In case our readers (what few of you we have left) have wondered where we've been for months, just know that Lawrence of Arabia is a hard movie to decide to sit down and watch. True to my memories and my expectations, it was very, very slow and very, very epic. But I have to give it a little more credit than I have in the past. T.E. Lawrence really is a great character and Peter O'Toole plays him with amazing onscreen chemistry with himself. And the story is interesting, just executed in a way that I'm not so into. The major problems I have with Lawrence of Arabia are those of personal preference; I hate desert movies, and I don't like looking at men as much as I like looking at women. If you can get past the endless sandy landscapes (which, of course, are beautiful, but get kind of monotonous) and the lack of speaking women, you're set.
To give you an idea of how incredibly slow this movie is, an Annie Hall's length in (about an hour and a half) is when Lawrence finally dons the characteristic white sherif robes. And in terms of how I felt watching the movie, it was actually akin to the early BP winners like Grand Hotel, where I almost couldn't control how badly the movie made me want to sleep. Clearly, I think Lawrence has more merit than Grand Hotel.
I dunno. In general, I think I gave this movie less credit than it deserves, but I still never really want to watch it again. Note to myself: Alec Guinness is in my humble opinion the most talented actor in this movie, but that accent was SO AWFUL. 6/10
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.
Friday, March 21, 2008
West Side Story (1961): Shira's Take
A disclaimer: I absolutely hate Romeo and Juliet. Now, I can appreciate the passion in Zeffirelli's version and the artistry in Luhrman's, but I will never, ever, ever like the story. I hate the two leads, with their doe-eyed teenage idiocy, and I almost always hate anything in which characters fall in "love" at first sight. I am more of a Benedick and Beatrice in Much Ado About Nothing girl myself (two characters who have known and teased each other forever, and fall in love despite themselves). Keep in mind that any plot based on misunderstandings and poor decisions will frustrate me, and I will therefore only like it to some extent.
Aside from my obvious problems with the plot, I actually have some problems with the songs. Now, don't get me wrong. The memorable songs in this movie are BRILLIANT. "Gee, Officer Krupke", "Tonight", and "I Feel Pretty" are all appropriate, fun, and they all get in your head and stay there for days. This is what songs in musicals should do. Unfortunately, those are about all of them. I had forgotten how many songs are in West Side Story, and how little I care for almost all of them.
Finally, now I can get to the good stuff. I have seen this movie about ten times before, but I tried to get more out of it this time. I paid more attention to the visuals. Clearly, the choreography is phenomenal. One thing I've never paid too much attention to is the use of colors. Good examples include Maria's colorful glass door, which casts warm, bright, multicolored glows on her room, and the amazing cinammon-red underbelly of the overpass below which the rumble occurs (it juxtaposes the grey, dirty walls and ground so perfectly). Also notable is the hip, daddy-o-style camera angles and lighting. Lots of slightly askew shots and dark silhouettes near shadowy fences. Visually, I have one pet peeve. I absolutely hate the blurring of the surrounding areas in the scene where Tony (Richard Beymer) and Maria (Natalie Wood) meet and later, in (I believe) the "Tonight" scene.
The only acting Oscars for which anyone in this movie was nominated were supporting, and they both won: Rita Moreno (who played Anita) and George Chakiris (who played Bernardo). They are seriously the only good performances in the movie. I mean, Russ Tamblyn is entertaining, but not in an Oscar-worthy way, and both Richard Beymer and Natalie Wood are so lame that their performances are just too sappy. Interestingly enough, Natalie Wood WAS nominated for Best Actress that year, except it was for Splendor in the Grass. So, if you ignore the main characters, and if you change the plot completely, but you leave everything else the same, it is a perfect movie. As is, it is less-than-perfect, but still an 8/10
Aside from my obvious problems with the plot, I actually have some problems with the songs. Now, don't get me wrong. The memorable songs in this movie are BRILLIANT. "Gee, Officer Krupke", "Tonight", and "I Feel Pretty" are all appropriate, fun, and they all get in your head and stay there for days. This is what songs in musicals should do. Unfortunately, those are about all of them. I had forgotten how many songs are in West Side Story, and how little I care for almost all of them.
Finally, now I can get to the good stuff. I have seen this movie about ten times before, but I tried to get more out of it this time. I paid more attention to the visuals. Clearly, the choreography is phenomenal. One thing I've never paid too much attention to is the use of colors. Good examples include Maria's colorful glass door, which casts warm, bright, multicolored glows on her room, and the amazing cinammon-red underbelly of the overpass below which the rumble occurs (it juxtaposes the grey, dirty walls and ground so perfectly). Also notable is the hip, daddy-o-style camera angles and lighting. Lots of slightly askew shots and dark silhouettes near shadowy fences. Visually, I have one pet peeve. I absolutely hate the blurring of the surrounding areas in the scene where Tony (Richard Beymer) and Maria (Natalie Wood) meet and later, in (I believe) the "Tonight" scene.
The only acting Oscars for which anyone in this movie was nominated were supporting, and they both won: Rita Moreno (who played Anita) and George Chakiris (who played Bernardo). They are seriously the only good performances in the movie. I mean, Russ Tamblyn is entertaining, but not in an Oscar-worthy way, and both Richard Beymer and Natalie Wood are so lame that their performances are just too sappy. Interestingly enough, Natalie Wood WAS nominated for Best Actress that year, except it was for Splendor in the Grass. So, if you ignore the main characters, and if you change the plot completely, but you leave everything else the same, it is a perfect movie. As is, it is less-than-perfect, but still an 8/10
West Side Story (1961): Eitan's Take
West Side Story is a movie that inspires near-blasphemous ambivalence in me. Like the pop art movement that was emerging at the time Jerome Robbins and Stephen Sondheim cooked it up, the film is colorful, strange, gritty, explosive, and ultimately very, very empty. Like its pathetically weak source material, Shakespeare's overrated Romeo and Juliet, it has barely enough plot points to sustain its 150-minute running time, and it blows its artistic load on three or four mind-bogglingly brilliant song and dance numbers, leaving the rest to drag. And drag. And drag. One cup Zeferelli's "Romeo and Juliet," one heaping teaspoon of "The Warriors," and a bit of Bob Fosse leaves us with a very colorful and very bland stew.
I'll focus on the positives of this iconic film first. The dance routines are, perhaps, the best ever captured on camera. Jerome Robbins' vision of a violent gangland ballet comes to life in ways that still inspire awe 47 years later. The high kicks, the spins, the snaps, the explosive arm gestures, the leapfrogs, and even the more subtle motions like scurrying up fences and racing through the street... it's all phenomenal eye candy, and it all definitely captures the simmering inner drama of young gang members. The attitude and bravado of these thugs comes through, and for a few moments we can even see the appeal of living like they do. Likewise, the cinematography is breathtaking; bright 60's yellows and blues and greens mix with the dark grit of Manhattan to great effect. The interplay of light and shadow adds to the general feeling of despair hanging over the movie. It's New York at a completely different angle from the melancholy sweetness of Billy Wilder's imaginary Manhattan. It's really quite akin to On the Waterfront, if the shipping yards were painted in glorious pastels. These two elements alone almost make the movie worth watching, and I have no doubt that along with Leonard Bernstein's epic score, these are the reasons why people return time and time again to West Side Story.
But there are so many elements of this movie -- again, this iconic movie -- are too overcooked to take seriously. At times, the singing is downright atrocious, even in some of my favorite tunes ("America," "Cool," "Gee Officer Krupke"). The love story is too hammy for its own good, and the changes from Romeo and Juliet actually weaken the overall thrust of the story. These two "star-crossed lovers" are supposed to die TOGETHER; seriously, one dies and the other is led away by a police as the camera cranes upwards?
While recontextualizing the violence and romance in the guise of an immigrant story is, of course, an interesting twist, it's hard to a) get past the feeling that these are just a bunch of really stupid and short-sighted kids and b) get past the fact that half of them don't even look like the ethnicity they're supposed to be portraying. By this point in the history of Western art, this story had been hashed and rehashed until all but a gloppy goo was left, and the tired storyline (which Shakespeare himself cribbed from several writers before him) really shows its age. Maybe "high-concept" reinterpretations of Shakespeare were new then, but by now they're old hat -- I've personally seen WWII-era "Much Ado," silent-film-era "Midsummer Night's Dream," a junkyard "Midsummer," an all-black "Othello," and pretty much every mushy Shakespeare-lite movie that Hollywood has cooked up ("Ten Things I Hate About You," et al). So while I can imagine the early-60's fervor over these hot kids doing Shakespeare in an alleyway (remember, this was even before Zeferelli's version), I'm viewing this from a 21st century lens, and I always find myself unimpressed with this movie, which everyone else seems to love.
Call me a grump, but I give this a 6/10. And once again, Natalie Wood does not LOOK, SOUND, or ACT Puerto Rican!
I'll focus on the positives of this iconic film first. The dance routines are, perhaps, the best ever captured on camera. Jerome Robbins' vision of a violent gangland ballet comes to life in ways that still inspire awe 47 years later. The high kicks, the spins, the snaps, the explosive arm gestures, the leapfrogs, and even the more subtle motions like scurrying up fences and racing through the street... it's all phenomenal eye candy, and it all definitely captures the simmering inner drama of young gang members. The attitude and bravado of these thugs comes through, and for a few moments we can even see the appeal of living like they do. Likewise, the cinematography is breathtaking; bright 60's yellows and blues and greens mix with the dark grit of Manhattan to great effect. The interplay of light and shadow adds to the general feeling of despair hanging over the movie. It's New York at a completely different angle from the melancholy sweetness of Billy Wilder's imaginary Manhattan. It's really quite akin to On the Waterfront, if the shipping yards were painted in glorious pastels. These two elements alone almost make the movie worth watching, and I have no doubt that along with Leonard Bernstein's epic score, these are the reasons why people return time and time again to West Side Story.
But there are so many elements of this movie -- again, this iconic movie -- are too overcooked to take seriously. At times, the singing is downright atrocious, even in some of my favorite tunes ("America," "Cool," "Gee Officer Krupke"). The love story is too hammy for its own good, and the changes from Romeo and Juliet actually weaken the overall thrust of the story. These two "star-crossed lovers" are supposed to die TOGETHER; seriously, one dies and the other is led away by a police as the camera cranes upwards?
While recontextualizing the violence and romance in the guise of an immigrant story is, of course, an interesting twist, it's hard to a) get past the feeling that these are just a bunch of really stupid and short-sighted kids and b) get past the fact that half of them don't even look like the ethnicity they're supposed to be portraying. By this point in the history of Western art, this story had been hashed and rehashed until all but a gloppy goo was left, and the tired storyline (which Shakespeare himself cribbed from several writers before him) really shows its age. Maybe "high-concept" reinterpretations of Shakespeare were new then, but by now they're old hat -- I've personally seen WWII-era "Much Ado," silent-film-era "Midsummer Night's Dream," a junkyard "Midsummer," an all-black "Othello," and pretty much every mushy Shakespeare-lite movie that Hollywood has cooked up ("Ten Things I Hate About You," et al). So while I can imagine the early-60's fervor over these hot kids doing Shakespeare in an alleyway (remember, this was even before Zeferelli's version), I'm viewing this from a 21st century lens, and I always find myself unimpressed with this movie, which everyone else seems to love.
Call me a grump, but I give this a 6/10. And once again, Natalie Wood does not LOOK, SOUND, or ACT Puerto Rican!
The Apartment (1960): Shira's Take
THE SIXTIES! WOOO!
The Apartment is of a rare breed in best picture winners. It starts off interesting and entertaining, and it stays that way throughout. It has a PERFECT Billy Wilder screenplay, quality-wise and otherwise-wise. What's funny about it is that I felt The Apartment actually got worse about 3/4 of the way through and never got as good as it had been in the beginning, and somehow, it was still a great movie. In terms of other BP winners we've watched, it was most similar to Marty, in that it felt like a play instead of a movie (and in that it featured a charmingly pathetic protagonist).
The plot was GREAT, the characters were GREAT (especially the neighbor, Dr. Dreyfuss, played by Jack Kruschen), and the actors were GREAT. The Apartment does not have everything I ask for in a best picture winner, but it has everything I ask for in a likeable movie. 9/10
The Apartment is of a rare breed in best picture winners. It starts off interesting and entertaining, and it stays that way throughout. It has a PERFECT Billy Wilder screenplay, quality-wise and otherwise-wise. What's funny about it is that I felt The Apartment actually got worse about 3/4 of the way through and never got as good as it had been in the beginning, and somehow, it was still a great movie. In terms of other BP winners we've watched, it was most similar to Marty, in that it felt like a play instead of a movie (and in that it featured a charmingly pathetic protagonist).
The plot was GREAT, the characters were GREAT (especially the neighbor, Dr. Dreyfuss, played by Jack Kruschen), and the actors were GREAT. The Apartment does not have everything I ask for in a best picture winner, but it has everything I ask for in a likeable movie. 9/10
The Apartment (1960): Eitan's Take
The 30's and 40's gave us rich and dark films about masculine ambition, but in the 50's and now 60's, we're being treated to stories of human kindness and decency -- no surprise, considering that these were the years of quaint domesticity, Ozzie and Harriet, and white picket fences. But beneath the nice-guy veneer of The Apartment lies an incredible meditation on sadness, human communication, and the kind of loneliness so big and so overwhelming that it fills up a whole home. Billy Wilder directed this movie right after Some Like It Hot, which, for all of its traipsing joy, has a hint of sadness to it as well. And we first witnessed his skillful arrangement of sad human drama in The Lost Weekend, which remains one of my favorite Best Picture winners so far.
In Jack Lemmon, Wilder finds an incredible, tragic everyman -- the kind of guy it's possible to both sympathize for and empathize with. The way he carries himself, the neuroses, the runny noses, the expression on his face when he opens up the box with his new bowler hat, the sad way flips through his rolodex trying to manage the appointments for all the corporate thugs who commandeer his apartment for their adulterous charades... Woody Allen spent years trying to recreate this sort of pathos, but Jack Lemmon does it so much better because he looks like, talks like, acts like, and could be anyone. Jaded by years of watching romance fail, Lemmon's C.C. Baxter is a portrait of resignation. He's sweet and chivalrous, but he also has deep flaws and deep emotional scars. When he tells Ms. Kubilek (the radiant and smart Shirley MacLaine, who we saw previously as an imprisoned Indian princess in Around the World in Eighty Days) about his suicide attempt, he adds a punchline so as not to disturb her -- or us -- too deeply, but it's impossible to escape the tragedy of the moment. Luckily, he reaches out to her and her famous reciprocation, "Shut up and deal," is all the more rewarding for it. The whole time, I kept thinking, "This is like Marty... but sophisticated."
Pinned up next to the lives of his colleagues, Baxter's own life has a strange twist of lemon to it. Though he's continually "sexiled" from his own home, the love he finds is so much deeper and more resonant than anything they could ever hope to experience. Halfway through the film, during the Christmas party, Kubilek learns from her lover Sheldrake's secretary that she's not the first -- and won't be the last -- of his illicit affairs. As an audience, it's natural for our heart to sink with her, and in her case that moment of despair seems to last forever, as she recedes into herself and begins to rethink the value of love. But then we're reminded of the graciousness and generosity of Baxter and the endless emotional support he lends (often at his own expense), and everything feels aligned again. The world can be a great place when the right people find each other and make love and life and hope work. Over and over, the movie breaks your heart, but then bends down next to you to help pick up the pieces. That's why the ending of The Apartment is so brilliant. There's nothing cliche about it. There's no cutesy kiss or wedding bells or grandiose speech. There's just the recognition -- on the characters' parts, as well as our own -- that after the reel flips up and the theater lights come up, life goes on. There's just optimism and uncertainty and honesty, laid out on the table like gin rummy cards. It's rarely so important for me that my friends and family see the Best Picture winners that Shira and I watch, but this one is a must-see. It crumbles to a 9/10, cookie-wise of course.
In Jack Lemmon, Wilder finds an incredible, tragic everyman -- the kind of guy it's possible to both sympathize for and empathize with. The way he carries himself, the neuroses, the runny noses, the expression on his face when he opens up the box with his new bowler hat, the sad way flips through his rolodex trying to manage the appointments for all the corporate thugs who commandeer his apartment for their adulterous charades... Woody Allen spent years trying to recreate this sort of pathos, but Jack Lemmon does it so much better because he looks like, talks like, acts like, and could be anyone. Jaded by years of watching romance fail, Lemmon's C.C. Baxter is a portrait of resignation. He's sweet and chivalrous, but he also has deep flaws and deep emotional scars. When he tells Ms. Kubilek (the radiant and smart Shirley MacLaine, who we saw previously as an imprisoned Indian princess in Around the World in Eighty Days) about his suicide attempt, he adds a punchline so as not to disturb her -- or us -- too deeply, but it's impossible to escape the tragedy of the moment. Luckily, he reaches out to her and her famous reciprocation, "Shut up and deal," is all the more rewarding for it. The whole time, I kept thinking, "This is like Marty... but sophisticated."
Pinned up next to the lives of his colleagues, Baxter's own life has a strange twist of lemon to it. Though he's continually "sexiled" from his own home, the love he finds is so much deeper and more resonant than anything they could ever hope to experience. Halfway through the film, during the Christmas party, Kubilek learns from her lover Sheldrake's secretary that she's not the first -- and won't be the last -- of his illicit affairs. As an audience, it's natural for our heart to sink with her, and in her case that moment of despair seems to last forever, as she recedes into herself and begins to rethink the value of love. But then we're reminded of the graciousness and generosity of Baxter and the endless emotional support he lends (often at his own expense), and everything feels aligned again. The world can be a great place when the right people find each other and make love and life and hope work. Over and over, the movie breaks your heart, but then bends down next to you to help pick up the pieces. That's why the ending of The Apartment is so brilliant. There's nothing cliche about it. There's no cutesy kiss or wedding bells or grandiose speech. There's just the recognition -- on the characters' parts, as well as our own -- that after the reel flips up and the theater lights come up, life goes on. There's just optimism and uncertainty and honesty, laid out on the table like gin rummy cards. It's rarely so important for me that my friends and family see the Best Picture winners that Shira and I watch, but this one is a must-see. It crumbles to a 9/10, cookie-wise of course.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Ben-Hur (1959): Shira's Take
The most pressing order of business: this felt NOTHING like the William Wyler movies we've watched so far. Mrs. Miniver and The Best Years of Our Lives both show the painful effects of war, while Ben-Hur is the type of movie to ignore the subtleties and show you the whole war instead. In fact, it wouldn't just show you the whole war. It would show you the drama building up to the war, then some flashy battle scenes, then more drama, then more flashy battle scenes, etc. until you're just so completely sick of the characters that you can't stop looking at the time and wishing those three-and-a-half-plus hours would go by quicker.
Not since Gone with the Wind have I seen a movie that tried so hard and failed so miserably. You would think that a movie this long would somehow find a way to make me interested in the characters or the plots, but you would be completely wrong. Unlike a movie like Gigi, where I'm actually frustrated with the plot, Ben-Hur didn't keep me invested enough to get frustrated in the first place. I just couldn't care, no matter how hard I tried, about anything.
Now on to the good stuff. Good performances all around (except Haya Harareet, who was simultaneously the only convincing Israeli and the only nonconvincing human). The chariot race scene lived up to its fame. It was exciting and gorgeous. I actually liked that we never saw Jesus's face.
In general, I think that Cecil B. DeMille should have been alive to make this movie, and if he had, it would have been no different. Wyler did a good DeMille impression, but it's still a generic, big, uninteresting DeMille picture. Note to myself: There was soooo much gay subtext between Judah (Heston) and Messala (Boyd). The scene in which Judah says that Messala saved his life and Messala says something like, "It was the best thing I ever did," and then looks Judah up and down as if picturing him naked is priceless. I said to Eitan early on, "It's a story of star-crossed lovers!" 5/10
Not since Gone with the Wind have I seen a movie that tried so hard and failed so miserably. You would think that a movie this long would somehow find a way to make me interested in the characters or the plots, but you would be completely wrong. Unlike a movie like Gigi, where I'm actually frustrated with the plot, Ben-Hur didn't keep me invested enough to get frustrated in the first place. I just couldn't care, no matter how hard I tried, about anything.
Now on to the good stuff. Good performances all around (except Haya Harareet, who was simultaneously the only convincing Israeli and the only nonconvincing human). The chariot race scene lived up to its fame. It was exciting and gorgeous. I actually liked that we never saw Jesus's face.
In general, I think that Cecil B. DeMille should have been alive to make this movie, and if he had, it would have been no different. Wyler did a good DeMille impression, but it's still a generic, big, uninteresting DeMille picture. Note to myself: There was soooo much gay subtext between Judah (Heston) and Messala (Boyd). The scene in which Judah says that Messala saved his life and Messala says something like, "It was the best thing I ever did," and then looks Judah up and down as if picturing him naked is priceless. I said to Eitan early on, "It's a story of star-crossed lovers!" 5/10
Ben-Hur (1959): Eitan's Take
The subtitle of Ben-Hur is "A Tale of the Christ," and it's difficult to watch the movie without acknowledging the gracious hand of (fictional, narrative-based) Jesus Christ moving the elements of goodness and kindness against the elements of hatred and betrayal. I'm not Christian, but I definitely felt the good will of the original teachings in the Gospels moving the film along, and giving hope and a sense of purpose to Judah Ben-Hur (the magnificent and robust Charlton Heston). But even more than the hand of Christ, I felt the power of Jewish values seeping into every part of the story. It's a definitively Jewish tale about perseverance, loyalty, hard work, family, faith, and being great at sports. This is why it fits so well in the (unofficial) Charlton-Heston-as-a-beefy-Jew trilogy, which also includes The Ten Commandments and Exodus.
Three times wider than it is tall, the scope of the print itself lends an incredible gravitas to the film. The cinematography, production design, special effects, and costumes allow us to become completely immersed in the grandiose world of Roman Judea. But unlike The Ten Commandments, this story of the Jewish people feels raw and personal. The hurt we feel when Messala watches his childhood friend and his friend's mother and sister be sent to the dungeon over a false accusation is real. When Judah is unshackled in the galleys, we feel just as confused and determined and awed as he does -- that he will survive, and watch his friends die. Usually in big-budget movies (see: Michael Bay), so much gets lost in creating a spectacle that we forget that the spectacle of death, religion, and politics is brutal to those involved. Ben-Hur never lets us forget that these are real people.
People often talk about this movie solely from the perspective of the chariot race, and it's definitely magnificent in every conceivable way. The wide-wide-wide aspect ratio is our portal into one of the most incredible moments in cinema history. Every second of it feels real and urgent. The spikes on Messala's chariot glisten with pure evil. The horses gallop round the turns and you feel the intensity in the pit of your stomach. George Lucas tried to mimic this scene in Star Wars Episode I, but watching this today I was only reminded of how miserably stupid that whole sequence is. CGI alien bugs racing around in hovering special effects while Jake Lloyd shouts and hollers in prepubescent glee? It's no contest. Also, the same narrative elements (betrayal, revenge, Roman tyranny, swords/sandals, and coliseum sports) are used in Gladiator to much, much weaker ends. To even compare the two movies is almost heretical; real movie buffs know which was is up, and know that Gladiator is a pale imitation of Ben-Hur.
Either way, the movie is so much deeper and so much more important than just a single scene, exciting and innovative as it may be. Every scene is finely crafted to blend religious parable and real life drama in such a way that you can't tell where the plot ends and the inspirational and awe-inspiring subtext begins. At almost three and a half hours, I can honestly say I didn't want it to end. A truly deserved 10/10. It earned every one of the 11 Oscars it won, a feat matched only by Titanic (which falls victim to its own spectacle) and Return of the King, which is a towering cinematic achievement in very similar respects.
Three times wider than it is tall, the scope of the print itself lends an incredible gravitas to the film. The cinematography, production design, special effects, and costumes allow us to become completely immersed in the grandiose world of Roman Judea. But unlike The Ten Commandments, this story of the Jewish people feels raw and personal. The hurt we feel when Messala watches his childhood friend and his friend's mother and sister be sent to the dungeon over a false accusation is real. When Judah is unshackled in the galleys, we feel just as confused and determined and awed as he does -- that he will survive, and watch his friends die. Usually in big-budget movies (see: Michael Bay), so much gets lost in creating a spectacle that we forget that the spectacle of death, religion, and politics is brutal to those involved. Ben-Hur never lets us forget that these are real people.
People often talk about this movie solely from the perspective of the chariot race, and it's definitely magnificent in every conceivable way. The wide-wide-wide aspect ratio is our portal into one of the most incredible moments in cinema history. Every second of it feels real and urgent. The spikes on Messala's chariot glisten with pure evil. The horses gallop round the turns and you feel the intensity in the pit of your stomach. George Lucas tried to mimic this scene in Star Wars Episode I, but watching this today I was only reminded of how miserably stupid that whole sequence is. CGI alien bugs racing around in hovering special effects while Jake Lloyd shouts and hollers in prepubescent glee? It's no contest. Also, the same narrative elements (betrayal, revenge, Roman tyranny, swords/sandals, and coliseum sports) are used in Gladiator to much, much weaker ends. To even compare the two movies is almost heretical; real movie buffs know which was is up, and know that Gladiator is a pale imitation of Ben-Hur.
Either way, the movie is so much deeper and so much more important than just a single scene, exciting and innovative as it may be. Every scene is finely crafted to blend religious parable and real life drama in such a way that you can't tell where the plot ends and the inspirational and awe-inspiring subtext begins. At almost three and a half hours, I can honestly say I didn't want it to end. A truly deserved 10/10. It earned every one of the 11 Oscars it won, a feat matched only by Titanic (which falls victim to its own spectacle) and Return of the King, which is a towering cinematic achievement in very similar respects.
Gigi (1958): Shira's Take
Not making a good first impression, Gigi starts off with a song that may have been charming and whimsical in 1958 but is just disturbing now: "Thank Heaven for Little Girls", which includes the line, "Those little eyes so helpless and appealing..." Okay, I'm sorry, but how could that not be misconstrued? Honestly, I can't even see any way that that song could ever have been anything other than messed up. It didn't help that it was sung by Maurice Chevalier (who played Honore Lachaille). If you grew up on Disney movies, you may recognize his voice from The Aristocats title track. I did, and I was deeply disturbed.
From then on, I could not help but compare the movie to The Aristocats. The trials and tribulations of the aristocratic Parisian life at the turn of the 20th century are not particularly interesting. Fortunately, Aristocats features the late great Phil Harris (Baloo, Little John, etc.), really great songs (unlike Gigi--the only one that stuck with me was the perverted one, and it will NOT be a good song to have stuck in my head in public), and an awesome story. The movies share a setting and an Eva Gabor, but the main difference between them is Gigi sucks and The Aristocats...doesn't.
I truly gave it a chance. Leslie Caron (who played Gigi) is an incredibly talented dancer, as we learned in An American in Paris, and a relatively talented singer, so I was not dreading this movie the way I presume Eitan was. But she hardly danced at all. Work with what ya got, people. I cared so little about the characters, and I found that as the movie went on, I hated Gaston (played by Louis Jordan) more and more. I don't think that was supposed to happen.
One more complaint/question. Did they ever explain why Gigi's family is so poor, when they obviously are well aware of aristocratic behavior? How did her family know how to teach her to act like a proper woman when they had no money to begin with? Actually, don't answer these questions, because I just don't care about the movie at all. On which movie do others spit their loogies? Naturellement! Gigi! 5/10
From then on, I could not help but compare the movie to The Aristocats. The trials and tribulations of the aristocratic Parisian life at the turn of the 20th century are not particularly interesting. Fortunately, Aristocats features the late great Phil Harris (Baloo, Little John, etc.), really great songs (unlike Gigi--the only one that stuck with me was the perverted one, and it will NOT be a good song to have stuck in my head in public), and an awesome story. The movies share a setting and an Eva Gabor, but the main difference between them is Gigi sucks and The Aristocats...doesn't.
I truly gave it a chance. Leslie Caron (who played Gigi) is an incredibly talented dancer, as we learned in An American in Paris, and a relatively talented singer, so I was not dreading this movie the way I presume Eitan was. But she hardly danced at all. Work with what ya got, people. I cared so little about the characters, and I found that as the movie went on, I hated Gaston (played by Louis Jordan) more and more. I don't think that was supposed to happen.
One more complaint/question. Did they ever explain why Gigi's family is so poor, when they obviously are well aware of aristocratic behavior? How did her family know how to teach her to act like a proper woman when they had no money to begin with? Actually, don't answer these questions, because I just don't care about the movie at all. On which movie do others spit their loogies? Naturellement! Gigi! 5/10
Gigi (1958): Eitan's Take
With all due respect to Gena's lovely mother, Gigi is just not my thing. At two hours, it was two hours too long. These French parlor movies are just miserable for me; take everything I loved about An American in Paris and everything I hate about the Princess Diary movies, mash them together for a 116 minute homage to manners, big dresses, gentlemen in tophats and canes, cheese, fountains, and how to turn women into coffee-serving machines for a man's infinite pleasure, and you get Gigi. Shira seemed unsurprised to find that I was far more interested in playing with our kitten Leroy than actually watch the movie.
After the complex moral fables woven through The Bridge on the River Kwai, Gigi is not just a letdown because it is so empty and trivial and garish; it is a letdown because it advocates ridiculous and offensive morals. Early in the film, Gaston is congratulated for his amazing achievement... breaking a woman's heart so badly that she commits suicide. "Congratulations on the suicide!" all his friends cheer. This is not only bad plot. It made me ill. Ditto to the opening and closing song, "Thank Heaven for Little Girls," sung by Honore with such pedophilic glee that I would have turned off the movie the first time had I not committed myself to watching the it for this project.
The movie also sets a really poor example: listen to your nitwit grandmother and great aunt, commit yourself to a life of corset-bound unhappiness, obsess over emeralds and pearls, lose your ENTIRE sense of fun and spunky attitude, and maybe -- just maybe, if you compromise everything that could make you a fun and NORMAL person -- you'll get to wear a big purple dress and ride around in a carriage while an old man sings about how he spies on young girls playing in parks. The rest of the songs are awful and unmemorable, especially the one where the "chorus" whispers nasty things about Gaston and his first girlfriend while they pass through a ballroom. Hideous tempos, awful lyrics, and even more ghastly melodies.
I was told to look out for this movie, and now I know why. 3/10, ONLY for the impeccable production design and lush cinematography, as well as for Leslie Caron's eyelash-batting.
After the complex moral fables woven through The Bridge on the River Kwai, Gigi is not just a letdown because it is so empty and trivial and garish; it is a letdown because it advocates ridiculous and offensive morals. Early in the film, Gaston is congratulated for his amazing achievement... breaking a woman's heart so badly that she commits suicide. "Congratulations on the suicide!" all his friends cheer. This is not only bad plot. It made me ill. Ditto to the opening and closing song, "Thank Heaven for Little Girls," sung by Honore with such pedophilic glee that I would have turned off the movie the first time had I not committed myself to watching the it for this project.
The movie also sets a really poor example: listen to your nitwit grandmother and great aunt, commit yourself to a life of corset-bound unhappiness, obsess over emeralds and pearls, lose your ENTIRE sense of fun and spunky attitude, and maybe -- just maybe, if you compromise everything that could make you a fun and NORMAL person -- you'll get to wear a big purple dress and ride around in a carriage while an old man sings about how he spies on young girls playing in parks. The rest of the songs are awful and unmemorable, especially the one where the "chorus" whispers nasty things about Gaston and his first girlfriend while they pass through a ballroom. Hideous tempos, awful lyrics, and even more ghastly melodies.
I was told to look out for this movie, and now I know why. 3/10, ONLY for the impeccable production design and lush cinematography, as well as for Leslie Caron's eyelash-batting.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
