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
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.
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.
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
An American in Paris (1951): Shira's Take
79 Best Pictures, Portland, ME edition:
The plot was lacking. While the plot and characters are usually the most important elements in a movie to me, somehow, it didn't matter. Clearly, I did not appreciate the film's condoning stalking as a way to a woman's heart, nor did I appreciate Milo Roberts (played by Nina Foch) "helping" Jerry Mulligan (played by Gene Kelly) with his art as a backhanded way to get into his pants. It seemed to me that all the characters that were developed well were creeps. Still, with fantastic scenes like Henri Baurel (played by Georges Guetary) singing and doing the Billie Jean--lighting up stairs as he stepped on them--or Adam Cook (played by Oscar Levant) daydreaming about conducting an orchestra composed of himself playing the piano, multiple violins, and various percussion instrument...I just couldn't mind the overlying plot. With supporting characters like these, who needs anything else? Clearly, the ending that gets happy just in the nick of time before "THE END" appears was completely cheap, but, honestly, I really liked the ballet sequence at the end. Yes, it could have been shortened by about 15 minutes, but it was totally pretty. And who doesn't love the members of classic paintings getting up and dancing? An American in Paris had much more in common with its predecessors (The Great Ziegfeld, Going My Way) than its progeny (My Fair Lady, The Sound of Music). Still, though I know I'm going to be defending myself on this for the rest of my life, I give it an 8/10.
Note: I'm glad we're watching these all in a row, because I noticed that the opening for An American in Paris is similar to the opening for All About Eve--someone narrating, switching to someone else narrating, switching to someone else, but with little to no narration for the rest of the movie.
The plot was lacking. While the plot and characters are usually the most important elements in a movie to me, somehow, it didn't matter. Clearly, I did not appreciate the film's condoning stalking as a way to a woman's heart, nor did I appreciate Milo Roberts (played by Nina Foch) "helping" Jerry Mulligan (played by Gene Kelly) with his art as a backhanded way to get into his pants. It seemed to me that all the characters that were developed well were creeps. Still, with fantastic scenes like Henri Baurel (played by Georges Guetary) singing and doing the Billie Jean--lighting up stairs as he stepped on them--or Adam Cook (played by Oscar Levant) daydreaming about conducting an orchestra composed of himself playing the piano, multiple violins, and various percussion instrument...I just couldn't mind the overlying plot. With supporting characters like these, who needs anything else? Clearly, the ending that gets happy just in the nick of time before "THE END" appears was completely cheap, but, honestly, I really liked the ballet sequence at the end. Yes, it could have been shortened by about 15 minutes, but it was totally pretty. And who doesn't love the members of classic paintings getting up and dancing? An American in Paris had much more in common with its predecessors (The Great Ziegfeld, Going My Way) than its progeny (My Fair Lady, The Sound of Music). Still, though I know I'm going to be defending myself on this for the rest of my life, I give it an 8/10.
Note: I'm glad we're watching these all in a row, because I noticed that the opening for An American in Paris is similar to the opening for All About Eve--someone narrating, switching to someone else narrating, switching to someone else, but with little to no narration for the rest of the movie.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
An American in Paris (1951): Eitan's Take
Well, it's clearly been a long time since we've watched a film and written about it, but it's no use lamenting our malfeasance... on with the good stuff!
If there is a movie that was worth all this wait, it is certainly Gene Kelly's tremendously entertaining An American in Paris, which comes after a long tradition of big-budget musical Best Picture winners, and comes before the musical explosion of the 1960's. It goes without say that Kelly is a complete and utter genius. Funny, charming, talented as a singer, and possibly the single best dancer to ever be captured on celluloid, he completely owns this movie from the very minute we hear his opening monologue. As a starving painter in Paris, he's not entirely convincing -- he's too well-kept and cheerful to be living in poverty -- but for two hours he has us completely in his grip. The grip tightens during some incredible early musical numbers, including "I've Got Rhythm," which features a wonderfully irreverent tap dance done in a colorful alley in Paris and an adorable chorus of Kelly's grade school admirers. During his duets with his starving pianist friend Adam Cook (the funny and strange Oscar Levant), you can positively shut out everything in the outside world and just be completely and utterly entertained. Many of our Best Pictures so far have been impressive or admirable, but this is the first one in a long time (yes, including All About Eve, which I thought was more fascinating than fun) that just had me smiling the whole time. It's a long way from the bleak, dull Going My Way.
Gene Kelly's color and cheer is supplemented (though not matched) by the performances of his two female admirers. Nina Foch is a nice mix of seductive wit and pathetic adulation as Milo, Gene Kelly's rich benefactor. And Leslie Caron is charming if not entirely charismatic as Lisa, Kelly's perfume-shoppe love interest. The love stories are not what makes this film great, though. It's the color, the motion, the unflappable earnestness, and the richly textured and utterly innovative dance sequences that dive deep into what makes life and love tick and transform those ideas and feelings into beautiful, inventive, and bold splashes of choreographed movement. The climactic ballet sequence -- an 18 minute dream in which Kelly inhabits and dances through inconceivably brilliant three-dimensional landscapes of his paintings brought to life -- is among the greatest sequences I have ever, ever, ever seen in a movie. It is a dazzling and bewildering feat of filmmaking that alone could have won the Oscar. The fact that it's preceded by such a delightful story -- on par with Amelie for beautifully shot Parisian romance -- and the beautiful songs of the Gershwin brothers only adds to that.
Not quite as epic, or broad, or "magical" as the definitive 1952 masterpiece, Singin' in the Rain, but still, solid, well-earned 9/10.
Added Note: The scene in which Oscar Levant conducts an orchestra of multiple Oscar Levants is one of the most unique musical scenes I have ever watched. It's not supposed to be wondrous or enchanting so much as it is indicative of the deep and unceasing pain of not being able to bring to life the music -- or any art -- that is tucked away in your head.
If there is a movie that was worth all this wait, it is certainly Gene Kelly's tremendously entertaining An American in Paris, which comes after a long tradition of big-budget musical Best Picture winners, and comes before the musical explosion of the 1960's. It goes without say that Kelly is a complete and utter genius. Funny, charming, talented as a singer, and possibly the single best dancer to ever be captured on celluloid, he completely owns this movie from the very minute we hear his opening monologue. As a starving painter in Paris, he's not entirely convincing -- he's too well-kept and cheerful to be living in poverty -- but for two hours he has us completely in his grip. The grip tightens during some incredible early musical numbers, including "I've Got Rhythm," which features a wonderfully irreverent tap dance done in a colorful alley in Paris and an adorable chorus of Kelly's grade school admirers. During his duets with his starving pianist friend Adam Cook (the funny and strange Oscar Levant), you can positively shut out everything in the outside world and just be completely and utterly entertained. Many of our Best Pictures so far have been impressive or admirable, but this is the first one in a long time (yes, including All About Eve, which I thought was more fascinating than fun) that just had me smiling the whole time. It's a long way from the bleak, dull Going My Way.
Gene Kelly's color and cheer is supplemented (though not matched) by the performances of his two female admirers. Nina Foch is a nice mix of seductive wit and pathetic adulation as Milo, Gene Kelly's rich benefactor. And Leslie Caron is charming if not entirely charismatic as Lisa, Kelly's perfume-shoppe love interest. The love stories are not what makes this film great, though. It's the color, the motion, the unflappable earnestness, and the richly textured and utterly innovative dance sequences that dive deep into what makes life and love tick and transform those ideas and feelings into beautiful, inventive, and bold splashes of choreographed movement. The climactic ballet sequence -- an 18 minute dream in which Kelly inhabits and dances through inconceivably brilliant three-dimensional landscapes of his paintings brought to life -- is among the greatest sequences I have ever, ever, ever seen in a movie. It is a dazzling and bewildering feat of filmmaking that alone could have won the Oscar. The fact that it's preceded by such a delightful story -- on par with Amelie for beautifully shot Parisian romance -- and the beautiful songs of the Gershwin brothers only adds to that.
Not quite as epic, or broad, or "magical" as the definitive 1952 masterpiece, Singin' in the Rain, but still, solid, well-earned 9/10.
Added Note: The scene in which Oscar Levant conducts an orchestra of multiple Oscar Levants is one of the most unique musical scenes I have ever watched. It's not supposed to be wondrous or enchanting so much as it is indicative of the deep and unceasing pain of not being able to bring to life the music -- or any art -- that is tucked away in your head.
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.
All About Eve (1950): Shira's Take
Gotta love a good sociopathic bitch movie. I love how the narration reads like fiction. Bette Davis's Margo Channing is the ultimate in actress with a good heart obscured by her jaded sense of modern Theatre. George Sanders's Addison DeWitt is a perfectly sadistic scandal-seeking tabloid-style critic. Aside from Eve Harrington (Anne Baxter), these were the two fully developed characters, and they really made the movie. What's interesting about Eve, though, is that while I was never fooled by her sweet and innocent act, I was also never fooled by Anne Baxter's evil and malicious act. Anne Baxter is just not convincing as evil. Still, apart from some bad bluescreening (why couldn't they film Addison and Eve walking down a real city street instead of putting them in previously filmed footage of a city street?), All About Eve had everything that movie nerds love about filmmaking--awesome shots and such. In general, it was an imperfect movie, but its flaws were few and far between. The last 15 minutes or so were like Return of the King (is it ending now? How about now? Now?).
I have to note Marilyn Monroe's cameo as Miss Caswell, a very blonde (and all the things that go along with being blonde) wannabe-actress and arm candy to Addison DeWitt. She plays the same role she always plays, essentially, but she brings a silly light to the movie, reminding the viewer to be entertained by it.
Notes to myself: Is it just me or does Anne Baxter kind of look like young Stockard Channing? While watching All About Eve, I refused to let myself acknowledge that it beat Sunset Boulevard for Best Picture at the Academy Awards. Now, though, I can reflect on how it was a great movie, but it was no Sunset Boulevard. 9/10
I have to note Marilyn Monroe's cameo as Miss Caswell, a very blonde (and all the things that go along with being blonde) wannabe-actress and arm candy to Addison DeWitt. She plays the same role she always plays, essentially, but she brings a silly light to the movie, reminding the viewer to be entertained by it.
Notes to myself: Is it just me or does Anne Baxter kind of look like young Stockard Channing? While watching All About Eve, I refused to let myself acknowledge that it beat Sunset Boulevard for Best Picture at the Academy Awards. Now, though, I can reflect on how it was a great movie, but it was no Sunset Boulevard. 9/10
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