Midnight Cowboy (1969): Eitan's Take

We're getting to the point where it's going to be very difficult to separate my own preexisting opinions and emotions about these films from the critical/cultural viewpoint I'm supposed to be lending in this project. Midnight Cowboy has been one of my favorite films since I was a teenager. In this small, strange package, I always felt there was an epic and intimate story about masculinity, sex, sadness, urban alienation, and surrogate families; my heart ached for it when I was younger, but seeing it tonight, my appreciation for this absolutely brilliant film only grew.

It doesn't even need to be said that Jon Voight and Dustin Hoffman turn in elegant, heartbreaking performances. Through the bleak storyline and dirty cityscape, their Joe Buck and Ratso Rizzo stand out as two of the most indelible, flawless portraits of wounded masculinity ever committed to celluloid. Director John Schlesinger, who never directed a better or more vital film, gives these two loners room to breathe. Their interactions -- always lying somewhere between painful and funny -- are written and filmed with grace and trust.

Roger Ebert has said that this is a good movie with a masterpiece inside, trying to break free. I've always viewed it the other way around; despite all its potential flaws (self-conscious 60's cinematography, gimmicky editing) it amounts to way more than the sum of its parts. What could have been a trite story about loneliness in the red light district is instead an atmospheric, heart-crushing study of the late-60's collision between idealism and the harsh light of depressing cultural truths. But we are rarely tempted to see Joe and Ratso as vessels of a cultural message (the way we see Virgil Tibbs and Bill Gillespie in In the Heat of the Night). Instead, they are the quintessential drifters, desperately shuffling through a world too grim and fast-paced for their tastes. In that sense, the movie is completely timeless -- they will always resemble the desolate fringes of any culture, anywhere, in any decade. It should be said, also, that the film deals with Joe Buck's queerness in a sophisticated and disarming way. I give the film a lot of credit for that.

This is one of the most important, inescapably haunting and brilliant films ever made, and I fully appreciate its broad influence on popular culture. But it is also a deeply personal film for me, and one I have definitely grown older with. 10/10.

Midnight Cowboy (1969): Shira's Take

This movie won Best Picture? Even for 1969, that's hard to believe. There is just absolutely nothing remotely glamorous or enjoyable to watch. It's painful throughout. From the first moment we know Joe Buck is going to ask a woman to pay him for sex through Rico "Ratso" Rizzo's illness, we the viewers are uncomfortable. But it's really good at that. This movie has the causing pain to its viewers thing down. And honestly, I'm glad I watched it. Though it was made immediately after Dustin Hoffman stopped being adorable (he was deliciously disgusting in this movie), it was also made before Jon Voight's skin began to melt off his face, and he was cute in his naive way. Of course, the ideas about loneliness and friendship were really interesting. And Hoffman really did give an unbelievable performance. I mean, I've seen the majority of his Oscar-nominated performances (all but 1974's Lenny) and this one blew the others away.

Various thoughts on things about the movie: The music was...well, I hate "Everybody's Talkin" so I suppose you know how I felt about the music. There were a number of rather obvious but still enjoyable symbolic camera shots--Rizzo's dead face with the reflection of the palm trees he wanted so desperately to experience comes to mind. The drug-induced hallucination scene was cheesy, but every movie to come out in 1968-1969 was obligated to have one scene that would be more enjoyable on LSD. A better/more depressing movie to come out in 1969 that wasn't even nominated for Best Picture is They Shoot Horses, Don't They? I'm still wondering whether the gay thing was an intended subtext or not. Anyway, it's an 8/10.

Oliver! (1968): Shira's Take

Oliver! True to its punctuation, this is a very big movie--are there any musicals that aren't? But, despite everything, it felt very slow and very long. Each song was about a minute-and-a-half longer that it needed to and had any right to be. And a number of the songs were totally unnecessary and awkward. With the way the movie was going, I kind of expected grumbly Bill Sikes to sing a, "I'm just a misunderstood miscreant..." type song. I definitely drifted in and out of paying attention to lyrics in many of the big numbers, like "Who Will Buy?" and "Consider Yourself." Though I definitely appreciated those songs as introductions to the yuckiness of 19th-century London and the shiny whiteness of the suburb.

All things considered, I did not hate this movie. I did not even dislike it. I appreciated Fagin's blatant Semitic stereotype and Bill Sikes's disturbing sexiness (thanks Oliver Reed for proving yet again that you can be simultaneously a drunken jerk and a beautiful, beautiful man). I liked the costumes, though I felt they were period-inappropriate, as many of the coats were late Victorian or even Edwardian, and Oliver Twist was written in the early-Victorian era. I was a big fan of how incredibly '60s everything was, especially the hair and camera angles/shots. There is one quick-zoom (I'm not sure the technical term), which immediately reminds the viewer that this movie was filmed in the late '60s. The acting was good. I really liked Jack Wild, who played the Artful Dodger. It was probably my favorite supporting role. His awesome bow-tie didn't hurt.

My own little notes...I love that we're watching these movies in order, because I can note that this is the second Best Picture winner (after It Happened One Night) to feature a sleeping-in-a-haystack scene. Fagin's look and attitude reminded me of Jim Carrey's portrayal of Count Olaf (Brett Helquist, illustrator for Lemony Snicket, probably drew inspiration from Dickensian fashion). Everything about this movie was like the poor man's James and the Giant Peach (the Henry Selick movie musical)--poor, pathetic orphan, dirty England, evil adults, and a great supporting cast. Mark Lester, who played Oliver, even had a similarly pathetic voice to the kid who plays James. 7/10

Oliver! (1968): Eitan's Take

I sometimes forget how dark and visionary the work of Charles Dickens can be. I read most of his great books (Great Expectations, Bleak House, David Copperfield) and loved them, but time has dulled them in my memory. Seeing Oliver tonight brought back a lot of recollections about the grim choreography of his greatest narratives. I've never read Oliver Twist, and before I saw this musical adaptation I was wary; would it be a trifling children's musical, along the lines of Mary Poppins? Would it be a bland British snoozefest a la Tom Jones? I was surprised and pleased to find out that it is neither. Oliver is a flawed musical, carried end to end by some cliche moments and quite few unmemorable songs, but aside from some basic quibbles with the narrative, I was enthralled with Carol Reed's insightful and bold handling of the story, as well as the guts it took to address what is essentially a children's story with such an unapologetically dark tone.

Carol Reed is the mastermind behind The Third Man, so I shouldn't have been surprised that this film was elegantly and inventively shot to the point of breathlessness. Some of the musical sequences, especially "Consider Yourself," are filmed with such agility, precision, and warmth, that I may very well consider them to be among the finest moments in cinematographic history. There are no iconic shots, per se (as opposed to the many such moments in The Third Man), but as with the best sequences in the great movie musicals we've watched -- the opening shots of The Sound of Music, the garage dance in West Side Story, basically all of An American in Paris -- the whole scene feels indelible from start to finish. Besides the obviousness of the period sets, there is absolutely nothing in the artistic design, costuming, camerawork, or choreography that feels the slightest bit contrived. The film has no manners. It is unconcerned with making us happy or delighting us with saccharine imagery. Each song and each dance reveals another layer of Dickens' story -- its bleakness, its whimsy, its sharp approach to the hideousness and beauty of crime, its unrelenting aura of violence and fear. Adapting Dickens' formal prose into a musical might seem like a daunting or ridiculous idea, but the fact that the film preserves the author's narrative ingenuity while translating it into a production so elaborately conceived and executed is a testament to the gamble it took for Reed to take on the project to begin with.

The performances are similarly refined, and no review of this film would be complete without a complete and utter appraisal of the dark, deranged performance of Oliver Reed. It might just be that he looks a lot like Javier Bardem, but I sensed a lot of Anton Chighurh in his portrayal of the vicious Bill Sikes. (Why was this rated G?) His absolutely terrifying eyes peering through the mail slot at Oliver, his jacket filled with crowbars, and those weapon-like muttonchops all account for something, but Oliver Reed's performance is way more than the sum of his parts. Of course, the character is written as a remorseless thug, but few actors other than the frightening-in-real-life Reed could have pulled off this brave and intense a performance.

Oliver is, quite simply, one of the two or three biggest surprises for me in this project so far. I dreaded it for a long time as the G-rated-gagfest that stood in the way of watching Midnight Cowboy. But having seen it, I can almost say that this is far darker, far more sophisticated, and far more deranged (you only need to see the shot of Sikes dangling, stone dead, over the Tim Burtonesque setpiece near the end of the film to believe me) than the X-rated, death-and-despair Best Picture winner that followed. The haunting retelling of a familiar story, the brilliant art design, the crisp and inventive late-60's cinematography, and the incendiary direction of Carol Reed earn this film a 9/10.

In the Heat of the Night (1967): Shira's Take

While "They call me MISTER Tibbs!" has clearly become the most quoted and memorable line in this movie, I must say that my favorite was when Gillespie (Rod Steiger) said, "I got the motive which is money and the body which is dead." Priceless.

For such a well-acted, well-written, well-shot, well-directed movie, In the Heat of the Night's plot was definitely lacking. I know it's based on a book, so I theoretically have no right to complain about the plot, but to me PLOT MAKES A MOVIE. And this movie's plot felt like a bad episode of Law and Order. The last twenty minutes or so are paced so poorly that I'm not totally sure I even understood them. It didn't help that all the tall, lanky yokel-y guys looked exactly alike, and I mistook part of the story for incest. And did they explain why the bit of fern or whatever the orchids grew in was in the car? You can tell by how inarticulate I am in writing about this movie that I didn't really follow what happened in it. And, I'm sorry, maybe if I had seen this in 1967 I would have liked it, but it can't compare to a later movie (that I had already seen) about heat waves and crazy racism--Spike Lee's Do the Right Thing.

I loved Sidney Poitier and Rod Steiger. I've always wondered about the fact that Steiger won an Oscar for this performance and Poitier wasn't even nominated. I think it's fair. Poitier was good, but Steiger was way better. Plus, the idiotic Guess Who's Coming to Dinner came out in '67 as well, and I think the two Poitier performances probably split the votes and he didn't end up nominated. The photography was awesome. 1967 was a year for good cinematography (with Bonnie and Clyde winning the Oscar). In the Heat of the Night wasn't even nominated, but it totally had that hip, funky New Hollywood vibe. 7/10

In the Heat of the Night (1967): Eitan's Take

Released in the thick of the Summer of Love, Norman Jewison's truly incendiary In the Heat of the Night is the first Best Picture winner we've seen that has felt really immediate, really visceral, and really contemporary. Its brilliant social critiques are obvious (or, at least they are now) and its central mystery is hardly worth blinking an eye at, but the atmosphere of the film -- Poitier's tough and intelligent performance, the classy jazz and blues score, and the crisp writing, to name just a few elements -- is soulful, rich, and thrilling. Nowadays, a hack like Paul Haggis could probably take the same material and turn it into a hodgepodge of liberal guilt-inducing malaise, but it's tough not to admire the risks this film took in 1967.

Of course, watching a slightly preachy detective film about a black man coming into a town of redneck racists and saving them from themselves (Blazing Saddles, anyone?) requires a bit of patience and some acquiescence to the shopworn cliches of both the film noir and the racial reconciliation drama. But as with so many great genre pics, it's easy to forget about the hamminess of this approach when the performances and the dialogue are so unforgettable. Poitier's performance is a brilliant melange of passionate anger, soul, grit, and jazzy coolness. Rod Steiger (pre-bald-creepiness) matches him note-for-note, imbuing what could have been a tacky caricature with just enough emotional depth and hurt to believe his willing partnership with a mostly despised black detective. We know that they'll eventually solve the crime, and a film this complex cannot rest on a simple, "Law and Order"-style investigative framework. At the same time, it cannot be content with only busting taboos and failing to provide an exciting story. That it manages to do nearly all these things at once, while remaining edgy and thrilling, is a great testament to the artists behind it.

It would be easy to criticize this film for being a simplistic, easily-digestible apologia for middle-class, white liberals to stand up and pat themselves on the back for enjoying. If I was more cynical, I might very dismiss it as that myself. But within this film's historical context -- it was released at the dawn of New Hollywood, and is the subject, along with the four other Best Picture nominees that year, of the supposedly excellent "Pictures at a Revolution" -- I refuse to write it off and ignore the new, edgy, ambitious cinematic aesthetic that it embodies. I certainly don't enjoy or even admire it as much as my two favorite 1967 Best Picture nominees, The Graduate and Bonnie & Clyde, but it was a worthy winner nonetheless. It's too bad that 2004's winner, Crash, took a similar set of narrative ideas and morphed it into an absurd after-school special.

8/10.

A Man for All Season (1966): Eitan's Take

Was Sir Thomas More a brilliant political dissident, or merely a valiant fool who waged a pointless fight against the King of England? Fred Zinnemann's fascinating, powerful film manages to address this question in a philosophical and complex way that More himself might have admired. The audience is never patronized or diminished by the proceedings; we are given complete credit as judges of Thomas More's conscience, and as arbiters of right and wrong in 16th century England. The film celebrates More's protest, but also allows for several interpretations: maybe More was just a cryptic and angry man, or perhaps he had a bizarre death wish. It is even possible to see him as a saint or a martyr. Most of all, Zinnemann lets More's unbelievable story breathe. It is a great credit to the director and playwright/screenwriter that they could capture the life of such a fascinating man.

Technically, the film is marvelous. The cinematography, especially, was rightly awarded an Oscar. rom the imaginative and fanciful shots of the British countryside to the dark interiors of More's jail cell in the Tower of London, Ted Moore captures the atmospheric essences of More's career -- the freedom of his early political and philosophical influence and the claustrophobia of his intellectually stifled years in prison. The set and production design is somewhat stagey, but it doesn't detract from the power of the story. And the dramatic pacing, executed flawlessly by Zinnemann, gives us a chance to evaluate the dark and unfortunate corners of every character.

Paul Scofield is impressive, of course, as the self-righteous/actually-righteous Thomas More, exposing all the virtues and neuroses of the great thinker. But leave it to Robert Shaw to steal the show... when his Henry VIII is on screen, puffing out his chest and bellowing about his right to a divorce, the whole film gains a few more horsepower. I wish he had more screen time; the film does drag at times, and we can always use more Captain Quinn to lighten things up.

I was thinking when I saw Revolutionary Road last week that the lives of these characters would be better if they just got a divorce. Of course, the same goes for A Man for All Seasons -- sometimes, you do just want to scream at the screen, "JUST LET YOUR OBNOXIOUS KING DITCH HIS UNLAWFUL WIFE, FOR CHRIST'S SAKE." But this film, which allows us to admire More as much as we question him, gives us the full dimensions of a political and religious conscience, and allows us to understand the steadfast philosophical roots of all who dare to oppose their governments. It is a film I admire more than I enjoyed, though, and it earns an 8/10

A Man for All Seasons (1966): Shira's Take

What do I say about a movie like this? I feel like I shouldn't be allowed to watch them, because I'm about 70% incapable of liking them. Slow, consistently paced, grim in plot. Watching Paul Scofield's performance (which, despite what I'm about to say, I thought was really powerful and great) was painful. He has a completely blank affect the WHOLE movie. In these small play-like movies (of course, this one IS a play), it's difficult to notice anything but the plot and characters. The characters and plot were both interesting, but I already knew the bulk of this story.

Maybe I should talk positives. The screenplay was really flawless. I wish I had taken notes, so I could give examples, but it was teeming with subtle moments of great character development and plot progression. The acting was awesome. As I said, I loved/hated Paul Scofield. Other notables included the crazy Robert Shaw as Henry VIII and Leo McKern as the endlessly evil Thomas Cromwell (side note: though I know it's a different Cromwell, I couldn't help getting the Pyrates Royale's version of Young Ned of the Hill in my head any time his name was mentioned). It's just that slow Renaissance-era period films are not usually my thing. 7/10

The Sound of Music (1965): Shira's Take

I think it's around now that we're getting to movies for which I really don't have much to say. I mean, I've seen the Sound of Music, and everyone else has too. What can be said about it that hasn't yet been said?

The photography/cinematography is great. Clearly, the Austrian and Bavarian filming locations help, but even the indoor scenes (probably shot in a Hollywood studio) are beautiful. In every way My Fair Lady is shot like a musical play, the Sound of Music is shot like a film. I can't imagine seeing the play version, when the sets could not possibly compare. And, of course, the songs are great. Unlike Audrey Hepburn, Julie Andrews actually COULD and DID sing, and her voice is much more memorable and melty than Marni Nixon's dubbing in My Fair Lady (though, interestingly enough, Marni Nixon played a bit part as one of the nuns in the Sound of Music as well). The characters are great, the story is great, etc.

But the main problem with this film is its sudden tone shift with little development. Though the Baroness and the Captain (Christopher Plummer) seemed to be genuinely in love, and the Captain and Tennille--oops, Maria--seemed to have a compatible, friendly, platonic relationship, suddenly the Captain was in love with Maria out of nowhere. Dancing together once does not add up to love. And what's with this, "I loved you when you blew the whistle," and all that crap? I'm sorry, it's just NOT true to the viewer. The intermission has ended, and there is not a lot of time left in which to suddenly cram in a mutual love declaration and wedding, a singing performance, AND the Anschluss. So they take a sequel's worth of plot and fit it into half an hour. Pacing suffers, and the end product suffers. Either way, it's a 9/10.

The Sound of Music (1965): Eitan's Take

One of my major problems with all the hubbub surrounding bland underdog films like Slumdog Millionaire is that critics (and, eventually, audiences) project onto the film an affect of feel-good triumph that isn't really there. I wasn't standing in the aisle cheering at the end of Little Miss Sunshine; I was looking down at the floor wondering if I had any popcorn left. When you compare these modern day "triumph of the human spirit" films to something like, say, The Sound of Music, it's sort of like listening to a MIDI version of Shostakovich's Piano Concerto No. 2 and then going the next day and seeing it performed by the London Philharmonic. The Sound of Music is the king (or is it queen?) of all feel-good movies; this is a once-in-a-millennium explosion of pure exuberance. Other films need not apply.

Although the film's first half is undoubtedly its strongest -- with its swooping crane shots, vivid and imaginative cinematography and choreography, and lump-in-your-throat-it's-so-heartbreakingly-beautiful music -- I was pleasantly surprised with how well the second half holds up, and how the dark and complicated themes of Nazi oppression were dealt with more intellectually and artfully than I had remembered. Pauline Kael once commented about how saccharine and embarrassing this film was; on the contrary, I think it's actually a very serious film about how art can defeat fascism, and how finding one's creative outlet gives the soul wings, so to speak. Julie Andrews wanted to be Eliza Doolittle in My Fair Lady, but this is by far the better role for her. Running through lush fields, bursting into song, her red bob bouncing up and down, she is the very definition of joie de vivre, something that she could never have shown in the frumpy->angry->elegant->stilted Doolittle role.

One thing that also separates this film from the rest of the pack is the way it truly makes use of the on-location shooting to really leap off the stage. My Fair Lady is hampered only by its staginess, but Robert Wise allows his camera to charge energetically through the scenery, capturing the timeless beauty of the Alps like no one ever will again, as well as the stately Bavarian architecture of the von Trapp mansion and surrounding Salzburg. With the exception of the abbey, nothing here looks like a set--it is all so beautiful that you just want to cry, and sing, and cry some more. You try watching Christopher Plummer singing Edelweiss that first time (when he looks sort of like Johnny Cash) and not having to wipe tears from your eyes.

Maybe this film only exists to prove how much of a sucker I really am. Well, try and make me care. 10/10. Glorious. Perfect.

Props to my mom for making a themed dinner for our viewing party. She actually -- I kid you not -- prepared warm apple strudel and schnitzel with noodles. Unbelievable.

My Fair Lady (1964): Shira's Take

I think this is the first time I've watched a best picture winner in the context of this project and disagreed with my former opinion. I had ranked this movie from the hundreds of times I'd seen it in the past 5 stars, the equivalent of 10/10, on Flixter. My opinion is slightly changed.

Audrey Hepburn and Rex Harrison have absolutely some of my favorite onscreen chemistry ever. They have a Benedick and Beatrice thing going on. I'm not saying that Eliza ultimately should have returned to the ungrateful, obnoxious Henry. I'm just saying I like how much they hate each other, and I like how much they secretly love each other. Another positive--subtle, interesting choreography (my favorite being in the horse races scene). This pairs with wide, swooping photography to make for a big, beautiful musical film. The costumes (designed by Cecil Beaton, who also did fabulous costumes for the otherwise awful Gigi) are astonishing. I mentioned to Eitan at one point: "If I owned ANY dress in this entire movie, I would wear it every day for the rest of my life." And since we're talking musical here, I have to mention the songs. Every single song is a hit. Not all songs are necessary in terms of plot ("Get Me to the Church on Time", "I'm an Ordinary Man", etc.), but they are all catchy and enjoyable with great lyrics.

Now to get to why I've changed my rating of this movie since the last time I saw it. There are extremely boring patches, and they really should have been edited out. I'm sorry, but this movie could be 2.5 hours long and not lose ANYTHING. The story drags right in the beginning (before Eliza goes to Henry's house), in slight patches throughout, and especially after the ball scene. It seems that many scenes could be shortened by about a minute or two, as well. But it definitely has to be said that I really appreciate the ending. It is an intriguing ending for a love story, and I actually think it had a lot of influence on the less conventional films of the late 60's and early 70's (The Graduate, for one, in its uncertain ending). All we know is that Eliza and Henry care about each other and embrace each other's obnoxious habits, based on Eliza's smiling at Henry's rudeness. I doubt that the filmmakers intended to imply that Eliza and Henry would get married. Indeed, I think they and the Colonel would end up three bachelors, as Henry hypothesized. Charming, and interesting. 9/10

My Fair Lady (1964): Eitan's Take

I had forgotten how damned annoying Audrey Hepburn is for the first 45 minutes of My Fair Lady. Stomping, shrieking, growling, and yelping, she almost threatens to derail the entirely gorgeous affair. The fact that this film is, in spite of that early performance, so utterly charming, fulfilling, and likable is a testament to the working-overtime magnificence of it all. The shimmering costume design and orchestration, the soulful performance by Rex Harrison, and the meticulous design and direction make for a really wonderful affair. Technically, the film is a complete masterpiece; one only needs to watch the truly awesome "day at the races" sequence to get a feel for how much director George Cukor cares about every detail of the production. It's certainly the best musical about linguistics ever made.

I know that the film is an adaptation of a musical, which in turn was an adaptation of George Bernard Shaw's Pygmalion, so I can't exactly comment on the film's plot and content -- almost none of it is original. But I noticed some things tonight that I had never paid attention to before. First, coming just a few years after West Side Story (which, as you may recall, I pooh-poohed with glee), it's truly great to watch a musical that has deeply flawed and complicated characters. The relationship between Higgins and Doolittle starts as you might expect, and we watch with admiration as the eloquent but abrasive professor works wonders on the dirty street scoundrel. But over time, as Higgins' true nature (possessive as all hell, putting the "My" in "My Fair Lady") emerges, the film takes on rather tragic tones, as complex personalities collide. The simplicity of the subplots (Freddy's voyeurism, Eliza's father's tongue-in-cheek transformation) serves as a contrast to the epic clash between Eliza's growing sense of maturity and independence and Higgins' overpowering chauvinism and control-freak approach. When the film aims for some proto-feminist themes, it comes off slightly awkward, but more often than not we get what social ideas are at stake in Eliza's makeover.

One more thing: despite some truly inventive artistic direction, there are many parts of this film that simply do not escape their roots on the stage. For example, "gritty" downtown London is a victim of preposterous design. Tom Jones was a bleak and muddy affair, but at least its peasant London actually looked dirty.

I saw My Fair Lady for the last time nearly half my life ago, and it remains a stunning, unusually complicated piece of work. It's not my favorite musical to ever win Best Picture (Chicago, of course...) but it comes close. I remembered it being a 10-level masterpiece, but my early anger with Hepburn's screechy, ear-splitting performance brought it down to -- gasp! -- a 9. Lovely film.