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
Showing posts with label From Here to Eternity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label From Here to Eternity. Show all posts
Thursday, March 13, 2008
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.
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