Whenever characters in a movie or TV show go out to the movies -- and this happens in Seinfeld quite a bit -- they always end up seeing some vaguely anonymous, obviously fake popcorn flick. I watch these scenes and wonder: do they have all the same movies we have in real life? Or in this parallel universe, do they have a completely different history of cinema and thousands of movies that don't exist in our universe? What I'm getting at is this: we should consider ourselves privileged, maybe even humbled, that we live in a world where a film like The Godfather exists. Like Casablanca, this film is ingrained in our consciousness regardless of whether or not we've seen it; it's just who we are. We were all born to love this film, and watching it for the first or second, or in my case the fifth or sixth time, one gets the sense that the film satisfies some crazy, innate Platonic ideal -- we all have to discover it on our own, but it waits for us and reveals itself slowly, poetically, elegantly, until we can do nothing but acquiesce to its awesome power.
It's basically pointless to try to write something breezy and clever about The Godfather. So much ink has been spilled over it already, and by much more talented and insightful people -- not to mention the fact that every human who takes him or herself seriously has seen this film by now and has their own approach. Someone once said that batting against Sandy Koufax was like eating soup with a fork, and that's pretty much how I feel about tackling The Godfather in a critical way. Like any great art -- Shakespeare, Da Vinci, Mozart -- The Godfather is too epic, too perfect, too unassailably well-constructed to comment on and then feel good about myself in the morning. Maybe this is a cop-out, but I honestly can't start breaking this film apart into its constituent units and letting you know how much I love it. My admiration for and fear of this movie should be self-evident.
Most American films live in the shadow of this behemoth, and for good reasons. From the first lines -- a paean to immigrant values -- to the last -- a powerful passing of the torch to a first-generation American -- it is truly our nation's finest film. It's not my favorite, not by a long shot, but if there has ever been a better rendering of the 20th century American story on film, I definitely don't know about it.
10/10.
Showing posts with label eitan 10. Show all posts
Showing posts with label eitan 10. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Saturday, January 31, 2009
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.
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.
Friday, January 9, 2009
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.
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.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Lawrence of Arabia (1962): Eitan's Take
It is hard in such a short space to sing the praises of Lawrence of Arabia, a film so complex and so daring that it actually earns every one of its nearly four hours of running time. Artistically, it is possibly the greatest triumph in the history of filmmaking -- it proves how harrowing and compelling a film can be despite its epic scope. And, moreover, it takes the life of a complicated man and refuses to trivialize a single facet of his existence. I last saw it more than ten years ago, so watching it now felt like a virginal experience. This is a movie that one must breathe in deeply. It consumes you, the way the vast and unstoppable sandstorms consume so many frames of the film.
Lawrence is a larger than life character -- Howard Hughes, General Patton, Oscar Wilde, and Kahlil Gibran rolled up in a sheik's outfit and thrown into a duststorm. Portraying him in all his powerful, flamboyant, and sometimes bloodthirsty glory is a difficult balancing act, but David Lean -- whose other Best Picture winner, A Bridge on the River Kwai, is poignant but never more than a simply effective yarn -- dives headfirst and brings out not only the greatness but the utter strangeness of the man the Arabs called "Destroyer." Peter O'Toole's performance is probably among the best in all of cinema. Watch in the beginning, as Lawrence wanders out into the desert in the dark of the night with two boys following him; the scene is swathed in ethereal grays and tans, the vastness of the beautiful desert nearly overwhelming the man, and yet, O'Toole's brilliance shines through. Lawrence was a conflicted man, torn by alliances and led by his heart more often than his head. In that scene, we can see every element of the great man -- his humility, his ambition, his struggle with the sprawling emotional consequences of his every action. Lawrence of Arabia is frequently cited as the most beautiful film ever made, and it certainly has its share of flawless cinemascopic panoramas and dazzling shots of Arabs charging into battle with giant banners. But at the center of it all is T.E. Lawrence, and he comes through as both a poet and a warrior in every frame of the film.
This film stands at the pinnacle of modern popular cinema, and there is nothing that Lean, O'Toole, and the incredible supporting cast do that they don't do with finesse and precision. Consider Lawrence's second-act transformation into a massive celebrity among his Arab tribal followers. A more adoring movie might accept his messianism as fact. Lean challenges the mythology of Lawrence and picks away brilliantly at the mere notions of mass celebrity, idol worship, media, sadism, and the transformative powers of fame. The transition from humble British soldier-traveler into a man who asks his followers to watch him walk on water is made believable because O'Toole injects anguished moments of caution (witness the quivering lips in the iconic minutes before they charge into Damascus) into even the grandest events of Lawrence's long, strange journey through the desert. The film also works flawlessly as a commentary on communal identity and communal ideology; Lawrence seemingly belongs in none of his many worlds, and yet, he is the master of each of his domains. Trapped in the tremendous voids of gloriously desolate Saudi Arabia and Syria, Lawrence is portrayed masterfully as a man whose aura of mystery dominates every moment of his existence. To this end, the film is filled with too many jaw-dropping moments to count, not the least of which is the forever iconic "NO PRISONERS!" scene and the powerful din of galloping horses. You can practically feel the sand in your throat at every turn.
And, as a last comment, I would like to remark briefly on the film's expert way of dealing with T.E. Lawrence's queer sexual identity. O'Toole portrays him as unabashedly flamboyant -- a man who reveled in both garish excess and small moments of effete self-love. Of course, the film never comes right out and says that Lawrence was gay, but it is too successfully implied by Lawrence's strange fascinations with male flesh and his extravagant confidence to ignore. I have to give the film high marks for dealing honestly and as unambiguously as possible with Lawrence's queer tendencies. It is certainly one of the more notable and mysterious facets of his extraordinary life, and no story about would be complete without contextualizing the man and his mythology within the important realm of his queerness; it defines his physical boundaries, it explains his relationships with the men who surrounded him, and it certainly helps us understand why he allowed himself to be such a powerful leader while remaining insular and cautious about the details of the life behind the facade.
All in all, I give it a 3/10. Joking! Joking! A perfect, beyond-well-earned 10/10.
Lawrence is a larger than life character -- Howard Hughes, General Patton, Oscar Wilde, and Kahlil Gibran rolled up in a sheik's outfit and thrown into a duststorm. Portraying him in all his powerful, flamboyant, and sometimes bloodthirsty glory is a difficult balancing act, but David Lean -- whose other Best Picture winner, A Bridge on the River Kwai, is poignant but never more than a simply effective yarn -- dives headfirst and brings out not only the greatness but the utter strangeness of the man the Arabs called "Destroyer." Peter O'Toole's performance is probably among the best in all of cinema. Watch in the beginning, as Lawrence wanders out into the desert in the dark of the night with two boys following him; the scene is swathed in ethereal grays and tans, the vastness of the beautiful desert nearly overwhelming the man, and yet, O'Toole's brilliance shines through. Lawrence was a conflicted man, torn by alliances and led by his heart more often than his head. In that scene, we can see every element of the great man -- his humility, his ambition, his struggle with the sprawling emotional consequences of his every action. Lawrence of Arabia is frequently cited as the most beautiful film ever made, and it certainly has its share of flawless cinemascopic panoramas and dazzling shots of Arabs charging into battle with giant banners. But at the center of it all is T.E. Lawrence, and he comes through as both a poet and a warrior in every frame of the film.
This film stands at the pinnacle of modern popular cinema, and there is nothing that Lean, O'Toole, and the incredible supporting cast do that they don't do with finesse and precision. Consider Lawrence's second-act transformation into a massive celebrity among his Arab tribal followers. A more adoring movie might accept his messianism as fact. Lean challenges the mythology of Lawrence and picks away brilliantly at the mere notions of mass celebrity, idol worship, media, sadism, and the transformative powers of fame. The transition from humble British soldier-traveler into a man who asks his followers to watch him walk on water is made believable because O'Toole injects anguished moments of caution (witness the quivering lips in the iconic minutes before they charge into Damascus) into even the grandest events of Lawrence's long, strange journey through the desert. The film also works flawlessly as a commentary on communal identity and communal ideology; Lawrence seemingly belongs in none of his many worlds, and yet, he is the master of each of his domains. Trapped in the tremendous voids of gloriously desolate Saudi Arabia and Syria, Lawrence is portrayed masterfully as a man whose aura of mystery dominates every moment of his existence. To this end, the film is filled with too many jaw-dropping moments to count, not the least of which is the forever iconic "NO PRISONERS!" scene and the powerful din of galloping horses. You can practically feel the sand in your throat at every turn.
And, as a last comment, I would like to remark briefly on the film's expert way of dealing with T.E. Lawrence's queer sexual identity. O'Toole portrays him as unabashedly flamboyant -- a man who reveled in both garish excess and small moments of effete self-love. Of course, the film never comes right out and says that Lawrence was gay, but it is too successfully implied by Lawrence's strange fascinations with male flesh and his extravagant confidence to ignore. I have to give the film high marks for dealing honestly and as unambiguously as possible with Lawrence's queer tendencies. It is certainly one of the more notable and mysterious facets of his extraordinary life, and no story about would be complete without contextualizing the man and his mythology within the important realm of his queerness; it defines his physical boundaries, it explains his relationships with the men who surrounded him, and it certainly helps us understand why he allowed himself to be such a powerful leader while remaining insular and cautious about the details of the life behind the facade.
All in all, I give it a 3/10. Joking! Joking! A perfect, beyond-well-earned 10/10.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
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.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
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.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
All About Eve (1950): Eitan's Take
A huge fan of Sunset Boulevard -- and its deep plunge into a pool of disturbing narcissism -- as well as one of the few peons who had never seen All About Eve, I wondered how a tale of Broadway could have trumped a tale of Hollywood for Hollywood's biggest prize. I wonder no more. Filled with moments of delicious evil, astounding wit, and some of the greatest charisma ever exuded on screen, All About Eve is, simply, an ingenious film and one well-deserving of its endless, timeless accolades. Not since Casablanca have we watched a winner so sumptuously fleshed out, with characters so nuanced and situations so masterfully controlled for tone and substance. It's rare that I'm so captivated by a small cast of characters; though it's difficult to love most of them (except for the warm and wonderful Karen), they are so fascinating that it's impossible to ignore a single affect or a single word out of their mouths.
Margo Channing is one of cinema's finest characters. A scene early on when she is tricked into collect calling her boyfriend shows her range; she lies in bed, smoking, caught up in thoughts that are never revealed to us. She moans and mumbles to him, forgetting and then remembering to wish him a happy birthday. It's a tragedy in a teapot; ebullient and magnificent on stage, Bette Davis plays Margo reduced to a shriveled wreck in bed, yearning for the man in her life to return, and fretting about things that Margo Channing would think about in silence. It's a well-drawn role that Davis happens to fill better than it was written. Alternating between dreadfulness and sly sexiness, she is the definition of a great actress, revealing everything and nothing. The way she matches wits with Lloyd ("All playwrights should be dead for three hundred years!"), the way she gallops down the stairs at her party before realizing what a sad wreck she's galloping into, the way she stands next to a giant caricature of herself in the lobby of a theatre, the way she spits in her tantrums and marches through life like a tornado in a trailer park... it's magnificence personified.
Anne Baxter is also wondrous as Eve Harrington, a devilish, calculating wretch wrapped in the body of a pixie. I was thinking during the film that it was strange to call it "All About Eve," when the plot mainly revolves around Ms. Channing, but by the end I realized that it's less about the manifestations of Margo's unstoppable ego than it is about the way the machinations of a single cold, spiteful human being set into play a brilliant drama. The villain's greatest trick, to paraphrase Verbal Kint, is tricking us into thinking it's not about her. But it is. It's all about her statue and her cape and her moments of false helplessness and her web of lies and her too-perfectly coiffed hair. The moment where she bows in front of an empty theatre, with Margo's dress clutched to her chest says everything we need to know about this film: the cruel drama of the theatre world is not about the facades that are celebrated, but about the facades that lie buried underneath layers of malice and hate and costly ambition. And, of course it is all about Eve.
Although I feel it could have been darker and more brooding, I now consider myself a complete devotee of this utterly remarkable film and thoroughly deserving Best Picture winner. 10/10.
Margo Channing is one of cinema's finest characters. A scene early on when she is tricked into collect calling her boyfriend shows her range; she lies in bed, smoking, caught up in thoughts that are never revealed to us. She moans and mumbles to him, forgetting and then remembering to wish him a happy birthday. It's a tragedy in a teapot; ebullient and magnificent on stage, Bette Davis plays Margo reduced to a shriveled wreck in bed, yearning for the man in her life to return, and fretting about things that Margo Channing would think about in silence. It's a well-drawn role that Davis happens to fill better than it was written. Alternating between dreadfulness and sly sexiness, she is the definition of a great actress, revealing everything and nothing. The way she matches wits with Lloyd ("All playwrights should be dead for three hundred years!"), the way she gallops down the stairs at her party before realizing what a sad wreck she's galloping into, the way she stands next to a giant caricature of herself in the lobby of a theatre, the way she spits in her tantrums and marches through life like a tornado in a trailer park... it's magnificence personified.
Anne Baxter is also wondrous as Eve Harrington, a devilish, calculating wretch wrapped in the body of a pixie. I was thinking during the film that it was strange to call it "All About Eve," when the plot mainly revolves around Ms. Channing, but by the end I realized that it's less about the manifestations of Margo's unstoppable ego than it is about the way the machinations of a single cold, spiteful human being set into play a brilliant drama. The villain's greatest trick, to paraphrase Verbal Kint, is tricking us into thinking it's not about her. But it is. It's all about her statue and her cape and her moments of false helplessness and her web of lies and her too-perfectly coiffed hair. The moment where she bows in front of an empty theatre, with Margo's dress clutched to her chest says everything we need to know about this film: the cruel drama of the theatre world is not about the facades that are celebrated, but about the facades that lie buried underneath layers of malice and hate and costly ambition. And, of course it is all about Eve.
Although I feel it could have been darker and more brooding, I now consider myself a complete devotee of this utterly remarkable film and thoroughly deserving Best Picture winner. 10/10.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Casablanca (1943): Eitan's Take
Nothing can be said about Casablanca that hasn't already been said. One's first time seeing the movie feels like the hundredth; everything has a strange and beautiful familiarity. No romance has ever been better, no wartime picture has ever been more spectacular and complex, no drama has ever been more personal or more perfectly constructed. The whole film plays out like a "greatest quotes of all time" list, and each scene bears with it a special resonance, different from and counterpart to all the rest. At the same time, everyone feels about Casablanca the way they want to feel -- everyone loves it differently but equally. Every viewer owns their own chord of "As Time Goes By," their own self-deprecating Rick witticism, and their own piece of Ilsa and Victor's suffering. Thirty years from now, sixty years from now, one hundred years from now, every frame will still ring true. This is a film that no one can take away from you.
The perfect Best Picture winner, the perfect film. I would be insane to give this anything but the most heartfelt 10/10.
P.S. I would LOVE to see the remake with Jennifer Lopez and Ben Affleck! OMG YES!
The perfect Best Picture winner, the perfect film. I would be insane to give this anything but the most heartfelt 10/10.
P.S. I would LOVE to see the remake with Jennifer Lopez and Ben Affleck! OMG YES!
Monday, July 16, 2007
Gone With the Wind (1939): Eitan's Take
Our last film of the 1930’s is also the best. I entered Gone With the Wind a rueful skeptic, and I feel utterly transformed and thoroughly impressed after having basked in its glory. Granted, I hadn’t seen it in a very long time (and I doubt that I have ever seen it in full), but I am just in complete awe at how much I was missing out on by denying myself the chance to see it all these years. If there was ever a movie that deserved to be nearly four hours long, it’s this one. Directed by Victor Fleming, who just so happened to direct this film back to back with, uh, none other than The Wizard of Oz, the film is magnificent and transfixing. The first half, swathed in red skies and silhouettes, is a great war tragedy, and the second half, adorned with ribbons and bows and an underlying sense of grief, is a magnificent (if not really that accurate) exploration of Reconstruction. Of course, I would appreciate a film that focused on the politics of the Civil War (and hopefully there will be one soon), but GWTW hits all the right notes with its completely engrossing depiction of the bland chivalry, outdated attitudes, and self-obsession of the Confederate South. Scene after scene of drumbeating, rushed pre-war romance, and the casualties of battle suck you in completely and refuse to let go. Elegant, swooping camera shots, pained closeups, and technically perfect wide shots of train-stations-turned-hospitals rival anything revolutionary in Citizen Kane, which most people view as the all-powerful origin of modern filmmaking techniques. Show me a great modern movie that didn’t cop a shot or a delivery from Gone With the Wind and I’ll show you a movie lacking heart and reverence toward cinema history.
Much has been said in the past 70 years about the masterful elements of this movie, and I won’t rehash them all here. I won’t even go into the sordid details of the love quadrangle of Rhett, Scarlett, Ashley, and Melanie. All I can touch on here is my utter fascination with how extravagant and successful the sweep of the story is, on a larger socio-historical level, and on a personal level. Gable and Leigh are simply phenomenal, bringing to their roles experience, big egos, and a hint of both inner anguish and sexual one-upmanship. Hattie McDaniel deservedly won an Oscar for a role that could have gone thankless and unnoticed; every time she appeared on screen, I was bowled over by the vigor and consistency of her performance. She doesn’t bring anything particularly exciting to the role. She just does it really, really well.
Most of all, though, I’m impressed by Fleming (as well as some stand-in directors who did some work when he collapsed from exhaustion), who surprisingly remains pretty obscure to this day. His eye for detail amidst extravagance is intimidating, and unmatched by any modern director. Shots of Atlanta burning, of Rhett carrying Scarlett up the giant red staircase, of Scarlett standing against a blood-red sky proclaiming her vow to never go hungry again… these truly stand the test of time, and completely earn the movie its license to immortality. I stubbornly expected a soap-opera, but I got a masterpiece instead. I will be re-examining this film — a four hour film I could easily see myself delving into again — in the years to come. 10/10
Much has been said in the past 70 years about the masterful elements of this movie, and I won’t rehash them all here. I won’t even go into the sordid details of the love quadrangle of Rhett, Scarlett, Ashley, and Melanie. All I can touch on here is my utter fascination with how extravagant and successful the sweep of the story is, on a larger socio-historical level, and on a personal level. Gable and Leigh are simply phenomenal, bringing to their roles experience, big egos, and a hint of both inner anguish and sexual one-upmanship. Hattie McDaniel deservedly won an Oscar for a role that could have gone thankless and unnoticed; every time she appeared on screen, I was bowled over by the vigor and consistency of her performance. She doesn’t bring anything particularly exciting to the role. She just does it really, really well.
Most of all, though, I’m impressed by Fleming (as well as some stand-in directors who did some work when he collapsed from exhaustion), who surprisingly remains pretty obscure to this day. His eye for detail amidst extravagance is intimidating, and unmatched by any modern director. Shots of Atlanta burning, of Rhett carrying Scarlett up the giant red staircase, of Scarlett standing against a blood-red sky proclaiming her vow to never go hungry again… these truly stand the test of time, and completely earn the movie its license to immortality. I stubbornly expected a soap-opera, but I got a masterpiece instead. I will be re-examining this film — a four hour film I could easily see myself delving into again — in the years to come. 10/10
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