Three by Boyer: Liliom (1934), Algiers (1938), and Love Affair (1939)

Posted on January 12, 2018 by Mark DuPré

Charles Boyer was thought of as retro and a subject of satire when I was young. He was somewhere between the worlds of my parents and grandparents, and most of us knew that he was the model for Pepé Le Pew, the “French-striped” cartoon skunk with over-the-top romantic inclinations. I knew him primarily as the aging and wicked manipulating husband of Ingrid Bergman’s character in the 1944 American version of Gaslight. To my young understanding, he was the epitome of suave Continental charm for an earlier time.

Enjoying some of his film after his early work in silents, I found a better-than-expected actor who was unlike any other of his time, and really can’t be compared to anyone today. Yes, he was suave and sophisticated at times, and oh that preternaturally deep and resonant voice. But apart from the face and the voice, these three performances were not alike at all.

Liliom

Liliom was fascinating for several reasons. It’s the third film based on the 1909 Hungarian play that formed the basis for the Oscar and Hammerstein musical Carousel. (The first film version, directed by Michael Curtiz in 1919 Hungary, was never completed.) The second was a 1930 American film directed by Frank Borzage and starring Charles Farrell. The Boyer version is the one French film directed by Fritz Lang between his early life in Berlin and his later life in America, standing as a transitional film for those who like to compare and contrast his German and American films.

Boyer is wonderful in the role. His passionate performances, here and in the others discussed today, were at odds with his more introverted, quiet natural personality. But here, there is no coating of gracious urbanity that we find in the other two films. He is superficially charming, but also lazy, self-centered, and abusive. He takes a character that borders on the despicable, yet he retains our interest and even concern.

The film is also of interest because much of it doesn’t take place on earth, and the move to that new place, and the place itself, are a study in special effects, very questionable theology, and early sound film perspectives on otherworldly issues.

Algiers

Just a few years later, Boyer was paired with relatively new Hedy Lamarr in Algiers, making her American film debut four years after a scandalous appearance in the Czech-Austrian film Ekstase (Ecstasy). She was often referred to as the most beautiful woman in film at the time, and while nowhere near the actor Boyer was, her mysterious beauty helped make the two something of a balanced team.

Boyer plays a notorious jewel thief who both rules and is imprisoned in the Casbah region of Algiers. And yes, this is the famous “Come with me to the Casbah” film where that line, like “Play it again, Sam,” is never really said (though it reportedly was quoted in the trailer). Boyer plays Pépé le Moko, as did Jean Gabin in the previous year’s Pépé le Moko (1937), and the film is a virtual shot-by-shot remake of the original. (Producer Walter Wanger bought the film rights to the French version and tried in vain to get his hands on all the copies. Thankfully, he failed.)

Yet Boyer and Gabin are two different animals, and Boyer, while foolishly directed to imitate Gabin’s work here, brings a fresh energy and different rhythm to this and his other performances that make them original and unique. Unlike in Liliom or in Love Affair, here he is intense and wound up; watching him react and think as the caged creature he is, is a special pleasure. The film was nominated for four Oscars, including Boyer, James Wong Howe’s cinematography, and for supporting work by Gene (father of June) Lockhart. The film was also something of an inspiration for Casablanca, with the idea of using Lamarr as the female lead in that film. We can only be grateful that MGM refused to release her.

Love Affair

Most of the current generation knows the plot of Love Affair for its remake, 1957’s An Affair to Remember with Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr. Many remember that this is the film so soundly mocked by Tom Hanks and Victor Garber in Sleepless in Seattle as Rita Wilson so tearfully recounts the plot. But most have forgotten that the original was released in the “great year of Hollywood movies”—1939.

Boyer brought all his charm and insouciance to the role of a French playboy who falls in love with an American nightclub singer. Here is the debonair Boyer that is perhaps best remembered—and certainly most imitated. He was unlike any other actor with Continental charm—or who tried to have it—as he wore it lightly and naturally without striving. The multi-talented Irene Dunne is the female lead here, and their banter is perhaps the strongest part of the film, save possibly for the “visit to grandmother” scene. The film was nominated for six Oscars, including Best Picture and Actress. Boyer was not, however, though he was nominated four times between 1937 and 1944, and then again in 1961. The film lacks the production values and gloss of the 1957 version, and is all the better for it. It’s probably best to see the film in the light of 1932’s One Way Passage than as the precursor to the classic ‘50s version.

Boyer is largely forgotten today, and is possibly more remembered as a romantic cliché and the inspiration for an admittedly funny cartoon character than as the excellent actor he was. Just these three films alone show a range and talent that if not standing above others, certainly stood apart.

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2018 Golden Globe Thoughts

Posted on January 8, 2018 by Mark DuPré

Ah, yes, the relatively meaningless Golden Globes. Well, since the shelf life for interest in this first awards show of the season is so very short, I must needs get my thoughts out rather quickly.

Again, the Golden Globes only represent the votes of about 90 international journalists, and is therefore plucking from a relatively small and focused pool. No actors, directors, screenwriters—just journalists. But it has positioned itself to be taken a bit more seriously in the past few years, and tales of buying off votes have diminished. As the first major award of the season, though, it can be a great starting point for Oscar discussions.

There are many weaknesses to the awards, its constituency being perhaps the greatest. But they do divide drama and musical or comedy in many categories, which is great. The downside is the foolishness of categorizing some films as comedy, as 2016’s yuck-fest known as The Martian. The only thing funny about that film was its categorization as a comedy. This year we have three questionable films in that category, but they certainly have more right to be in that category than The Martian: Lady Bird; I Tonya; and Get Out. All are black comedies (no pun intended for Get Out), and have stings that are decidedly dramatic in nature.

The good news for film is that there is attention paid to musical and comedy performances that tend to fade behind the generally more respected dramatic performances. (Was Gary Cooper’s performance in High Noon really better than what Gene Kelly managed in Singin’ in the Rain?) For those eager to look into future Oscar nominations and wins, the division can be confusing. Sometimes the winning actors in the categories are the future Oscar nominees with the best chances of a win (as in this year), and sometimes the most likely winners are all in the dramatic category (as in last year, when nearly all of the musical/comedy nominees in the leading category didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of winning an Oscar, or even being nominated.)

So we have Frances McDormand (Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri ) and Saoirse Ronan (Lady Bird) winning in their respective categories, and they are the strongest candidates at this point to win an Oscar. James Franco (The Disaster Artist) and Gary Oldman (Dark Hour) were winners as Best Actors, but I don’t see Franco winning this year—and he may not even be nominated. (I was thinking Daniel Kaluuya would win for Get Out.) Best Picture winners were Lady Bird (a likely contender) and Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri (ditto). Allison Janney (I, Tonya) and Sam Rockwell (Three Billboards…) are strong contenders for future awards (though I was somewhat disappointed that Laurie Metcalf didn’t win for Lady Bird).

In the director category, Guillermo del Toro’s win for The Shape of Water was a legitimate win, though the film left me relatively untouched. I was hoping that Christopher Nolan would win for Dunkirk, admittedly a completely different kind of film with different strengths.

Looking outside the awards themselves, Seth Meyers managed the near-impossible of being funny and bitingly relevant at the same time, wisely recognizing the danger of Trump fatigue and yet not backing away from the socio-political issues of the movie industry this past year.

Movie and television awards are growing more challenging for me over the years, as I am more and more sensitive to the self-importance and self-congratulatory atmosphere in the room. I’ve often joked that physical therapists and chiropractors have their work cut out for them on the day after these awards, as the attendees, and especially winners, have nearly injured themselves patting themselves on the back so hard. Granted, these events are about celebrating the work and the artists who did all that work, but the tendency of most of the participants to wrap themselves in the morality-du-jour can be a bit enervating.

This year was a little different, not in kind but in emphasis. The goal of stopping (or let’s be honest, limiting) sexual harassment, the casting couch, and even the smallest of sexual advances or discrimination is the worthiest of aims. “Time’s Up” is both a much-needed rallying cry and a hope. (Gender equality was another cry, but is unfortunately far from being defined, and “equal pay for equal work” is a slogan that tends to cover over the nuances and complexities of that rather multi-layered concern.)

But Hollywood’s general tendency to know and be better than the rest of us (in their minds, anyway) tended to compromise the worth of last night’s real concerns for putting an end to a genuine systemic problem of harassment; the lecturing and occasional shrillness was a little much by the second hour. Even the solidarity of women all dressing black was undercut by the outfits of several of the women, who managed to expose a great deal of skin and cleavage while wearing said black. Most women knew how to wear an attractive black outfit that complimented them without compromising themselves; some obviously couldn’t or wouldn’t, wanting to have their cake while eating it too. (Of course this raises the other legitimate topic of women who exploit their looks and sexuality for advancement, but given the much greater power of men in positions of influence within the industry, and the greater damage their behaviors have done throughout the decades, that issue may have to wait a while to be legitimately.)

Though this blog focuses on film rather than television, there were a few things to be noted. Sterling K. Brown got the Globe this year for This is Us that he also deserved last year for his portrayal of Christopher Darden in the O.J. Simpson version of American Crime Story. The aura around The Handmaid’s Tale is also worthy of mention. I haven’t seen it, but Elizabeth Moss is a very talented actor and likely deserves her awards, as might the show from a production standpoint. What I have great objection to is the groupthink around the book and series, as if we’re in imminent danger of having this kind of society. Though the author of the book apparently contends that she considers such a society as a perversion rather than an expression of Old Testament ideas (and driven by people concerned with power rather than faith), the unthinking thought “out there” is that today’s crazy Christian evangelicals are what would lead us to such a society if they had their wish. This idea betrays, and please don’t pardon the pun, a fundamental misunderstanding of both evangelicalism and even Christian fundamentalism. For anyone wanting to know more, check out this insightful article on the impossibility of such a thing occurring, and why: https://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2017/may-web-only/handmaids-tale-wants-us-to-heed-threat-of-fundamentalism.html

One last comment: Oprah is an amazing businesswomen and humanitarian, a model for many, a decent actress, and a phenomenal communicator. But the worship is a bit much. Can we just dial that down a few notches, please?

The attention paid to the Globes will fade quickly this year, as it always does. It is to be hoped that the real issues addressed within the industry these past few months will not be overshadowed by too many hopes being pinned on one night of sartorial solidarity and even genuine indignation.

 

 

 

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Darkest Hour

Posted on January 4, 2018 by Mark DuPré

What I recently wrote about the 1961 film Two Women (https://film-prof.com/2017/12/31/two-women-1960-1961/) could just as easily applied to Darkest Hour—that the main point of interest was the central performance, but that the evolution of the director’s style was also worth noting.

Darkest Hour is the story of 28 days in May 1940, when the German forc\es had pushed British and French forces to the beaches of Dunkirk, and makes a timely companion piece to Christopher Nolan’s film from earlier this year. The events and personal dynamics are unsurprising as they are largely a matter of historical record, or are best left to be discovered by the viewer, so I’ll leave them alone.

The hubbub is about Gary Oldman’s performance. I’d thought that his nomination for Best Actor for 2011’s Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy was the Academy’s tip of the hat to a character actor long respected by his peers, but who would likely never actually win anything except an honorary Oscar for his body of work when he was too old to have his life affected by it. That’s not the case now, as he is likely to win Best Actor for this performance. There are several reasons for this: One, the other likely nominees are either former winners not necessarily turning in their best work, or newcomers that will likely have a long and award-winning career. Two, this is the ultimate Oldman performance, meaning that he is almost nowhere to be seen as an actor as he embodies one of the most famous men of the last century; he, as he so often does, disappears into his character. Three, it’s a showy, fun, marvelous performance overflowing with feeling and emotion, and one that completely dominates the film.

Of course there are other actors in the film, but they are planets around Oldman’s sun. The talented Kristin Scott Thomas joins the ranks of other tall, thin, aging, and angular actresses in playing Clemmie Churchill, and is as solid as always. The ubiquitous and lovely Lily James (best known for Cinderella and Downton Abbey) plays Churchill’s secretary (though in real life she didn’t work for the man until the next year). Her character is the audience point of connection for the film, much as Romola Garai functioned as the fictional Millie Appleyard in 2016’s Churchill’s Secret; it’s hard to relate to a Great Man, after all. James is fine if underused, and her character, beyond connecting the audience to the events of the film, does little.

It’s been a point of jesting between my wife and me that there are only really about two dozen British actors working today, and that they appear in every other British film. That’s the case here, with Ben Mendelsohn, Stephen Dillane, Samuel West popping up and even Pip Torrens (The Crown) sneaking in for a cameo.

What’s getting almost no attention is the director, Joe Wright, director of Pride and Prejudice, Atonement, and Anna Karenina. I had greatly admired Wright’s camerawork and mise-en-scène in the first film, and appreciated his dazzling if sometimes too self-conscious direction in Atonement. And then there was Anna Karenina, which had me thinking we’d lost this talented director to extreme formalism. He pulls back to his Pride and Prejudice ways here, and he moves the story along beautifully with lovely camerawork and just a formalist touch here and there that doesn’t threaten to take you out of the film. The look of the film is claustrophobic, however, with small, dark, and enclosed hallways being the norm. That, with the almost extreme emphasis on the central performance, makes for an intense and narrowly focused film that, considering that the “action” is mainly discussion and argument, moves along quickly and with surprising energy.

Sadly, we’ve reached the point where the main audience doesn’t remember the events of World War II, and information must be spoon-fed to the viewer (e.g., Churchill wasn’t reelected as prime minister after the war). The script, which isn’t as strong as the direction, falls back on misquotes, misinformation and wrong timing (e.g., Lily’s character). But it does so in minor ways that might only be frustrating to the knowledgeable historian. This leads to a few dramatic clichés, but they’re minor, and they don’t detract from the blustering and occasionally blistering portrayal by Oldman.

The film will likely be remembered as one that “contains” a great performance by an acting legend. I hope it will also be remembered as the one that brought Wright back to storytelling and stylization without extremes.

 

 

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Two Women (1960/1961)

Posted on December 31, 2017 by Mark DuPré

Two Women is fascinating for two reasons. One, it is the film that brought Sophia Loren her Academy Award for Best Actress, the first for a foreign-language performance. (Since then, there have been awards for Roberto Benigni for Life is Beautiful and Marion Cotillard for La Vie en Rose, as well as Oscars for the foreign-language performances in mainly English-language films for Robert DeNiro for The Godfather, Part Two—Italian—and Benicio del Toro for Traffic—Spanish.)

Loren then and now, when viewing this film—destroys once again the sexist perspective that a stunningly beautiful women, even a sex symbol, can’t also be a great actress (with apologies to Ingrid Bergman, Grace Kelly, Vivien Leigh, Elizabeth Taylor, Penelope Cruz, Catherine Zeta Jones, Angelina Jolie, Charlize Theron, Rachel Weisz, Natalie Portman and Scarlet Johansson, for that crazy idea!). It’s a far cry from her more glossy Hollywood films, and she is raw, funny, deadly serious, angry, determined, protective, business-like, earthy beyond the definition, and tragically broken, all depending on where the film takes her. It’s the role of a lifetime, and it’s not a mystery why she was so internationally award for her work her. Yes, her voluptuous beauty can get in the way sometimes, but she wears it lightly, as most beautiful women do who have to put up with whistles, stares, and comments. Her performance is the film’s greatest strength, and is fully reason enough to see the film.

The other fascination is the director, Vittoria de Sica, here working again with his frequent screenwriter collaborator Cesare Zavattini (Shoeshine, Bicycle Thieves, Miracle in Milan, Umberto D.). De Sica’s early work with Zavattini produced neo-realist films of lasting influence. but De Sica, like Fellini and Visconti, moved in what might be called more traditional directions later in his career. Two Women is a good example of this, with its non-diegetic music, camera movement, editing, and the rather New Wave use of a zoom at the most dramatically intense moment of the film. The film arrives just as the French New Wave was taking off, even featuring New Wave icon Jean-Paul Belmondo (fresh off of Breathless), miscast as a young idealist. It might best be called a transitional film between his earlier and later work.

A note to modern film viewers: The vast majority of Italian films of the time were dubbed after filming. Of course, sometimes the dubbing was done by other actors. Here, though, Loren did her own dubbing, so it is completely her performance. But the post-production sound is obvious and can become a distraction. Just be advised that this is going to be your experience in watching an Italian film from this era. For Two Women and Loren’s work, it’s worth the temporary distraction.

 

 

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Lady Bird

Posted on December 29, 2017 by Mark DuPré

Lady Bird, for those my age, has nothing to do with a former president’s wife. It’s the story of a high school girl, beautifully acted, focusing on her relationship with boys and with her mother, also beautifully acted. In some ways, it’s the biggest happy surprise of the year, as it’s the (solo) directorial debut of Greta Gerwig, heretofore known for her respected acting in independent films.

It’s a fresh, wholly original version of an old story—a high school girl making her way through academics, friends and “friends”, various boys, and parents—especially Mom. It’s keenly observed, funny, maddening, frustrating, and packed with moments of intense realism. The plot twists and turns are nothing new, but the way they play out is; the film owes very little to the generic coming-of-age story. The situations feel fresh, if not always comfortable. The film’s rhythms are nothing like those of a mainstream film, but the change is all for the good. There’s a new major director on the scene.

What’s drawing attention in addition to the arrival of a new talent is the acting. The lead is Saoirse Ronan (previously nominated for her work in 2015’s Brooklyn—for which I wish she’d won—and Atonement years earlier). She is a major talent, and this might be the last teen she gets to play. It’s a beautiful performance, especially considering the British accent she used for Atonement and the Irish one in Brooklyn. She’s not afraid to be unlikable, and it’s a performance that understands that not everything a teen does makes sense, even to them.

In the “I stand vindicated/I always knew it” category, Laurie Metcalf as the Mom is as good. Metcalf has been known primarily for her work in television’s Roseanne. I have been waiting for her since the ’90s to have the opportunity to show her talent. She did recently on stage in A Doll’s House, Part 2, for which she won a Tony this past year. She will certainly be nominated for her work here, which is painfully real, occasionally offensive, and always true to the character.

Lucas Hedges, Oscar-nominated for Manchester by the Sea, seems to be quickly becoming the go-to young man for late-teen supporting performances; he had a similar part, if not a completely different character, in Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri. He’s displaying an exceptionally wide range these days. His character in Lady Bird is the only one that comes close to being in a clichéd situation, but he still makes it thoughtful and unique. Timothée Chalamet, sure to be Oscar-nominated for Call Me By Your Name in the leading actor category, has a smaller supporting role, coming off as at first mysterious, and then, well, not so mysterious.

Lady Bird is many other things—an ode to a time and place, for instance, as well as a period piece. But for this season, it will be a showcase of excellent performance, and an announcement that a major writing/directing talent has arrived.

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Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri

Posted on December 11, 2017 by Mark DuPré

The film just received a slew of Golden Globe nominations, which is always both a compliment and something producing a mild guffaw to those familiar with the Globes’ history. But in this case, it seems the nominations are mostly deserved.

The film is rough—in topic, attitude (at times) and language. It concerns an angry and unforgiving mother (Frances McDormand, Oscar-winner for Fargo back in 1997) whose daughter’s rape-and-murder case is unsolved. To move things along, she rents out three billboards calling attention to the local police force’s apparent lack of success or interest. She names the chief of police by name, causing rifts and anger in the townspeople, who understand her deep sadness but aren’t tracking with her methods.

There are a lot of ways to look at Three Billboards. It’s perhaps the year’s best acting showcase; it’s a study in rage, unforgiveness and hate; and it’s a look into life in the kind of rural setting that mainstream films don’t usually explore.

First, the acting. McDormand may well win her second Oscar for this role. She’s unapologetically ugly and relentless in character (and scruffy in appearance, to say the least), with an occasional display of humor (usually very dark humor). Her fierce rage coats her sense of sadness and loss, making her consistently hard to relate to, even as we sympathize with her plight. McDormand is an American treasure, and this unusual lead role gives her the opportunity to show us how gifted she really is. Her performance alone is worth the price of admission.

Sam Rockwell is another reason. He finally gets the role that shows what he can do. It’s a difficult one, and one that isn’t always believable in its various turns. But it’s rich and complex, and Rockwell may pick up his own Oscar for it (he’ll certainly be nominated). In many ways, his character is the most intriguing in the film, even moreso than McDormand’s. And his performance moves from the supporting category to the male lead over time, which takes the film in different and more interesting directions, and which is catnip for folks voting for supporting performances.

Just as good is Woody Harrelson, who would be nominated for his role (IMHO) if Rockwell weren’t garnering all the attention. His role as the police chief named on the billboard is a fine character study of a man of surprising depth and sensitivity. Harrelson’s background in comedy comes in handy here, as it helps express the softer and even lighter side of a man who cares deeply about things, is kinder than you expect, and is smarter than first appearances might suggest. It’s a role of unexpected impact, and (spoiler alert) when his character is gone, his presence isn’t.

Even the more minor roles are strong. Lucas Hedges (Oscar nominated for last year’s Manchester by the Sea) is solid as McDormand’s character’s son. Relative newcomer Caleb Landry Jones creates a complex but utterly believable character as the one renting the billboards. John Hawkes as the ex-husband is as good as he always is, though his new romantic relationship doesn’t always ring with truth. Peter Dinklage has a rather thankless role, and does his best with it, though the role borders on the unbelievable as well. And the criminally underutilized Zeljko Ivanek is strong as a sargeant, but is … underutilized.

The film is written and co-directed by Britain’s Martin McDonagh, probably best known for In Bruges and Seven Psychopaths. The screenplay is strong in conception, and often prefers (wisely and effectively) to leave out the visualization of some actions in favor of showing the responses. It’s a bit too strong on coincidence (or at least apparent coincidence), and the narrative turns it takes are not always completely believable. Perhaps the greatest challenge to most viewers will be the story directions taken by the film after such a strong narrative set-up. The subplots may be one or two too many, and the (spoiler alert again) lack of resolution of one thread and the decision to have the two leads head off in a different direction challenges credibility. The intense lock-down of the actors on their characters, however, goes a long way in smoothing over some of the bumpier story elements.

The film’s themes, which often are so deeply buried in other films, suggest that they are to be more readily viewed here. The big question is what McDonagh is trying to say. The phrase “hate begets hate” is actually spoken (rather than inferred), and more than once, and in such a way as to comically neutralize it as a genuine theme. Is he afraid of pulling the idea up to the surface, feeling it necessary to compromise the reading with humor?

The role of parenting in creating broken, hateful people is uncomfortably and shockingly portrayed, and not only in the most obvious character. Regret, too, is demonstrated, subtly and indirectly and therefore more powerfully. The film almost falls apart with the introduction of a deus ex machina person and situation that is initially satisfying, if only shallowly, and then frays into insignificance.

Lastly, the film is an outsider’s look at rural America. There are moments of grace and respect, and moments of borderline condescension. But this is primarily a character study of many a character, a study that rises above its setting and even its narrative threads. It’s not an easy view (and the f-bombs are voluminous and perhaps just a bit overused), but it’s a unique journey into a place, a series of related events, and the ins and outs of the human heart.

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Quick Hits: Blade Runner 2049 and Thor: Ragnarok

Posted on November 25, 2017 by Mark DuPré

Blade Runner 2049

Both these films—but especially Blade Runner 2049—deserve much more analysis than I provide here. But the first has been written about endlessly, and contains enough filmic (and literary) references to support a doctoral thesis. Like its predecessor, it’s a “not what we hoped for” semi-success that will eventually become a cult classic.

It’s a gorgeous film, and will the Academy please give cinematographer Roger Deakins (Skyfall, True Grit, No Country for Old Men plus 10 more nominations) his long overdue win? The production design is mesmerizing, which is the film’s strength and weakness. It’s a beautiful work of art, but except for rabid fans of the original and the idea, it’s not engaging.

It’s a good story, which I generally don’t bother with in these analyses. It pays tribute to the original (which is neither good nor bad), and is fresh and original in its own way, with discoveries and twists and turns that keep the story moving. Except that it moves s-o s-l-o-w-l-y. S-o v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y. Director Denis Villeneuve (Arrival) certainly knows how to tell a slow story (Arrival), but the narrative almost gets lost in the pacing and the stunning beauty of its images, which unlike the original vary greatly from sequence to sequence. Some will appreciate the stately flow of the film, punctuated by occasional violence. But at this point in the film’s run, I offer it as an explanation of its only moderate success, this especially after a nearly unprecedented marketing buildup. The story, as good as it is, isn’t allowed to come to the front of the line and grab the viewer.

The casting is near perfect, simply because Ryan Gosling and Harrison Ford. Gosling is of course a very good actor. Yet here, his casual way of being just a few degrees outside of whatever is going on around him fits him here perhaps better than in any other role. In fact, that slight distance from his surroundings adds to the slight detachment the film’s look demands of the viewers, pulling them away from the storyline. Harrison Ford is a must for the film, but the film uses him well, and beyond just iconography. Some may quibble over how the film uses him in the story, but he gives his all with a freshness and energy we haven’t seen in a while.

Story isn’t everything, and I get that the film may be the most visually stunning in many a year. But when the visuals take precedence over the story—even a good one—the film risks alienating a good portion of its potential audience. Regular readers might be asking why I am not sticking to analyzing its artistry instead of evaluating its financial success. It’s because in this case, the visual artistry drowns out the narrative artistry.

Thor: Ragnarok

This one is simple. The movie is dumb fun. It’s wildly uneven, in keeping with trying to balance comic and superhero action tones. But it’s an inside-out version of the earlier Thor films, bringing the humor to the fore and nearly always keeping it there. Chris Hemsworth has always had that comic persona under the muscles, and it’s a joy to see him give priority to goofy humor. He’s an underutilized comedian.

In terms of the other two main characters, there’s a plus and a minus. There’s a lot of Loki (Tom Hiddleston), which is always a good idea. The plot devices used to get him onscreen are not always the most believable, but does it really matter in a Marvel Comics film majoring in silly humor?

The downside is the performance of one of our most talented actresses, Cate Blanchett, and it’s probably not her fault. This double Oscar winner plays Thor’s and Loki’s long-lost older sister, and she plays it broadly. It needs a combination of intelligence, dry humor, and malevolence, which she provides in spades. But the performance is supposed to be the evil balancing act to the goodness and silliness of Thor, and it doesn’t quite fit. Likely this is due to the challenge of creating a world where Thor gets funny, Loki runs hot and cold, the requisite grand final battle plays itself out, and we are asked to believe in all that Asgard baloney. The elements don’t always mix (see the first Avengers film for a study in how to do that well), and it is only due to the consistency of Blanchett’s performance that her character fits at all into the scheme of things.

Probably the greatest success of the film is in its conception rather than its execution. It’s a great idea to pull away from the darkness (see all the DC Comics films) and head shamelessly into fun. It’s hoped that this might offer up some new avenues to explore in future superhero films other than action and a furrowed brow. In the meantime, this film is an uneven, sometimes incomprehensible mash-up of action and humor that if you let it, brings two hours of mindless enjoyment

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When Knighthood was in Flower, Ben-Hur: A Tale of the Christ, and The Crowd

Posted on November 12, 2017 by Mark DuPré

My voyages back into the cinema of yesterday have brought me to a few fascinating places lately. In chronological order of their initial release, I saw: When Knighthood Was in Flower (1922), Ben-Hur: A Tale of the Christ (1925) and The Crowd (1928). For those that think that all black-and-white silent films are the same, trying seeing these three in a row. They couldn’t be more different from one another.

Aside from being the biggest hit of 1922 (a strange thing to type), Knighthood starred the legendary Marion Davies in the lead. This is the same Marion Davies that was the mistress of William Randolph Hearst, was a physical comedienne who did excellent comic work when allowed to, and who was ignominiously misrepresented in the character of Susan Alexander Kane in Citizen Kane.

The story is a surprisingly accurate telling of Henry VIII’s sister and her love life. Of course, liberties are taken right and left, but overall, the story of Mary Tudor is based on real events, and there are few major deviations. Davies is fine, and this film was her first hit. For modern viewers, perhaps the most intriguing aspect is the presence of a young, skinny William Powell, 12 years before The Thin Man. He plays a stereotypical part, and plays it stereotypically. But there he is, making his way up the Hollywood ladder.

Ben-Hur was a revelation in its restored glory. Yes, it’s old, but it’s more exciting and has a more dazzling chariot race sequence than the rather bloated 1959 version. The sea battle in the former film beats anything in the latter, and more of the religious elements are included (if rather non-specifically and even dated for then). Ramon Navarro as the title character carries the film as least as well as Charlton Heston did years later, even if Heston was five inches taller and more physically imposing.

The film is more episodic than the later version, and more oriented toward the occasional tableau. But that doesn’t affect the enjoyment of viewing it, and the beautiful tinting job done for the DVD is lovely and reminds us of how artists approached color in the pre-three-strip Technicolor era. This is the best-looking two-strip Technicolor work this author has ever seen.

The film hews close to the melodramatic style common to early sound films. But the overall effect is that this film is more moving than the 1959 version. Some of the quiet scenes are hushed and gently touching in a way the later wide-screen epic couldn’t approach. The back-story to the film tells the story, for those familiar with it, of a complete mess and a great deal of wasted money. It’s something of a miracle that it was completed at all. The fact that it is a cinematic triumph comes close to the impossible. For anyone wanting to see one old-fashioned epic, this might be the most enjoyable and best choice.

The Crowd, on the other hand, is something completely different. Coming at the tail end of the silent era (The Jazz Singer had come out the year before), the film functions as a gritty and realistic (if not downright depressing) tale of the common man, and is a virtual panoply of dazzling camerawork—one of the last such demonstrations before sound came in and locked down the camera. Apparently when French New Wave director Jean-Luc Godard was asked why more films weren’t made with “ordinary people,” he is reputed to have said, “The Crowd had already been made, so why remake it?”

Director King Vidor was able to make this stark, big-budget art film because of his success with The Big Parade (https://film-prof.com/2017/07/16/the-big-parade-1925/). It addresses hopes and dreams, men and women, failures, the so-called American Dream, bad luck, and getting lost in “the crowd.” Turn-of-the–century New York City is a major character in the film, easily as much as the two leads. One lead was Vidor’s second wife, Eleanor Boardman, who is a little too Mae Marsh in Intolerance in the early part of the film (too many fingertips to the lips), but who develops her character beautifully and believably as the film goes on. It’s quit a mature performance. Vidor wanted an unknown for his male lead, and found one in James Murray, who became a star overnight with his performance here and seemed headed for a long and successful career. Unhappily, his alcoholism, apparently an issue while this film was made, became the monster that took him less than a decade later, after small and even uncredited parts in a variety of lesser films. Seeing his talent, energy and youth on display adds an extra frisson to a film that is already something of an emotional challenge to watch.

My journey through the silent continues. I’m back at 1920 at the moment. For anyone hesitant to go back there, remember that acquired tastes are often the tastiest.

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Two from 1945: The Body Snatcher and The Picture of Dorian Gray

Posted on November 6, 2017 by Mark DuPré

In my never-ending effort to fill in the gaps of my film-viewing experience, I have been sloshing around in the silent era (another analysis on its way), but happened to have available to me two quite different offerings from 1945. Most film folks immediately think of The Lost Weekend, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, Mildred Pierce, Spellbound, and Anchors Aweigh when that year is mentioned. Few think of these other offerings, and there are good and bad reasons for that.

The Body Snatcher is the better film. It’s a Val Lewton film (Cat People, I Walked with a Zombie, The Leopard Man), but with higher production values and an award-worthy central performance. It’s based not on a script calling on Lewton’s Russian folklore memories, but on an 1884 short story by Robert Louis Stevenson. To be brief and spoiler-less, it concerns a doctor needing corpses to help him teach future doctors about anatomy and surgery.

The doctor, played by Henry Daniell—who had some success in films and later in television—is solid enough, if not particularly exciting, and is almost imprecise at times in his characterization. His young student is played by Russell Wade, who is that generic nice-looking romantic male lead who has a pleasant screen presence and generic acting skills.

By far the best part of the film is the performance of Boris Karloff, who erases our memory of his playing Frankenstein’s monster with his work here. This is the kind of performance often described as “delicious,” as he is figuratively smacking his lips with enjoyment at sinking his teeth into such a juicy part. He blows everyone else out of the frame, and is intelligent, funny, and dangerous all at once. He’s a distinct pleasure to watch.

This is the last of several films that Karloff made “pairing” him with Dracula’s Bela Lugosi. This is hardly an actual pairing, though, as Karloff owns the film, and Lugosi plays a relatively unimportant and small role that could have been played by any actor his age. (The film even goes out of its way to provide some kind of lame excuse for the actor’s Hungarian accent, further dismissing the character.)

The film is directed by Robert Wise, now better known as the Oscar-winning director of West Side Story and The Sound of Music. Then he was the man who edited Citizen Kane, and had directed Curse of the Cat People for Lewton. The film lacks the unseen horror brought by director Jacques Tourneur and cinematographer Nicholas Musuraca that so distinguished Cat People, but has its own sense of foreboding. For those interested in Lewton’s work, or Wise’s, the film is a must. For everyone else, there is the sheer joy of watching Karloff in perhaps his best role.

The Picture of Dorian Gray is too fast, too slow, too focused, too unfocused, and all over the place in the quality of its performances. It tells the Oscar Wilde tale [spoiler alert] of a young and very handsome dissolute man who doesn’t age and a painting of him that does. Wilde’s cynical view of life is represented, fittingly, by George Sanders, who speaks so quickly that I was wondering if his pace was an attempt to confuse the censors by blowing right past them in his haste to get Wilde’s decadent worldview out. The title role is the weakest link—Hurd Hatfield—who is something of a soft pretty boy, and nothing like a real actor. (It’s been pointed out that the relatively small part played by Peter Lawford suggested how well he might have done in the part instead of Hatfield. He certainly was more conventionally handsome.)

Gray’s escapades could only be hinted at or softened greatly for a studio film of the mid-century, so his wild and decadent life is generally alluded to, a deadly aspect for a film that already was leaning far too much on the spoken word. We get the idea that he is hell-bent on pleasure, but we really aren’t allowed to find that out for ourselves as much as it is explained and explained and explained. Gray is supposed to remain the same on the outside while growing more depraved on the inside, but Hatfield can’t manage that, so he remains something of a blank throughout.

There are two reasons to see the film beyond its status as some kind of classic, or at least a film version of a classic novel. One is the cinematography, which features rich, deep-focus photography that won an Oscar and should be held up as a model of what deep-focus could do. It’s a different look for an MGM film of the time, and fits in nicely among its film betters such as Citizen Kane, The Little Foxes, and The Best Years of Our Lives. Believe it or not, there are spoilers connected with the cinematography, so you have to see it for yourself to discover them.

 

The other reason to see this (and you’d be forgiven for turning off the film after her character leaves the film) is a young Angela Lansbury. She’d won a Best Supporting Actress nomination (deservedly) the year earlier for her first film, Gaslight. This was her second, and it also—deservedly—earned her another nomination. It’s a different character from her role in Gaslight, much sweeter and more vulnerable. It’s also a far cry from either her frightening work in the 1962 The Manchurian Candidate or her more well known work as Jessica Fletcher in television’s Murder, She Wrote. She’s lovely and touching, and she owns every scene she’s in. She not only blows away everyone else she shares the screen with, but also makes Donna Reed, who plays the next “girl,” look pale and uninteresting by comparison. If someone only knows Lansbury from the stage or her later film and television work, it’s a delight to see her work in these first two films; it will be a delightful rediscovery of one of the greats.

 

These two films from 1945 are in most ways quite different from one another. One was quite costly, and the other was created on a shoestring. Yet they have in common an intriguing story, intriguing cinematography, and a performance well worth enjoying.

 

 

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Concussion

Posted on October 30, 2017 by Mark DuPré

Concussion is a two-year-old film“based on” the true story of Dr. Bennet Omalu, a Pittsburgh pathologist who investigates the brain damage in former professional football players, and that is its main strength. His findings challenge the NFL to its core, and that is the central conflict of the film. Co-written and directed by Peter Landesman (Mark Felt: The Man Who Brought Down the White House) this is possibly the best and only film addressing this topic at the moment, and hence is valuable primarily as a vehicle for a story that is fascinating and gripping, even if it isn’t always well served by this film version.

As in most films of this ilk, there is exaggeration for the sake of conflict. [Spoiler alert]. Government goons didn’t come after Omalu’s boss after the publication of his first significant article on brain damage in players, and Omalu wasn’t quite as supportive of his boss as the film would lead us to believe. I’m also not sure what to make of the set-up and development of his relationship with this wife, which comes off as staid Hollywood fairy tale rather than anything breathing of life.

Will Smith as the lead is the likely reason the film got made, and he holds it together. It’s a heartfelt performance, even if he doesn’t always lock down on the accent (Omalu is Nigerian). But Smith certainly looks different and carries himself differently here than in his other films, a triumph of a kind. There was the usual hubbub about his not getting an Oscar nomination, as if the only real reason was racism—hogwash. It was a good performance in a rather flawed film, and while it was steady, it certainly didn’t offer Smith much in the way of showing his acting chops beyond an almost-nailed accent and staying relatively consistent in playing a character quite different than himself. One who could have received an Oscar nomination in a supporting role is Albert Brooks, a criminally under-appreciated dramatic actor who should have won his own Oscar for Drive, where he wasn’t even nominated.

The film is all over the place, and essentially falls apart in the second half. To maintain tension and ramp up conflict, we have to make the NFL the villain, but without vilifying the game of football, which is referred to as “beautiful” at least one too many times; hedging every related bet seems to be the modus operandi of the film. Certainly the NFL, which in the best line of the film is described as “own[ing] a day of the week,” put up a great deal of resistance to Omalu’s initial findings, and like all large corporations, dragged its feet in finally acknowledging his findings and making some changes. But research into the longevity of professional football players and their likelihood of suicide actually indicates the opposite of what the film suggests. There are bones thrown to the issues of nativism, racism, mindless sports fans, and possible government-business conspiracies, but there is no consistent perspective or context for them; they are tossed in as one makes a soup out of what one discovers in the fridge, no matter what the original recipe might have called for.

Concussion is a good “starter” film on the issue of “Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy,” or CTE, and is somewhat entertaining as long as it sticks closely to the medical findings and how some football players were affected. The romance is so cliché that one wonders if the whole thing was made up to add some interest to a possibly boring medical drama (it wasn’t). Smith is fine, and the structure of the film, while something of a unraveling mess at times, contains the gist of a story that is worthy of respect and interest. As with too many other films with great stories to tell, this flawed film is the best we have for the foreseeable future that tells this particular story. For those interested in the story, Concussion is a solid primer.

 

 

 

 

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