, that you can forget that you're not just watching a full-length movie about the Wild West or a steamboat journey or an elephant adventure through the forests of India.
But two things must be said: first, this is merely a VERY LARGE BUDGET adaptation of the work of one of the world's greatest science fiction novelists, so it's not as though story credit can truly go to the people who made the book a reality. And second, you might as well watch it on mute, as it must be one of the most visually sumptuous films to come out of the 50's. The cinematography is done by Lionel Lindon, who also photographed episodes of the richly textured television seriesAlfred Hitchcock Presents... as well as Rod Serling's dark noir Night Gallery. Watching this movie using the digital projector in my bedroom was a great treat. The colors leap off of the screen, and many of the great vistas could have just gone on forever. A truly beautiful color film, with unique and exciting international scenes, that provides an easy counterpoint to the dark (and also brilliant) B&W cinematography of On the Waterfront. You could easily mistake this movie with films from the 60's that were shot with much better technology.
This delightful, if a little empty-headed, G-rated romp earns a 7/10. As a movie. As a Best Picture winner, I think most would agree it falls short of greatness. But if you don't have a place in your heart for a movie this FUN, I don't know what to say.
Great cameos, by the way.
Marty (1955): Eitan's Take
About the only thing I knew going in to Marty was that Herb Stempel famously lost to Charles Van Doren on 21 with a question about this utterly wonderful Best Picture winner. Every once in a while, it seems the Academy puts away all their love for big epics and dark mysteries and tales of desperation and woe and falls head over heels for a warm gem like Marty. (Recent nominees Sideways, Little Miss Sunshine, and Juno definitely fall into the small-budget-big-heart category that this movie kicked off).
Ernest Borgnine is adorable as oafish Italian lump Marty, who feels pressure from his stereotypical mom and his weaselly friends to go out and score a "tomatah" at a dance hall or a dive bar on 72nd. But fate steps in and hands him a wonderful, if a little homely, woman named Clara who's dumped by a jerk at the Starland Ballroom. A night of meet-cute ensues, and their relationship takes funny and charming turns at every chance encounter.
As a film, Marty is just like a warm patch of sunlight. For 90 minutes, we get to bask in the glow of a sweet underdog story, with moments of perfect nebbishy romance (Marty running through the streets, exhilarated, trying to find a taxi after he drops Clara off at her house, is one of the most romantic moments in any Best Picture winner, ever) and an undefeatable humanity shining through.
An 8, with a big smile on my face.
Ernest Borgnine is adorable as oafish Italian lump Marty, who feels pressure from his stereotypical mom and his weaselly friends to go out and score a "tomatah" at a dance hall or a dive bar on 72nd. But fate steps in and hands him a wonderful, if a little homely, woman named Clara who's dumped by a jerk at the Starland Ballroom. A night of meet-cute ensues, and their relationship takes funny and charming turns at every chance encounter.
As a film, Marty is just like a warm patch of sunlight. For 90 minutes, we get to bask in the glow of a sweet underdog story, with moments of perfect nebbishy romance (Marty running through the streets, exhilarated, trying to find a taxi after he drops Clara off at her house, is one of the most romantic moments in any Best Picture winner, ever) and an undefeatable humanity shining through.
An 8, with a big smile on my face.
Marty (1955): Shira's Take
To get my one problem with the movie out of the way: If the screenplay has multiple references to the character of Carla (played by Betsy Blair) being a "dog" and looking 35, 40, or even 50 years old, why did the casting department not find someone who would be believable in that role? Betsy Blair looked younger than Ernest Borgnine (who played Marty), which she was supposed to be. She also was significantly better looking than he was, because Ernest Borgnine is a weird-lookin' dude. She was adorable.
Now, on to the good stuff. Very little to say. I liked the screenplay (which, halfway through the movie, when I remembered that Paddy Chayefsky wrote it, made a lot of sense). The movie in general was very cute. That's about it. I smiled a lot, but I don't feel like I'm going to remember this movie so well. This is the second romantic comedy we've watched, after It Happened One Night, and I feel like it has less to it, but it's about as good. A pretty solid 8/10
Now, on to the good stuff. Very little to say. I liked the screenplay (which, halfway through the movie, when I remembered that Paddy Chayefsky wrote it, made a lot of sense). The movie in general was very cute. That's about it. I smiled a lot, but I don't feel like I'm going to remember this movie so well. This is the second romantic comedy we've watched, after It Happened One Night, and I feel like it has less to it, but it's about as good. A pretty solid 8/10
Sunday, March 16, 2008
On the Waterfront (1954): Shira's Take
I just love everything about this movie. It was my second time seeing it, and, though I didn't think it possible, I actually liked it more this time. The signature cinematography is fantastic. I love the edgy angles looking upwards at Terry Malloy's (Marlon Brando's) face. Brando's performance is my favorite of his and possibly in my top five favorite performances of all time. And it's not just him. Everyone is good in this movie. The first time I saw it, I thought I would end up hating Eva Marie Saint (playing Edie Doyle), but something about her kindhearted demeanor and desire to help those in need is so earnest and endearing.
The screenplay is great. The characters are so incredibly consistent. One of my favorite lines in the movie is when Terry has just gone up to the roof after ratting out Johnny Friendly (played by Lee J. Cobb) and sees that Tommy (played by Thomas Handley), the kid who has been looking up to Terry since he founded the Golden Warriors (a gang of sorts), has killed all of Joey's pigeons that Terry had been caring for. Terry says, "What did he have to do that for?" It's incredible, because at that point, the viewer knows Terry so well that he/she can almost predict that he will react that way. It is as though when he sees that his brother, Charley (played by a young, not-scary-looking Rod Steiger) has been killed, he understands why it happened and is therefore sad, but kind of resigned to it. But when the pigeons die, it's in a way more tragic--the pigeons did nothing wrong, so why did they have to die?
And the ending is just so perfect. I love Johnny Friendly's pathetic last attempts to yell at everyone going in to work, "I'll remember every one of you!" For a movie about the three things I care about the least in life (boxing, longshoremen, and pigeon racing), this film is completely relevant to me and to everyone. Perfect, perfect movie. 10/10
The screenplay is great. The characters are so incredibly consistent. One of my favorite lines in the movie is when Terry has just gone up to the roof after ratting out Johnny Friendly (played by Lee J. Cobb) and sees that Tommy (played by Thomas Handley), the kid who has been looking up to Terry since he founded the Golden Warriors (a gang of sorts), has killed all of Joey's pigeons that Terry had been caring for. Terry says, "What did he have to do that for?" It's incredible, because at that point, the viewer knows Terry so well that he/she can almost predict that he will react that way. It is as though when he sees that his brother, Charley (played by a young, not-scary-looking Rod Steiger) has been killed, he understands why it happened and is therefore sad, but kind of resigned to it. But when the pigeons die, it's in a way more tragic--the pigeons did nothing wrong, so why did they have to die?
And the ending is just so perfect. I love Johnny Friendly's pathetic last attempts to yell at everyone going in to work, "I'll remember every one of you!" For a movie about the three things I care about the least in life (boxing, longshoremen, and pigeon racing), this film is completely relevant to me and to everyone. Perfect, perfect movie. 10/10
On the Waterfront (1954): Eitan's Take
Unrelentingly dark, On the Waterfront takes us to a place that few of us ever see, and gives us an antihero and a redemption tale that are among the finest achievements in cinema history. The gritty, mob-ridden docks on the edge of Manhattan have belonged to many different oppressed and minority groups (now it's a haven for poor, crack-addicted transsexual prostitutes), but here they belong to the sort of long-faced men we saw back in How Green Was My Valley; of course, coal miners and longshoremen are kindred spirits -- they're both beholden to the corrupt will of dirty, greedy jerks who pay them nothing and make them witness to some hideous crimes.
In this film, the injustices perpetrated by Johnny Friendly and his band of fat-faced goons are just the frame for our window into the sad lives of the hard-working dock workers. From their midst emerges Terry Molloy, who is played by Marlon Brando with such precision and such gusto that you'd think he lived in a dumpy tenement with pigeons for years before stepping into the checkered jacket. And he probably did. Through his struggle with the long arm of the law, we watch as all the powerful forces in the world -- business, justice, murder, Jesus -- converge on a small part of Manhattan and play themselves out in epic fashion. The romance works. The noir works. The social justice angle works. And the result is a brutal and beautiful picture that is completely engrossing and awe-inspiring.
Many of the great moments -- Molloy walking with blood streaming down his face, the famous cab scene, the near-death experience in the alley way -- reminded me of great social justice movies from later in the century, including The Insider (which is heavily influenced by this movie), Do the Right Thing, and Schindler's List. And, of course, many of its finest moments have clear influences in the classic films of Sergei Eisenstein (especially the end of this movie, which reminded me a lot of the Odessa Steps sequence.) But I couldn't stop thinking throughout the whole movie about director Elia Kazan's shameless blacklisting of his own colleagues during the Red Scare. It's hard to make a movie about standing up for what you believe in, when you're sending your friends to prison and leading the fight against the good people in Hollywood.
Still, Marlon Brando gives the performance of a lifetime here, as do many others... Eva Marie Saint as the mysterious and tragic sister of the first mob victim, Karl Malden as the paragon of virtue, Lee J. Cobb as the reckless and amoral union "leader." It's an indisputably classic movie, filled with phenomenal performances and a haunting and eternally relevant story. To give this masterpiece anything less than a 10/10 would be blasphemy.
In this film, the injustices perpetrated by Johnny Friendly and his band of fat-faced goons are just the frame for our window into the sad lives of the hard-working dock workers. From their midst emerges Terry Molloy, who is played by Marlon Brando with such precision and such gusto that you'd think he lived in a dumpy tenement with pigeons for years before stepping into the checkered jacket. And he probably did. Through his struggle with the long arm of the law, we watch as all the powerful forces in the world -- business, justice, murder, Jesus -- converge on a small part of Manhattan and play themselves out in epic fashion. The romance works. The noir works. The social justice angle works. And the result is a brutal and beautiful picture that is completely engrossing and awe-inspiring.
Many of the great moments -- Molloy walking with blood streaming down his face, the famous cab scene, the near-death experience in the alley way -- reminded me of great social justice movies from later in the century, including The Insider (which is heavily influenced by this movie), Do the Right Thing, and Schindler's List. And, of course, many of its finest moments have clear influences in the classic films of Sergei Eisenstein (especially the end of this movie, which reminded me a lot of the Odessa Steps sequence.) But I couldn't stop thinking throughout the whole movie about director Elia Kazan's shameless blacklisting of his own colleagues during the Red Scare. It's hard to make a movie about standing up for what you believe in, when you're sending your friends to prison and leading the fight against the good people in Hollywood.
Still, Marlon Brando gives the performance of a lifetime here, as do many others... Eva Marie Saint as the mysterious and tragic sister of the first mob victim, Karl Malden as the paragon of virtue, Lee J. Cobb as the reckless and amoral union "leader." It's an indisputably classic movie, filled with phenomenal performances and a haunting and eternally relevant story. To give this masterpiece anything less than a 10/10 would be blasphemy.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
From Here to Eternity (1953): Shira's Take
Apparently From Here to Eternity was under two hours long. I could not have told you that, though. It felt very long--not necessarily in a bad way. Elements of the story were incredible (Quitting boxing because you've blinded your best friend? Miscarrying your baby because your husband is too drunk to take you to the hospital? Tragic and beautiful!), and the screenplay was really enjoyable. In general, the movie got sappy really easily, but it was intense and powerful (and painful to watch) a fair amount of the time.
Oahu is beautiful (and I'm sure it was much more beautiful in 1941, when the movie takes place, and even in 1952, when I assume the movie was actually filmed). I don't know why they didn't utilize their picturesque surroundings. For a while, I didn't even believe it was filmed in Hawaii. IMDB.com set me straight on that.
Another problem is that the infamous beach making out scene was very, very short. They made out for like a second while water washed over them, then they made out Clark Gable-style (passionate face-eating), and then they got in a fight. Yawn. A plus, though, was that every major character (except, of course, Ernest Borgnine) was played by someone pretty. Montgomery Clift is total eye-candy. Note to myself: Remember the final line of the movie and how odd it was. "Robert E. Lee Prewitt. Isn't that a silly old name?" 7/10
Oahu is beautiful (and I'm sure it was much more beautiful in 1941, when the movie takes place, and even in 1952, when I assume the movie was actually filmed). I don't know why they didn't utilize their picturesque surroundings. For a while, I didn't even believe it was filmed in Hawaii. IMDB.com set me straight on that.
Another problem is that the infamous beach making out scene was very, very short. They made out for like a second while water washed over them, then they made out Clark Gable-style (passionate face-eating), and then they got in a fight. Yawn. A plus, though, was that every major character (except, of course, Ernest Borgnine) was played by someone pretty. Montgomery Clift is total eye-candy. Note to myself: Remember the final line of the movie and how odd it was. "Robert E. Lee Prewitt. Isn't that a silly old name?" 7/10
From Here to Eternity (1953): Eitan's Take
After hearing nothing but scorn for The Greatest Show on Earth and enjoying it wholeheartedly, I should have expected that the critics would be wrong again, and I would find little to like in the universally-acclaimed classic From Here to Eternity. Aside from the smoldering, virile sexuality of lost-puppy Montgomery Clift and a few scenes here and there that reminded me I wasn't watching a C-SPAN documentary on life in the barracks, I think this film is full of highly overrated performances and an aimless plot the likes of which I haven't seen since All the King's Men.
So prettyboy Prewitt is a boxer who is transferred to a fight-loving unit eight miles from Pearl Harbor. For about 90 minutes, the big question is exhaustingly asked over and over again: will he fight? Will he NOT FIGHT? Will some boring people make out on a beach for all of five seconds? Will banal army guys chortle over who's going to become an officer, and what their lives were like back in the States? Will Prewitt's life be made "miserable" by some dude kicking a pail of spit out of a boxing ring? At some points, I would have rather watched these mundane losers do push-ups than participate in their utterly empty pre-war lives.
And the beach scene. The beach scene. Having seen it recreated on posters, on DVD cases, in parodies, in countless "Great Movie Montages," and even in a haunting scene in The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, I will never forget the utter disappointment I felt when I witnessed this Great Moment and realized that it was over in a manner of seconds. If the movie wanted to be a bland army procedural, it could have done that just fine -- I've enjoyed plenty of those over the years, including A Few Good Men and the first half of Full Metal Jacket and, hey, why not Striped while we're at it. Or, if the movie wanted to be a romance, it could have gone a little further and shown us some real passion between hunky Burt Lancaster and the ravishing Deborah Kerr. This is supposed to be legendary. Instead, it's little more than one hundred measly frames. I know that during this time, Lucy and Ricky had separate beds and chasteness ruled the day. But this is a plotline about a (supposedly) torrid extramarital affair. Give it some juice or don't show it at all.
One scene, though, completely gripped me, and is responsible for many of the points I gave this film. After Prewitt watches his best friend die in a ditch by the side of the road, he wakes up the next morning to perform Taps on his bugle, in an empty field in the middle of the compound. For a minute, the film stops. We watch a tear stream down his face, soldiers emerge and stand quietly in their doorways and on stairs. We watch the faces of men we know will be going to war in just a few days. There is no doubt in my mind that Frank Darabont was heavily influenced by this scene when he filmed the famous "Marriage of Figaro" scene, when Dufresne plays the opera over the loudspeaker and "for the briefest of moments, every last man in Shawshank felt free." Prewitt's bugle revery is beautiful scene, deserving of a much better movie.
"From Here to Eternity" -- a better description of my boredom than of this film's less-than-lofty ambitions. 5/10.
P.S. You gotta hand it to Fred Zinnemann (whose previous year's nominee, High Noon, is SO much better) for combining the two things the Academy loves best -- war and boxing -- into one movie.
So prettyboy Prewitt is a boxer who is transferred to a fight-loving unit eight miles from Pearl Harbor. For about 90 minutes, the big question is exhaustingly asked over and over again: will he fight? Will he NOT FIGHT? Will some boring people make out on a beach for all of five seconds? Will banal army guys chortle over who's going to become an officer, and what their lives were like back in the States? Will Prewitt's life be made "miserable" by some dude kicking a pail of spit out of a boxing ring? At some points, I would have rather watched these mundane losers do push-ups than participate in their utterly empty pre-war lives.
And the beach scene. The beach scene. Having seen it recreated on posters, on DVD cases, in parodies, in countless "Great Movie Montages," and even in a haunting scene in The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, I will never forget the utter disappointment I felt when I witnessed this Great Moment and realized that it was over in a manner of seconds. If the movie wanted to be a bland army procedural, it could have done that just fine -- I've enjoyed plenty of those over the years, including A Few Good Men and the first half of Full Metal Jacket and, hey, why not Striped while we're at it. Or, if the movie wanted to be a romance, it could have gone a little further and shown us some real passion between hunky Burt Lancaster and the ravishing Deborah Kerr. This is supposed to be legendary. Instead, it's little more than one hundred measly frames. I know that during this time, Lucy and Ricky had separate beds and chasteness ruled the day. But this is a plotline about a (supposedly) torrid extramarital affair. Give it some juice or don't show it at all.
One scene, though, completely gripped me, and is responsible for many of the points I gave this film. After Prewitt watches his best friend die in a ditch by the side of the road, he wakes up the next morning to perform Taps on his bugle, in an empty field in the middle of the compound. For a minute, the film stops. We watch a tear stream down his face, soldiers emerge and stand quietly in their doorways and on stairs. We watch the faces of men we know will be going to war in just a few days. There is no doubt in my mind that Frank Darabont was heavily influenced by this scene when he filmed the famous "Marriage of Figaro" scene, when Dufresne plays the opera over the loudspeaker and "for the briefest of moments, every last man in Shawshank felt free." Prewitt's bugle revery is beautiful scene, deserving of a much better movie.
"From Here to Eternity" -- a better description of my boredom than of this film's less-than-lofty ambitions. 5/10.
P.S. You gotta hand it to Fred Zinnemann (whose previous year's nominee, High Noon, is SO much better) for combining the two things the Academy loves best -- war and boxing -- into one movie.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
The Greatest Show on Earth (1952): Shira's Take
About an hour and a half in, I thought, 'Okay, they just need to wrap up the love triangle, leaving Holly (played, annoyingly enough, by Betty Hutton) to fall into the arms of Brad (an especially gritty Charlton Heston), and tell the viewer what the hell happened to make the charming clown Buttons (James Stewart, whose performance was as good as usual, especially considering that he never took off his whiteface) murder his wife.'
Then, Eitan pointed out to me that the movie had over an hour left. Pooh.
The costumes are absolutely beautiful (Edith Head can do no wrong), and the actual circus acts are really fantastic. The plot is not great, but it is definitely good enough to be worth all the amazing visuals. That is, until the cocky Sebastian (Cornel Wilde) falls and disfigures his hand. As if that isn't unpleasant enough, Angel's (Gloria Grahame) rejected lover Klaus (Lyle Bettger) threatens her with an elephant's foot over her head and later attempts train robbery only to crash and derail the train. If they had cut out about an hour of plot, it could have been a pleasant enough movie, but instead it just went on and on...
Now, why did they choose not to tell the viewer why Buttons killed his wife? If you're going to create a far-fetched plot line like a man who murders his wife who he loves, at the very least justify it by giving us some far-fetched motive. Why was Mr. Henderson (Lawrence Tierney) written off at the end as just a silly rival when his attempted train robbery would, even if Klaus had not been involved, still probably have ended in a horrible disaster? I had a lot of problems with plot, but the movie in general was worth watching for its all-around visual beauty, so it gets a 7/10
Then, Eitan pointed out to me that the movie had over an hour left. Pooh.
The costumes are absolutely beautiful (Edith Head can do no wrong), and the actual circus acts are really fantastic. The plot is not great, but it is definitely good enough to be worth all the amazing visuals. That is, until the cocky Sebastian (Cornel Wilde) falls and disfigures his hand. As if that isn't unpleasant enough, Angel's (Gloria Grahame) rejected lover Klaus (Lyle Bettger) threatens her with an elephant's foot over her head and later attempts train robbery only to crash and derail the train. If they had cut out about an hour of plot, it could have been a pleasant enough movie, but instead it just went on and on...
Now, why did they choose not to tell the viewer why Buttons killed his wife? If you're going to create a far-fetched plot line like a man who murders his wife who he loves, at the very least justify it by giving us some far-fetched motive. Why was Mr. Henderson (Lawrence Tierney) written off at the end as just a silly rival when his attempted train robbery would, even if Klaus had not been involved, still probably have ended in a horrible disaster? I had a lot of problems with plot, but the movie in general was worth watching for its all-around visual beauty, so it gets a 7/10
The Greatest Show on Earth (1952): Eitan's Take
If you like movies to be big extravaganzas -- explosive, with death-defying stunts and flashy colors and dogs dressed up in elephant suits and train crashes and trapeze leaps -- then this is actually a pretty spectacular movie. Cecil B. DeMille was certainly the Michael Bay of his time, and if you can't slow down your cynicism enough to get wrapped up in a Big Motion Picture Event every once in a while, then all hope is lost. Sure, it beat out much more deserving films, like The Quiet Man and the immortal High Noon, but the Academy is known to lose its way every once in a while, and while Greatest Show is clearly not a fine piece of art, it's an authentically rousing and exciting cinematic experience, working the same way the real circus does: by making visceral appeals and bluntly activating fear, morbid fascination, and humor in its viewers. So while most people will give it a bum rap -- the same way they give How Green Was My Valley a bum rap now for beating out Citizen Kane -- I decided to give it a chance, and was surprised to find myself more than just a little wrapped up.
The love triangle between trapeze artists Sebastian and Holly and circus director Brad (the iconic Charlton Heston) was a bit contrived, and a lot of the banter between the circus performers in general felt bloated and unnecessary, but when DeMille puts on a show, he really Puts On A Show. Long, outlandish segments showing every aspect of the Ringling Brothers & Barnum and Bailey Circus are delightful and often enthralling. As with the similarly over-the-top Great Ziegfeld, many complex stunt sequences (most of them involving elephants and trapezes) left me wondering, "How the hell did they do that?" Side plots involving a gang of thieves, a 10-year old murder mystery, as well as artfully composed shots of awed audience members watching the circus gave the film a depth I wasn't expecting. Certainly, DeMille fetishizes the heart-stopping spectacle of the circus, but he also sheds a cynical light on the ego, recklessness, and utter greed that drive the ridiculous circus industry in the first place.
This movie takes us back to a time before the WWF and CGI popcorn epics and monster truck rallies, when entertainment was more "wholesome" but no less dramatic or riveting. So, visually, it's a major success that rivals any of DeMille's other gigantic blockbusters (Ten Commandments, Cleopatra, etc.). But somehow, in the midst of the explosive big budget flair, DeMille actually succeeds -- and many people will mock me for thinking this -- in giving us meaningful characters whose sad, tormented fates we actually begin to care about. While the film is inarguably too long for its own good, every storyline comes to a natural conclusion, and we're spared no heartbreak as one of our favorite characters is led off to prison, one hobbles around with a newly-crippled arm, one weak from an emergency blood transfusion, and the whole circus torn to shreds by the deeds of two truly bad guys.
This movie's win most closely mirrors Titanic's grand year. Faced with some cerebral masterpieces (High Noon, L.A. Confidential, The Quiet Man, and Good Will Hunting), the Academy fell head over heels for an elaborate circus of a movie. It may just be my good mood, but I'm giving this one a truly unexpected 7/10. I'll regret that later, but for now, it feels right.
The love triangle between trapeze artists Sebastian and Holly and circus director Brad (the iconic Charlton Heston) was a bit contrived, and a lot of the banter between the circus performers in general felt bloated and unnecessary, but when DeMille puts on a show, he really Puts On A Show. Long, outlandish segments showing every aspect of the Ringling Brothers & Barnum and Bailey Circus are delightful and often enthralling. As with the similarly over-the-top Great Ziegfeld, many complex stunt sequences (most of them involving elephants and trapezes) left me wondering, "How the hell did they do that?" Side plots involving a gang of thieves, a 10-year old murder mystery, as well as artfully composed shots of awed audience members watching the circus gave the film a depth I wasn't expecting. Certainly, DeMille fetishizes the heart-stopping spectacle of the circus, but he also sheds a cynical light on the ego, recklessness, and utter greed that drive the ridiculous circus industry in the first place.
This movie takes us back to a time before the WWF and CGI popcorn epics and monster truck rallies, when entertainment was more "wholesome" but no less dramatic or riveting. So, visually, it's a major success that rivals any of DeMille's other gigantic blockbusters (Ten Commandments, Cleopatra, etc.). But somehow, in the midst of the explosive big budget flair, DeMille actually succeeds -- and many people will mock me for thinking this -- in giving us meaningful characters whose sad, tormented fates we actually begin to care about. While the film is inarguably too long for its own good, every storyline comes to a natural conclusion, and we're spared no heartbreak as one of our favorite characters is led off to prison, one hobbles around with a newly-crippled arm, one weak from an emergency blood transfusion, and the whole circus torn to shreds by the deeds of two truly bad guys.
This movie's win most closely mirrors Titanic's grand year. Faced with some cerebral masterpieces (High Noon, L.A. Confidential, The Quiet Man, and Good Will Hunting), the Academy fell head over heels for an elaborate circus of a movie. It may just be my good mood, but I'm giving this one a truly unexpected 7/10. I'll regret that later, but for now, it feels right.
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