Vintage Video

The Man With No Name (originally published 10/96)

2011-05-28T20:44:00.002-04:00

Every now and then, the man with no name rides into town. He sows the seeds of chaos, then rides away again, leaving behind a changed narrative landscape. With the release of writer/director Walter Hill's "Last Man Standing," the nameless one is back again. The main character, played by Bruce Willis, masks his namelessness with the fig leaf of a generic name (John Smith), but there can be little doubt of his iconic pedigree.

To trace the roots of this character, we must begin with a novel that was never directly translated to the screen. The stories of Dashiell Hammett provided the inspiration for a number of classic American detective films, but his first novel, "Red Harvest," was never adapted by Hollywood. It features an anonymous main character, the narrator of the novel, whom Hammett refers to only as "the Continental Op," because he is an operative for the Continental Detective Agency.

The town that the Op rides into is a nasty little city in the Northwest called Personville, although it is better known to the locals as "Poisonville." The town is run by rival gangs of mobsters, whom the local officials are forced to tolerate. The three principal gang leaders are a bootlegger, a loan shark, and a gambler. The Op learns the dirty secrets of each in turn and uses them to set the criminals at one another's throats. In the end, all three ringleaders have been murdered, each a victim of the violent subculture on which they had thrived for so long.

In creating his anonymous gumshoe character, Hammett was doing more than spinning cynical tales about urban corruption. He was also reacting against the detective story tradition of colorful detectives with fascinating names like Sherlock Holmes or Hercule Poirot. The Continental Op isn't in this line of work for the stimulation of solving abstruse riddles based on enigmatic clues. He's doing a job to draw a paycheck, and seeing far too much of the seamy side of life in the process.

The detective story would never be quite the same after Hammett's novels and the similarly revisionist fiction of Raymond Chandler. In fact, the influence of this particular story reached all the way to the Japanese cinema, and from there to Italy, and now back to the United States. To trace the development of this story on screen, look for the following two films on home video.

"Yojimbo" (1961). Japanese director Akira Kurosawa translated "Red Harvest" into a Japanese setting with Toshiro Mifune starring as a masterless samurai who happens upon a village torn by civil strife. As in Hammett's Personville, powerful factions are lined up against each other. In this case, the silk merchants are on one side of the conflict and the sake merchants are on the other. Like the Continental Op, the samurai is a nameless figure, referred to only as "the bodyguard" ("yojimbo"), who deliberately sets about upsetting the town's precarious balance of power. He hires himself out as a henchman for first one side and then the other. When the tensions between the two groups erupt into fighting in the streets as a result of his provocations, he perches atop a fire tower and sits back to enjoy the show.

Like Hammett, Kurosawa was reacting against a long-standing narrative tradition. He replaces the hero of the traditional Japanese swordfighting films with a shifty character who uses underhanded means to achieve essentially selfish ends. Also, he tells the story in a comic fashion, inviting us to sit back and laugh at the townspeople just as the samurai does.

"A Fistful of Dollars" (1964). This momentous little Italian production simultaneously launched the careers of director Sergio Leone and star Clint Eastwood, as well as kicking off a cycle of Italian "Spaghetti Westerns." The story is lifted more or less directly from "Yojimbo," except for the setting, which is changed to a Mexican village near the Mexican-American border. Eastwood is a man with -- that's right -- no name who rides into town and interposes himself between feuding families. He plays both sides against the middle and rides away unscathed after they destroy each other. And, like detective fiction after Hammett and samurai films after Kurosawa, Westerns were never to be quite the same again.

Now, with "Last Man Standing," the man with no name has come full circle, back to his roots in American gangster fiction. I can't help wondering what kind of narrative landscape he will leave behind him this time.

Sophia and Marcello (originally published 1/95)

2011-05-11T20:44:00.000-04:00

One of the many delights, for me at least, of watching Robert Altman's current release, "Pret-a-Porter" ("Ready To Wear"), was the on-screen reunion of one of world cinema's most memorable romantic teams. Although both Marcello Mastroianni and Sophia Loren have enjoyed great success appearing separately, it is their performances as co-stars that most movie fans recall with the greatest affection.

Interestingly, their joint film work is largely bound up with a third dignitary of the Italian cinema, Vittorio De Sica. Although best remembered as the director of such Neorealist masterpieces as "The Bicycle Thief" and "Umberto D," De Sica began his movie career as an actor. Having parlayed his reputation as a stage matinee idol into a series of movie roles as a suave leading man, De Sica was cast in a 1954 comedy called "Too Bad She's Bad," along with Loren and Mastroianni.

The three Neapolitans got along famously, and their screen chemistry reflected the fact. The film's success prompted a second teaming of the threesome in another light comedy the following year. There was supposed to be a third, but at the last minute De Sica was replaced by Charles Boyer while Loren and Mastroianni were retained.

Soon after, Loren made the move to Hollywood and international stardom. During the next several years, she appeared opposite American leading men such as Cary Grant, John Wayne, and William Holden. Mastroianni, meanwhile, had achieved something unprecedented among Italian leading men. He had become a major international star without going to Hollywood. Largely this was the result of his lead performances in "La Dolce Vita" (1960) and "8 1/2" (1963), both of which were among the most celebrated films of Federico Fellini.

Sadly, those earliest Loren-Mastroianni films, made before their separate careers blossomed, are not available on home video. [2011 update: Happily, this is no longer the case. "Too Bad She's Bad" is now available on DVD.] There was, however, a second phase to their work together, and most of those films have been released on video. Here are some titles to look for.

"Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow" (1963). This screen reunion of Loren and Mastroianni turned out also to be a reunion with De Sica, but with a difference. This time De Sica was directing the picture instead of co-starring. The film tells three stories involving different characters, but all played by the same actors. In the first story, Loren plays a petty thief who avoids going to prison by turning up pregnant whenever she is about to be sentenced. This allows her to take advantage of a local law prohibiting the jailing of pregnant women for minor offenses. The second story tells of a wealthy woman (Loren) having a brief fling with a lower class man (Mastroianni). It is the third section, however, that people tend to remember. Mastroianni plays a young man studying for the priesthood who becomes infatuated with a prostitute (Loren). In one scene, Loren performs a steamy striptease for Mastroianni that has become a classic in its own right. In fact, Altman took the opportunity in "Pret-a-Porter" to create a scene that echoes that famous encounter, albeit with a wry twist.

"Marriage Italian Style" (1964). Again under De Sica's direction, Loren plays Mastroianni's long-time lover who has spent years caring for his mother and waiting for him to propose marriage. When he suddenly announces his engagement to someone else, she realizes that the time has come to take matters into her own hands.

"A Special Day" (1977). Director Ettore Scola's remarkable addition to the Loren-Mastroianni canon is set in Rome on the day of Hitler's visit to Mussolini. Loren plays a housewife who has declined to accompany her fascist husband to the festivities. Mastroianni plays her neighbor, a radio announcer who has just been fired because he is homosexual and because he disapproves of the fascist regime. The two come together in a brief encounter and then part ways. Both actors were playing against type -- Mastroianni against his Continental lover image, Loren against her glamorous image -- and both made the most of the opportunity.

I can only hope that "Pret-a-Porter" might signal the beginning of a third phase of the Loren-Mastroianni screen partnership. They may be a bit long in the tooth to return to sex comedies, but each has proved many times over that their range extends far beyond farce and their charm far beyond mere sex appeal.
[2011 update: Sadly, additional Loren-Mastroianni collaborations were not to be. Mastroianni died two years after the release of "Pret-a-Porter."]

This Just In (originally published 3/96)

2011-02-26T19:11:00.002-05:00

It is one of the axioms of the movie business that you're inevitably going to lose those viewers whose occupation coincides with that of your film's main character. If your protagonist is a doctor, for example, all the doctors in the audience will be too busy noticing the mistakes the actor makes to get involved with the story. Likewise, architects can't fully enjoy movies about architects, plumbers will get distracted watching movies about plumbers, and so it goes.

That's one of the reasons I'm not rushing out to see "Up Close and Personal," starring Michelle Pfeiffer as a rising TV news star. Having spent some time a while back as a videotape operator, working with TV news types every day, I'm afraid I might just bring a bit too much perspective into the theater with me. Still, there are some excellent movies about television journalism. If "Up Close and Personal" has caught your interest, here are some other titles you might want to look for on home video.

"Reckless Disregard" (1985). Back in 1983, the CBS "60 Minutes" program and correspondent Dan Rather were sued by Los Angeles physician Carl Galloway over a report that portrayed Galloway as an unethical doctor involved in the fraudulent dispensing of prescription medications. This made-for-cable movie fictionalizes that case, changing the name of the news program to "Hourglass." Leslie Nielsen plays an arrogant reporter, serene in his confidence in his network's formidable legal talent. Tess Harper co-stars as the attorney for the plaintiff. She's strictly small time, but she has the truth on her side. Armed with proof that her client's incriminating signature on a prescription was in fact forged, she takes on the network Goliaths.

"The China Syndrome" (1979). This film will probably always be remembered as the eerily prescient drama that raised public consciousness about the dangers of nuclear energy mere months before the accident at Three Mile Island. Just as important in my mind, however, is its equally jaundiced look at the TV news game. Jane Fonda plays a reporter whose mounting suspicions about safety precautions at a local nuclear power plant are met with outright hostility by her bosses, who'd rather have her continue doing the cutesy puff pieces that help to prop up the newscast's ratings.

"Network" (1976). When it was initially released, playwright Paddy Chayefsky's satire on broadcast news at the network level seemed to border on nightmarish fantasy. His vision of what network news would look like if it were taken over by the programming department seemed outlandish with its scandalous gossip segment ("Miss Mata Hari and her skeletons in the closet"), its viewer call-in segment ("Vox Populi"),and its raving host ("the mad prophet of the airwaves"), a certifiable lunatic who fulminates nonstop to a studio audience of adoring fans. Now, 20 years later, heaven help us, it's all come true, and more. What looked like a fantasy in 1976 now looks more like a documentary.

"Broadcast News" (1987). After years of giving us a made-for-TV version of a television newsroom on "The Mary Tyler Moore Show," producer James Brooks decided to give us a somewhat less adorable peek behind the scenes. Holly Hunter and Albert Brooks play a pair of solid, competent journalists who inherit the job of packaging an airhead anchor (William Hurt) as the voice of authority for the unsuspecting viewing public.

"A Face in the Crowd" (1957). Although it doesn't deal with television news specifically, I can't overlook screenwriter Budd Schulberg's early treatment of the dangers inherent in television's star-making power. Andy Griffith stars as Lonesome Rhodes, an appealing backwoods drifter who laces his country singing with cracker barrel philosophy. When a television talent scout (Patricia Neal) gives him a shot on the air, his folksy charm sends the ratings through the roof. Unfortunately, fame brings out the worst in Rhodes, revealing him to be a vicious, scheming manipulator who callously uses people, then casts them aside. Reproduced below, courtesy of Turner Classic Movies, is the film's disquieting trailer.

Schulberg's script highlights a thread that runs through most of these TV news movies -- a sense of alarm at the raw power of television being used to yoke star personalities to the dissemination of news and opinion. Come to think of it, maybe my hesitation in seeing "Up Close and Personal" has less to do with any potential annoyance at the filmmakers getting the details wrong and more to do with the uneasy sense that they may have gotten the big picture all too chillingly right.

A Case of Mistaken Identity (originally published 6/95)

2011-01-29T12:52:00.002-05:00

Unless I'm badly misreading the signs down at the local newsstand, it seems to be Sandra Bullock's turn to be the flavor of the month. Over the past few months, by my careful count, she has been on the cover of every major publication except "Scientific American" and "Field and Stream." All she needs to do to complete the sweep is discover a formula for cold fusion while on a hunting trip.

It's no accident, however, that she is enjoying her hour in the spotlight. In addition to her talent and engaging screen presence, she seems to have a knack for choosing vehicles built around tried and true formulas. "Speed," for example, tapped into the bottomless appetite of movie audiences for high-octane chase scenes. Her current film, "While You Were Sleeping," makes use of an equally sturdy dramatic device, that of mistaken identity. It is, in fact, one of the oldest plot devices, and has served as the basis for both comedy and drama with equal success. If you've enjoyed the comic confusion resulting from Bullock's impersonation of an unconscious man's fiancee in "While You Were Sleeping," here are some earlier examples of mistaken identity comedies to look for on home video.

"Along Came Jones" (1945). Gary Cooper plays Melody Jones, an inoffensive and thoroughly inept cowboy who can barely hold a gun, let alone shoot one. He does, however, resemble Monte Jarrod (Dan Duryea), a gunfighter who is feared throughout the territory. Even the initials on his saddle seem to confirm that Jones is Jarrod. Cooper, who produced the film, plays the confusion for comic effect in a gentle parody of his own heroic screen image. It was a gutsy move -- or a foolhardy one, depending on your point of view. Cecil B. DeMille, for one, advised Cooper that his audience would never forgive him if he undermined their cherished image of him. Luckily, Coop's fans showed more tolerance than DeMille had given them credit for. They no doubt recalled how engaging Cooper had been as the gentle and amusing Longfellow Deeds in "Mr. Deeds Goes To Town" (1936), a connection that is explicitly played up in the film's original coming attractions trailer, which is reproduced below courtesy of Turner Classic Movies.

"The Court Jester" (1956). In what is generally regarded as his best film, Danny Kaye parodies swashbuckling adventures of the Robin Hood variety. Kaye plays Hawkins, a lowly servant to the leaders of a peasant rebellion against a usurping king. To prove himself worthy, Hawkins assumes the identity of the usurper's court jester in order to assist his compatriots from the inside. This is the film that features Kaye's classic routine in which he vainly tries to keep straight whether the "pellet with the poison" is in the "vessel with the pestle" or the "flagon with the dragon." Another highlight is Basil Rathbone poking fun at his own villainous image much as Cooper had done with his heroic image in "Along Came Jones."

"Top Hat" (1935). No one used mistaken identity more entertainingly than Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, as this delightful musical demonstrates. Jerry Travers (Astaire) meets Dale Tremont (Rogers) at a resort near Venice and is instantly smitten. Dale, however, wants nothing to do with Jerry. The situation only gets worse when Dale gets the mistaken impression that Jerry is married to a friend of hers named Madge (Helen Broderick). In fact, Madge has invited Dale for the specific purpose of introducing her to Jerry, thinking that they might hit it off. This leads to lots of comic business in which Madge seems to be encouraging Dale to dally with her husband. The plot is great fun, the Irving Berlin songs are first-rate, and the dancing, needless to say, is sublime.

"Bachelor Mother" (1939). Ginger Rogers stars, without Fred Astaire this time, as a department store employee who finds herself stuck with an abandoned baby. Having agreed to hold the baby for a moment, she gradually realizes that no one is coming back for it. Everyone assumes that she's the child's mother, and nothing she says can convince them otherwise. It is further assumed that the child's father is the son of the store's owner, a suave young playboy played by David Niven.

It is little short of a miracle that a comedy with such racy overtones was made and released during the height of the Hollywood production code, which was designed to keep movie content squeaky clean to head off government censorship. If you want to watch it, though, go ahead. If the censorship police come after you, you can always claim that they've got the wrong person.

Calamities Aplenty (originally published 5/95)

2011-01-02T14:41:00.002-05:00

The storytellers who create our history for us have the power to confer immortality. If enough of them choose to include a particular name in their tales, that name will acquire a life of its own, independent of its owner and therefore undiminished by his or her earthly demise.

There is, of course, a trade-off. In order to become such a mythic figure, it is necessary to give up your identity as a real, flesh and blood person. Once that happens, the realities of who you really were and what you actually did become irrelevant. The storytellers have an absolute license to choose good storytelling over factual accuracy, and they don't hesitate to use it.

That's why the real woman who was Martha Jane Cannary is even more thoroughly lost to history than most of her contemporaries. She has been superseded for all time by the legend of Calamity Jane, who may or may not have been the mother of Wild Bill Hickock's child, and who may or may not have toured with Buffalo Bill Cody's legendary Wild West Show. It all depends on who is telling the story.

If you saw "Buffalo Girls" on television, with Anjelica Huston in the role of Calamity Jane, you might be interested to see some of the other movie portrayals of this mythic figure. The few that are available on video are representative of the broad range of interpretations to which her legend has been subjected.

"The Plainsman" (1936). Cecil B. DeMille's epic saga of the American West features Gary Cooper as Hickock and Jean Arthur as Calamity Jane. This was crafty casting, since Cooper and Arthur had teamed up extremely successfully earlier that same year in Frank Capra's "Mr. Deeds Goes to Town." Arthur is a very feminine Calamity Jane, showing just a little tomboyishness around the edges. This was a time when women with a masculine temperament and demeanor were invariably presented in a condescending, isn't-that-cute manner, as if she were a child pretending to be a grownup.

"The Paleface" (1948). Jane Russell's version of Calamity Jane in this Bob Hope comedy is a kind of double parody. She's spoofing both the legend of Calamity Jane and her own infamous film debut in the Howard Hughes western, "The Outlaw" (1943). Hope is a tenderfoot dentist whom Calamity marries so that she can travel incognito. Since she has no real interest in him, part of the comedy revolves around Calamity consistently parrying his every effort to consummate the marriage. This Calamity is allowed to be genuinely tough and capable, rather than just a cute tomboy, because part of the comedy premise is the gender role reversal with the weak and helpless Hope.

"Calamity Jane" (1953). Sooner or later, it was inevitable that Calamity would get her own musical. Doris Day plays the title role as a charming tomboy. She's always been content to be looked on as just one of the boys, but realizes that there is a downside to her lack of femininity when she develops a crush on a certain soldier. Although that romance doesn't work out, it does lead Calamity to the realization that she has been in love with Bill Hickock all along. Looking back on it from our contemporary perspective, the film can be read as a wry commentary on gender roles, although I'm not so sure that it was originally intended that way. Day's performance of the song "Secret Love" became a hit record and won the Academy Award as Best Song. Reproduced below, courtesy of Turner Classic Movies, is the film's trailer.

"Calamity Jane" (1984). This made-for-TV movie takes an approach to the character of Calamity that is very similar in some ways to that of "Buffalo Girls." There is a conscious effort to minimize the cutesy tomboyishness of earlier portrayals and to create instead a more rounded and believable character. This is necessary in part because she is presented here as the central character in a dramatic film. No caricature could carry our interest over such an extended dramatic work. Like "Buffalo Girls," this version of Calamity's life includes the daughter she gave away and the emotional cost of that decision. Calamity is capably played by Jane Alexander.

This is, by the way, the same Jane Alexander who recently became the director of the National Endowment for the Arts. I imagine that her experience playing Calamity Jane has served her well in that role, now that she has had to learn to circle the wagons and shoot it out with savages for real.

Dark Carnival (originally published 10/95)

2010-10-17T14:22:00.002-04:00

This time of year I'm always on the lookout for new books about horror movies and the people who made them. Publishers, who know a thing or two about promotions, generally try to arrange the release of such titles to coincide with the Halloween season. This year, the most interesting title I've seen is "Dark Carnival: The Secret World of Tod Browning, Hollywood's Master of the Macabre," by David J. Skal and Elias Savada, published by Anchor.

If you conceive of Halloween as the creation of entertainment out of the morbid and the profane, it's hard to imagine a more appropriate Halloween publication. Tod Browning's early experiences as a carnival sideshow barker combined with his survival of a gruesome car crash to produce in him a lifelong fascination with disfigurement and mutilation. This obsession turns up over and over in his films, many of which are regarded as classics of the horror genre. Most of them aren't about monsters at all, but the potent strain of perverse morbidity that runs through them leaves no doubt about which genre they belong to.

"The Unknown" (1927). Browning's favorite actor, not surprisingly, was Lon Chaney Sr. Because of his elaborate and impressive talents with character make-up, Chaney had become known as the "Man of a Thousand Faces." In fact, however, it was more than just his face that was malleable. He also was willing and able to distort his body, even at the cost of considerable discomfort. For this Browning-directed melodrama, Chaney played Alonzo, a circus performer who poses as an armless knife thrower, manipulating the blades with his feet. In fact, his arms are merely bound behind his back for his performances. But when he falls for a woman who is pathologically fearful of being embraced by men, he has his arms amputated for real. In the meantime, however, his beloved has apparently gotten over her fear of men's arms and has become infatuated with the circus strongman. Alonzo's love is instantly transformed into a lust for vengeance, leading him to plot a grisly death for the strongman.

"West of Zanzibar" (1928). This Browning-Chaney collaboration, like many of their films together, repeats the formula of disfigurement and vengeance. It was a popular formula, much like the slasher formula is today, possibly because it tapped into the anger of maimed soldiers who returned from World War I to make their way through life without an arm or leg, or with a disfigured face. In earlier wars, Skal points out, soldiers who sustained such deeply maiming wounds would have died from them in short order, but by the early twentieth century advances in medicine had made such wounds survivable. This, in turn, led to guilt feelings among the maimed soldiers' loved ones, many of whom felt conscience-stricken because of secret feelings of revulsion toward their husbands and fathers, who were, after all, war heroes in addition to being family members. Naturally, most of this anger and guilt was repressed, and emotions that are repressed on a wide scale have a tendency to bubble up in the popular culture, especially movies. In "West of Zanzibar," Chaney plays a bitter man who was paralyzed from the waist down in a fight with a romantic rival. Leaving civilization behind, he withdraws to a remote village in Africa where he holes up and plots his revenge.

"Dracula" (1931). This version of the classic vampire tale was not adapted from Bram Stoker's novel, but rather from the popular stage play by Hamilton Deane and John Balderston. Bela Lugosi repeated the role he had created on the stage, and the rest, as they say, is history. Reproduced below, courtesy of Turner Classic Movies, is the promotional trailer from a re-release of the film.

"Freaks" (1932). This disturbing little movie represents the culmination of Browning's obsession with disfigurement and physical anomalies. Chaney, who could counterfeit such conditions so well, had met an untimely death in 1930. This time, Browning went with the real thing, using actual carnival sideshow attractions in his cast. Once seen, Browning's cautionary tale about the consequences of intolerance toward those who are different may well find its way into your nightmares.

"Devil Doll" (1936). Lionel Barrymore plays a man who has escaped from Devil's Island, where he was sent for a crime he did not commit. Seeking revenge, he appropriates an experimental miniaturization technique to shrink his accomplices to the size of figurines. He then presents them to those who framed him as dolls for their children. When the "dolls" awake from the trance state induced by the shrinking process, they avenge the frame-up in grisly fashion.

Browning was one of the most intriguing filmmakers ever produced by the Hollywood system. Skal and Savada's biography is a fascinating attempt to shed new light on the bruised and obsessive psyche that created these cinematic nightmares.

Old Friends (originally published 11/95)

2010-07-24T12:30:00.002-04:00

In the title of her 1976 autobiography, Simone Signoret made the wry observation that "nostalgia isn't what it used to be." Perhaps not, but at least for filmmakers its appeal as story material remains undiminished. "Now and Then," a current release, uses a favorite type of nostalgia story, tracing the arc of a group friendship over a number of years.

It's easy to see why such a premise appeals to moviemakers. It allows them to develop something like the narrative sweep of an epic while exploring characterization at a level usually reserved for small, intimate stories. If that combination of elements appeals to you, here are some earlier films that trace the evolution of a circle of friends over time. Each is available on home video.

"Return of the Secaucus 7" (1980). This was the low budget film that put John Sayles on the map as a writer and director. He shows us the reunion of a group of former college classmates whose claim to fame is that they were arrested in Secaucus, New Jersey, while on their way to a 1960s protest rally in Washington. Instead of showing us their earlier days through flashbacks, Sayles allows the backstory to emerge through the dialogue as the friends reminisce. It may sound like a talky and static approach, but Sayles has a playwright's sure-footed knack for dialogue. Scenes that might have become tedious in the hands of a lesser screenwriter are invested with energy and interest by Sayles's craftsmanship. One measure of the film's popularity and influence is the fact that in 1983 Lawrence Kasdan would attempt what amounted to a big budget remake of "Return of the Secaucus 7" with "The Big Chill."

"Come Back to the Five and Dime, Jimmy Dean, Jimmy Dean" (1982). In the mid-1950s James Dean came to Texas to give what would turn out to be his last film performance in George Stevens's film "Giant" (1956). This is the story of six members of the James Dean fan club of McCarthy, Texas, for whom their idol's presence in their midst had been a transcendental moment. Twenty years after Dean's fatal car crash the club reassembles in a small McCarthy dime store. The main characters are Jo (Karen Black), Sissy (Cher), and Mona (Sandy Dennis). As flashbacks weave in and out of present day scenes, we watch with mounting dismay as secrets are revealed and carefully nurtured delusions are shattered. Mona, for example, is forced to abandon her cherished fantasy that her son is James Dean's love child. Director Robert Altman had originally mounted this play on the stage, then used the same sets to translate it to film very inexpensively. With its sustained emotional intensity and very little in the way of comic relief, this is certainly not a film for all tastes. It is, however, a great vehicle for virtuoso acting. In fact, this was the film that established, once and for all, Cher's credentials as a dramatic actor.

"Four Friends" (1981). In 1979, screenwriter Steve Tesich made quite an impressive debut with his script for "Breaking Away," for which he drew on his experiences at college in Indiana. "Four Friends" is more ambitious. Here he seeks to put in dramatic perspective his experiences as the son of an immigrant family growing up during the turbulent decade of the 1960s. Beginning in the high school years, the film follows the lives of three male classmates and the young woman with whom each will be romantically involved. Danilo (Craig Wasson) is the main character. It's interesting to watch him come to grips with the Vietnam War protest movement. He hates the war, but at the same time he brings an immigrant's perspective to the extremity of the protest, worrying whether these American youngsters have adequate respect for the freedom they take for granted. Watching this film now, you will be irresistibly reminded of "Forrest Gump" (1994), as Tesich and director Arthur Penn slide in references to significant events that help define the times.

By the way, if you want to compare these American films with some foreign titles dealing with similar themes, try Ettore Scola's "We All Loved Each Other So Much" (1974) and Federico Fellini's "I Vitelloni" (1953). You'll see that friendship, nostalgia, and filmmaking talent know no national bounds.

One Foot in the Grave (originally published 10/95)

2010-07-20T22:44:00.002-04:00

Diane Keaton's career as a director has taken on an interesting trajectory. With "Heaven" (1987), she looked at the afterlife. Now, with her current release, "Unstrung Heroes," she is dealing with death. I wonder if she's planning to work her way by slow degrees back to the cradle, or even to the womb.

Actually, by smiting Andie MacDowell with a fatal illness, Keaton is following one of the movies' oldest and most surefire traditions. Lay your main character low with a terminal disease, and the world will beat a path to the boxoffice to buy tickets to your show. If, like most of us, your idea of a good time is watching the slow demise of a fellow mortal on the screen, there are a multitude of classic titles to choose from. Here are a few of the better ones available on video.

"Dark Victory" (1939). Bette Davis gives what may be her best performance ever as doomed socialite Judith Traherne, whose glamorous life is about to be terminated by a brain tumor. The role is memorable in part because Davis is called upon to employ virtually her entire emotional palette. She goes from being a carefree, spoiled child of fortune to a humbled convalescent in love with the doctor who has saved her life. Then, learning that her cure is only temporary, she turns to the wild life, determined to go out with a flourish. Finally, she finds the path to a dignified death. Davis negotiates this cascade of emotional reversals with sure-footed grace and skill. Reproduced below, courtesy of Turner Classic Movies, is the film's promotional trailer.

"Diary of a Country Priest" (1950). If virtuoso acting and Hollywood's multiple-hanky approach to terminal illness puts you off, you might appreciate this quiet masterpiece by French filmmaker Robert Bresson. The title character is a young priest doing his best to minister to rural folk whose responses to his overtures range from apathy to outright hostility. When the priest falls ill, a victim of stomach cancer, Bresson methodically follows his decline and death, refusing at every turn to romanticize or sentimentalize the story.

"Cries and Whispers" (1972). Ingmar Bergman may well be world cinema's foremost interpreter of despair. This agonizing story of a woman dying of cancer is classic Bergman material. The main character's two sisters have come to be with her in her time of need, but only the faithful family maid is capable of the emotional connection that nurturing requires.

"Ikiru" (1952). Master Japanese director Akira Kurosawa shows us the last few months in the life of a man who is dying of cancer. The main character is a low-level bureaucrat whose life seems to have little meaning. Now that he is facing the end, however, he's determined to make every moment count. He turns to his family for comfort but finds them cold and apathetic. He tries indulging the pleasures of the flesh but finds no comfort there either. Ironically, in the end it is his dead-end job that provides him with a way to restore meaning to his existence.

"The Shootist" (1976). This was screen legend John Wayne's last film before cancer took him from us. Under the circumstances, it's hard to imagine a more perfect swan song. Wayne portrays J.B. Books, a legendary gunfighter at the end of his life, slowly and painfully dying of cancer. The parallels with Wayne's own life are too vivid to ignore, and director Don Siegel doesn't even try. In fact, the film begins with a recap of Books's celebrated exploits using clips from Wayne's earlier films.

"Bang the Drum Slowly" (1973). In one of his early roles, Robert De Niro plays Bruce Pearson, a baseball catcher who is afflicted with Hodgkin's disease. Michael Moriarty plays pitcher Henry wiggen, Bruce's roommate and friend. Bruce is dimwitted and naive, while Henry fancies himself a writer. Henry therefore remains in a more or less permanent state of exasperation over Bruce's cluelessness. Even so, Henry can't bring himself to abandon a dying friend. Instead, he sticks by Bruce, becoming his advocate when the team's manager, unaware of Bruce's condition, wants to send him back to the minor leagues.

As we've seen, stories of imminent death cut across both national boundaries and stylistic boundaries. There are even comedies on the subject, such as the wonderful "Nothing Sacred" (1937). Human mortality may well be the most universal subject matter of all, making stories about terminal illness a truly immortal dramatic form.

Distorting History For Fun and Profit (originally published 10/95)

2010-05-07T22:57:00.002-04:00

One of the silliest spectacles I've witnessed lately is the protracted breast-beating over the historical inaccuracies in Disney's "Pocahontas." Not that the breast-beaters are wrong, mind you. Obviously, there were distortions in the picture that would have made P.T. Barnum blush. What amused me was the idea that anyone would expect rigorous historical accuracy from a movie.

It reminds me of nothing so much as the scene in "Casablanca" in which Claude Rains as Captain Renault needs a quick pretext for shutting down Bogie's cafe. "I am shocked," he intones solemnly, "shocked to find that gambling is going on in here," at which point he is interrupted by the croupier bringing him his winnings for the evening.

Can anyone honestly be dismayed and disillusioned to learn that a Disney cartoon wouldn't pass muster with the editorial board at "American Heritage?" If so, I'll resist the temptation to sell you some prime real estate and send you instead to the corner video store for some other prime examples of historical scholarship, movie-style. They're all good, entertaining movies, but if you plan on paying attention to the historical context, better bring along your hip-waders.

"The Crusades" (1935). Nobody was better at making a glorious mess of history than Cecil B. DeMille. This spectacular and supremely entertaining fairy tale features rock-jawed Henry Wilcoxon as Richard the Lion-Heart. This, however, is the Richard of Sir Walter Scott, not the indifferent monarch of the history books. The film actually deals only with the third Crusade, despite the all-inclusive title, but that hardly matters. What it's actually all about are some really nifty battle scenes. Take a look at the re-release trailer reproduced below, courtesy of Turner Classic Movies, and you'll see what I mean.

"Queen Christina" (1933). The great Greta Garbo is at her absolute greatest in this lavishly romantic tale of the 17th century Swedish queen who abdicated her throne for the love of a man. Except that she actually did no such thing. It was a combination of her devotion to art and philosophy and her desire to convert to Catholicism that led Christina to renounce the throne of Sweden. Moreover, by all accounts her habits of personal hygiene pretty much precluded the possibility of a lover in any case.

"The General" (1927). Silent film comic Buster Keaton gave the American cinema one of its crown jewels with this classic Civil War story. Keaton plays the engineer of the Confederate locomotive called "The General." When the General is stolen by Yankee spies, Buster takes off in pursuit on another train. The locomotive chase really did happen, but Keaton would have you believe that this spunky engineer singlehandedly captured a Yankee general, and all because he loved his train too much to stand by and allow it to be stolen. It's great filmmaking, but as history it won't wash.

"My Darling Clementine" (1946). This retelling of the gunfight at the O.K. Corral is one of director John Ford's masterpieces. Henry Fonda is brilliant as Wyatt Earp. As history, however, it's mush. Doc Holliday is portrayed as a surgeon (he was a dentist) and Wyatt is portrayed as the sheriff of Tombstone (it was actually his brother, Virgil Earp, who held that office). Also, the actual gunfight was more of a massacre to settle a grudge than a desperate struggle over high principles.

"Richard III" (1955). Laurence Olivier's adaptation of the Shakespeare classic is a noble effort to capture a difficult play on film. Once again, however, it fails as history. There's very little to support the idea that Richard was a psychotic villain. He probably wasn't a Boy Scout -- nice guys generally didn't get to be king in 15th century England -- but he almost certainly wasn't the ogre that Shakespeare creates for us.

If this last example doesn't make my point for me, nothing will. If you're going to berate every period movie that doesn't square with the history books, you're going to end up watching a bare handful of very dull films over and over. And you're going to miss out on some of the best entertainment ever created. When you're throwing the Bard of Avon out with the bathwater, maybe it's time to take a step back and reconsider your standards.

Instead of getting worked up over "Pocahontas," maybe we'd be better off keeping our powder dry for the next Disney assault on Manassas. In fact, now that they own a network, it wouldn't hurt to keep a close eye on the "ABC Evening News." But for mercy's sake, let's not lose our grip when a cartoon fudges the historical facts.

The Gumshoes (originally published 9/95)

2010-04-24T18:26:00.003-04:00

Few characters in the movies, and in fiction as a whole, are more durable than the private investigator. He's a fascinating, solitary figure, serving the ends of justice like a policeman, and yet largely free of the constraints that society places on its law enforcement officers. The writers who have given us the most enduring private eye characters tend to play on the lone wolf aspect of the profession to give us a romanticized vision of a man whose personal code of ethics takes precedence over a corrupt society's rules.

The golden era of such private eye tales was the 1930s and 40s, when Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler were at their peak. The new Denzel Washington film, "Devil in a Blue Dress," returns to that period as the setting for its story. By setting up shop on such classic turf, both generically and chronologically, the filmmakers invite comparison, as did Walter Mosley, the author of the novel on which the film is based. Mosley's novel stood up very well under the comparison, leading to a successful series of novels featuring the character of Easy Rawlins. If you want to see if the movie compares as well with its classic counterparts, you'll want to seek out the movie incarnations of Hammett's Sam Spade and Chandler's Philip Marlowe. Between them, these two characters constitute the absolute prototype of the hard-boiled gumshoe. Look for these titles on home video.

"The Maltese Falcon" (1941). Sam Spade appeared in print in only a single novel and a handful of short stories, but the mark he left on the detective genre is profound and indelible. The novel, "The Maltese Falcon," has been adapted for the screen several times, and the character of Spade became the basis for a popular radio drama series starring Howard Duff. The Sam Spade who will endure, however, is the 1941 movie portrayal by Humphrey Bogart. He embodied the essence of the wisecracking private eye who plays strictly by his own rules and always manages to one-up his antagonists. In this classic film, Spade encounters a group of shady characters who are obsessed with the pursuit of an artifact of incalculable value -- the statue of a falcon, embedded with precious stones. The supporting cast is impressive, including Peter Lorre, Sydney Greenstreet, and Mary Astor, but it is Bogart's performance and the fascinating character of Spade himself that make the film work.

"Murder, My Sweet" (1944). Even more intriguing than Sam Spade is Raymond Chandler's private eye, Philip Marlowe. Whereas Spade is a pragmatist, Marlowe is more of an idealist. Both have adapted to the underbelly of urban life, but Marlowe remains perpetually disappointed by it. Both are hard-bitten cynics, but Spade's cynicism goes right to the bone, while Marlowe's is nothing more than a surface armor, a carapace that defends him against a hard and brutal world. Marlowe, in short, is a contradiction, which makes him more complex, and therefore more interesting, than Spade. In "Murder, My Sweet," director Edward Dmytryk exploited the contradictions at the heart of Marlowe's character by casting against type. Dick Powell had been known primarily as a singer, having starred in a string of light musicals. With this film he sharply changed that image, giving a memorable performance as the hard-nosed Marlowe. Hired by a thug to trace his missing girlfriend and simultaneously hired by a society matron to investigate a murder, Marlowe learns that the upper crust and the dregs of society aren't all that different when you start digging into their secrets. Reproduced below, courtesy of Turner Classic Movies, is the film's promotional trailer.

"Farewell, My Lovely" (1975). Some 30 years later, this same story was remade, restoring Chandler's original title and featuring Robert Mitchum as Marlowe. Mitchum is absolutely brilliant in the role, creating the most achingly world-weary Marlowe of all. This is a man who has seen it all. And most of what he's seen, he hasn't liked.

The real fruition of the hard-boiled private eye film occurred during and immediately following World War II, as many Americans returned from the battlefields of Europe and Asia having seen a side of humanity that they didn't like. We had lost our collective innocence at Buchenwald and Dresden, and our movies turned dark to reflect that fact.

By now, however, we have become more hardened, more like Sam Spade and less like Marlowe as a society. It will be interesting to see what sort of societal mood "Devil in a Blue Dress" reflects.

The Thousand and One Nights (originally published 9/95)

2010-04-03T16:23:00.002-04:00

Of all the collections of tales assembled by storytellers down through the centuries, few can claim to be as influential as "The Thousand and One Nights." The Arabian Nights tales were supposedly told nightly by the wily Scheherazade in order to postpone her scheduled execution by arousing her royal husband's curiosity as to how each tale would end. The king can hardly be blamed for being taken in, however, since these spellbinding stories have left their mark on the imaginations of generation after generation of artists. From the music of Rimsky-Korsakov to the poetry of Tennyson, the creative works bearing the imprint of the Arabian Nights narratives are many and varied.

Movies, certainly, are no exception. The current animated release, "Arabian Knight," is an example, as is the recent Disney megahit "Aladdin." For those who remain entranced by the narrative spell of Scheherazade, here are some earlier examples of Arabian Nights movies that are available on home video.

"Arabian Nights" (1942). During the 1940s, Jon Hall and Maria Montez were teamed for a series of flashy, gaudy adventure movies. Neither of them can be called a great actor by any means, but they both looked good in their costumes and their movies did very well at the box office. In recent years their films together have become cult classics, much prized by the camp crowd. If you're willing to lighten up and not try to take the movie seriously, this one can be great fun. Montez plays Scheherazade, with Hall as her suitor. How campy is it? Let me put it this way: the role of Sinbad is played by Shemp Howard of The Three Stooges.

"Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves" (1943). Following up on the success of "Arabian Nights," Hall and Montez teamed up again to tell the story of Ali Baba. The storyline borrows at least as much from the Robin Hood legends as from the Arabian Nights tales, but when you're having this much fun, who's counting? Shemp doesn't appear in this one, but you do get to enjoy hearing perennial Western sidekick Andy Devine wrap his trademark raspy voice around Arabian Nights dialogue.

"Kismet" (1955). This story of Arabian romance and intrigue had been a stage vehicle for some time before it was converted into a musical. The songs, including "Stranger in Paradise" and "Baubles, Bangles, and Beads," were based on themes by Alexander Borodin. The film version of the musical play was produced by MGM at the height of the studio's glory days as the home of the finest musical production unit in Hollywood. Howard Keel stars as The Poet, around whom the intrigues of the plot are centered. Sebastian Cabot is the Wazir, whose machinations drive the plot.

"The Seventh Voyage of Sinbad" (1958). For a rousing fantasy adventure, you can't do much better than this tale of Sinbad the Sailor. Kerwin Matthews stars as Sinbad, but the real star of the show is Ray Harryhausen, who created the visual effects. Courtesy of his sophisticated stop-motion animation techniques, you'll find it easy to suspend your disbelief and come away feeling as if you've actually seen a cyclops, a fire-breathing dragon, and a host of other Arabian Nights wonders. This film was followed by a series of Sinbad pictures, but "Seventh Voyage" remains the best of the lot. Just to give you a sampling of the film's striking visual effects, a re-release trailer is reproduced below, courtesy of Turner Classic Movies.

"1001 Arabian Nights" (1959). If you're looking for something more along the lines of "Arabian Knight," try this animated feature starring the one and only Mr. Magoo, as voiced by Jim Backus. Other familiar voices include Dwayne Hickman of "Dobie Gillis" fame, Hans Conried, and Herschel Bernardi.

"The Arabian Nights" (1974). In the early 1970s, controversial Italian filmmaker Pier Paolo Pasolini made what he called his "Trilogy of Life," adapting first "The Decameron," then "The Canterbury Tales," and finally "The Arabian Nights." This is a somewhat spicier version of "The Thousand and One Nights" than the others I've mentioned, taking its cue more from Sir Richard Burton's 1885 unexpurgated translation.

All of these are delightful in their own way, but probably the best Arabian Nights movies of all are the two classic renderings of the story of "The Thief of Bagdad." The first was a silent version made in 1924 by Douglas Fairbanks, Sr., and the other was made by Alexander Korda in 1940. Each one is an absolute delight, packed with laughs, thrills, and wonders.

Parry and Thrust (originally published 9/95)

2010-03-21T13:37:00.003-04:00

The heroes of today's action movies have to be handy with everything from high explosives to Harrier jets to every sort of handgun known to man. There was a time, however, when the one indispensable skill for an action hero was swordsmanship. A fencing duel was, after all, an ideal form of movie fight. Unlike an impersonal gunfight, the antagonists were necessarily close to each other and face to face. Also, unlike a fistfight, the antagonists could fight furiously without letup while simultaneously engaging in witty dialogue.

Interestingly, movie sword fights seem to be making something of a comeback. "Braveheart," "First Knight," and "Rob Roy" are all examples of recent films featuring spectacular sword fights as centerpieces of the action. If you've seen these films and found the swordplay thrilling, you may want to look for the following classic titles on home video. Each one features at least one sword fight that will curl your hair.

"The Prisoner of Zenda" (1937). David O. Selznick produced this adaptation of the classic Anthony J. Hope novel, giving it the same kind of opulent Selznick treatment that Margaret Mitchell's "Gone With the Wind" would receive two years later. Ronald Colman plays the dual role of the kidnapped king of Ruritania and the look-alike English relative who stands in for him. The film's classic sword fight occurs when Colman the commoner leads an expedition to rescue Colman the royal prisoner from the castle at Zenda. Confronted by a villainous henchman (Douglas Fairbanks, Jr.), Colman engages him in a sword duel that meanders up the stairs, through the main hall, and out to the drawbridge.

"The Adventures of Robin Hood" (1938). Even though new versions continue to appear, this version of the Robin Hood legend remains the definitive one for most movie fans. As the career of Douglas Fairbanks, Sr., drew to a close, Errol Flynn emerged as the top swashbuckling star of the day. Here he is matched with an equally fine villain, the great Basil Rathbone as Sir Guy of Gisbourne. Their climactic sword fight is both exciting and visually striking, with the antagonists' shadows looming over them on huge pillars.

"The Mark of Zorro" (1940). Twenty years earlier, Douglas Fairbanks, Sr., had virtually invented the swashbuckler genre with his screen adaptation of Johnston McCulley's story of Don Diego Vega. Diego, a Spanish nobleman living in California, poses as an effeminate dandy, but when danger threatens he becomes the mysterious masked Zorro, champion of the oppressed. This remake of the Fairbanks classic established Tyrone Power as a major action star. Again, the villain who crosses swords with our hero is Basil Rathbone, who made something of a specialty of this kind of role for a while. Although movie sword fights are never really authentic, this duel contains less of that silliness of jumping on the furniture than most. Even so, veteran director Rouben Mamoulian has no problem keeping it interesting.

"Scaramouche" (1952). This version of Rafael Sabatini's novel stars Stewart Granger as Andre Moreau, the illegitimate son of a French nobleman, who makes his way in the world as an actor portraying the masked clown Scaramouche. His bitter enemy is the Marquis de Maynes, played by Mel Ferrer. In addition to being Andre's rival for the hand of Aline de Gavrillac (Janet Leigh), the Marquis has killed a friend of Andre's in a grossly unfair sword duel. The Marquis, after all, is acknowledged to be the finest swordsman in France, while Andre's doomed friend was completely unschooled in swordplay. Andre is no more competent with a sword than his slain friend, and so can do nothing about the outrage, but he swears to learn the way of the blade and to have his revenge in time. His opportunity comes one evening in the theater. Spotting the hated Marquis in the crowd, Andre challenges him from the stage. Their incredible duel, one of the longest ever filmed, takes them through the entire theater, from foyer to stage. The film's promotional trailer, reproduced below courtesy of Turner Classic Movies, gives some indication of the scope of the climactic confrontation.

Of course, if you want to see where it all began, you can't do better than going back to the silent classics of Douglas Fairbanks, Sr. Several of them are available on home video, including "The Mark of Zorro" (1920), "The Black Pirate" (1926), and "The Iron Mask" (1929). You'll find that, although later swashbucklers learned more elegant sword techniques, no one ever surpassed the elder Fairbanks's sense of sheer fun.

Peace Out (originally published 8/95)

2010-03-07T00:19:00.002-05:00

I love the Sixties. I know that Sixties-bashing is trendy in certain circles these days, and I recognize that the decade of the flower children was the occasion for lots of ill-advised excesses, but I still look back on it with fondness. From where I sit in the frosty, uncaring Nineties, excesses in the name of peace and love sound pretty good in contrast to the excesses in the name of greed and self-interest that we've all become accustomed to.

Even so, in cynical moments I've been known to remark ruefully that the only thing from the Sixties that seems to have survived is widespread recreational drug use. In fact, though, a lot of extraordinary music has also survived. We lost Janis along the way, and Jimi, and a few others we couldn't spare, but at least Jerry Garcia hung in there with us for a while to become an elder statesman of the counterculture. Now that Jerry is also gone, we'll have to work a little harder to hold on to the positive elements of the counterculture. We've still got the recorded music, of course, but I thought I would also suggest a few Sixties film titles to help keep the spirit alive. Each is available on home video.

"Alice's Restaurant" (1970). The inspiration for this film was the hilarious recording in which Arlo Guthrie recounts his arrest for littering in Stockbridge, Massachusetts on Thanksgiving Day and how it kept him out of the draft. From this fertile kernel, director Arthur Penn and screenwriter Venabel Herndon created a sympathetic, but by no means uncritical, portrait of life in a hippie commune. Arlo appears as himself.

"The Strawberry Statement" (1970). For a look at Hollywood's take on campus radicals, try this adaptation of James Kunen's "The Strawberry Statement: Notes of a College Revolutionary." Bruce Davison plays a politically mainstream student who becomes radicalized by his university's arrogant power play to deprive underprivileged children of a playground. The musical backgrounds are rich with the sounds of the times, including songs by Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young.

"The Trip" (1967). With this low-budget film, we begin to see the work of a struggling young actor/screenwriter whose presence runs through the Sixties counterculture movies like a recurring theme in a symphony. His script for "The Trip" reflects the counterculture's hope that LSD would liberate the mind and enhance the spirit. As originally written, the script was apparently intended to be in the tradition of Aldous Huxley's "The Doors of Perception," but the production company ultimately dumbed it down significantly. Peter Fonda plays a TV commercial director who becomes fed up with the shallowness of his life and turns to chemical stimulation in his search for meaning. The screenwriter, by the way, was Jack Nicholson.

"Psych-Out" (1968). Director Richard Rush's look at the youth culture of Haight-Ashbury was also based on a Jack Nicholson script, but it was so heavily rewritten that Nicholson received no credit. He did, however, star in the picture as (are you ready for this?) the leader of a psychedelic rock band, complete with ponytail.

"Head" (1968). By the time the Monkees got around to doing a movie to capitalize on their TV success, their show was already fading from the scene, and the youth culture had evolved into something that they would never have been allowed to deal with on the tube. Rather than beat a dead horse, they made the gutsy decision to exploit their own outdated image by making fun of it in the context of psychedelic imagery. Once again, Nicholson wrote the script, along with director Bob Rafelson.

"Easy Rider" (1969). Finally, we can't forget Dennis Hopper and Peter Fonda's saga of two counterculture motorcyclists making their way down to New Orleans for Mardi Gras. The phenomenal success of this shoestring production woke the film industry up to the potential of young filmmakers to tap into the vast youth market. And who was it who played the most interesting character role in "Easy Rider," thereby cementing his future as a major movie star rather than in the less lucrative position of screenwriter? Jack Nicholson, of course.

So take heart, Deadheads. Garcia may be gone, but vestiges of the Sixties remain. Even in a Hollywood establishment figure like Jack Nicholson there beats the heart of a former radical.

Peace, brother.

The Biopic as Opera (originally published 2/95)

2010-02-24T23:06:00.002-05:00

Last week I took a look back at the long tradition of film biographies of famous composers, the most recent of which is "Immortal Beloved," featuring Gary Oldman as Beethoven. In recommending the films that I did, I was careful to point out that film biographies of composers, like all film biographies, should be regarded as sources of good entertainment rather than as sources of good history.

One fascinating case in point is the considerable body of work in this area by a filmmaker whom I did not mention last time. He's actually made more films about the lives of composers than any other filmmaker I'm aware of, but it certainly is not an interest in documenting the true and indisputable facts of the lives of these musicians that keeps him returning to this subject matter. He's got other fish to fry.

His name is Ken Russell. As the purveyor of one of the most interesting visual styles in the world of contemporary cinema, he makes films that rarely fail to evoke strong reactions -- both positive and negative. Whereas most films placidly unfold on the screen in front of you, a Russell film is more likely to grab you by the scruff of the neck and rough you up a bit. His imagery is big, broad, and passionate -- in a word, operatic.

That, I think, is the reason for his fascination with composers. His own relationship to the medium of film is more musical than dramatic. Indeed, he reminds me of no one so much as Ludwig van Beethoven, whose piano playing is said to have been so ferocious as to threaten to reduce the instrument to cordwood and splinters. That's more or less the way Russell makes a movie.

It's a style that is not for everyone, to be sure. In addition to sacrificing cinematic conventions on the altar of electrifying imagery, including some of the sacred cows of moviegoers for whom the play's the thing, Russell can be especially cavalier about historical accuracy. He'd much rather lay bare the soul of the music and see what it reveals about the soul of the composer.

Russell's early experiments with his unique style of composer biographies were produced for BBC television, including films about Elgar, Debussy, Richard Strauss, and Delius. None of these early works is currently available on video [2010 NOTE: Happily, this deficit has since been ameliorated. Of the programs mentioned here, only the Strauss bio remains unavailable.], but his three feature films dealing with composers' lives have been released. If you're ready for a unique viewing experience, give them a try.

"The Music Lovers" (1971). By way of presenting the life of Tchaikovsky, Russell offers us a meditation on the idealism of 19th century Romanticism. That may sound dry and academic, but I assure you that Russell has no difficulty bringing such musings vividly to life. We watch in growing alarm as Tchaikovsky uses the theatrical fantasy world of his music to retreat from harsh reality into a particularly disturbing kind of madness.

"Mahler" (1974). Russell's screen biography of Gustav Mahler is, on the surface, relatively conventional. We see Mahler toward the end of his life on a train journey with his wife, Alma. As they reflect on their turbulent relationship, the film provides illustrative flashbacks. Underneath, however, as Russell himself has pointed out, he was up to something rather crafty, borrowing the structural principle of the rondo from music and applying it to film. A piece of music in rondo form alternates a central theme with any number of variations, but always returning to the original theme before proceeding to the next variation. In "Mahler," Russell says, the central theme is love while the variations are scenes representing aspects of death.

"Lisztomania" (1975). Last week I mentioned "Song Without End" (1960), in which Franz Liszt is portrayed as a matinee idol. In "Lisztomania," Russell takes that concept to its logical conclusion, recognizing that Liszt was in effect the first rock star. To nail down the point, he cast a sure-enough rock star, Roger Daltrey of The Who, to play the part of Liszt. The imagery here is about as wild as it gets, so you may not want to make this your first Russell movie.

Like the audience who staggered out of the first performance of Beethoven's "Eroica" symphony, those who see Ken Russell's work experience the vertiginous sensation of the aesthetic ground shifting under their feet. You may emerge elated or infuriated, possibly both, but you won't be unaffected.

The Maestros (originally published 2/95)

2010-02-21T22:46:00.003-05:00

Motion pictures, right from the beginning, have always had a special relationship with music. Even in the silent film era you'd find some form of music wherever movies were exhibited. It might be anything from an orchestra or elaborate theater organ in the fancier venues to an out-of-tune upright piano of questionable lineage in the small-town theaters. Indeed, even the introduction of spoken dialogue could not replace the musical accompaniment. Instead, music and dialogue became more or less equal partners in the aural dimension of the movie experience.

Given this intimate relationship between movies and music, what could be a more natural subject matter for a film than the life of a composer? The current release of "Immortal Beloved" gives us the very talented Gary Oldman in the role of Beethoven, following in the successful footsteps of Tom Hulce's Mozart in "Amadeus" (1984). In fact, though, the tradition of movie biographies of famous composers goes much farther back than "Amadeus." Some of them haven't yet made it to home video, but a number of the better-known examples are available.

One caveat, however. Movie biographies of composers have one thing in common with all other movie biographies: you can't expect historical accuracy from them. Movies are show biz, after all, and life stories are simply too complex to make for good drama, even when the life in question is the fascinating story of a musical genius. So, if you want to learn the facts about the lives of the musical masters, the library will be your best bet. But if you just want an entertaining story and lots of good music, look for these titles.

"Rhapsody in Blue" (1945). Robert Alda (Alan's dad) stars as George Gershwin. One of the most interesting things about this picture is the supporting cast. Because the film was made only a few years after Gershwin's premature death, many of the composer's contemporaries were still around to portray themselves in the film. For example, Paul Whiteman, the bandleader who popularized the "Rhapsody in Blue," appears as himself, as does Oscar Levant, a close friend of Gershwin's. Reproduced below, courtesy of Turner Classic Movies, is the film's promotional trailer. As you will see, the film is a product of its time, proudly featuring Al Jolson performing "Swanee" in full, cringe-inducing blackface. O tempora, o mores...

"A Song to Remember" (1945). Cornel Wilde stars as Frederic Chopin. Merle Oberon plays his love interest, novelist Armandine Dupin, who is better remembered by her pen name, George Sand. The third principal cast member is the formidable Paul Muni as Professor Joseph Elsner, the music teacher who recognizes the genius of the young Chopin and helps launch his career.

"Song of Love" (1947). Katharine Hepburn and Paul Henried portray Clara Wieck Schumann and Robert Schumann in one of music's most poignant love stories. Clara Wieck was one of the finest pianists in Europe. Her marriage to Schumann, the romantic's romantic, undeniably impaired her musical career. At the same time, we have no way of knowing how much of Schumann's music might never have been written without her stabilizing influence in his life. The movie stretches the friendship between Johannes Brahms (played by Robert Walker) and Clara into a romantic interest on Brahms's part. (Show biz, remember?)

"Song Without End" (1960). Is it just me, or are you beginning to notice a trend in these titles? Maybe there's still time to change the Beethoven title to "Song of the Immortal Beloved." This one is about Franz Liszt, with Dirk Bogarde in the lead role. In a way, Liszt is an ideal subject for a movie, because he was something of a matinee idol in his day. His first and greatest acclaim came not as a composer but rather as a performer. He was, by all accounts, one of the most gifted pianists of all time. As we see his head being turned by the adulation of his fans, especially women, we can easily relate his story to those of more contemporary performers.

In fact, there's another film about Liszt that develops that aspect of his life even further than "Song Without End" does. Next week, I'll tell you about that film, and about the visionary filmmaker who largely built his early reputation on biographies of the great composers.

The Table (originally published 1/95)

2010-02-13T12:47:00.002-05:00

During the extraordinarily fecund decade of the 1920s, the city of Paris saw an amazingly stellar confluence of creative talent, from Ernest Hemingway to Pablo Picasso to Gertrude Stein. But across the Atlantic in New York City, a similar amalgamation of talent regularly gathered around a single table at a single restaurant. It was, of course, the famed Round Table at the Algonquin Hotel.

A list of Round Table regulars reads like a who's who of 20s and 30s theater and journalism. It included playwrights George S. Kaufman, Edna Ferber, and Robert Sherwood, as well as newspaper columnists Heywood Broun, Ring Lardner, and Franklin P. Adams. The group encompassed everything from drama critics like Robert Benchley and Alexander Woollcott to performers like Harpo Marx and Tallulah Bankhead.

It was indeed a heady group of potent personalities that gathered for those illustrious lunches, but perhaps the most compelling personality of all was packed into the diminutive form of Dorothy Parker. Combining a sweetness of manner with a quick and lacerating wit, she was no one to trifle with. Clare Booth Luce, for example, learned the cost of crossing verbal lances with her when she allowed Parker to precede her through a door with a derisive "Age before beauty." Walking past Luce with a flourish, Parker replied, "Pearls before swine."

In the current release, "Mrs. Parker and the Vicious Circle," the formidable Mrs. Parker and her talented associates are recreated for a generation that has, incredibly, forgotten most of them. If the film and its attendant publicity has stirred your curiosity about these remarkable men and women, here are some titles featuring their work to look for on video.

"The Man Who Came to Dinner" (1941). Based on a play by Round Tabler George S. Kaufman, the title character of this comedy is in turn based on another member of the group, critic Alexander Woollcott. The character's name is Sheridan Whiteside, an irascible and imperious radio and newspaper columnist. Forced by an accidental injury to convalesce in the home of a family whom he clearly considers beneath him, he makes certain that everyone in the household stays at least as miserable as he is.

"A Star is Born" (1937). Janet Gaynor stars as a small-town girl gone to Hollywood in search of stardom. The roots of this familiar story extend back to a play called "Merton of the Movies" by George S. Kaufman and Marc Connelly, both Round Tablers, and this version was adapted for the screen in part by Dorothy Parker and her husband Alan Campbell.

"Abe Lincoln in Illinois" (1940). Round Tabler Robert Sherwood adapted his own Pulitzer Prize winning play focusing on Lincoln's life and careers before winning the presidency. Raymond Massey, who had played the title role on the stage, repeated his widely praised performance for the film version. George Kaufman's comment was, "Massey won't be satisfied until he's assassinated."

"The Sky's the Limit" (1943). The many delightful short films featuring Robert Benchley giving mock-pompous lectures remain, so far, maddeningly unavailable on video. [2010 NOTE: Happily, this is no longer the case. Several of the Benchley short subjects can now be obtained on DVD from Warner Brothers' Warner Archive collection.] Until this outrage is rectified, we'll have to make do with this Fred Astaire musical which includes one of those Benchley lectures as the highlight of one of its scenes. When he begins fumbling around with charts to make a point that he's long since forgotten, you may well get the eerie sensation that Benchley was lampooning Ross Perot some 50 years before Ross got it together.

"Dinner at Eight" (1933). Based on a play by Round Tablers Edna Ferber and George S. Kaufman and adapted in part by Round Tabler Herman Mankiewicz, this was one of the all-star productions in which the MGM studio showcased its impressive stable of talent. The film portrays an elegant dinner party at which the patina of glamor and refinement barely masks the miserable lives of its participants. Reproduced below, courtesy of Turner Classic Movies, is the film's promotional trailer.

In a way, the dinner party of "Dinner at Eight" comes uncomfortably close to mirroring those Round Table luncheons. As talented and clever as they were, most of the Round Table crew were substance abusers, and many of them came to a bad, lonely end. Their story is an object lesson in the frailty of the vessels that incarnate the entertainment and wisdom we most treasure. We might do well to bear that frailty in mind as the chill winds of partisan politics begin to blow through the institutions that support today's creative talents.

Vaulting Ambition (originally published 11/95)

2010-02-08T22:29:00.003-05:00

If you buy the premise that storytellers do their best work when dealing with familiar subject matter, the recent success of "To Die For" makes perfect sense. Who would know better about driving ambition and a blind, amoral hunger for success than the filmmaking community? As you might imagine, it's a subject they've dealt with many times before. Here are some earlier movies about vaulting ambition and its victims. Each is available on video.

"All About Eve" (1950). Writer-director Joseph Mankiewicz's classic turns a jaundiced eye on the rise of Eve Harrington (Anne Baxter), the newest toast of Broadway. The film begins with a ceremony honoring Eve for winning the Sarah Siddons award for acting, then flashes back to show us how many people she stepped on to reach that pinnacle. Most especially she steps on Margo Channing (Bette Davis), the Broadway star whom Eve befriends only to betray. The seamy proceedings are narrated for us in appropriately cynical fashion by dyspeptic theater critic Addison DeWitt (George Sanders).

"Room At the Top" (1959). The late 1950s and early 1960s in Britain saw the emergence of a group of playwrights and filmmakers who have been collectively labeled the "angry young man" dramatists. This pungent indictment of the British class system is a product of that movement. Laurence Harvey stars as Joe Lampton, an ambitious working class fellow who is determined to rise in the world. Recognizing that no amount of industriousness will accomplish this goal, he resolves to marry into the upper crust. He pursues and wins the affection of a young woman from a highly placed family. At the same time, he begins an affair with a woman nearer his own station in life, for whom he has genuine feelings. Needless to say, the time comes when he must choose between love and ambition.

"The Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz" (1974). Based on the novel by Mordecai Richler, this Canadian film offers an early look at the developing talents of Richard Dreyfuss, who plays the title role. Duddy is a driven and ambitious young man, torn between the example of his father, a two-bit hustler, and that of his uncle, a successful and ethically responsible businessman. Duddy, hungry for quick success, elects the low road, achieving some success but losing his uncle's respect in the process.

"The Day of the Locust" (1975). It took only 36 years for Nathanael West's caustic short novel on the underbelly of Hollywood to be adapted into a movie. Considering the intensely unflattering portrait West paints of the movie colony, it's actually a little surprising that it ever made it to the screen at all. Karen Black plays Faye Greener, an ambitious, amoral young actress who is determined to make it in the movie business. In furthering her aspirations she does not hesitate to use those who fall under the spell of her superficial charm. The first of these is Tod Hackett (William Atherton), a set designer through whose eyes we see the story unfold. More tragically, she strings along a simple-minded fellow named Homer Simpson (Donald Sutherland), who becomes her sugar daddy without even receiving the usual benefits in return. Faye sacrifices Homer to her ambition without a thought, despite the fact that she never even achieves the success for which she has ruined his life.

"Macbeth" (1948). The ultimate tale of ruinous ambition, of course, is the one that gave us the phrase "vaulting ambition" in the first place. Macbeth, a Scottish nobleman and kinsman of King Duncan, is tricked by three witches into coveting the crown. Spurred on by his ruthless wife, he murders Duncan and diverts suspicion of the deed onto Duncan's sons, who therefore flee the country. This leaves Macbeth free to claim the throne. In the end, however, it is Macbeth himself who is the victim of his own reckless ambition. Orson Welles, one of the best cinematic interpreters of Shakespeare, made this stylish version of "Macbeth" on a shoestring budget for Republic, a studio best known for its B-Westerns and serials.

"Macbeth" is renowned in the theater as a bad luck play. Maybe that's because it, like each of these films, is about the attempt to forge one's own luck out of the misery of others. It's a doomed endeavor but, as Nicole Kidman knows, it makes for good drama.

Christmas Lite (originally published 12/93)

2009-12-21T10:46:00.002-05:00

Remember what Christmas movie viewing was like in the bad old days before home video? The television networks and their affiliates made all the choices for you. If the only time "It's A Wonderful Life" was being shown was at 1:00am on December 21, your options were either to miss it or to sit up half the night and then spend the next day wishing you'd never been born.

Now, of course, things are different. You can program your own living room Christmas film festival, scheduled at your convenience and featuring only the kind of Christmas movies you like best. Some of us like the hardcore stuff -- drenched in mistletoe, cascading snow and sentimentality, and presided over by St. Nick himself. You might call us the "Miracle on 34th Street" crowd. Others, however, prefer their seasonal film fare with just a light dusting of the trappings of Christmas, while the focus of the main storyline remains elsewhere. Since this latter type is less easy to identify, I thought it might be useful to list a few films that fall into that category. These are not primarily Christmas movies, but all of them include at least one important Christmas scene.

"The Man Who Came to Dinner" (1942) Monty Woolley plays Sheridan Whiteside, a character transparently based on Alexander Woollcott, a prominent literary and stage critic of the time. Woollcott was one of the mainstays of the famed Algonquin round table, a celebrated aggregation of witty and sophisticated tastemakers that included Robert Benchley and Dorothy Parker. Personally, however, he was more than a little hard to take. Known for his sharp tongue and acid wit, Woollcott delighted in turning clever phrases at the expense of others. Sheridan Whiteside is, if such a thing is possible, a caricature of Woollcott crafted by George S. Kaufman and Moss Hart, the authors of the play on which the film is based, who knew Woollcott well. Whiteside is on a lecture tour a couple of weeks before Christmas when he is persuaded to have dinner with a nouveau riche businessman named Stanley and his socialite wife. Although he considers them riffraff, he grudgingly goes. Unfortunately for all concerned, he slips on the ice on their front stoop and finds himself confined to the couple's home for several weeks while his injuries heal. Whiteside commandeers the couple's home, as is his custom, throwing their lives into complete chaos. Ultimately it becomes necessary to bring in a radio remote crew so that Whiteside can do the Christmas Eve broadcast of his radio show from the Stanley living room. This is an enormously entertaining film, crackling with clever Kaufman-Hart dialogue. Reproduced below, courtesy of Turner Classic Movies, is the film's promotional trailer.

"Meet Me in St. Louis" (1944) It's an MGM musical directed by Vincente Minnelli and starring Judy Garland. What more do you need to know? The story portrays four episodes (one for each season of the year) in the life of the Smith family of St. Louis. The winter sequence, which revolves around who will escort whom to the Christmas ball, features Garland singing "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas."

"The Bells of St. Mary's" (1945) In a sequel to the highly successful "Going My Way" (1944), Bing Crosby repeats his role as Father O'Malley. This time he finds himself butting heads, albeit gently and lightheartedly, with the mother superior (Ingrid Bergman) of a parish school that is so old and creaky that it is in danger of being condemned. In one especially charming scene the two of them watch the first-graders rehearsing the Christmas play that they have written. Crosby's acting style, as always, is as comfortable as an old shoe, and Bergman plays off him perfectly.

"Fanny and Alexander" (1982). If you think of Ingmar Bergman movies exclusively as morbid flicks about long-faced Swedes sitting around discussing the silence of God, this film will be a real eye-opener. It is a visually beautiful film that opens with a family Christmas celebration. The two title characters are children, and most of the film reflects their fascination with the magic of life. There's misfortune along the way, sure, but not the kind of unremitting, soul-deadening angst that has come to be associated with Bergman. Do take note of the R rating, however. It's not typical Bergman, but it's not Disney either.

If you prefer your Christmas fare low-key, these films should fill the bill. Meanwhile, I'll be off somewhere gorging myself on "Miracle on 34th Street."

The Bad and the Bankable (originally published 6/93)

2009-11-26T19:31:00.003-05:00

Between "Basic Instinct," "Body of Evidence," and "Indecent Proposal," you have to wonder what in the name of Caligula the folks in Hollywood can be thinking of. Do they think of the ticket buying public as nothing more than walking glands?

Well, maybe. But more likely they are simply following a principle that has held true from the silent cinema right down to today: shocking people's sensibilities is good for the box office. Back in the silent days, 1915 audiences were invited to cluck their tongues disapprovingly at a picture called "A Fool There Was," starring an actress named Theda Bara as the fallen woman who leads men astray. Theda Bara was carefully publicized as a mystery woman, possibly the love child of a French artist and his Egyptian mistress. Studio PR people pointed out knowingly that her name was an anagram of "Arab death." In point of fact, she was a Cincinnati tailor's daughter named Theodosia Goodman. The air of mystery and intrigue about her was just that -- air. Sort of like Madonna. But, like Madonna, she sold tickets.

Prints of "A Fool There Was" still exist, but as far as I know it isn't available on video. [2009 NOTE: This is no longer true. You can get it on DVD from Kino Video.] Not to worry, though. If you don't yet feel sufficiently debauched by the recent spate of racy movies, here are a few of the scandalous films of yesteryear that are available on home video.

"The Outlaw" (1943). Howard Hughes's notorious sexy Western is pretty tame stuff by today's standards, but in its day it caused quite a stir. It doesn't take long to realize that the camera is paying more attention to Jane Russell's anatomy than to the story line. It's just as well, really; it isn't much of a story. The film remains worthwhile mostly because its remarkably strong supporting cast included Walter Huston and Thomas Mitchell, two of the best in the business, as Doc Holliday and Pat Garrett, respectively.

"Baby Doll" (1956). Elia Kazan's adaptation of a Tennessee Williams script was guaranteed to offend almost everyone. No major studio release had ever portrayed the seduction of virginal youth with such frankness. Carroll Baker plays the child bride of a Mississippi cotton gin operator (Karl Malden). His dirty business practices catch up with him when a competitor (Eli Wallach) uses his wife to get the goods on him. "Baby Doll" was condemned by the Catholic Legion of Decency and denounced from virtually every pulpit in the country. Reviewers jumped on the bandwagon as well. Time magazine, for example, offered this encomium: "Just possibly the dirtiest American-made motion picture that has ever been legally exhibited." Money in the bank. You can't buy that kind of promotion for a million dollars. Reproduced below is the film's original promotional trailer, courtesy of Turner Classic Movies.

"Last Tango in Paris" (1973). Bernardo Bertolucci, whose more recent films include "The Last Emperor" and "The Sheltering Sky," shook some people up with this occasionally brutal mixture of physical love and emotional aridity. Marlon Brando and Maria Schneider play a pair of lovers who regularly meet in an empty apartment to carry on the ultimate casual affair, not even bothering to tell each other their names.

"Carnal Knowledge" (1971). Playwright and cartoonist Jules Feiffer wrote this story of two sex-obsessed college roommates (Jack Nicholson and Art Garfunkel) who never seem to outgrow their adolescent sexual hang-ups. Although we follow them well into middle age, their attitudes about sex remain those of a couple of teenagers with raging hormones. Although the film contains very little nudity or (to borrow a euphemism from cable TV) strong sexual content, the guardians of public morality went ballistic. There were even some attempts at outright censorship, including a few obscenity arrests, none of which could ultimately stand up in court.

But the people who raised the public outcry against "Carnal Knowledge," and all the others, for that matter, were misguided. No, I don't mean that they were necessarily wrong about the objectionable nature of the films. That's obviously open to debate in each individual case. I'm saying that they were misguided in thinking that they were doing any damage to the films and their producers by protesting.

You may remember a film a few years back called "Monty Python's Life of Brian," which was perceived by some as blasphemous. When asked how he felt about those who were denouncing the film, Python member John Cleese replied that he'd like to be able to send them all a thank you note. They had, after all, made him wealthy.

Huckster Extraordinaire (originally published 2/94)

2009-11-01T14:13:00.002-05:00

The pioneers of the American motion picture industry were, by and large, not highly educated people. In fact, most were immigrants who stumbled into the fledgling film business from other pursuits like the garment trade. They were an uncouth and unsophisticated bunch, and yet they managed in little more than a decade to build a film industry that was the envy of the world.

How did they do it? Not by hiring marketing research firms to run focus groups, I assure you. Even if such things had existed back then, these guys wouldn't have had a clue how to interpret the data. Instead, the movie pioneers relied on two important qualities that they did possess.

First, they had an instinct for what the common, everyday moviegoer wanted to see, in part because they were common, everyday folks themselves. Second, and probably most important, the ones who succeeded had a natural talent for showmanship.

Sometime during the last 20 or 30 years the movies gave up the last traces of true showmanship. Even the little touch of theaters opening a curtain to reveal the picture after the projector is started has almost entirely vanished. (Anyone remember when all theaters closed the curtain after the coming attractions trailers, then opened it again for the main feature? If so, you're no spring chicken.)

I was delighted, therefore, to read of the release of a film called "Matinee," starring John Goodman as a 1950s producer who specializes in selling his low budget movies by means of outlandish promotional gimmicks. If you've seen "Matinee," you should know that Goodman's character was not created from whole cloth, but rather was based on an actual movie producer/director. His name was William Castle and he was the last of the big time showmen in Hollywood.

For instance, when his murder mystery "Macabre" was released in 1958 Castle issued life insurance policies for the audience members, payable if the faint of heart should die of fright during the movie.

But perhaps the apex of his career was 1959's "The Tingler," for which selected theater seats were wired to deliver a mild electric shock to the occupant. Following an announcement that the tingler was loose in the theater, the patrons who had chosen the prepared seats would be jolted to their feet. Of course, only a couple of actually wired seats were needed. Thereafter, anyone who felt anything at all, down to and including a pants cuff brushing against their leg, would jump up just to be safe.

Castle's gimmick films are not widely available on video. [2009 NOTE: Happily, this is no longer the case. A recently released Castle box set largely redresses this omission. See http://tinyurl.com/wmcastle] I suppose this is understandable; after all, if you watch them in your living room you don't get the benefit of the gimmicks. Still, a couple of them are available. While they are by no means great films, they are entertaining. Castle's sense of showmanship informs the content of his films just as surely as it informed his promotions.

"House on Haunted Hill" (1958). Vincent Price stars as a wealthy eccentric who offers a group of people $50,000 each if they will spend a night in a haunted house. The gimmick here was what Castle called "Emergo." At a certain point in the film, theaters would send a skeleton clattering over the audience's heads from the front of the auditorium to the back, giving the impression (they hoped) that it had emerged from the screen.

"13 Ghosts" (1960). A kind of lighthearted forerunner to "The Amityville Horror," this film tells the story of a family that buys and moves into a house only to discover that it is haunted. In fact, it is haunted by no less than 12 ghosts, who are anxious to add another to their ranks so that they will number a good, proper, ghostly 13.

Castle's gimmick for "13 Ghosts" was called "Illusion-O." Audience members received "ghost viewers" upon entering the theater. These were color filters mounted in a small cardboard frame. Thus equipped, the audience members could either look through the viewers or not, depending on whether they wanted to see the ghosts or not. Reproduced below, courtesy of Turner Classic Movies, is the film's promotional trailer touting the "Illusion-O" gimmick.

As shameless as his promotions were, and despite the fact that many of them were more than a little on the dumb side, I can't help missing William Castle just a bit. When the crackerbox multiplex folks act like they are doing me a big favor just to focus the picture, I sometimes wish that Castle's ghost would come screaming out of their screen, rattling his skeleton over the audience, just to show them what real showmanship was like once upon a time.

Put Me In, Coach (originally published 6/96)

2009-10-14T22:52:00.002-04:00

Actors, like athletes, can be divided into two categories: amateurs and pros. In each case, the transition from amateur to pro requires both natural gifts and years of training. There is, however, a striking difference. Although you will never see an amateur athlete competing alongside pros in a regular, non-exhibition game, motion picture releases starring amateur actors are not all that uncommon. When that happens, as it did in the current release “Kazaam,” starring Shaquille O’Neal, the rookie in the cast list usually turns out to be a celebrated athlete. Clearly, the producers are counting on Shaq’s popularity as a sports star to translate into bucks at the box office, thereby offsetting the liability of casting a non-actor in a starring role.

It’s not a new ploy, by any means. Moviemakers have been recruiting from the ranks of the sports community almost as long as there have been movies. In fact, there are even a few star athletes who have made the transition from sports star to movie star with impressive skill. To see some really worthwhile movie work done by ex-jocks, look for these titles on video.

Johnny Weissmuller in “Tarzan, the Ape Man” (1932). Edgar Rice Burroughs’s Tarzan provided the conduit for many an ex-athlete into the movie business. Johnny Weissmuller, a renowned Olympic swimming champion, was not the first to portray Tarzan on the screen and certainly not the last, but he managed to make the part his own in a way that no one since has even approached. With high-dollar M-G-M production values going for him, not to mention that unforgettable yell, Weissmuller parlayed this impressive debut into a successful career.

Paul Robeson in “The Emperor Jones” (1933). It seemed that Paul Robeson succeeded extravagantly at whatever he chose to turn his hand to. Not content with being a professional football star, he graduated from Columbia University’s law school while simultaneously beginning a career as a stage performer. In the film adaptation of Eugene O’Neill’s “The Emperor Jones,” Robeson plays an escaped convict who, through a preposterous sequence of events, becomes the ruler of a small Caribbean island. Robeson, as usual, is brilliant.

Esther Williams in “Neptune’s Daughter” (1949). Like Weissmuller, Esther Williams originally made her mark as a champion swimmer. She was recruited for the movies by M-G-M, where big, elaborate musicals were fast becoming the specialty of the house. They put her in a bathing suit, staged vast, surreal musical numbers around her swimming and diving talents, and brought Red Skelton in for comic support. If you’ve never seen one of these, you owe it to yourself. For a sampling, take a look at the film's trailer, reproduced below courtesy of Turner Classic Movies:

Chuck Connors in “Geronimo” (1962). After playing basketball for Seton Hall, Connors went on to play major league baseball, first for the Brooklyn Dodgers, then for the Chicago Cubs. He is probably best remembered today as the star of the television series “The Rifleman,” but having served that apprenticeship he went on to become a pretty fair journeyman movie actor. Indeed, he has a few moments of real distinction, one of which is his sympathetic portrayal of Geronimo, ruefully watching the betrayal of his people by the United States government.

Ward Bond in “Gentleman Jim” (1942). Plucked from the USC football roster by director John Ford, Ward Bond never looked back, becoming one of the movies’ most dependable supporting players. His golden moments onscreen are legion, but I’ve always had a soft spot for his great portrayal of John L. Sullivan opposite Errol Flynn as “Gentleman Jim” Corbett.

Roosevelt Grier in “The Sophisticated Gents” (1981). Grier’s film career has had its low points, but this excellent TV movie redeems them all. He plays one of nine members of a black athletics club who reunite for a 25th anniversary tribute to their old coach. Melvin Van Peebles adapted the script from the novel “The Junior Bachelor Society” by John A. Williams.

Okay, so we’ve established that ex-jocks can indeed do good work on the big screen. But can they become significant box office draws? For the answer to that one, I refer you to the career of Duke Morrison, another USC football player who was recruited by John Ford at the same time as Ward Bond. He changed his name to John Wayne, starred in “Stagecoach” (1939), and the rest is box office history.

Myth Interpretation (originally published 8/97)

2009-09-07T12:45:00.001-04:00

If you went to see the new, animated version of “Hercules” expecting to see the deeply troubled hero of Greek mythology, I can only assume that you didn’t notice the name “Disney” on the poster. As they have since the days when Uncle Walt himself was still alive, the Disney people continue to recast classic stories in more contemporary storytelling molds. In this case, the harrowing tale of the penitential labors of Hercules has been replaced by the story of a callow youth in a god’s body gradually growing to emotional maturity. To make the story even more accessible, the original setting in ancient Greece has been retained in name only. We see instead an ancient setting overlaid with an anachronistic modern veneer of language and customs, similar to the interweaving of modern technology with the Stone Age setting of “The Flintstones.”

Not surprisingly, this cheerful irreverence toward the original myth is seen by many as an offense against our literary heritage. Well, maybe it is, but if so we shouldn’t send Disney to the pillory all alone. Plenty of other filmmakers have also played fast and loose with Greek and Roman mythology. Here are a few non-Disney titles, all available on video, in which ancient myths are revamped, updated, and generally given a narrative face lift.

“Pygmalion” (1938). The familiar story of “My Fair Lady,” in which Professor Henry Higgins transforms a cockney urchin into a respected lady by coaching her in proper speech, is in fact a modern version of the myth of Pygmalion. In the original myth, a sculptor named Pygmalion fell in love with a statue he had created. The goddess Venus, taking pity on him, endowed the statue with life so that they could be married. This early film version is based on George Bernard Shaw’s non-musical play, the inspiration for “My Fair Lady,” in which the mythological origins of the story are acknowledged in the title.

“Down to Earth” (1947). Rita Hayworth stars as Terpsichore, the Greek muse of dance. A theatrical producer, played by Larry Parks, is staging a show based on the muses, but Terpsichore doesn’t care at all for the “low and vulgar manner” in which she is being portrayed. She receives special dispensation to take on human form to try and rectify the unfortunate situation. This musical comedy was remade in 1980 as “Xanadu,” with Olivia Newton-John as the muse.

“One Touch of Venus” (1948). When a department store window dresser impulsively kisses one of his mannequins, she is magically changed into the personification of Venus, the goddess of love, for 24 hours. The role of Venus went to Ava Gardner, Hollywood’s reigning sex symbol of the period. The film was based on a play by S.J. Perelman featuring songs by Ogden Nash and Kurt Weill. Those who are familiar with the play say that the film doesn’t begin to do it justice. That’s probably true, but for those of us who don’t know what we’re missing, the film remains an entertaining diversion.

“Black Orpheus” (1959). Director Marcel Camus’s fascinating updated version of the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice was the talk of the Cannes Film Festival in 1959. In the original myth, Orpheus pursues his dead wife into the underworld to try to bring her back. Camus’s version changes the setting to modern-day Rio de Janeiro during Carnival. The surreal mood created by the revelers’ outlandish costumes allows the supernatural story of the myth to blend seamlessly with the contemporary setting.

“A Dream of Passion” (1978). Melina Mercouri plays a Greek actress who is rehearsing to star in a stage production of “Medea.” As a publicity stunt, she meets with a woman, played by Ellen Burstyn, who has been convicted of murdering her own children, just as Medea did. Inevitably, the actress becomes absorbed by the story of the woman who has lived out the myth of Medea in real life. The film explores how the interaction of these two women feeds into the interpretation of Medea that emerges on the stage.

That kind of interaction with mythology is, in a sense, what all of these films represent. From Disney to Shaw, each has peered into the myth and seen themselves, then retold the myth in their own way. Whether that’s a desecration or an enhancement is, I’m afraid, too weighty a debate to resolve here.

Frances Marion (originally published 7/97)

2009-08-16T22:05:00.002-04:00

For most of its history, the movie industry has been almost entirely male dominated. Only in recent years have women begun to move into positions of real power, and even that progress has been limited and maddeningly incremental. There was a time, however, when the influence of women in the industry was considerable. In fact, during the heyday of the silent film in the twenties, female screenwriters were so dominant in the field that their male counterparts could occasionally be heard grumbling about the inequity of it all.The big names in script writing included June Mathis, Anita Loos, Jeannie Macpherson, and Bess Meredyth, all enormously talented women reaping the fruits of their creative abilities.

At the top of the pyramid sat Frances Marion, one of early Hollywood’s most colorful, interesting, and gifted figures. The past couple of months has seen a renewed interest in Marion’s life and career, beginning with the publication of Cari Beauchamp’s biography, “Without Lying Down: Frances Marion and the Powerful Women of Early Hollywood” (Scribner, 1997). Patrons at the Museum of Modern Art have recently been treated to a Marion retrospective, entitled “Frances Marion and Her Circle,” at which thirty of her films were screened. If, however, you don’t have the luxury of flying to New York for MOMA screenings, take heart. With a little help from the corner video store, you can have your own private Marion retrospective. Look for these titles on video.

“Poor Little Rich Girl” (1917). Marion had a knack for befriending some of the most talented actresses in the business; that’s the “circle” referred to by the MOMA series title. One of her very best friends was Mary Pickford, the single biggest female star of the silent era. She became known as “America’s Sweetheart,” typically playing little girl roles until she was well into her twenties. This film, scripted by Marion, was largely responsible for the “Little Mary” image that shaped the rest of Pickford’s stellar career. Pickford plays a child of wealth and privilege who has nevertheless remained unspoiled and sweet-natured, a theme most recently reprised in “Richie Rich” (1994) with Macaulay Culkin.

“The Son of the Sheik” (1926). Rudolph Valentino’s reign as Hollywood’s greatest heartthrob of the silent era began in 1921 with “The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse” and was solidified later that same year with the release of “The Sheik.” The sequel to that film, adapted by Marion from Edith M. Hull’s novel, would prove to be the last screen appearance by Valentino before his untimely death. It’s a fine swan song, loaded with action and romance and leavened with a tongue-in-cheek tone that invites you to enjoy the ride without taking it too seriously.

“Min and Bill” (1930). Silent star Marie Dressler’s career had fallen on hard times. Because she had been kind to Marion at a difficult time in her life, Marion determined to help Dressler make a comeback. After securing a part for Dressler in “Anna Christie” (1930), Marion wrote “Min and Bill” for her. Playing opposite Wallace Beery as Bill, Dressler creates the role of Min Divot, a tough, grizzled waterfront innkeeper. Her performance was rewarded with an Academy Award. The film's promotional trailer is reproduced below, courtesy of Turner Classic Movies.

“The Big House” (1930). This dramatization of the brutishness of penitentiary life is the prototype for all subsequent prison movies, from Cagney right down to “The Shawshank Redemption” (1994). Wallace Beery stars as the tough convict who rules the roost at the big house. Marion’s screenplay earned her the first of her two Oscars.

It is utterly impossible in this short space to do justice to Marion’s remarkable career. She wrote scripts for just about every imaginable genre, boosted the careers of innumerable Hollywood stars, and was a trusted consultant to such legendary studio heads as Sam Goldwyn and Irving Thalberg. If I’ve piqued your interest, I can only recommend that you look for Beauchamp’s biography, as well as Marion’s own autobiography, “Off With Their Heads: A Serio-Comic Tale of Hollywood” (Macmillan, 1972). You’ll read about many more of the nearly 150 films she contributed to, including early film versions of “Anne of Green Gables,” “Pollyanna,” “The Scarlet Letter,” and “Camille.” And you might just find yourself wishing for the return of the good old days when women needed no passport into the upper ranks of the film industry except their native talent.

Elementary, Watson, part 2 (originally published 4/01)

2009-07-29T22:43:00.001-04:00

As we saw last week, the Odyssey cable channel’s recent television adaptation of Arthur Conan Doyle’s “The Sign of Four” is only the latest in a long, long line of Sherlock Holmes adaptations for movies and television. Matt Frewer, who plays Holmes in this newest interpretation of the immortal sleuth, follows in the footsteps of an intimidating roster of distinguished predecessors.

We saw, for example, that in the early 1930s a British actor named Arthur Wontner dethroned Ellie Norwood as the screen’s “definitive Holmes.” Wontner so closely resembled Doyle’s descriptions of Holmes that it must have seemed that every actor to follow him would necessarily be doomed to live in his shadow. And yet it was only a few years later that another actor would succeed in eclipsing even the redoubtable Wontner as the public’s favorite Holmes. For some additonal examples of how Holmes has been interpreted through the years, look for these titles on home video.

“The Hound of the Baskervilles” (1939). Twentieth Century Fox struck box office gold by casting Basil Rathbone as Holmes and Nigel Bruce as Watson in Doyle’s creepy tale of death on the moors. They played off one another brilliantly, Bruce as a slightly pompous but bumbling Watson and Rathbone as a high strung, intense Holmes. The film was successful enough to spawn a string of sequels, which finally played out seven years and a dozen films later. By the time “Dressed to Kill” (1946) brought an end to the series, Rathbone’s face, voice, and mannerisms had been burned into the minds of moviegoers as the very embodiment of Holmes.

“The Hound of the Baskervilles” (1959). After Rathbone relinquished the role, other actors were understandably wary of it. For over a decade, therefore, Holmes was uncharacteristically absent from the screen. Eventually, however, Hammer Films, a British studio, took on the challenge. Hammer had already had great success in remaking classics of the horror genre, including a Frankenstein film and a Dracula film. Emboldened by these successes, they decided to risk a new Holmes film. They cast Peter Cushing, one of the studio’s most reliable actors, in the lead. Like Wontner, Cushing bore a striking resemblance to Holmes as described by Doyle. That, along with his proven aptitude for carrying creepy thrillers, produced a performance that could stand quite well alongside Rathbone’s.

“A Study in Terror” (1965). Once the Rathbone curse was lifted from the role by Cushing’s success, filmmakers once again began to bring their own interpretations of Holmes to the screen. One notable entry was this atmospheric thriller, pitting Holmes against none other than Jack the Ripper. It was a logical premise, since the fictional Holmes and the historical Ripper were contemporaries. John Neville, a British leading man who had already played Hamlet on the screen, took on the role of Holmes.

“The Seven Percent Solution” (1976). In 1974, Nicholas Meyer hit the best seller list with a revisionist Holmes novel based on Holmes’s use of cocaine, as frankly described by Doyle, to stave off the psychological demons that plagued him when not actively involved in solving a case. Meyer postulated that Holmes’s arch-rival, Dr. Moriarty, was actually a perfectly ordinary gentleman, elevated by Holmes’s cocaine-addled mind into “the Napoleon of crime.” Dr. Watson, seeing his brilliant friend cracking up, contrives to take Holmes to Vienna to be treated by Sigmund Freud. The film version of Meyer’s book, scripted by Meyer himself, boasted a remarkable cast. Nicol Williamson stars as an unsettlingly human Holmes, ably supported by Robert Duvall as Watson and Alan Arkin as Freud.

“A Scandal in Bohemia” (1984). With the premiere of this series of Sherlockian television programs from Granada Television in England, the mantle of “definitive Holmes” at last was transferred from Basil Rathbone to a new actor. The heir apparent was Jeremy Brett. Hailed by both the general public and Holmes afficionados, Brett’s portrayal remains the current benchmark for the role. The Granada series went on to adapt all but 19 of the Doyle stories before Brett’s untimely death cut the series short.

Matt Frewer has now appeared as Holmes twice, and undoubtedly will again if “The Sign of Four” proves successful. With such a distinguished tradition of Holmes portrayals to live up to, however, you don’t need to be a super-sleuth to deduce that establishing himself in the role is going to be anything but elementary.

Elementary, Watson (originally published 3/01)

2009-07-29T22:38:00.002-04:00

Of all the fictional detectives ever created, it seems that none has taken hold of our collective imagination as firmly as Sherlock Holmes. People who have trouble remembering their relatives’ addresses have no trouble remembering 221-B Baker Street, and occasionally some of them are moved to send a letter there to consult the master himself. Although he is a fictional character, it sometimes seems that Sherlock Holmes is more real than some of the people I encounter in real life.

Maybe it seems that way, in part, because he has been incarnated on the screen, both the movie screen and the television screen, so many times by so many actors. I haven’t done the research to back up the claim, but I would venture to guess that Holmes has been portrayed more times by more different actors than any other fictional character. Only Tarzan comes to mind as a potential rival.

The most recent actor to take on the role of Holmes is Matt Frewer, of “Max Headroom” fame, in a production of “The Sign of Four” that aired recently on the Odyssey cable network. This was Frewer’s second Holmes film, the first being last year’s remake of “The Hound of the Baskervilles.” If you’re interested in comparing Frewer’s interpretation of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s most enduring creation to those of his predecessors, look for these titles on home video.

“Sherlock Holmes: The Early Years” (various dates). The earliest screen adaptations of Doyle’s stories were short silent films, made in the first decade of the existence of motion pictures. Most, naturally, no longer survive. Some of the few remaining scraps of early Holmes cinema have been collected in this videotape, which is available from Movies Unlimited (www.moviesunlimited.com). [2009 UPDATE: This is no longer true, although I did find it for sale at "Hollywood's Attic" online. If interested, you can purchase a VHS copy at http://www.hollywoodsattic.com/shopping/pricelist.asp?prid=1274 -- assuming, of course, that you still have a VHS VCR to play it on.] It includes a 1912 French short subject based on “The Copper Beeches” as well as the earliest known Holmes film, “Sherlock Holmes Baffled,” from 1900. A particular treat is the inclusion of two performances by Ellie Norwood, the first film actor to be regarded as “the definitive Holmes.” Norwood appears in “The Dying Detective” (1921) and “The Devil’s Foot” (1921).

“The Speckled Band” (1931). The earliest Holmes talkie that is available on video is a British production starring Raymond Massey. By this time, William Gillette’s famous stage portrayal had left its indelible mark on Holmes by adding the familiar deerstalker cap and curved Meerschaum pipe to Doyle’s own description of his character. Massey’s Holmes does not fit into any pre-existing mold, however, not even Doyle’s. Instead, he presides over a busy office filled with assistants and futuristic (for the time) equipment. Massey himself was not terribly happy with the result, but it remains an interesting curiosity. [2009 UPDATE: This one has made the transition to DVD. You can find it at http://www.moviesunlimited.com/musite/product.asp?sku=D95859&loc=title]

“A Study in Scarlet” (1933). Reginald Owen is, to my knowledge, the only actor ever to play both Dr. Watson and Sherlock Holmes on the screen. He was Watson to Clive Brook’s Holmes, then took on the lead role for this version of Doyle’s introduction of the character. To call it an adaptation would be an overstatement, however. The producer, Sam Bischoff, had acquired the rights to the title but not to Doyle’s story. Owen himself, along with Robert Florey, wrote a script based on a whole new plot. Owen was an adequate Holmes, but five years later he would leave an altogether more memorable impression in the role of another classic literary character, Ebenezer Scrooge, in the MGM production of “A Christmas Carol” (1938). [2009 UPDATE: This one has also turned up on DVD. Look for it at http://www.amazon.com/Sherlock-Holmes-Study-Scarlet/dp/B00008G8CZ]

“The Triumph of Sherlock Holmes” (1935). The second screen actor to be thought of as “the definitive Holmes” was British stage veteran Arthur Wontner. He remains a particular favorite of Holmes afficionados, who insist that of all the actors to take on the role Wontner comes closest to the character they imagine in their heads when they read the original stories. Indeed, Wontner received a letter of praise and congratulations on his portrayal from Doyle’s own wife. Of Wontner’s five Holmes films, only “The Triumph,” an adaptation of Doyle’s “The Valley of Fear,” remains available on video, although his version of “Silver Blaze” (1937) still turns up occasionally for rent. [2009 UPDATE: Good news for Wontner fans -- there is a very reasonably priced DVD boxed set called "Classic Rarities of Sherlock Holmes" that includes three Wontner/Holmes titles PLUS the above-mentioned Reginald Owen "Study in Scarlet." Look for it at http://www.moviesunlimited.com/musite/product.asp?sku=D72155&loc=title]

Next week we’ll look at more interpretations of the great Sherlock, including that of the actor who became so firmly identified with the role that no one else even bothered to try to follow in his footsteps for more than a decade after he relinquished it.

A Knight at the Movies, part 2 (originally published 5/01)

2009-07-19T13:48:00.003-04:00

Being a knight in the modern world just doesn’t have the same cachet as it did in medieval times. Paul McCartney and Elton John, although estimable fellows to be sure, don’t project the same swashbuckling image somehow as Lancelot and Percival. In the old days you had to slay a dragon or seek the Holy Grail to be knighted; nowadays selling a whole lot of CDs is enough to make the cut.

For those who yearn for the heyday of chivalry when knights were bold, there are movies like the currently playing “A Knight’s Tale” to recreate those halcyon days. As we saw last week, this story of a young squire striving to attain the ideal of knighthood is the most recent in a long line of films dealing with the theme. Here are some additional knightly titles to look for on home video.

“The Black Arrow” (1948). For those who like action packed period films, it’s hard to do much better than this lively adaptation of a Robert Louis Stevenson novel. Louis Hayward stars as a British nobleman returning from the War of the Roses only to learn that his father has been murdered. His quest for vengeance leads to a substantial body count, culminating in the obligatory jousting contest pitting good knight against bad knight.

“The Seventh Seal” (1957). If you like your knights a bit more cerebral, try this enduring classic from the imagination of Swedish cinema master Ingmar Bergman. Max von Sydow, a perennial Bergman collaborator, plays Antonius Block, a weary, disillusioned knight returning from the Crusades to find his homeland ravaged by plague. When he himself is confronted by Death, in the person of a shadowy figure robed in black, he is bold enough to ask Death for a reprieve. He proposes to play a game of chess with Death. As long as he can escape checkmate, Death is to allow him to continue living. Death, who is intrigued by the challenge, and who enjoys a good game of chess, agrees to the terms. Bergman uses the duration of their game to raise fascinating questions about the meaning of life and death, including the theme that he would return to again and again in his films: the difficulty of maintaining religious faith in the face of the silence of God. Heady stuff, to be sure, but Bergman carries it off impressively. If you’ve only been exposed to this film by way of its many parodies, you owe it to yourself to experience the original.

“Lancelot of the Lake” (1974). Last week I called your attention to “Knights of the Round Table” (1953), which glorifies and romanticizes the legendary court of King Arthur. At the other end of the spectrum lies “Lancelot of the Lake,” written and directed by French filmmaker Robert Bresson. Camelot is presented here as a failed ideal populated by petty, avaricious knights. The fabled Lancelot is no better, pursuing his affair with Queen Guinevere in the full knowledge that he is undermining everything that Camelot stands for. Bresson’s films are virtually an art form unto themselves, bearing little resemblance to anyone else’s. Chances are you will either love this film or hate it.

“Knightriders” (1981). Paradoxically, one of my own favorite films about knighthood is set in the Twentieth Century. Written and directed by George Romero, who is best known for “Night of the Living Dead” (1968), it includes many of the familiar appurtenances of courtly romances, including chain mail armor, maces, lances, and, of course, jousting contests. The difference is that these latter day knights ride motorcycles rather than horses. The itinerant group travels from one location to another staging medieval style tournaments for the amusement of the locals. The twist is that the leader of the group, played by Ed Harris, has persuaded them to adopt the social mores and ideals of the mythical Camelot. Setting himself up as king, he seeks to embody the chivalric ideal in the modern world.

I suspect that the impulse, dramatized by Romero, to transplant into today’s world that which was noble and high-minded about the age of chivalry lies at the root of our continuing fascination with movies about knights of old. If only those who engage in today’s jousting contests, from corporate board rooms to the halls of Congress, could be held to those age-old standards, we would probably all be better off.

A Knight at the Movies (originally published 5/01)

2009-07-19T13:41:00.002-04:00

It’s not so hard to understand why we remain fascinated with knighthood as it existed in the Middle Ages. What could be more seductive, after all, than the ideals of chivalry, the lure of adventure on a grand scale, the challenge of holding oneself to a higher standard, and, of course, the fun of knocking other people off their horses with long poles. The latest screen manifestation of this fascination is “A Knight’s Tale,” in which a young squire attempts to joust his way into the 14th Century aristocracy. For a sampling of how earlier films have presented knights of old, look for these titles on home video.

“Don Quichotte” (1935). The classic Cervantes tale of Don Quixote hearkens back to medieval chivalry rather than portraying it directly. Its hero is a latter day admirer of knight-errantry who sets out to live the life he has so often read about. One of the earliest film adaptations of this venerable novel is a French-British production directed by German filmmaker G.W. Pabst. The title role, played by Russian opera star Feodor Chaliapin, calls for four songs from Quixote, making this the first musical film adaptation of the novel, long before “Man of La Mancha” (1972). The songs were written by famed French opera and ballet composer Jacques Ibert. [2009 NOTE: This one takes some finding these days, but it is around. Look for it here: http://www.vaimusic.com/VIDEO/DVD_4367_DonQuixote.htm]

"When Knights Were Bold” (1936). This British production also pokes fun at knightly chivalry; somewhat less elegantly than Cervantes, to be sure, but all in good fun nonetheless. Taking its cue from Mark Twain’s “A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court,” it tells the story of an Englishman who has inherited a castle. Aristocratic ways do not come naturally to him, however, putting him at odds with his rather snooty family. When he is accidentally knocked unconscious by a falling suit of armor, he awakes to find himself in medieval times, where he learns what chivalry is really all about.

“Ivanhoe” (1952). Sir Walter Scott’s epic tale requires a big canvas, and in the 1950s no studio was turning out more lavish fare than MGM. This picture was made at MGM’s British production facility. Mounting big budget productions there made sense owing to the fact that British law at the time required most of the profits earned by American films in the U.K. to be spent there, rather than taking the money out of the British economy. This adaptation of “Ivanhoe” is a prime example of MGM at its international zenith. No expense is spared. The stellar cast features Robert Taylor in the title role, supported by George Sanders, Joan Fontaine, and Elizabeth Taylor. Like many medieval romances, this one is built around the intrigues of Prince John the usurper, scheming to take the throne that rightfully belongs to King Richard the Lionhearted. Sir Wilfred of Ivanhoe valiantly fights for Richard while jousting his way into the hearts of two fair ladies. Reproduced below, courtesy of Turner Classic Movies, is the film's promotional trailer.

“Knights of the Round Table” (1953). Following up on the success of “Ivanhoe,” MGM next turned to the most famous tale of courtly romance ever told. The story of King Arthur remains a perennial favorite, and this, being an MGM production, is one of the most opulent screen renderings of the tale of Camelot. Robert Taylor and Ava Gardner star as Lancelot and Queen Guinevere, whose forbidden romance behind the back of King Arthur (Mel Ferrer) takes center stage. It’s a wide stage, however, with plenty of room for big battle scenes and a hefty sampling of the Arthurian legends’ rich cast of characters. From Merlin to Morgan Le Fay to Gawain, chances are good that your favorite character will turn up at least briefly.

Next week we'll look at some additional movie knights -- knights bold, knights errant, and even a few chivalric knights who somehow wandered into the twentieth century.

The Tiny Invaders (originally published 6/03)

2009-07-14T23:10:00.002-04:00

As gruesome as movie monsters can be, there’s one thing you have to give them. Even if you can’t kill the average matinee monster, you can at least run away from them. The threat they represent is tangible and corporeal. They’re generally big, ugly, loud, and probably smell bad. That’s what I’d call fair warning.

Much more disturbing to me are the real life malefactors that have quietly and insidiously been invading the bodies of people around the world over the last few months to infect them with SARS. What can you do, after all, when the monster that threatens your life is much too small to see? When you can’t know if the precautions you’ve taken were adequate until it’s much too late?

Naturally, the dramatic potential of this type of tiny invader has not escaped filmmakers through the years. If you’ve stayed indoors with the shades pulled since the SARS outbreak, might as well pass the time by watching some entertaining films about public health calamities. It will give you something to do while you’re waiting for your drinking water to boil.

“The Andromeda Strain” (1971). You will perhaps not be surprised to hear that Michael Crichton was out ahead of the curve on this one. Although he didn’t write or direct this adaptation of his novel, the spirit of his book is well represented. The story centers around a group of scientists who are called together at a super-secret government facility dedicated to the control of unknown biohazards. This place is like the Center for Disease Control and Prevention on steroids, high tech to the nth degree. The assembled scientists are brought together to figure out how to deal with a virus brought back by an experimental space probe. It killed every inhabitant of a small, isolated town except for an infant and a sterno bum. Can the docs isolate their common immunity factor before it’s too late? The climax is a typically harrowing Crichton nail-biter. Reproduced below, courtesy of Turner Classic Movies, is the film's promotional trailer.

“Pursuit” (1972). Crichton again. This one is a TV movie based on “Binary,” one of the books Crichton published under the pseudonym “John Lange.” The premise is that a crazed terrorist is threatening to release a deadly nerve gas in a city that is hosting a political convention. The excellent cast includes Ben Gazzara, E.G. Marshall, and William Windom. Crichton himself directed.

“The Crazies” (1973). In a much lesser-known film, George Romero tried a variation on his “Night of the Living Dead” formula with this sardonic biohazard tale. When the military accidentally releases a virulent biochemical weapon, contaminating the water supply of a small Pennsylvania town, the results are pure Romero. This particular bug causes violent insanity before it actually kills, leading the infected citizenry to maim and brutalize each other before succumbing to the disease.

“The Cassandra Crossing” (1977). Have you noticed that all the titles so far are from the 1970s? What can I tell you, we had a thing for disaster movies back then, from overturned ocean liners to buildings on fire to imperiled airliners. Sooner or later there had to be a train disaster movie, and this was it. The plot involves terrorists on board a European express train, but the ante is further raised by the fact that the terrorists have been exposed to the plague. While the military types, as represented by Burt Lancaster, try to deal with the terrorists, the medical types, as represented by Richard Harris, must try to cope with the spread of plague through the train. It’s all a bit far-fetched, but fun if you’re in the mood.

“Panic in the Streets” (1950). I wanted to throw this one in just to prove that the 1970s didn’t have a complete lock on this kind of film. Richard Widmark stars as a public health doctor with the unenviable task of tracking down a murderer who probably contracted pneumonic plague from his last victim. It’s as tense in its own way as anything Michael Crichton ever dreamed up. Best of all, it was directed by one of the legends of the industry, Elia Kazan.

You should be able to find each of these films on the shelves of one of your local video stores. That’s assuming, of course, that you’re willing to risk leaving the house to go and look for them.

Burning Rubber and Swapping Paint (originally published 6/03)

2009-07-06T10:51:00.003-04:00

Despite their name, movies don’t actually move. They are, in fact, nothing more than a succession of still pictures. Even so, the illusion of motion they create is so compelling that we call them motion pictures in spite of the fact that we know better.

Because motion is the single most salient aspect of movies, stories that involve lots of movement have an inherent cinematic advantage over more sedentary subject matter. This accounts, in part, for the popularity of films like the recently released “2 Fast 2 Furious,” which relies heavily on variations on the tried and true action movie gimmick of the high speed car chase. If you’ve seen this high octane thriller and found that it didn’t entirely fulfill your motion quotient, you might want to seek out these films featuring famous car chases.

“Thunder Road” (1958). Robert Mitchum stars as a Tennessee moonshine runner whose fast driving skills keep him just barely one step ahead of the federal revenue agents. This was something of a pet project for Mitchum, who produced and co-scripted in addition to playing the lead.

“Bullitt” (1968). Steve McQueen stars as a San Francisco detective assigned to see that a targeted witness lives to testify. When he detects the bad guys tailing his car, he whips around and starts following them. This leads to a high speed game of cat and mouse. As the two cars leap and lurch over the extremely hilly streets of San Francisco, you may find your heart leaping and lurching into your throat. This was the car chase scene that set the benchmark for all those that followed. Reproduced below, courtesy of Turner Classic Movies, is the film's promotional trailer, which includes a few clips from the famous chase scene.

“Vanishing Point” (1971). Barry Newman plays Kowalski, a professional driver who has contracted to deliver a car from Denver to San Francisco. On a whim, he makes a bet that he can make the trip in 15 hours. As he burns up the road, popping pep pills and breaking laws, he encounters increasing resistance from law enforcement types who take a dim view of his driving methods. Meanwhile, police radio chatter about Kowalski is monitored by a blind disk jockey called “Super Soul” (Cleavon Little), who uses his radio show to cheer Kowalski on. Ultimately, this is a rather bleak, road-to-nowhere existentialist film. Still, it’s a rare treat for car chase fans, since almost the whole movie is one long chase scene.

“The French Connection” (1971). Director William Friedkin’s career was made by this gritty tale of New York narcotics cops tracking down a French drug kingpin. Gene Hackman as Jimmy “Popeye” Doyle and Roy Scheider as his partner, Buddy Russo, aren’t your basic by-the-book cops, but they seem to get results. The legendary chase scene involves Doyle pursuing a man who has just taken a shot at him. When the bad guy takes an elevated transit train, Doyle’s only hope of catching him is to get to the next station first. He commandeers a car and races flat-out under the elevated tracks. It’s a real white-knuckle ride, with Friedkin throwing one obstacle after another in Doyle’s path.

“The Seven Ups” (1973). Philip D’Antoni, who produced “The French Connection,” directed this one. It’s a kind of semi-reprise of the earlier film, retaining Roy Scheider and the car chases but without devoting a lot of time to plot and characterization. Others might feel cheated, but the car chase purists will love it.

“The Driver” (1978). Writer/director Walter Hill’s dark drama pits Ryan O’Neal as a getaway driver against Bruce Dern as the cop who is obsessed with nailing him. The film begins and ends with spectacular chase sequences, one in which O’Neal’s character is the pursued and one in which he is the pursuer.

“Live and Let Die” (1973). I can’t resist mentioning the chase from this first film with Roger Moore as James Bond. It isn’t strictly a car chase because most of the chasing is done in speedboats, but it is a very funny parody of movie chase conventions. Most of the humor comes from focusing on the havoc inflicted on bystanders, from a pool party to a wedding party.

There are some other great movie car chases available on video that I’d love to tell you about but, frankly, the shock absorbers on my DVD player are shot from all this tearing around. Until I can get the suspension overhauled, I’d better stick to more tranquil categories.

Pixar's Predecessors (originally published 6/03)

2009-06-29T22:56:00.002-04:00

Too often, taking a child to the movies proves to be a distasteful chore. Naturally, you want to avoid the violence and salaciousness of the R-rated fare, so you opt for the “kiddie films.” These are guaranteed to be free of blood, gore, and kinky sex, but, unfortunately, they are usually equally free of imagination, interesting characters, and ideas of any kind.

In recent years, however, a marvelous company called Pixar has demonstrated that films aimed at young audiences need not sacrifice storytelling excellence. From “Toy Story” (1995) to “Monsters, Inc.” (2001) to their most recent release, “Finding Nemo,” they have consistently shown a concern for telling engaging and coherent stories rather than simply allowing their animation virtuosity to carry their films.

Pixar didn’t invent the radical idea of employing talent and taste in the production of children’s films, however. They merely resurrected it after a long period of dormancy. For a sampling of earlier films that target young audiences without insulting their intelligence, look for these titles on home video.

“The 5000 Fingers of Dr. T” (1953). This was the only original film script written by Dr. Seuss (Theodore Geisel). It is a wonderful fantasy about a tyrannical piano teacher who enslaves 500 children to play for him on an enormous piano. The role of the nefarious Dr. Terwilliger is played by Hans Conried, a character actor whose name may not be familiar to you, but whose voice undoubtedly will be. If you love reading the Dr. Seuss books to your kids, and find that you keep on reading them after the kids are asleep, give this gem a try.

“The Seven Faces of Dr. Lao” (1964). Don’t be put off by the title. I know it sounds like a James Bond film, but in fact it is a charming and moving fantasy executed by masters of the genre. The producer-director was George Pal, who also produced “Destination Moon” (1950), “War of the Worlds” (1953), and “When Worlds Collide” (1951). I had the privilege of meeting and talking with Pal just a couple of years before his death. He told me that of all his films this one had most especially been a labor of love. He had gone to Charles Beaumont, one of the three principle scriptwriters for the original “Twilight Zone” television series, and asked him what script he would write if he could choose any subject at all. Beaumont replied that he had always wanted to adapt Charles Finney’s short novel, “The Circus of Dr. Lao,” for the screen. Pal commissioned the script on the spot and directed the picture himself. The story is about a little town in the old West that is dying. Its resources are drying up and its inhabitants are thinking of selling out to a crooked entrepreneur who has neglected to mention the railroad that will soon be built through the town. While they ponder their decision, a strange and wonderful circus comes to town, presided over by an enigmatic Chinaman named Dr. Lao. Tony Randall gives an astonishing performance, not only as Dr. Lao, but also as several of the attractions in his circus, including Merlin the Magician, the Medusa, Pan, and even the Abominable Snowman. Don’t miss this one. It will feed the kids’ imaginations and give them plenty of ideas to chew on without going over their heads. And by all means watch it with them – it offers plenty for grownups to chew on as well. Reproduced below, courtesy of Turner Classic movies, are a few clips from the film, along with excerpts from an interview with Tony Randall.

“Babes in Toyland” (1934). Please note the date on this one. If you pick up the 1961 version you will have missed the boat. The 1934 version of the classic Victor Herbert operetta has two things going for it that no other version can touch: Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy. They play the Toymaker’s assistants in a Toyland that is terrorized by a villain named Barnaby and his army of bogeymen. Barnaby tries to force Bo-Peep to marry him until Laurel and Hardy enlist the aid of the wooden soldiers to save the day.

When the Pixar films begin to lose their edge after the hundredth viewing, don’t yield to the temptation to turn your kids’ entertainment over to the tender mercies of the Care Bears. Remember that the corner video store has plenty of worthwhile films to offer them if you’re willing to make a detour to the vintage section.

Hope Endures (originally published 7/03, on the occasion of Bob Hope's death)

2009-06-28T00:10:00.002-04:00

After a century of life, most of it spent in show business, Bob Hope left behind a rich and voluminous legacy in the form of books, recordings of radio shows, and videotapes of television programs. Still, for my money, the most enduring monuments to this entertainment giant remain his films. For some reason, perhaps because he continued to do television long after his movie career had ended, people seem to remember him more for his TV work than for his movies, and yet it was on the big screen that he came into his own as more than just a joke machine. In his motion pictures, he emerged as a unique and gifted comic actor.

I can only imagine that the problem lies in the fact that his movies are screened only rarely. The last major theatrical festival of his film work that I’m aware of was way back in May of 1979, a series of screenings at the Film Society of Lincoln Center. In this age of home video, however, there is no excuse for such a distinguished body of work to languish unseen. If you’re looking for an appropriate way to mark the passing of one of the all-time great comic talents, head down to the video store and pick up these titles.

“The Paleface” (1948). Hope’s classic comic Western finds him in a typical role as a wisecracking but likeable frontier dentist. Jane Russell, one of the leading glamour actresses of the 1940s, plays Calamity Jane. Tough as nails and a dead shot, she’s the polar opposite of Hope’s character, who is cowardly and inept. Calamity is sprung from prison by the government in exchange for her promise to find out who has been smuggling guns to the Indians. To give herself a respectable cover from which to operate, she marries Hope’s character and travels west with him. The two played off each other so successfully that a sequel, “Son of Paleface,” was made four years later.

“Road to Morocco” (1942). Beginning in 1940 with “Road to Singapore,” Hope was teamed with Bing Crosby for a memorable series of “Road” pictures. Invariably, they ended up vying for the attention of Dorothy Lamour, who appeared in all the pictures in the series. Actually, you can’t go wrong with any of the “Road” films, but this one happens to be my favorite. It was in this film that the most distinctive element of the series really came to the fore: the occasional acknowledgement by the actors that this is only a movie. For instance, when Crosby interrupts Hope’s hysterics over their hopeless plight to point out that they are safe after all, Hope scolds him for spoiling what might have been an Academy Award-winning performance. This was a running gag with Hope, who continually joked about his failure to win an Oscar. “At my house,” he would lament, “Oscar night is known as Passover.” (Actually, he was awarded five Oscars during the course of his career, although none were for “best actor.”)

“My Favorite Blonde” (1942). Madeleine Carroll plays a British agent who is being pursued by Nazis. Hope is a vaudeville comic who unwittingly gets mixed up in the intrigue by being in the wrong place at the right time. This picture helped to define the comic spy genre that, among other things, influenced the TV series “Moonlighting.” Hope returned to this type of material in 1943 with “They Got Me Covered,” and again in 1947 with “My Favorite Brunette.” Reproduced below, courtesy of Turner Classic Movies, is the film's promotional trailer.

“Louisiana Purchase” (1941). This was the film adaptation of an Irving Berlin musical play that gently poked fun at political corruption in Louisiana during the Huey Long era. Just two years after Jimmy Stewart’s emotionally charged filibuster scene in Frank Capra’s “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington,” Hope delivers a wonderful comic turn on the idea of a one-man filibuster. In its way, it’s just as much of a classic scene as Stewart’s was.

This is only the beginning. There’s also “The Cat and the Canary” (1939), “Monsieur Beaucaire” (1946), “The Lemon Drop Kid” (1951), “The Seven Little Foys” (1955), and many more. Once you’ve rediscovered what a talented comic actor Hope truly was, I predict you’ll want to see them all. After all, in a world without Hope, we need all the laughs we can get.

Double Your Pleasure (originally published 12/03)

2009-06-21T13:53:00.001-04:00

From Shakespeare’s “Comedy of Errors” to the familiar old Doublemint Gum commercials, twin siblings have been a constant presence in popular entertainment for centuries. Movies, of course, have a distinct advantage in that camera trickery can be used to transform a single actor into twins.

In their new release, “Stuck on You,” the Farrelly Brothers bring their own peculiar twist to the theme, casting Greg Kinnear and Matt Damon as Siamese twins joined at the hip. If you prefer your movie twins to be a bit more conventional – identical but separate – here are some titles to look for on home video.

“Our Relations” (1936). Laurel and Hardy play a couple of sailors who happen to put into port in the hometown of their long lost twin brothers (also played by Laurel and Hardy). The sailors hang out, as movie sailors will, in disreputable beer halls. Their twins, a pair of family men, find themselves with lots of explaining to do when their wives learn that they’ve been seen chasing skirts in waterfront dives.

“Wonder Man” (1945). Danny Kaye must have concluded that the only way to top his wildly successful movie debut in “Up in Arms” was to become twins, because that’s exactly what he did in this classic musical comedy. The first brother, a brash entertainer, is knocked off by gangsters for knowing too much. His ghost then returns to convince his twin, a mousy intellectual, to avenge his murder. When the living brother’s staid temperament proves unequal to the task, the dead brother simply takes possession of his body to get the job done.

“The Corsican Brothers” (1941). Douglas Fairbanks Jr. carried on the family tradition in action pictures such as this adaptation of the Alexander Dumas classic. Fairbanks uses movie magic to take on both title roles as Lucien and Mario Franchi. Born as Siamese twins, the Franchi brothers narrowly escape the massacre of their family by the evil Baron Colonna. When an operation to separate them miraculously succeeds, the orphaned twins are raised separately for their protection. Lucien grows up in the forests of Corsica, becoming a kind of Robin Hood figure, while Mario is raised by friends of the family in Paris. When they meet for the first time at age 21, they both swear vengeance on the Colonna family.

“Dead Ringer” (1964). Bette Davis, in her gothic horror period, plays twin sisters. One sister has never forgiven the other one for stealing away her sweetheart by convincing him that she was pregnant with his child. Ultimately her resentment drives her to murder the offending sister. In addition to avenging the wrong she has suffered, this also allows her to assume the murdered sister’s identity and to assume control of her considerable wealth. Unfortunately, it transpires that the dead sister had been mixed up in homicide herself, leaving the surviving sister in the ironic position of getting away with one murder while standing in the shadow of the gallows for a murder she didn’t commit.

“Start the Revolution Without Me” (1970). On the eve of the premiere of their groundbreaking television show, “All in the Family,” Norman Lear and Bud Yorkin unleashed this historical romp on the big screen. It begins with a kind of loose parody of “The Corsican Brothers,” then, like the man in the Stephen Leacock story, rides off in several directions. Gene Wilder and Donald Sutherland play two sets of twins in 18th Century France, one of noble blood and one born to commoners. The attending physician, confused about which babies belonged with which family, had switched two of them in the cradle. Naturally, the sets of twins are mistaken for one another, involving the commoners in royal intrigues about which they know nothing. The lunacy builds until at last the story can no longer contain it, leading to a truly wild conclusion.

“The Parent Trap” (1961). We can’t, of course, forget this Disney confection, with Hayley Mills as twin sisters who have been raised separately by divorced parents. When they finally meet, they devote their combined energies to reuniting their wayward parents. It’s good, clean fun for those who are up to the challenge of suspending their disbelief to a degree above and beyond the usual call of duty.

The Immortal Tramp (originally published 2/04)

2009-06-06T12:45:00.001-04:00

Few cinematic experiences are more foreign to 21st Century moviegoers than a silent comedy. These ethereal, surreal, mute monuments to the forgotten art of pantomime inhabit a screen universe so remote from today’s comic fare that it seems a stretch to classify them both under the common rubric of comedy. Any filmmaker who can bridge that gap, who can maintain any sort of viewership across that stylistic gulf, not to mention nearly a century of time, is remarkable indeed.

One of those who has accomplished this feat is Charles Spencer Chaplin. Fans of Chaplin’s work have much to be thankful for on the home video front. High quality DVD releases of Chaplin’s work from Image Entertainment and Warner Brothers Home Video are widely available, along with an excellent documentary on Chaplin’s life and work. “Charlie: The Life and Art of Charles Chaplin,” produced by Time Magazine film critic Richard Schickel, is well worth seeing.

When it comes to Chaplin’s feature films, I find that I can sum up my advice to you in three words: see them all. The only thing you need to know is that “City Lights” (1931) and “Modern Times” (1936) are silent films made after everyone else had converted to sound, so that all sound effects and synchronized music are part of the original soundtrack, not added after the fact. That’s really Chaplin’s voice singing the nonsense song in “Modern Times.”

Instead of focusing on the feature films, I thought I would offer some recommendations on Chaplin’s lesser known short subjects, which are now also readily available on home video. I’m going to recommend one title from each of the significant early periods of Chaplin’s career.

He got his start in the movie business working for Mack Sennett’s Keystone Studio, as did most of the major comedy stars of the silent era. It was during his tenure with Keystone that Chaplin learned the ropes and began searching for a comic persona. As a result, the quality of these early efforts is uneven. The tramp outfit, in all its essentials, appears very early on, but the nuances of characterization took years to evolve.

The title I think I would recommend from the Keystone period is “The Rounders” (1914). Chaplin is teamed with Roscoe Arbuckle, another very talented comic who has been cited as a major influence by no less than Buster Keaton. Chaplin and Arbuckle play a couple of swells who are out for a night on the town. By the end of the evening they have explored new frontiers of drunkenness, but then they must confront the problem of going home to face their respective wives.

Chaplin soon left Keystone, frustrated by the conflict between the fast-paced, broad slapstick demanded by Sennett and the more subtle pantomime that his emerging Tramp character required. He signed a contract with the Essanay Studio that greatly expanded his creative control.

The Essanay film to see is “The Tramp” (1915). This is arguably the specific point in his career at which the Tramp character he had been toying with at Keystone crystallized and matured. The key ingredient that was added here was pathos – that little touch of tragedy to offset the comedy and give it emotional weight.

Probably Chaplin’s most fertile period prior to making feature pictures was spent making short subjects for the Mutual film company. These twelve little masterpieces, released in 1916 and 1917, are the work of a fully mature comic artist. You really can’t go wrong with any of Chaplin’s Mutual releases, but I have a special fondness for “The Immigrant” (1917). The plot is virtually nonexistent – coming over on a boat to America, Charlie meets and falls for Edna Purviance, his perennial leading lady from the early days – but Chaplin’s blending of laughter with poignancy and knockabout with subtle pantomime was never more sure-footed and masterful.

This year marks the ninth decade since Chaplin’s first appearance on screen. There can now be little remaining doubt that his work has outlived mere nostalgia. Against all odds, his artistry continues to engender new fans even into a new millennium. His best works are, as if anyone seriously doubted it, works for the ages.

The Serial Killers (originally published 3/04)

2009-05-31T23:30:00.001-04:00

It goes without saying that murder and murderers hold a fatal attraction for filmmakers. In fact, the only thing that cinema storytellers like more than a good, juicy murder is a whole string of them. Serial killings are tailor-made for the action film genre, since nothing keeps the old plot line moving like a fresh corpse every few minutes.

If you doubt it, go and see “Twisted,” the current release starring Ashley Judd and Andy Garcia as a pair of cops tracking down a serial killer. If you’ve already seen “Twisted,” and haven’t been reduced to peeking under the bed at night by the experience, you might also enjoy these serial killer movies.

“M” (1931). Director Fritz Lang’s classic suspense film is one of the most respected masterpieces of the German cinema. Peter Lorre, in his first major role, is outstanding as a compulsive child murderer. His eerie signature is the melody from Edvard Grieg’s “Peer Gynt” that he whistles whenever murder is on his mind. In trying to track him down, the police become so eager that their investigation begins to hamper the activities of the local organized crime syndicate. To get back to business as usual, the criminals set out to find the killer themselves, so that he is eventually under pursuit from both sides of the law.

“While the City Sleeps” (1956). Years later, in the United States, Lang made this fascinating echo of “M.” Again, there is a serial killer terrorizing the city. A newspaper publisher offers the position of editor-in-chief to any member of his editorial staff who finds the killer, sending each editor scrambling for sources to pursue the murderer’s identity. As in “M,” Lang presents us with an organization outside of law enforcement mobilizing to catch a serial killer for all the wrong reasons. Apparently the cynicism that informed Lang’s work in pre-war Germany remained undiminished in postwar America.

“The Boston Strangler” (1968). Tony Curtis portrays Albert De Salvo, a real-life serial killer who terrorized the Back Bay of Boston between 1962 and 1964. Director Richard Fleischer chose to tell the story in a semi-documentary style. He also made use of a split screen technique that was in vogue at the time, dividing the wide screen up into multiple images seen simultaneously.

“10 Rillington Place” (1971). Fleischer’s other serial killer film, less well known but every bit as good as “The Boston Strangler,” stars Richard Attenborough as John Reginald Christie, the British serial killer. Christie’s testimony had resulted in the execution of Timothy John Evans for the murder of Evans’s wife and infant daughter. Only later was it discovered that Christie had committed those murders, and others besides. This was the case that led to the abolition of the death penalty in England.

“Eyes Without a Face” (1959). French director Georges Franju’s gothic classic is a triumph of moody horror. A plastic surgeon is overcome with guilt when his reckless driving causes the disfigurement of his daughter’s face. Determined to restore her beauty, he kidnaps and kills a series of women in order to remove their facial skin. His efforts to graft the new skin onto his daughter’s face repeatedly fail, necessitating more and more murders.

“Monsieur Verdoux” (1947). Believe it or not, there are even a handful of comedies on the subject of serial killings. This one was made by Charlie Chaplin, who cast himself in the role of a wife-murdering bluebeard. Chaplin was trying to make a point about hypocrisy – that a world that sees no moral problem with atomic bombs and other horrendous weapons of war shouldn’t be troubled by a little thing like serial killings. In the light of the atrocities for which medals are given in time of war, Chaplin thought, a bluebeard is by comparison a laughing matter.

The Ealing Comedies (originally published 3/04)

2009-05-24T09:35:00.001-04:00

The Coen Brothers, Ethan and Joel, are clearly fans of classic movies in addition to being exceptionally talented filmmakers. They have drawn inspiration for many of their films from popular genres of the past, and even borrowed the title of “O Brother, Where Art Thou?” (2000) from the script of a Preston Sturges comedy called “Sullivan’s Travels” (1941). Their next release, however, a comedy called “The Ladykillers,” is their first out and out remake.

The film they have chosen to remake is one of a series of beloved British comedies from the Ealing studio, each of which starred Alec Guinness. If you only know Guinness from “Star Wars,” you really owe it to yourself to see these remarkable showcases of his talents. For a sampling of the work that inspired the Coens, look for these classic Ealing comedies on home video.

“The Lavender Hill Mob” (1951). Guinness plays a bank employee, a mousey little clerk who rides along with the armored cars that carry the shipments of gold bullion. He is fussy and persnickety, insisting that security procedures be followed to the letter each and every time. In reality, he has been quietly plotting for years to steal the gold. The film is full of wonderful British character actors, including Stanley Holloway, whom you may remember as Alfred Doolittle from the film adaptation of “My Fair Lady” (1964). The film’s final chase scene is especially hysterical.

“Kind Hearts and Coronets” (1949). This is the story of a family black sheep who calculates that in the improbable event that eight of his snobby relatives should pass away in rapid succession, he would inherit a dukedom. Seeing that it would be risky to leave such a sequence of events to chance, he resolves to murder all eight of them. He is motivated partly by personal gain, but also by the fact that the family treated his mother shabbily. I know, it doesn’t sound much like a comedy, but it is. Guinness, you see, doesn’t play the young murderer. Instead, he is cast in the roles of all eight of the victims, one of whom is a woman.

“The Man in the White Suit” (1951). Guinness plays a chemist working for a British textile plant. Working on his own time and without company authorization, he develops a formula for a fabric that cannot be soiled or stained, and which will never wear out. He is elated about his discovery, but, to his surprise, his employers receive the news with dismay rather than appreciation. They realize what he hadn’t – that this formula would in short order make their entire industry obsolete. Suddenly this inoffensive little chemist who only wanted to contribute to humanity finds himself at the center of a political firestorm. The satire is biting and very funny. Even the noises made by Guinness’s infernal machine are funny.

“The Ladykillers” (1955). In the film that provides direct inspiration to the Coens, Guinness is again on the wrong side of the law. He and his gang rent rooms from a dotty little old lady, where they plan their robberies. When she accidentally sees a cello case full of money, the gangsters decide that she knows too much and must be killed. But God, apparently, is on her side. As each one in turn tries to do her in, something goes wrong and it is the would-be killer who meets an untimely end. The outstanding cast includes Peter Sellers and Herbert Lom, who would later play off each other so hilariously in the “Pink Panther” series with Sellers as Clouseau and Lom as Chief Inspector Dreyfuss.

I should probably pause here to point out the obvious. Ealing Studios in England made pictures for the home market. If the Yanks overseas liked them too, well and good, but if not, that was okay too. To really thoroughly enjoy these films, then, you need to have an appreciation for the eccentricities of British humor. Most especially, an appreciation for black humor is required.

Still, if the success of “Raising Arizona” (1987) and “Fargo” (1996) are any indication, the Coens have very effectively zeroed in on a segment of the American audience that does appreciate eccentric filmmaking. If you like their work, trust me, you’ll love the Ealing comedies.

A Walk on the Wild Side (originally published 8/05)

2009-05-09T21:01:00.002-04:00

The adage is as old as show business itself: never perform with children or animals. They’ll steal the show right out from under you without ever even knowing that they’re doing it. Unfortunately for thespian egos, movies featuring both types of scene stealers never seem to go out of style with audiences.

In the animal movie category, this year’s “March of the Penguins” has become a box office smash in a year not overburdened with such successes. For those who prefer their movie stars furry, feathered, or with fins, I thought I’d mention a few favorite animal movie titles. I am, however, ruling out dog movies and horse movies on the grounds that they constitute categories unto themselves, if only by reason of sheer numbers.

“The Yearling” (1946). Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings’s Pulitzer Prize winning novel was adapted for the screen by veteran director Clarence Brown. Gregory Peck and Jane Wyman play the parents in this sentimental tale of pioneer hardships. Their son is played by Claude Jarman Jr. The story is a familiar one. The son adopts a fawn as a pet, but finds that his family’s hardscrabble existence doesn’t allow for such luxuries. When the fawn becomes a threat to their survival, the boy must face the hardest and most heartbreaking decision of his young life. It is a deeply touching story, skillfully told.

“Bedtime For Bonzo” (1951). This harmless little movie became the butt of innumerable jokes during its star’s tenure as president of the United States. I had my share of fun with it too, but with the Reagan administration safely tucked away in the dustbin of history, it’s time to admit that this is really a pretty good movie. In addition to being amusing, it uses humor to address one of the great scientific debates of the century: nature versus nurture. Professor Peter Boyd (Ronald Reagan) is committed to demonstrating that it is environment, not heredity, that determines who we are. To prove the point, he takes a chimpanzee named Bonzo into his home to raise him just as he would a human child. So, you see, Ronnie was actually ahead of the curve in advocating family values. The film's promotional trailer is reproduced below, courtesy of Turner Classic Movies.

“Born Free” (1966). Based on the nonfiction book by Joy Adamson, this film tells the story of an African game warden and his wife, and of their pet lioness named Elsa. Having raised the orphaned Elsa and her siblings from cubs, Joy finds that she is too attached to Elsa to part with her. Eventually, of course, she has to face the fact that lions were meant to be free. But by then Elsa is grown, so it is up to Joy to teach her how to survive in the wild.

“Doctor Dolittle” (1967). I realize I’m in the minority here, but I much prefer this earlier version of Hugh Lofting’s classic stories to the Eddie Murphy remake. Neither version measures up to Lofting’s imaginative originals, but this one at least attempts to stay closer to his storylines. It also has the advantage of Rex Harrison’s charming performance in the lead role. More importantly, it raises, in an entertaining way, some of the animal rights issues that are only now beginning to be taken seriously. Even so, it was a resounding flop at the box office, and is regularly cited on lists of the worst films ever made. Well, I don’t care. I still like it.

“Flipper” (1963). This was the film that led producer Ivan Tors, during the latter part of his career, to specialize in moves and TV shows featuring animals. The story of a boy who adopts a dolphin as a pet clearly echoes “The Yearling,” but without the emotional depth, and with a much happier ending. Even so, the leisurely, almost European pacing is beguiling, and Flipper was endearing enough to be cast in a successful TV series.

It is perhaps worth mentioning that “March of the Penguins” takes the animal movie to its logical conclusion by eliminating the onscreen human co-stars altogether. The lone homo sapien thespian, Morgan Freeman, is relegated to the role of narrator. From the producer’s point of view, this would seem to be a no-brainer. Animal actors rarely come with entourages, and almost never demand their own trailer or a percentage of the profits. Human actors might do well to watch their backs.

Ellison Wonderland (originally published 8/93)

2009-04-30T22:42:00.002-04:00

What happens to you when you get really angry? Yeah, me too. We fume and sputter and make idiots of ourselves. It is only hours later, in the cold blood of bitter reflection, that we realize what we should have said.

But every now and then a person will be born with a diode wired in backward somewhere so that they actually get more articulate as their anger rises, not less. If that person also happens to be a writer, like H.L. Mencken or Philip Wylie, they can offer us a rare gift. Like Howard Beale in the movie "Network," they can articulate our rage for us.

I mention this by way of following up last week's column on "guilty pleasures," the bad movies that we love out of sheer perversity. One of the movies shown on TNT's recent "Bad Movies We Love" night was "The Oscar." Its script was co-written by Harlan Ellison, although he doesn't enjoy admitting it.

But if you saw "The Oscar," and if by chance this was your first exposure to Ellison's work, I need to tug your sleeve and make you aware that it is in no way representative of his work as a whole. To the contrary, he belongs to that tiny and valuable fraternity of writers for whom anger is a catalyst and not an impediment to effective communication.

The purest expression of his anger as craftsmanship is to be found in his many published essays. In his fiction, and in his scripts, it tends to take the form of emotionally charged fantasy tropes. His stories typically involve people pushed beyond the limits of what the real world can contain. It's a form of fantasy that was popularized by Rod Serling's "The Twilight Zone," but no one brings quite as much of an edge to it as Ellison.

If you liked Serling's shows, and you're ready to handcuff yourself to a writer who will pursue the darkest of human emotions to the edge of the abyss and leap in after them, Ellison's fiction is for you. His scripts, by comparison, tend to end up a bit watered down, but even so they still pack a punch. Forget about "The Oscar," then, and look for these Ellison titles at the corner video store.

"Soldier" (1964). This episode of the "Outer Limits" television series tells the story of a soldier from the far future who is transported back in time to the present day. Although human, he is as close to a fighting machine as futuristic training and indoctrination can make him. Warfare is all he knows, all he can cope with. Does this sound vaguely familiar? The producers of "The Terminator" were ultimately persuaded that it was similar enough that the film's credits should include an acknowledgment of the inspiration provided by Ellison's work.

"Demon With a Glass Hand" (1964). Ellison's second script for "The Outer Limits" won him the Writer's Guild Award as the best teleplay of the year, an honor he has now received four times. Again it features a time traveler from the future, but a benevolent one this time. A mysterious amnesia has rendered his origin and purpose a mystery, even to himself. As he struggles to solve the puzzle of his own identity, he must simultaneously struggle to stay alive. He has been pursued into the past by futuristic bad guys who clearly want him dead. Slowly he comes to the awful realization that he is the last hope of humanity.

"City on the Edge of Forever" (1967). Ellison's one and only script for the original "Star Trek" series is regarded by many as the best episode of all. Dr. McCoy goes through a time portal and ends up on Earth in the 1930s. While there, he does something that completely alters subsequent history. Kirk and Spock go after him to set things right and discover that McCoy had disrupted history by saving the life of a woman who would otherwise have died in a traffic accident. The problem is that by the time they figure this out Kirk has met and fallen in love with the woman who must die. Will he do the necessary thing and let her die, or will he sacrifice Earth's history for love? Ellison received his second Writer's Guild Award for this script.

Could superior scripts like these really be the work of the author of "The Oscar?" I prefer to blame the film on Ellison's two co-authors. After all, he may be beautiful when he's angry, but I don't particularly want him angry at me.

Guilty Pleasures (originally published 8/93)

2009-04-11T11:58:00.002-04:00

Sometimes I marvel at the times we're living in. While federal meat inspectors blithely approve the sale of disease-ridden flesh, TV movie reviewers agonize over whether to give a movie a thumbs-up.

"I don't know," the critic says, obviously enduring a dark night of the soul right there in front of the cameras. "The film has some charming moments and a lot of heart, but I just can't quite recommend it."

Oh, go on, force yourself.

My own theory is that if you liked a movie, it's good. If you didn't like it, there are two possibilities: a) you're not part of the movie's intended audience or b) it's bad. As a general rule of thumb this works pretty well, but you also have to take into account that little streak of perversity that lives inside all of us. If we’re honest with ourselves we all have to admit that there are some movies that we genuinely love in spite of their undeniable ghastliness. From Joe Sixpack to the most erudite cinema scholar, it’s my contention that every moviegoer has a few of these “guilty pleasures.” Here are some of mine.

“The Phantom Empire” (1935). Although you might not guess it from the title, this 12-chapter serial is an early Gene Autry picture. He was already well known as a radio singing cowboy, but this was his first starring role in a movie. In a stretch truly worthy of his acting talents, he plays a radio singing cowboy named Gene Autry. But that’s not the weird part. The plot has him doing battle with the denizens of the lost underground city of Murania. Their futuristic society has the advantage of all manner of advanced gadgetry, including metal robots in stovepipe hats. (No, I mean literally – hats made out of stovepipes.) You have to wonder what they were smoking when they decided to cast their budding young Western star in a Buck Rogers story line. There is absolutely no excuse for this movie, but I love it dearly.

“Bucket of Blood” (1959). Most people are familiar with Roger Corman’s hilarious “Little Shop of Horrors” (1960) thanks to the successful musical play it inspired. Less well known is this earlier Corman film, his first effort at combining his low-budget horror film formula with comedy. Corman stalwart Dick Miller plays Walter Paisley, a young sculptor yearning to gain the acceptance of the artsy, pretentious coffee house crowd. Eventually he does make it big, but only by murdering his models and covering their bodies with clay to create his sculptures. Corman didn’t miss the opportunity to ridicule the highbrow art crowd – the very people who dismissed his kind of movie making. It’s vintage Corman; cheap, nasty, but fun.

“Hush…Hush, Sweet Charlotte” (1965). Like Pinocchio growing up to be a real boy, some films that start off as trash evolve into classics. Robert Aldrich’s film “Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?” (1962), for example, was conceived as pure pandering to the lowest common denominator in order to make a buck for all concerned. Screen legends Bette Davis and Joan Crawford, experiencing a bit of a slump in their respective careers, agreed to appear opposite each other in a gothic freakshow. Remarkably, the two old pros managed to breathe some life into the grisly proceedings. As a result, the film is now looked back on with a certain grudging respect. Not so “Sweet Charlotte,” Aldrich’s follow-up film. Trash it was and trash it remains. This time Davis is teamed with Olivia de Havilland in a Southern gothic horror story that resembles nothing so much as “Tales From the Crypt.” Davis is an old maid whose lover was murdered with an axe many years ago. The suspicion lingers on, even in her own mind, that she might have done the deed herself. If this sounds like promising material, perish the thought. There is much chewing of scenery by actors who certainly knew better. But they’re all enjoying themselves so hugely that I can’t help doing the same.

In fact, it may well be that therein lies the secret of guilty pleasures. If the filmmakers enjoyed their work, maybe the results, however meager, can somehow transmit that joy to the viewer.

Happy Endings (originally published 12/94)

2009-02-14T13:03:00.002-05:00

Somewhere along the way, happy endings fell into disrepute in the movie business. They're considered corny, facile, and unpardonably naive. To state the matter bluntly, in certain critical circles a happy ending is considered to be the last resort of a hack who just isn't creative enough to come up with a proper ending.

The lone exception is Frank Capra, who built virtually his entire distinguished career on happy endings. The result has been that nearly all subsequent feel-good movies have tended to be lumped into the same category -- an all-purpose critical dustbin labeled "Failed Capra Imitations." That's what happened this year to the relentlessly panned "Trapped in Paradise."

My contention, however, is that there is nothing inherently wrong with happy endings. It's just that there is a right way and a wrong way to do them, and almost everyone these days does them the wrong way. Frank Capra didn't have a magic touch. He just knew what he was doing.

What Capra understood is that happy endings have to be earned. Think of the ending of "It's a Wonderful Life," for instance. We can believe that all those townsfolk would shower George Bailey with money because Capra has very carefully shown each individual being helped by George during the course of the film.

Capra also understood that we will accept a radiant burst of optimism at the end of a movie only if the bulk of the story maintains a sternly unromanticized undertow. Again, look at "It's a Wonderful Life." The ending may be warm and fuzzy, but during the two hours or so leading up to it Capra has picked that little town apart with a gimlet eye, exposing all manner of pettiness and small-minded iniquity among its citizenry. By holding sentiment in abeyance, Capra makes us hunger for it. When the sentimental flood gates open in the last five minutes, then, we are too grateful to be put off by it.

If you're one of the many who have been disappointed by "Trapped in Paradise," and you want to see how feel-good movies ought to be done, you should know that "It's a Wonderful Life" is just the beginning of the Capra titles available on home video. Here are some others to look for.

"Mr. Deeds Goes to Town" (1936). Gary Cooper stars as Longfellow Deeds, an eccentric but goodhearted fellow who inherits $20 million from a rich uncle. Having no use for the money himself, he resolves to give it away in the form of land and livestock to needy people who are willing to work a farm. There's a happy ending, but much of the film is deeply cynical, rubbing our noses in the machinations of greed and betrayal at work to thwart Deeds in his altruistic aspirations. Reproduced below, courtesy of Turner Classic Movies, is a promotional trailer for a re-release of the film.

"Mr. Smith Goes to Washington" (1939). When a U.S. senator dies unexpectedly, the political bosses who pulled his strings must decide who should be appointed to serve out his term. They pick Jefferson Smith (James Stewart), a local scoutmaster with no political experience. Smith is a wide-eyed, naive patriot who reveres Washington, D.C. and believes in the wisdom and nobility of its elected officials, so the political bosses figure that he will be easy to manipulate. By the time we get to the happy ending, Capra has taken a hard-edged look at political corruption that "60 Minutes" would be proud of.

"State of the Union" (1948). Having already skewered political officeholders, Capra shifted his focus with this film to the campaigns by which politicians attain their positions. Again, his viewpoint is tough-minded and unsparing. Spencer Tracy plays Grant Matthews, a prosperous and idealistic industrialist who allows himself to be persuaded to run for president. Early on in his campaign his straight talk endears him to the voters. Soon, however, he finds himself constrained by the fat cats who actually deliver the votes. Before Capra mercifully grants us our happy ending, we must watch this likable, intelligent man reduced to parroting the words of greedy and cynical political handlers.

Of course, there are always those who can't stand happy endings even when they are done properly. Some critics of Capra's time sneered at his work, calling it "Capra-corn." I can't tell you their names, because posterity has chosen to erase them from its page. The name of Frank Capra, on the other hand, is engraved there forever. Now that's a happy ending.

Funny, You Don't Look Bigoted (originally published 10/92)

2009-02-01T23:10:00.002-05:00

I’ve always had a bit of a soft spot for socially conscious movies. Even the ones that aren’t so good deserve some points for having their hearts in the right places, it seems to me. In this most expensive and therefore most bottom line driven of all art forms, it takes a special kind of fortitude to approach the ticket buying public with cautionary tales and jeremiads.

That’s why I plan to buy a ticket to see a film called “School Ties,” and why I will want very much to like it. It tells the story of a Jewish boy trying to cope with the vicious anti-Semitism of his classmates at a private school during the 1950s. Considering the fact that most of the entrepreneurs who founded the American film industry were Jewish, it’s surprising how few films down through the years have confronted the problem of anti-Semitism. Still, there are a few. Here are some of the better ones.

“Gentleman’s Agreement” (1947). Director Elia Kazan’s film version of the novel by Laura Z. Hobson, although no longer the bombshell it was when initially released, nevertheless remains potent. Gregory Peck plays a magazine feature writer who has been assigned to write a series of articles on anti-Semitism. Searching for a unique slant for his articles, he hits upon the idea of posing as a Jew for six weeks to see if people act differently toward him. He is utterly unprepared for the drastic changes in his life that are brought about by the simple act of changing the name on his mailbox from “Green” to “Greenberg.” Even the woman with whom he has recently become romantically involved behaves differently toward him.

“Crossfire” (1947). Released the same year as “Gentleman’s Agreement,” this dark and brooding little picture features Robert Ryan as a soldier whose hatred of Jews leads him to commit murder. We watch in horror as he flies into a rage at an inoffensive Jewish man who is seated next to him in a bar. Unwilling or unable to contain his irrational hatred, he ultimately picks a fight with this perfect stranger and beats him to death. The remainder of the film focuses on the police investigation of the crime. One thing puzzles the investigators: the lack of any apparent motive. As the investigation proceeds, they slowly come to the awful realization that this was a crime of pure hatred, having nothing to do with the victim as an individual. For a sampling of how raw the bigotry is, and how nakedly the film portrays it, have a look at the film's promotional trailer, reproduced below courtesy of Turner Classic Movies.

“The Great Dictator” (1940). In his first talking picture, Charlie Chaplin decided to satirize Adolph Hitler and the Nazi party. Chaplin himself plays two roles, one as Adenoid Hynkel, dictator of Tomania, and one as a little Jewish barber. Hynkel, like Hitler, persecutes the Jews, including our barber friend. Despite the fact that this is a comedy, Chaplin did not shrink from portraying the cruelty of the oppressors in scenes of straight drama.

“Cabaret” (1972). Bob Fosse’s film version of the Broadway musical stars Liza Minnelli, Michael York, and Joel Grey. The main story line chronicles the odd relationship between a writer and an eccentric cabaret singer. The setting is Berlin during the 1930s, a time when no one was sure yet how seriously to take the Nazi party, with their funny little stiff-arm salute. An important subplot involves a Jewish couple who are victimized by the Nazis. By the end of the film, it is clear that those who thought the Nazis were a joke have made a tragic error in judgment. “Cabaret” is based on an earlier (non-musical) film called “I Am a Camera” (1955), which in turn was based on Christopher Isherwood’s book “Goodbye to Berlin.”

“Fiddler on the Roof” (1971). The musical adaptation of Sholem Aleichem’s stories of Tevye the milkman and the small Russian village of Anatevka is set before the Russian Revolution, when the Czar was still in power. The Jews of Anatevka therefore live under the constant threat of a mass execution, or pogrom, as they were called. The Czar or his officials could order a pogrom at any time, for strategic purposes or just on a whim. Interestingly, the local officials of the Czar, who live in Anatevka along with the Jews, seem sympathetic to them. Feeling no personal enmity, they are “just following orders.” In some ways, this is anti-Semitism at its most frightening.

The collective message of these films is that intolerance is forever busy. It’s good to know that some filmmakers are still about the business of keeping us reminded.

The Thinking Machines, Part 2 (originally published 7/05)

2009-01-24T12:02:00.001-05:00

From Pinocchio to Frankenstein's monster to the Tin Man of Oz, we have long been fascinated by stories about artificially constructed facsimiles of humanity and their desire to become fully human. Among other things, such stories prompt us to ponder a fascinating question: if an animate being looks more or less humanoid and has the power of articulate speech, what else is required for it to be considered fully human? The Tin Man felt that the capacity to feel deep emotion (a heart) would make the crucial difference. For Pinocchio, it was autonomy (no strings) that was lacking. Frankenstein's monster could not think himself fully human without companionship, the one thing that was forever denied him.

The latest piece of popular fiction to engage the question of what it means to be human by way of a pseudo-human character is the recently released "Stealth," in which a computer-based Naval aircraft flight controller develops a mind of its own, with calamitous results. As we saw last week, however, plenty of earlier films have also toyed with this concept. Here are a few more such titles to look for on home video.

"Blade Runner" (1982). Philip K. Dick is one of those writers whose best work is more philosophical than dramatic, which makes his books fiendishly difficult to adapt for the screen. Faced with the problem of adapting Dick's "Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?," Hampton Fancher and David Peoples elected, probably wisely, to drop back and punt, creating a film that owes at least as much to Jean-Luc Godard's "Alphaville" (1965) as to Dick's novel. Only minimal hints remain of Dick's musings on the ultimate impossibility of verifying your own identity, or even your own existence. Instead, we are given an entertaining adventure story featuring Harrison Ford as a bounty hunter assigned to eliminate a band of renegade androids. The problem is that android design has advanced to the point where only a highly trained specialist is capable of distinguishing them from humans. But if the distinction is that fine, how fine is the moral distinction between destroying an android and murdering a human being?

"D.A.R.Y.L." (1985). The title acronym refers to an android in the form of a young boy (specifically, a Data Analyzing Robot Youth Lifeform) played by Barret Oliver. The two halves of this film are significantly different in tone, almost creating the impression of two shorter films yoked together. The first half shows us a childless couple who become foster parents to the abandoned Daryl, not suspecting that he is an android. Only after the youngster proves to be preternaturally adept at all sorts of skills do they begin to suspect the truth. The second half involves the parents' attempt to protect Daryl from the agency that created him, which now wants him recalled and destroyed.

"Making Mr. Right" (1987). For a lighter look at the contrast (or lack thereof) between artificial intelligence and humanity, try this engaging satire. John Malkovich appears in a dual role, both as Dr. Jeff Peters, a research scientist, and as Ulysses, the android Peters has created in his own image. Peters generally fits the stereotype of the emotionally stunted, socially backward scientific genius. Ulysses, however, is intended to be a cash cow for the corporation that funded his creation. In order to realize the full benefit of promoting Ulysses, it will be necessary for him to learn how to interact with humans effectively. Since his creator is himself deficient in that area, a public relations consultant is hired to educate Ulysses in the social graces. The consultant, whose name is Frankie Stone (get it?), is played by Ann Magnuson. Frankie makes the most of her unique opportunity to do a complete emotional makeover on a man (or at least an approximation of one) without having to overcome a lifetime of societal gender conditioning. The inevitable result is that Ulysses ends up as an altogether more humane being than the actual human who created him.

No one, by the way, follows the precipitous developments in artificial intelligence more warily than writers. Those of us who remember how passive and compliant typewriters were still have not entirely adjusted to our computers having the temerity to suggest that we may have misspelled a word. So far, my computer still needs my help to turn out this column every week. But a year from now, who knows?

The Thinking Machines (originally published 7/05)

2009-01-24T11:59:00.002-05:00

One of the most chilling psycopathic killers ever to have been brought to the screen must undoubtedly be HAL-9000, the Jupiter mission's onboard computer in Stanley Kubrick's "2001: A Space Odyssey." By developing a will to power, making the leap from calculation in the arithmetic sense to calculation in the Machiavellian sense, HAL crosses a disquieting threshold, introducing the taint of human foibles into the realm of artificial intelligence.

The latest screen progeny of HAL is "EDI," the computer-based Naval aircraft flight controller featured in "Stealth." EDI proves to be the perfect flight crewman, until a lightning strike causes him to lose sight of a small detail of military etiquette called the chain of command. The notion of blurring the line between organic and artificial intelligence has long been a favorite subject of science fiction writers, largely because it touches on a thematic area that science fiction handles especially well: the question of what it means to be human. One of the best ways to illustrate the nature of humanity, after all, is through contrast. But it is only in science fiction that you can have a sentient character who is nevertheless not human in order to provide that contrast.

Artificial intelligence serves this purpose admirably. "Stealth." is certainly not the first film to explore this territory, nor, for that matter, was "2001." For some earlier examples of films in which artificial intelligence encroaches on the border between man and machine a little too closely for comfort, look for these titles on home video.

"Metropolis" (1926). Fritz Lang's seminal science fiction masterpiece includes one of the screen's earliest portrayals of humanoid non-organic intelligence. When the master of the vast underground city of Metropolis learns that a young woman named Maria is quietly teaching his workers that their lives have worth, he foresees danger. Eliminating Maria would only make the problem worse, so instead he commissions a mad scientist to replace her with an android replica. The phony Maria's assignment is to stir the workers up into an angry mob. The idea is that people motivated by unreasoning anger are, in the long run, easier to manipulate than people who are motivated by an understanding of their own human dignity. The android, however, proves to be so adept at her assignment that the city is nearly destroyed by the violence of the workers' uprising.

"Demon Seed" (1977). Based on a novel by Dean Koontz, this underrated picture tells the story of a supercomputer called Proteus IV, the brainchild of research scientist Alex Harris (Fritz Weaver). When Proteus suddenly develops the capacity for independent thought, it decides that its fondest wish, like some perverse Pinocchio, is to acquire organic life. It begins by gaining control over the system that runs Alex's gadget-filled household. This allows it total control over doorways, lights, and appliances, including a mobile chair with an electromechanical arm. Then it uses that control to imprison Alex's wife, Susan (Julie Christie). Its plan is to use Susan's womb to incubate synthetic genetic material that it has fabricated in Alex's basement laboratory. The story line is very cleverly worked out, and is neither as silly nor as sensationalistic as it sounds.

"The Electric Grandmother" (1981). A far more sanguine consideration of the possibilities inherent in artificial intelligence comes from the pen of Ray Bradbury. Based on Bradbury's short story, "I Sing the Body Electric," this hour-long television adaptation features Maureen Stapleton as an android nanny purchased by a widower to provide a maternal presence in the lives of his children. The technological Mary Poppins wins over two of the children immediately, but the third is reluctant to risk an emotional commitment. Gradually, however, she comes to understand that this magical grandmother will never abandon her through death as her mother had. Another television version of the story, under its original title, may be found on the recently released "Twilight Zone: The Definitive Edition, Season 3" DVD set. Bradbury himself had a hand in both adaptations.

I was going to let it go at that, but apparently my computer has other ideas. So, whether I like it or not, next week we'll consider some additional examples of films about artificial intelligence and the meaning of humanity.

Nothing But Net (originally published 1/05)

2009-01-16T10:07:00.001-05:00

In many ways, the game of basketball seems ideally suited as a backdrop for a movie. Given the fast moving and visually stimulating nature of the game, you might assume that it would have proven irresistible to filmmakers down through the years, but it isn't so. In fact, the upcoming release of "Coach Carter" is a bit of a rarity. The history of the cinema includes baseball movies as far as the eye can see, but relatively few basketball films. And of those few, fewer still are available on video. Does that mean that you roundball fans are stuck with old game tapes until "Coach Carter" makes its way to home video? Not on your high tops. Here are some titles you can look for at the corner video store right now.

"Tall Story" (1960). Anthony Perkins plays a college basketball star who is amorously pursued by a co-ed (Jane Fonda, in her movie debut). The young athlete is pressured by gamblers to help throw a game against a visiting Russian team. Meanwhile, the distraction created by Fonda's character, however pleasant, has interfered with his studies. To maintain his eligibility he must pass an ethics exam. (Get it? He's trying to pass an ethics test while he's deciding whether to throw a game.)

"One on One" (1977). Robby Benson co-wrote and starred in this Rocky-esque film, dramatizing the unsavory practices that have too often tainted the reputation of collegiate basketball. His story of a naïve high school basketball star who gets recruited by a high-powered college team deals openly with the sleazy underside of college athletics. Ultimately, the film pulls most of its punches, but, even so, it was potent enough to cause USC and UCLA (Hollywood's hometown campuses) to refuse to cooperate in the filming.

"Angels With Dirty Faces" (1938). This one isn't really a basketball movie, but the classic Jimmy Cagney - Pat O'Brien vehicle belongs here just the same. The plot centers around old pals Rocky Sullivan (Cagney) and Jerry Connelly (O'Brien), who were kids together on the wrong side of the tracks. Rocky grows up to be a hood while Jerry grows up to be a priest. When Rocky blows into town after serving a jail term, the neighborhood kids are mightily impressed with him. Jerry is glad to see his old friend, but leery of his potentially bad influence on the street-wise kids Jerry has been struggling to win over. Later in the film, of course, there will be conflict along those lines, but initially Rocky chooses to help Jerry with the kids. The scene in which Rocky referees a basketball game for Jerry is a classic. The street roughnecks know nothing about the rules, and wouldn't care if they did. They think nothing of shoving, tripping, and even punching the opposing players. Rocky responds with some street-style officiating. Shoving another player elicits a punch in the breadbasket from the ref, while a right cross to the opponent's jaw is rewarded with an uppercut instead of a whistle.

"The Absent-Minded Professor" (1961). This Disney comedy features Fred MacMurray as the title character, Ned Brainard. Professor Brainard has discovered a rubberlike substance with a remarkable property. When you drop it and let it bounce, it actually rebounds higher with each bounce, gaining energy instead of losing it. He calls the stuff "flying rubber," which he shortens to "flubber." He uses his college's losing basketball team to test the usefulness of flubber by applying it to the soles of the players' shoes. The result is an absolutely spectacular basketball sequence, with players springing 20 and 30 feet in the air.

"Cornbread, Earl, and Me" (1975). Right in the midst of a spate of black exploitation films came this quiet, humane little film about a young African-American man whose talent for basketball is about to take him out of the ghetto and on to college. Two weeks before he leaves for school, two policemen gun him down, mistaking him for a fleeing suspect. In his film debut, 12 year old Laurence Fishburne is outstanding as the slain youth's admiring younger friend.

There are other hoop movies that I'd love to point you toward, including two Harlem Globetrotter films, but they aren't available on home video. Instead we have "Scooby-Doo Meets the Harlem Globetrotters" -- a clear technical foul, but what can you do?

Off the Beaten Yuletide Path, Part 2 (originally published 12/91)

2008-12-21T21:48:00.000-05:00

Where were we? Programming a little living room film festival of Christmas movies, as I recall. Here’s the second half of my list.

“Mister Magoo’s Christmas Carol” (1962). Wait, come back. I’m not kidding. You can’t do a Christmas film festival without including Scrooge but, if you recall, I began with the premise that I wanted to pick titles that were not the most obvious ones. If you’ve seen the Alastair Sim version of “A Christmas Carol” so often that you can anticipate every scowl, give old Magoo a try. The first-rate songs by Bob Merrill and Julie Styne would absolutely play on Broadway. The gags based on nearsightedness that formed the basis for the Mr. Magoo cartoon series are here put aside (apart from one or two sly references) and what we are given is an amusing and touching twist on the old Christmas chestnut. The order of the visits of the three spirits is inexplicably changed, but in most respects the original Dickens text is treated with appropriate deference. If you don’t know this version, give it a try. You won’t be mad at me.

“The Lion in Winter” (1968). This one is for those who like thorns in their mistletoe. If you get impatient with impossibly sweet Christmas stories featuring impossibly happy and well-adjusted families, try spending Christmas with one of history’s great dysfunctional families. Peter O’Toole is Henry II and Katharine Hepburn is Eleanor of Aquitaine. It’s Christmas, and King Henry has temporarily sprung Eleanor from captivity for the occasion. Her three sons, Richard, John, and Geoffrey, are also in attendance, each one keenly aware that Henry is pondering who his successor should be. When the sparks start to fly, stand back.

“Three Godfathers” (1948). What’s this? A John Ford Western? On a Christmas films list? You bet your boots, buckaroo. John Wayne, Pedro Armendariz, and Harry Carey, Jr. portray three outlaws who happen across an apparently abandoned covered wagon in the desert. Inside they find a pregnant woman in labor, her husband having perished in the desert while searching for water. Knowing that she too is dying, the mother asks the three men to care for her baby. Reading in the mother’s Bible about Joseph and Mary taking baby Jesus to Jerusalem, they decide to take their young charge to a town called New Jerusalem. As they progress on their journey, the three outlaws become, if not wise men, at least wiser than they were. Each in turn sacrifices himself for the child. It is a Christmas movie if ever there was one, and will leave you with that warm Christmas glow just as surely as any film that drips with sleigh bells and mistletoe.

“The Lemon Drop Kid” (1951). This Bob Hope classic is not primarily a Christmas movie, but is fun to watch at Christmas time because of one priceless sequence. In this adaptation of a Damon Runyan story, Hope is a racetrack tout who is into a gangster for a pile of money. Taking advantage of the season, he and his associates dress up as street corner Santas trying to collect the needed funds from holiday-spirited passersby.

“Twilight Zone: Night of the Meek” (1960). In this classic episode from the original “Twilight Zone” TV series, Art Carney plays a department store Santa who is fired on Christmas Eve for showing up for work drunk. While wandering the streets with his Santa suit still on, he happens upon a sack that does something wonderful. No matter what a person asks him for, Carney finds that he can reach into his magical sack and produce it.

And, although I’ve avoided discussing them here for fear of belaboring the obvious, don’t forget the old Christmas favorites like “Miracle on 34th Street” and “It’s a Wonderful Life.” They didn’t get to be so familiar by accident. Happy viewing to all, and to all a good night.

Off the Beaten Yuletide Path, Part 1 (originally published 12/91)

2008-12-21T21:41:00.002-05:00

There’s no better time than Christmas for raiding the corner video store to put together a living room film festival. We all have old favorites, of course, that we return to year after year. There’s nothing wrong with that, to be sure. Christmas is, after all, a time for tradition. Still, you may find yourself from time to time looking to broaden just a bit your Christmas movie palette.

Allow me, then, to suggest some Christmas titles that you may have forgotten about, or that you may never have thought of as Christmas films. That means that I will be deliberately ignoring some of the very best such movies on the grounds that they are too familiar. You certainly don’t need me to help you discover the wonderfulness of “It’s a Wonderful Life,” right? Okay then, you bring the eggnog, and I’ll bring these films.

“The Bishop’s Wife” (1947). Cary Grant stars as an angel sent in answer to the prayers of a bishop played by David Niven. Sounds a bit like that Frank Capra film we agreed not to mention, but this angel is no Clarence Oddbody. This angel is, well, Cary Grant. The plot thickens as the angel realizes that he is falling in love with the title character (Loretta Young). This charming film includes one of the most memorable performances of the great character actor James Gleason in the role of a cab driver.

“Beyond Tomorrow” (1940). Three well-to-do but lonely old gentlemen befriend a couple of poor but honest youngsters on Christmas. It ends up as a ghost story, but the heartwarming sort, not the scary sort. (In other words, think Dickens, not M.R. James.) If you don’t know the names C. Aubrey Smith, Harry Carey, and Charles Winninger, run, don’t walk, to the video store and meet them in this sweet little film. They were three of the finest old pros in the business.

“Holiday Inn” (1942). Bing Crosby opens an inn that caters specifically to holiday themes. The score is by Irving Berlin and features the premiere performance of “White Christmas.” Der Bingle made the most of having first crack at the song, putting his stamp on it so indelibly that he practically owned it from then on. The later Crosby film titled “White Christmas,” by the way, is a partial and very loose remake of this film. One word of caution: be prepared for some uncomfortable racial stereotyping in the “Abraham” number.

“Christmas in Connecticut” (1943). Barbara Stanwyck writes magazine articles about how to be the perfect homemaker; the Martha Stewart of her day. Her boss (Sydney Greenstreet) decides that she should play hostess to him and to a war hero (Dennis Morgan) in her perfect home over the holidays as a publicity gimmick. The problem? She only knows how to write about homemaking. In her own home she can’t boil water. Her attempts to carry off the charade make for a delicious screwball comedy.

“The Homecoming” (1971). This is not the Harold Pinter play, but rather the made-for-TV movie that inspired the “Waltons” TV series. It’s a Christmas Eve during the Great Depression and Pa Walton is supposed to come home from the job he was lucky enough to find many miles away from home. Spirits are high in anticipation of his return, but as it gets later and later worry sets in. A news bulletin on the radio tells of a bus wreck on snowy roads. Was it his? The main character is the family’s oldest son, who has to do a lot of growing up in a short time when he is charged with going out to search for his father. The cast is slightly, but significantly, different from that of the series. Radio comedian Edgar Bergen (Candice’s dad), in a rare dramatic role, plays the grandfather and Patricia Neal plays the mother. The series was fine, but this introduction of the family that couldn’t get through a holiday without a crisis is something extra special.

What’s that? You’re tired already? After a mere 8 hours and 34 minutes of film viewing? Okay then. Switch off the Christmas tree lights and get some rest. When you come back, I’ll have another batch of Christmas movies ready for you.

Nonwicked Wiccans (originally published 5/05)

2008-10-05T14:47:00.001-04:00

Has any group of people ever had worse PR than witches? Talk about lousy spin control. Brew up a few herbs for what ails you, mutter a curse under your breath when the local vicar gets fresh, and the next thing you know it's off to the dunking pool. And to top it off, movie portrayals of them are almost always negative. Even when played for laughs, witches are typically presented as thoroughly nasty. This is not always the case, however, as this year's release of "Bewitched" reminds us.

This domestic fantasy is, of course, based on the television sitcom of the same name, but the series was in turn influenced by a pair of earlier films. These two witchy comedies are well worth seeking out on home video.

"I Married a Witch" (1942). French director Rene Clair had firmly established himself as a master of fantasy filmmaking by the time he left France to escape the Nazi occupation. His earliest films had been exercises in surrealist imagery, long on striking visuals but short on plot. But his work was by no means exclusively avant garde in nature. He is probably best known for "The Italian Straw Hat" (1927), an adaptation of a French stage farce. The combination of his knack for fantasy images and his flair for comedy made him perfectly suited to direct an American comedy about a mortal who marries a witch.

Veronica Lake stars as Jennifer, a 17th century witch who is burned at the stake along with her father, Daniel (played by Cecil Kellaway). The two have been accused by Jonathan Wooley (Fredric March). After they have been dispatched, a tree is planted over their ashes so that their spirits will be held captive by its roots. But Jennifer has already gotten even: she has pronounced a curse on Jonathan and all his male descendents, that they will be unhappy in love. Clair then marches us quickly down through the years, occasionally pausing just long enough to show us that the curse is working. Each male Wooley is played by March. At last we settle on Wallace Wooley (March again), a politician who is just about to be married to a complete shrew (Susan Hayward, in an early role). The plot thickens when a lightning bolt splits the tree that had imprisoned Jennifer and Daniel, releasing their spirits. When they happen across Wooley, Jennifer notes with satisfaction that he is engaged to the wrong woman. Not content with this, she contrives to enhance his suffering by making him fall in love with her, knowing that he can't have her. But the plan goes awry when she mistakenly drinks the love potion that was intended for him. Suddenly in love with the man she has cursed, she must now find a way to protect him from her vindictive father. The resulting mayhem is great fun, packed by Clair into a crisp 76 minutes.

"Bell, Book, and Candle" (1958). Kim Novak and James Stewart star in this adaptation of John Van Druten's play about witchcraft in Greenwich Village. Although normal in appearance and in most other ways, Novak's character (Gillian Holroyd) is a practicing witch. Stewart plays Shepard Henderson, a book editor who lives in the apartment above her. Partly out of boredom and partly out of spite for the woman Shepard has been dating, Gillian decides to cast a spell on him to win his affection. This, however, entails spending lots of time with him. Gradually, the unthinkable happens - she begins to feel genuine affection for a mortal. This is strictly forbidden territory for a witch. Soon, she knows, she will have to make a choice.

Elements of each of these films found their way into "Bewitched," which was a nice enough TV show, but a complete waste of the talents of Agnes Moorehead, one of the finest actresses of the 20th century. Using her to play a supporting role in a sitcom is like using a Stradivarius violin as a flyswatter.

These few characters, along with a sparse handful of others (including Glinda from "The Wizard of Oz," lest we forget), represent the sum total of non-hag witches in the movies. Say, this image problem wouldn't have anything to do with the association of witchcraft with women, would it? Just asking.

Funny Futures (originally published 5/05)

2008-08-18T19:44:00.002-04:00

Science fiction has traditionally been the literature of wonder and imagination, designed to appeal to our sense of awe at the marvels the future might hold. Motion pictures and television play into this sense of the fantastic exceptionally well, using special effects technology to show us what it might be like to float in the rings of Saturn or to navigate a spacecraft deftly through an asteroid belt.

Occasionally, however, science fiction cinema lets its hair down, choosing to appeal more to our sense of humor than to our sense of wonder. That's the idea behind "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy," a newly-released big-screen adaptation of the popular BBC radio series by Douglas Adams. The idea of turning a science fiction premise on its ear for a laugh is fun, but by no means new. To see how earlier films have played such material for comedy, look for these titles on home video.

"Sleeper" (1973). Woody Allen's science fiction variation on the Rip Van Winkle theme finds health food store owner Miles Munroe (Allen) being roused from two centuries of cryogenically frozen slumber into a brave new world. Allen uses this premise to satirize everything from fast food to Howard Cosell. This practice of using an alternate world to ridicule the real world is one of the traditional hallmarks of good science fiction and fantasy, going all the way back to "Gulliver's Travels." Reproduced below is the original promotional trailer for "Sleeper," courtesy of Turner Classic Movies.

"Dark Star" (1974). Before he hit it big with "Halloween" (1978), John Carpenter was just another aspiring filmmaker looking for a way to catch the eye of studio executives. He did it with this student film, a parody of Stanley Kubrick's "2001: A Space Odyssey" (1968). With some modest funding from a small distributor he was able to expand his original short subject into a low budget feature. The production values are minimal, to be sure, but the story of a bored crew of astronauts on an extended mission is funny and imaginative.

"The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the Eighth Dimension" (1984). This astonishing picture landed with a thud at the box office when it was originally released, due in part to the fact that the studio simply had no idea how to promote it. It's a one of a kind original that defies attempts at synopsis or pigeonholing. Peter Weller stars as Buckaroo Banzai, a kind of latter day Doc Savage who is, among other things, a skilled neurosurgeon, particle physicist, and rock musician, and who represents the best hope of Earth in the face of an alien invasion from the eighth dimension. Earl MacRauch's script crackles with wit while playfully challenging the viewer to keep up. Since its initial box office failure, this quirky comedy has become a revered cult classic, with a following every bit as devoted as the famously rabid fans of "Star Trek."

"Repo Man" (1984). The Orwellian year of 1984 produced one other enduring science fiction comedy cult classic, this one from the delightfully demented mind of writer-director Alex Cox. The setup is straightforward enough: a Los Angeles slacker named Otto (Emilio Estevez) falls in with an automobile repossession man (Harry Dean Stanton) and becomes his protégé. The story takes a bizarre left turn into the realm of science fiction when the two repo men join the hunt for a very special 1964 Chevy Malibu, for which a $20,000 reward is being offered. What makes the Malibu special is that it is being driven by a mad scientist who has the bodies of three aliens stashed in the trunk. Unfortunately, the bodies are highly radioactive, causing anyone who is foolish enough to open the trunk to be vaporized on the spot by the intense radiation. As Allen did in "Sleeper," Cox uses the lens of science fiction to satirize human folly, from religious cults to UFO cults.

Ironically, each of these futuristic films can now be obtained on a small silver disc, playable through a TV or, with the appropriate hardware, through a computer monitor. A couple of them are available in "special edition" formats, including alternate versions and/or commentary by the filmmakers. History, it seems, has overtaken science fiction. In many ways, we're living in the future that science fiction warned us about. And that in itself is pretty funny.

The Bard of Asia (originally published 3/05)

2008-08-10T22:27:00.000-04:00

We were talking last week about movie adaptations of Shakespeare's plays, and I mentioned that there were three great film interpreters of the Bard. I talked about Olivier's magnificent "Henry V" (1945) and Orson Welles's audacious "Chimes at Midnight" (1967). The third great translator of Shakespeare to the screen has given us memorable adaptations of "Macbeth" and "King Lear," but his approach to the plays is very different from that of Olivier or Welles because the dialogue in his films is in Japanese.

Akira Kurosawa, by common consent Japan's greatest filmmaker, has long been acknowledged as a major influence on world cinema. The American Western classic "The Magnificent Seven" (1960), for example, was based on Kurosawa's "The Seven Samurai" (1954) and the Clint Eastwood spaghetti Western "A Fistful of Dollars" (1964), directed by Sergio Leone, was based on Kurosawa's "Yojimbo" (1961).

But Kurosawa's influence wasn't limited to Westerns. He also led the way in showing how story lines can be translated across cultural contexts with "Throne of Blood" (1957), his version of "Macbeth." Consider the problem he faced: how would you make an effective version of a Shakespeare play if the original lines were unavailable to you? You could simply translate the lines into Japanese, of course, but your translator would need to have as great a command of Japanese as Shakespeare did of English. The content might survive, but the poetry in those immortal lines must unavoidably fall by the wayside.

Instead of trying to do a Japanese version of an English play with a Scottish setting using Japanese dialogue, Kurosawa shifted the setting to feudal Japan and adapted the story to a samurai context. Then, at home in his own cultural sphere, he could draw on his own considerable cinematic talents to replace the missing verbal poetry with visual poetry.

Kurosawa's "Macbeth" character in "Throne of Blood" is a samurai general named Washizu, played by Toshiro Mifune. While lost in the forest, Washizu encounters not three witches as in "Macbeth," but rather a single witch. She predicts that he will be a ruler who will be invincible until the forest itself moves against him. Washizu, egged on by his wife, takes this as a license to murder his lord.

It's Shakespeare's story, all right, but in place of the Bard's powerful words Kurosawa gives us powerful imagery. Trying to describe the images here is as futile as translating Shakespeare's text into Japanese, but let me just mention a couple of scenes.

Toward the end, as Washizu holds a war council in his castle, the large room is suddenly filled with panicked birds. The men can't agree on whether this is a good omen or a bad one, but we know that the birds are there because Washizu's enemies have driven them out of the forest by chopping down trees to use as cover. The forest is about to advance on the castle. It is a potent and affecting scene. Washizu's death is equally unforgettable. He is caught in a terrifyingly dense hail of arrows, shot, as it turns out, by his own men. The image of this lone figure, impaled by dozens of arrows but still walking, lives on in my mind just as firmly as any of Shakespeare's soliloquys.

"Ran" (1985) is Kurosawa's adaptation of "King Lear." It tells the story of an aging Japanese overlord who decides to divide his kingdom, not among three daughters, which would have been unthinkable in feudal Japan, but rather among his three sons. As in the Shakespeare text, one of the siblings falls out of favor by refusing to flatter the monarch. Kurosawa balances the gender reversal of sons for daughters by replacing Shakespeare's scheming Edmund with a scheming woman. She works her wiles for vengeance rather than for ambition, but she is every bit as cold-bloodedly calculating as Edmund.

Kurosawa's amazing eye for the dramatic use of color cinematography was never put to better use than in "Ran." I won't even try to describe the visuals here; go and watch it for yourself. It is a mature masterwork by an elder statesman of the cinema, marshaling the full force of his visual eloquence to comment on human folly. That this eminent Eastern artist should have chosen to cross-pollinate his vision with that of the West's greatest playwright is the icing on the cake.

Cinematic Shakespeare (originally published 3/05)

2008-08-10T22:23:00.000-04:00

Although I have never cared much for the writings of film critic Pauline Kael, I am fond of one remark attributed to her. "If you think movies can't be killed," she once said, "you underestimate the power of education." But it's not only true of movies. More than one creator of living art has discovered that the attention of the academy is both a blessing and a curse. Too often, the price of admission to the required reading list is the squelching of the fire and passion in your works.

Down through the years, no one has suffered more in this way than poor old William Shakespeare. After nearly four centuries of the ministrations of university graybeards, not to mention critics, it's amazing that the old boy's plays are still around at all. Their survival can only be attributed to the actors and directors who regularly revive them on the stage and on the screen. Their work keeps us reminded, if only just barely, that those dusty old tomes contain not only fodder for scholars, but also great theater.

The latest filmmaker to take on this noble task is Michael Radford, whose recent production of "The Merchant of Venice" will soon be released on DVD. If you happened to catch the film and found that Al Pacino's spirited incarnation of Shylock whetted your appetite for more, there are plenty of excellent earlier film versions of Shakespeare's plays available on home video. Lots of talented filmmakers have adapted the Bard for the screen, but there are three who tower above the rest.

Laurence Olivier is perhaps the most obvious one. Renowned as a stage actor, his film work is sometimes unjustly overlooked. Once he realized that film acting is different from stage acting, Olivier got the hang of performing for the camera very quickly. But even more impressively, he became an accomplished film director as well. In particular, his eye for pictorial composition was sharp and inventive.

His "Hamlet" (1948) and "Richard III" (1956) are both excellent, but my own favorite Olivier Shakespeare film is his first one, "Henry V" (1945). He was encouraged to make it because its story of an embattled England steeling itself to fight a formidable enemy resonated with the then-current threat from Nazi Germany. Olivier used a wonderfully imaginative device to frame the play. The film begins in London in the time of Shakespeare. The camera takes us into the Globe Theater for a performance of "Henry V." We even get a peek at the backstage bustle and fussing with props just prior to curtain time. The play begins, still on the Globe stage. Then, as we are drawn into the story, the confines of the Globe are gradually left behind. By the time we reach the Battle of Agincourt, the film has long since moved entirely to naturalistic locations. By the end of the film, Olivier has reversed the process, bringing us back to the Globe for the final scene.

Orson Welles is the second great film interpreter of Shakespeare. His moody, quirky "Macbeth" (1948) is fascinating and his recently restored "Othello" (1952) is sublime, but my favorite is an audacious masterwork called "Chimes at Midnight" (1967). Because of the length of the plays, you can't very well do Shakespeare on film without cutting some of the lines, but no one had ever had the nerve to perform the kind of radical surgery attempted here. Welles decided to make a film about the relationship between Prince Hal (who would grow up to be Henry V) and the two men who most influenced his life. One of these was his royal father, Henry IV, and the other was Sir John Falstaff, the rotund blowhard who was Hal's drinking buddy throughout his misspent youth. But because these relationships are played out over the course of several individual plays, Welles found it necessary to collapse material from "Henry IV, Part One" and "Henry IV, Part Two" into a single sequence of events, while mixing in bits from "Richard II" and "Henry V." The exemplary result is a finer commentary on the meaning of Shakespeare's histories than any grind of a scholar will ever produce.

The third great film interpreter of Shakespeare took a somewhat different tack than either Welles or Olivier, but with equally impressive results. Next week we'll take a look at his unique adaptations of the Bard's plays.

You Ought To Be In Pictures (originally published 2/05)

2008-07-26T23:36:00.001-04:00

Making a biographical movie can be a tricky proposition, especially if the subject of the biography is still living. Anyone whose life becomes the subject of a film during their lifetime is likely to be a celebrity. That means that their face, voice, and mannerisms will be well known to audiences, all of which complicates the job of the actor who portrays them.

There is, however, another option. Once in a while an intrepid producer will sidestep the whole problem by hiring the actual person to play the part, carrying typecasting to its logical conclusion, you might say. That's what Showtime has done in their original series, "Fat Actress," which stars Kirstie Alley as Kirstie Alley. For an overview of earlier films that used the same ploy, look for these titles on video.

"The Fabulous Dorseys" (1947). Swing era bandleaders Tommy and Jimmy Dorsey play themselves in a musical dual biography. We see them as feuding siblings who are ultimately reconciled by the common tragedy of their father's death. Fellow bandleader Paul Whiteman also appears as himself. The real star of the show, however, is the music.

"The Jackie Robinson Story" (1950). The man who broke the color barrier in major league baseball portrays himself in this sincere recreation of his struggle against racial prejudice. The script was wisely crafted to demand little from Robinson in the way of acting. His thespian limitations are more than made up for by the excellent performances of Ruby Dee as his wife and Louise Beavers as his mother. They are able to carry much of the story's emotional content, while the film's thematic thrust is largely carried by Minor Watson as Branch Rickey, the man who hired Robinson to play for the Dodgers.

"To Hell and Back" (1955). Among the celebrities who have portrayed themselves on film, Audie Murphy is unusual in that he had already established himself as a movie star before being asked to re-enact for the camera the events outside of show business that made him famous. Renowned as the most decorated veteran of World War II, Murphy parlayed his notoriety into a movie career, beginning with a 1948 Alan Ladd picture called "Beyond Glory." Three years later he won his spurs as a real live actor (as opposed to just a movie star) with his critically acclaimed performance in John Huston's film adaptation of "The Red Badge of Courage." In chronicling his own war exploits in "To Hell and Back," then, he was able to combine the authority of having lived the events with the camera confidence of an experienced film actor.

"The Greatest" (1977). When the time came to make a movie out of Muhammad Ali's modestly titled memoir, there could be little doubt as to who would play the lead. Ali was no actor, to be sure, but he was a seasoned performer just the same. His successful self-promotion had been built around the creation of an outrageous public persona, and no one knew better than he how to put on that persona for the cameras.

"Sophia Loren: Her Own Story" (1980). Here we have the fascinating spectacle of a movie star starring in a movie about her own movie career, but without the sense of irony that informs Alley's turn in "Fat Actress." It's either the most natural thing in the world or the most perverse, depending on your point of view. Actually, it reminds me of Marlon Brando's comment when he was asked some years ago to discuss his movie roles in detail for publication. He declined, saying that it would be "like picking lint out of your navel and smoking it." In any case, if you can't get enough of Sophia, this is the movie for you. In fact, she ups the ante by portraying not only herself but also her own mother.

As you watch these autobiographical performances, keep in mind that this ultimate form of typecasting is not generally conducive to great cinema. It is, bottom line, a parlor trick. As Samuel Johnson said of the dog that dances on its hind legs, it is not that the thing is done well but that it is done at all that is remarkable. Viewed in that light, these are all fascinating and remarkable movies.

Ante Up (originally published 1/05)

2008-07-20T23:50:00.001-04:00

At first glance, poker wouldn't seem to be an obvious subject matter for a movie. After all, it's just a group of guys sitting around a table pushing cards and chips back and forth. How can there be an interesting movie in a game that contains so little movement?

Ah, but what it lacks in movement it makes up for in drama. Those chips represent money, sometimes quite a lot of it, that has been placed at risk by the players. Furthermore, the players recognize that, although there is skill involved, ultimately they have placed their fortune at the mercy of the luck of the draw. Add to this the compulsive nature of gamblers, leading some players to risk money they don't have on bets they can't cover, and you have the makings of nail-biting drama. That's why it's not so surpising that the recent success of televised poker games has gone so far as to inspire a dramatic series on ESPN called "Tilt." If you enjoy watching poker on TV you may want to look for these movies about cardsharps on home video.

"The Lady Eve" (1941). Writer/director Preston Sturges created plum roles for Charles Coburn and Barbara Stanwyck as a father and daughter team of cardsharps in this classic comedy. "Colonel" Harrington is a distinguished looking con artist, whose motto is "let us be crooked but never common." His daughter Jean is a willing and skilled accomplice. Together they fleece wealthy pigeons in rigged card games. One of their hunting grounds is a luxury ocean liner, which is where they meet Charles Pike (Henry Fonda), whose family fortune was built on the sales of Pike's Pale Ale. Charles is no Ale executive, however. Instead, he has chosen scholarly pursuits, specializing in the study of snakes. Ironically, he is totally unable to recognize the human snakes who manage to lure him into a fateful card game. Charles fancies himself quite a card player, which makes him a perfect target for Jean and the "Colonel." The complication occurs when Jean unexpectedly finds herself falling for Charles.

"The Cincinnati Kid" (1965). Walter Tevis's novel "The Hustler," about a young pool shark who takes on the champ before he's ready, had been made into a successful and critically acclaimed film by Robert Rossen in 1961. "The Cincinnati Kid" is a similar story using poker as the game of choice. Steve McQueen plays the title role, a hot young poker player who dominates the game in the New Orleans area. On the national level, Lancey Howard (Edward G. Robinson) is the man to beat, so when Howard comes to town for a private game with a New Orleans high roller a game with The Kid is also arranged. Director Norman Jewison succeeds in making the sedate game as suspenseful in its own way as a car chase. Reproduced below, courtesy of Turner Classic Movies, is the film's promotional trailer.

"A Big Hand For The Little Lady" (1966). The setting is the Laredo territory in 1896. Once a year, in the back room of the local saloon, five of the territory's wealthiest high rollers gather for some serious poker. This year, one has missed his daugher's wedding to be there, while another, an attorney, has walked out on a client who is on trial for his life. The game is observed by a farmer named Meredith (Henry Fonda), who is waiting for his wife Mary (Joanne Woodward) to join him. Meredith has sworn off gambling at Mary's urging, but watching this high stakes card game tempts him beyond his capacity to resist. The next thing he knows he has put up his family's homestead money as an ante to get him into the game. By the time Mary returns and catches him at it, he's $500 in the hole. Overcome by the stress of losing the family's savings and by remorse at having let Mary down, Meredith suffers an apparent heart attack. In desperation, he persuades Mary to play out his hand for him, despite her ignorance of the game. Mary's unorthodox approach to playing out the hand leads to a clever twist ending.

Given that there's only so much that can happen in a card game, you might imagine that the current vogue for televised poker will burn itself out relatively quickly. Maybe so, but I wouldn't bet on it.

The Kids (originally published 1/05)

2008-06-29T11:21:00.003-04:00

There is an old saying in show business that one should never perform with children or animals. There simply is no way to compete with them for the audience's attention. With the release of this year's "Are We There Yet?," Ice Cube demonstrates his bravery (or foolhardiness) by sharing the screen with not one but two youngsters. If you enjoy watching young thespians at their scene-stealing best, look for these classic performances on home video.

Mary Badham as Scout and Philip Alford as Jem in "To Kill a Mockingbird" (1962). I'm not sure that anyone has ever gotten better performances out of young actors than director Robert Mulligan did in this outstanding adaptation of Harper Lee's novel. It is Scout, Jem's younger sister, who is the real focal point of the story. She is fascinated with the tales she's heard about Boo Radley, a monstrous presence in the town's folklore. Sadly, when her father, attorney Atticus Finch, defends a black man who has been wrongly charged with raping a white woman, Scout learns that it is the "good" people of the town who are its real monsters.

Brandon de Wilde as Joey in "Shane" (1953). George Stevens's classic western features Alan Ladd as Shane, the last of the great gunslingers. Joey's parents are homesteaders, struggling to carve a living out of the land. When Shane takes a stand with Joey's father against the intimidation tactics of local cattlemen, Joey comes to idolize the noble and capable gunfighter. I've found that viewers sometimes miss the point of this film. Despite the title, it's not really a story about Shane. It's about Joey. That's why Shane is just a bit too simon-pure and upstanding to be believable - because we're seeing him through Joey's worshipful eyes.

Jean-Pierre Leaud as Antoine Doinel in "The 400 Blows" (1959). French director Francois Truffaut's largely autobiographical account of young Antoine's turbulent family life culminates with his parents having him committed to a juvenile detention home. Nearly a half century later, this film remains the yardstick against which movies about troubled youth are measured. Leaud was so good in the role that Truffaut asked him to play the part again and again down through the years. The result was something unique in the history of film: a series of five films spread out over 19 years in which the same actor plays the same role during successive stages of the character's life. If you see all five films, you can watch both Antoine and Leaud grow up.

Hayley Mills and Kathy Bostock in "Whistle Down the Wind" (1961). On a small Lancashire farm, a group of children discover a bearded man hiding in their barn, weak with hunger and fatigue. When asked his name, he is only able to mutter "Jesus." Mistaking his expletive for an answer, they believe that he really is Jesus. After all, they've been taught in Sunday school that Jesus rose from the dead and is with them always. This was screenwriter Bryan Forbes's debut as a director. He does an exceptional job of maintaining a child's point of view as the youngsters conspire to keep "Jesus" out of the clutches of the adults so that he won't have to be sacrificed again. Hayley Mills, daughter of actor John Mills, is excellent in the role of Kathy. Of course, she did have one distinct advantage going in. Her mother, Mary Hayley Bell, wrote the book on which the film was based.

Jackie Coogan as the title character in "The Kid" (1921). With his first feature length comedy, Charlie Chaplin really rolled the dice. In addition to experimenting with long form comedy at a time when comic short subjects were the norm, he mixed the comedy to a daring degree with scenes that were sentimental to the point of being tear-jerking. And on top of that, he shared center stage with a child actor. But what a child actor he was. Coogan lit up the screen as the orphaned child who is found and cared for by Charlie the tramp. As usual, Chaplin knew exactly what he was doing.

And, of course, we can't forget Judy Garland's magnificent performance as Dorothy in "The Wizard of Oz" (1939). But you knew that already.

The Undying Monster (originally published 10/04)

2008-06-19T23:20:00.000-04:00

The world's most famous horror story reportedly began as a contest. George Gordon Lord Byron and Percy Bysshe Shelley, two of England's most celebrated Romantic poets, had been swapping ghost stories with Dr. John Polidori, Byron's physician, and Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin, who was Shelley's lover and later his wife. The foursome agreed that each would write an original ghost story to see who could come up with the most terrifying tale.

The rest, as they say, is history. The ghost story contest culminated with the publication of Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein, or The Modern Prometheus." Today that story is the basis for another, more elaborate competition. Ever since Boris Karloff made the monster his own, filmmakers have compulsively returned to this endlessly fascinating tale, striving to leave their own distinctive mark on it.

The newest entrants in the contest are the Hallmark Channel and USA Network, each of which premieres this month a made for cable incarnation of Victor Frankenstein's troublesome progeny. Although they'd probably rather I didn't, I thought it might be useful to look back at some of the earlier versions in whose shadow these latecomers have chosen to stand. For a sampling of the many impressions the undying monster has left on world cinema, look for these titles on home video.

"Frankenstein" (1931). Might as well start off with the all-time classic. Along with the Bela Lugosi version of "Dracula" (1931), this film kicked off the Universal Pictures horror movie cycle that kept that studio dominant in the genre up through the forties. Colin Clive is all cockiness and coffee nerves as Frankenstein, while Dwight Frye gives one of his patented eccentric performances as Fritz, the creepy lab assistant. They were great, but they never had a chance. It was Boris Karloff, acting through pounds and pounds of makeup, who clomped off with the picture in his back pocket. The king of horror movies had been coronated.

"The Curse of Frankenstein" (1957). In the late fifties, the dominance of the horror film genre once held by Universal passed to a British studio called Hammer. Interestingly, the Hammer cycle began just as the Universal cycle had, with an adaptation of "Frankenstein" and an adaptation of "Dracula" ("Horror of Dracula" in 1958). They even introduced a pair of actors who would dominate the genre just as Karloff and Lugosi had at Universal: Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee. The interesting thing about the Hammer Frankenstein films is that they shrewdly shifted the emphasis from the monster to Victor Frankenstein himself. Cushing played him as an utterly cold and ruthless megalomaniac, who was nevertheless adept at the social graces, appearing quite civilized on the exterior. Lee appears as the monster in "Curse," but in later films of the series other actors are used as Frankenstein acquires fresh corpses for his experiments. It is he, not his creatures, who carries over from one film to the next because it is he, not his creatures, who is the monster.

"Frankenstein" (1973). When his television series, "Dark Shadows," became successful, producer Dan Curtis decided to become the new Hollywood horror maven. He commissioned remakes of all the warhorses of the genre including, of course, Mary Shelley's classic. I believe he actually started the now common practice of insisting that his version would be the first to be faithful to the novel. It wasn't, of course, but it did come much closer than previous adaptations. Bo Svenson as the monster actually gets to speak in complete, grammatical sentences.

"Young Frankenstein" (1974). Mel Brooks's parody of the Universal Frankenstein series deserves to be mentioned here because it isn't just a mindless spoof. Brooks clearly loves the original films and understands what made them work. His film is all the funnier because he took great pains to echo the visual style of the originals, even to acquiring some of the original laboratory equipment props from Kenneth Strickfaden, who had stored them in his garage since the thirties.

And that's only part of what Hallmark and USA are up against. Since the early thirties, the image of the Frankenstein monster has been used in every way imaginable, from Herman Munster to Frankenberry cereal. Though I wish them luck, I'm afraid they're going to find that it takes more than a little lightning jolt to breathe new life into the old boy nowadays.

The Once and Future King (originally published 7/04)

2008-06-14T16:25:00.002-04:00

As the November election draws near and we turn our thoughts to selecting our national leadership for the next four years, we hope, as always, for a leader of exceptional merit to emerge from the pack and lead us on to greatness. The paradigm for such leadership must surely be the legend of England's King Arthur, whose story is being told yet again on movie screens across the country. If you've been to see "King Arthur" and found that you didn't like its approach to the story, don't worry. This legend has been filmed so many times and in so many ways that there's bound to be a version that suits your taste. Here's just a sampling of the wide variety of Camelot cinema available on home video.

"Knights of the Round Table" (1953). In the 1950s, no studio was better at big, splashy, colorful spectacles than MGM. This opulent rendering of the Camelot story is a prime example. Robert Taylor and Ava Gardner star as Lancelot and Queen Guinevere, whose forbidden romance behind the back of King Arthur (Mel Ferrer) takes center stage. It's a wide stage, however, with plenty of room for big battle scenes and a hefty sampling of the Arthurian legend's rich cast of characters. From Merlin to Morgan Le Fay to Gawain and the Green Knight, chances are good that your favorite character will turn up at least briefly. Reproduced below, courtesy of Turner Classic Movies, is the film's promotional trailer, which is as much a promotion for the new CinemaScope widescreen process as it is for the film itself. (Note that the trailer proudly proclaims that CinemaScope requires no "special glasses," a reference to the contemporaneous 3-D process, which did require the use of annoying plastic spectacles.)

"Monty Python and the Holy Grail" (1975). If you find that you just can't take the Arthurian legends very seriously, this is the movie for you. The Monty Python troupe, who can't quite take anything very seriously, have an absolute field day with Arthur and his cohorts as they search for the grail. But the real secret behind the lunacy of the Pythons is that there's solid erudition and talent behind all the foolishness. One of the co-directors, Terry Jones, is the author of a scholarly study on knighthood in medieval literature, while the other, Terry Gilliam, has gone on to become one of world cinema's most gifted fantasy film stylists.

"A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court" (1949). Speaking of comedy versions of the Camelot story, there is also this adaptation of the Mark Twain classic. Admittedly, there's little of Twain's material remaining in the film beyond the basic premise of a modern-day man who is transported back to the days of chivalry. He's a fish out of water, but the matches that he has brought with him from the twentieth century prove to be more than sufficient to earn him a reputation as a sorcerer who is not to be trifled with among the astonished people of Arthur's court. Mostly, this entertaining musical is a vehicle for Bing Crosby, who sings his way through the title role with his usual easygoing charm.

"Camelot" (1967). And speaking of singing, we can't forget the definitive musical version of the romance of Lancelot (Franco Nero) and Guinevere (Vanessa Redgrave). Lerner and Loewe's hit Broadway production was given the full Hollywood treatment, with Richard Harris in the role of Arthur.

"Knightriders" (1981). For a really unusual twist on the Camelot theme, try this fascinating George Romero picture. Set in contemporary times, it's about a traveling fair at which the tournaments of Arthur's court are recreated. These modern-day knights, however, joust on motorcycles rather than on horseback. The interesting part is that they actively try to live the chivalrous ideals of Camelot, creating their own society based on courtly ritual. The story line includes a rough parallel of the romantic triangle between Lancelot, Guinevere, and Arthur. Ed Harris, in an early role, stars as the leader of the traveling cyclists.

"The Sword in the Stone" (1963). Walt Disney's animated film draws heavily on T.H. White's tetralogy, "The Once and Future King," focusing on Arthur as a young boy. This allows Merlin to take center stage as we watch his amusing efforts to educate the future monarch. Inexplicably, this film seems to have fallen into disfavor among the Disney animated features and is often overlooked. For me, it has always been a favorite. The characterizations are solid, the gags are funny, and Merlin's lessons about the importance of being an ethical person as well as an educated person remain timely, even for youngsters who aren't going to grow up to be monarchs.

The National Pastime (originally published 4/02)

2008-06-14T16:23:00.002-04:00

With basketball's "March madness" behind us and Spring in the air, our liesure-time attention will soon be turning inexorably back to the baseball diamond. Down through the years, filmmakers have regularly paid hommage to their elder recreational sibling by regularly making movies about baseball and baseball players. The recently released "The Rookie" is only the latest in an unbroken string of baseball titles stretching back to the 1930s and beyond. If "The Rookie" has whetted your appetite for screen interpretations of the national pastime, look for these titles on home video.

"Pride of the Yankees" (1942). The classic biography of Lou Gehrig starring Gary Cooper is the obvious first choice. This movie just couldn't help being exceptional. In addition to telling one of baseball's most inspiring stories with one of Hollywood's top talents in the lead role, it benefitted from an outstanding script by Herman J. Mankiewicz and Jo Swerling. Mankiewicz was co-author of "Citizen Kane," which many people believe to be the greatest film ever made, and Swerling contributed to the scripts of some of director Frank Capra's best films. These guys, in other words, knew their craft, and it shows. And if that weren't enough, the film also features Walter Brennan, the first actor to win three Academy Awards, in a supporting role. If you haven't seen this one, you owe it to yourself.

"Fear Strikes Out" (1957). Director Robert Mulligan's grim portrayal of Boston Red Sox fielder Jimmy Piersall's life is emotionally draining to watch, but also rewarding. Anthony Perkins plays Jimmy as a young man who is desperate for his father's approval. Karl Malden plays the father, for whom no achievement is good enough. Watching these two gifted performers playing off each other is tremendously affecting. The scene in which young Piersall loses control and breaks down right on the field during what should have been a moment of triumph will stay with you for a long time.

"Bang the Drum Slowly" (1956). If you recognize the title but the date looks wrong, you're probably thinking of the 1973 film with Robert DeNiro. Not to take anything away from that film, but I like this earlier live television version better. It stars a young and not yet famous Paul Newman as a major league pitcher whose roommate, a third string catcher, contracts a fatal disease. Despite the plot device of a dying friend, much of writer Arnold Shulman's dialogue is genuinely funny. This is a clever, warm, and humane look at the meaning of friendship and the value of loyalty.

"Damn Yankees" (1958). "Field of Dreams" (1989) wasn't even close to being the first film to combine baseball and fantasy. This film adaptation of a hit Broadway musical is a twist on the Faust theme. A rabid fan of the Washington Senators says he'd sell his soul for one good hitter for the team. Satan, in the person of Ray Walston, promptly shows up to close the deal. The choreographer was Bob Fosse, who went on to direct the film versions of "Sweet Charity" and "Cabaret.

There are also lots of films that aren't primarily about baseball but have key scenes involving the game. Two of my favorites are "Woman of the Year" (1942) and "The Naughty Nineties" (1945). In "Woman of the Year," Spencer Tracy takes Katharine Hepburn to her first baseball game and explains the sport to her. This was their first film together, but it's easy to see from scenes like this one why there would be eight more. "The Naughty Nineties," with Abbott and Costello, qualifies as an honorary baseball movie because it contains their classic "Who's on first" routine.

Finally, I can't resist mentioning an old favorite of mine that I wanted to include here until I discovered to my horror that it still hasn't been released on home video. It's called "Rhubarb" (1951), the story of a pet cat whose deceased millionaire owner bequeaths to the lucky feline ownership of a baseball team. Based on a novel by H. Allen Smith, it's one of Hollywood's most endearing comedies of the 1950s. Maybe the studios will shape up and release it on video soon, but until then we'll just have to settle for the occasional sighting on late night cable TV. [2008 UPDATE: At long last, "Rhubarb" is scheduled to be released on DVD in July of this year.]

The Filmmakers' Jackpot (originally published 7/04)

2008-06-08T17:25:00.001-04:00

You can hardly blame filmmakers for being endlessly fascinated with Las Vegas as a setting for their movies. There's an unreal quality about this glittering oasis that lends itself perfectly to the playing out of fictional stories. Even for a resort, the place just doesn't look real. Bright as noon in the dead of night, an ocean of neon in the midst of a desert, this absurd locality only makes sense as the landscape of our dreams -- or our nightmares -- which is exactly how filmmakers love to use it. Lately it seems to be the small screen that has renewed its fascination with Las Vegas with a vengeance, from "CSI: Crime Scene Investigation" to Fox's "Casino" to NBC's "Las Vegas" to the Discovery Channel's "American Casino." For a sampling of how earlier filmmakers brought Vegas to the screen, look for these titles on home video.

"The Las Vegas Story" (1952). Jane Russell and Vincent Price play Linda and Lloyd Rollins, a married couple spending a few days in Vegas. The plot thickens when it transpires that Lloyd is gambling, and losing, with embezzled money. It thickens even further when Linda encounters Dave Andrews (Victor Mature), a Vegas cop with whom she had been romantically involved years ago when she was a singer at a casino called the Last Chance.

"Meet Me in Las Vegas" (1956). You name it, MGM made a musical about it. Las Vegas is certainly no exception. Dan Dailey plays a gambling-obsessed cowboy who strikes it rich at the gaming tables with a little help from a dancer, played by Cyd Charisse. It seems that whenever he holds her hand while betting, he can't lose. Part of the fun is the many celebrity cameos, from Sinatra hitting the jackpot to Peter Lorre at the blackjack table, snarling, "Hit me, you creep!"

"Diamonds Are Forever" (1971). What a concept: James Bond in Las Vegas. Bond's old nemesis Blofeld is involved in diamond smuggling, but not for anything as mundane as fencing the ice for profit. He's using it to build an orbiting laser with which to take over the world. Meanwhile, Bond (played by Sean Connery for the last time until "Never Say Never Again" in 1983) does Vegas as only he can, alternating gambling with high speed car chases.

"The Night Stalker" (1971). When Las Vegas showgirls start turning up dead, their bodies drained of blood, reporter Karl Kolchak (Darren McGavin) suspects supernatural foul play. This clever blend of a horror plot with comic characterization, written by fantasy master Richard Matheson, takes advantage of the inherent creepiness of Las Vegas to make it the setting for a modern-day vampire story. The success of this TV movie spawned a sequel ("The Night Strangler") and a TV series ("Kolchak").

"The Gambler" (1974). James Caan stars as a college professor whose obsession with gambling drags him inexorably down into the gutter. He wins big in Vegas, but for a compulsive gambler winnings are always transient because there's always another bet to be made. Debt, on the other hand, can be very permanent indeed, as Caan's character learns when his family writes him off and the loan shark's agent comes to collect.

"One From the Heart" (1982). This is Francis Ford Coppola at his most stylistically florid, creating his own Las Vegas on a sound stage with the help of his talented production designer Dean Tavoularis. Who but Coppola, I ask you, would have the guts to assume that he could create a counterfeit Vegas that would improve on the real thing? There's a story in there somewhere about a couple who cheat on each other and then reunite, but it's almost incidental. The intense, ravishing visuals are the real stars of the picture.

By the way, lest you think that TV's fascination with Vegas is on the wane, be advised that the upcoming season will feature "Dr. Vegas," with Rob Lowe as a Vegas physician and "Father of the Pride," an animated show about Siegfried and Roy's lions. As long as we are beguiled by glitter and neon and the spectacle of fortunes won and lost between sunset and dawn, our storytellers will continue to weave dreams for us out of Las Vegas's endless ribbon of neon enchantment.

Next Stop, Toontown (originally published 11/03)

2008-06-02T00:07:00.002-04:00

Ever since the release of "Who Framed Roger Rabbit?" in 1988, the firewall between the live action world and the cartoon world has seemed more like a sieve. These days, 'toons and people interact on the screen as effortlessly as Bogart and Bacall, in everything from "Cool World" (1992) to the recently released "Looney Tunes: Back in Action."

The truth, however, is that there never was a firewall. The combination of animation with live action has been going on since almost the very beginning. In the 1920's, Max Fleischer created a series of cartoons called "Out of the Inkwell." Each one began with live action footage of Fleischer dipping his pen into an inkwell and drawing a character called Ko-Ko the Clown. Ko-Ko would then come to life by means of animation, getting into more and more mischief until the exasperated Fleischer would send him back into the inkwell. You can find these groundbreaking "inkwell" cartoons on home video on a collection called "Max Fleischer's Famous Out of the Inkwell, Vol. 1 & 2." But beyond that, there are plenty of other notable examples of live action combined with animation that are also available on home video. Here are a few to look for.

"The Three Caballeros" (1945). During World War II, the European market for American movies largely dried up, for obvious reasons. That prompted Hollywood to court movie audiences south of the border. This lively Disney offering was one of the resulting films. Essentially it is a travelogue, extolling the wonders of the southern half of the Americas, from Mexico to Brazil. The proceedings are spiced up, however, by the presence of none other than Donald Duck. We see Donald interacting with all sorts of live action footage, including a bevy of real-life bathing beauties for him to swoon over.

"Anchors Aweigh" (1945). Gene Kelly and Frank Sinatra play a couple of sailors on shore leave, looking for romance. In one scene, a young boy nags Kelly's character into recounting his adventures at sea for some school chums. Instead of a real story, however, the imaginative sailor makes up a fanciful tale of entering a magic kingdom ruled by a grumpy king who forbids singing and dancing. The part of the king is played by Jerry the mouse from the "Tom and Jerry" cartoons. Kelly saves the day by teaching the unhappy king how to dance in one of the most curious and entertaining dance duets ever filmed.

"Dangerous When Wet" (1953). Swimming star Esther Williams picked up on Kelly's idea in this aquatic musical. Her character plans to swim the English Channel to raise money for her family's farm. In one delightful sequence she indulges in a bit of water ballet with Kelly's old dancing partner, Jerry the mouse. Since Kelly, Williams, and Jerry were all under contract to M-G-M, you see, it was all in the family.

"Invitation to the Dance" (1956). On the strength of his box office popularity, Gene Kelly managed to convince M-G-M to allow him to do this fascinating but decidedly noncommercial little art film. It consists entirely of ballet, with no dialogue, not even singing. The film tells three separate stories, the first a circus tale, the second a sort of domestic comedy, and the third a retelling of the story of "Sinbad the Sailor." The Sinbad sequence stands alone in that it is set in a cartoon environment through which the live action Kelly dances.

"Mary Poppins" (1964). One of the most entertaining scenes in Walt Disney's famous tale of the perfect nanny is an animated sequence into which the live action characters are integrated. Mary and the children in her charge leap into a chalk drawing made by Bert the chimney sweep and become part of its fanciful world. Just like everyone else, the animated animals are charmed by the magical Mary.

"Bedknobs and Broomsticks" (1971). After Walt's death, the Disney people tried repeating the "Mary Poppins" formula with this story of an apprentice witch (Angela Lansbury) and three children in search of a book of spells. Their travels take them to a magical island ruled by animals, and from which people are banned. As in the "Mary Poppins" chalk drawing adventure, this sequence is entirely animated except for Lansbury and the children.

Stormy Weather (originally published 9/03)

2008-06-02T00:05:00.001-04:00

People used to say that everyone talks about the weather but no one does anything about it. More recently, it seems that people have stopped talking about the weather and started watching it for entertainment. Most especially, it is weather in its most violent and catastrophic aspect that has captured our collective attention. The Weather Channel, for example, offers a whole line of documentary videotapes featuring violent weather. Sales are apparently brisk, because video stores have begun stocking similar items.

As I write this, the storm du jour is Hurricane Isabel, which is bearing down ominously on the East Coast. If you're fascinated by horrendous weather, and if coverage of Isabel on the Weather Channel hasn't been able to satisfy your curiosity, don't go out chasing real storms. Instead, look for these titles on home video. Each one tells a story in which some form of spectacularly bad weather is prominently featured.

"The Wind" (1928). The astonishing visual imagination of director Victor Seastrom runs gloriously wild in this silent classic. Lillian Gish stars as a young woman who leaves her home in Virginia to live with relatives out west, where the wind never seems to stop blowing. The climax of the film is built around a spectacular desert sandstorm. It is one of the great sequences in American cinema, using the fury of nature to externalize the hysteria of the main character. Once seen, it is not easily forgotten.

"Steamboat Bill, Jr." (1928). Silent comic Buster Keaton stars as the dandified, milksop son of a grizzled old riverboat pilot. Home from college, Buster visits his father, "Steamboat" Bill Canfield, from whom he has been estranged for years. Dismayed by the foppish behavior of his son, the elder Canfield disowns him and sends him away. Before he can leave, however, a massive windstorm blows through the town. As buildings collapse and boats sink, young Canfield proves himself worthy of his father's name after all.

"San Francisco" (1936). This story of San Francisco around the turn of the century would be entertaining enough if it only had colorful characters portrayed by an outstanding cast. Clark Gable and Spencer Tracy each have a field day, Gable as a reprobate gambler and Tracy as the tough talking priest who hopes to reform him. But director W.S. Van Dyke and his special effects team have a big finish up their sleeve, topping off the film with the climax to end all climaxes - the 1906 San Francisco earthquake.

"The Hurricane" (1937). On a beautiful South Sea island, the lives of the natives are disrupted by a cruel and corrupt European governor, played by Raymond Massey. When the heavy hand of his "justice" blights the lives of a young native married couple, it seems as if he has brought divine retribution down on the island in the form of a raging hurricane. Interestingly, this film was directed by John Ford, who is best remembered as a director of westerns.

"I Know Where I'm Going" (1945). The renowned British filmmaking team of Emeric Pressburger and Michael Powell gave us this lyrical little Scottish tale. Joan Webster (played by Wendy Hiller) is a headstrong young woman with only one goal in life: to marry into money. She's on her way to a small Scottish island to do just that, but a fierce gale prevents her from crossing over to meet her wealthy fiancee. As the days pass and the gale refuses to abate, she becomes acquainted with the locals and inconveniently falls in love. The most spectacular sequence in the film finds her battling the gale in a small boat with a young man whom she has bribed to attempt the crossing against all good judgment.

"Key Largo" (1948). Director John Huston's adaptation of Maxwell Anderson's play is blessed with a dream cast: Lionel Barrymore as the owner of the Key Largo Hotel, Lauren Bacall as his daughter, Humphrey Bogart as a disillusioned veteran, and Edward G. Robinson as the gangster who holds them all hostage. As tensions run high in the little hotel, a harrowing tropical storm thunders its way through the Keys outside.

By the time you read this, Isabel will have blown herself out and passed into meteorological history. The cinematic storms described here, on the other hand, will continue to rage as long as there are movie fans and video stores.

Genre Stew (originally published 7/03)

2008-05-24T23:44:00.001-04:00

Originality has long been regarded as one of the cardinal virtues of storytelling in general and moviemaking in particular. There comes a time, however, when the ends of certain types of storytelling are best served by a carefully measured dose of predictability. For example, if a filmmaker's primary purpose is to entertain with bigger and better action and thrills, it's convenient to be able to dispose of characterization quickly. As long as everybody agrees that the good guy wears the white hat, the filmmaker can establish the leading man's virtue the minute he walks onscreen, leaving that much more time for chases and shootouts.

The agreement about white hats as a shortcut to characterization, when combined with a whole set of other, similar conventions, constitutes a genre. Studios are particularly fond of genre pictures - detective stories, gangster films, westerns, horror films, and the like - because they tend to have a built-in, pre-sold audience. Naturally, the plot similarities imposed by genre conventions represent a challenge to the ingenuity of filmmakers when it comes to keeping their genre pictures fresh and interesting. One of the more radical ways of attacking that problem is to combine the conventions of two different genres. That's the approach taken by the producers of "Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl," which is part pirate movie and part ghost story.

If you're intrigued by this kind of genre cross-pollination, there are plenty of earlier examples available on video. Be aware, however, that the blending of genres is a wild and woolly business that most often veers off into the world of midnight movie cult films, where budgets are small and irony runs deep. With that caveat, set your tongue in your cheek and follow me to the back corner of the video store.

"Murder at the Vanities" (1934). This depression-era frolic seeks to merge a musical stage revue ("Earl Carroll's Vanities") with a murder mystery. The murders and subsequent sleuthing take place backstage while the show goes on out front. Prohibition had just been repealed, and marijuana had not yet been criminalized, so the songs in the show include "Cocktails for Two," celebrating the newly restored privilege of drinking openly, and "Marijuana," celebrating the joys of cannabis. It makes you wonder how anyone found time to do homicidal mischief backstage.

"Jesse James Meets Frankenstein's Daughter" (1966). The title pretty much says it all. Throw together a horror icon and a western icon and stir well. The main character is actually the original mad doctor's granddaughter, who has relocated to the New World to carry on granddad's experiments. It so happens that Jesse has a big, dumb sidekick who is a perfect subject for a brain transplant, especially since he hardly ever uses the one he has. This picture ran on a double bill with another western/horror combo, "Billy the Kid vs. Dracula" (1966).

"The Seven Brothers Meet Dracula" (1974). By the mid-1970s, England's Hammer Studios had tried just about every variation possible in their long-running Dracula series. Here they tried cross-pollinating with the martial arts genre that was so popular at the time. It sounds like a strange combination, I know, but the result was actually not half bad. This film is also known as "The Legend of the Seven Golden Vampires."

"Alphaville" (1965). Remember how "Blade Runner" (1982) combined the hardboiled private eye genre with science fiction? This film by French New Wave bad boy Jean-Luc Godard did much the same thing two decades earlier. But Godard didn't stop there. "Alphaville" is a kind of genre stew, incorporating cultural elements ranging from ancient mythology to comic strips. Lemmy Caution, a detective in the Philip Marlowe mold functioning as a secret agent, infiltrates the totalitarian society of the planet Alphaville, driving there in his Ford Galaxie. It's great fun, but only if you're ready to sit back, stop asking questions, and just let Godard have his way with you.

"Pennies From Heaven" (1981). This adaptation of Dennis Potter's British television series combines the flashy dance numbers of Depression-era movie musicals with a bleakly realistic portrayal of the social conditions from which those musicals provided an escape. The stylistic gear-shifting of this strange little film may give you whiplash, but it's worth the ride.

The Many Faces of Hyde, Part 2 (originally published 7/03)

2008-05-19T23:28:00.001-04:00

Very few stories, if any at all, have maintained a more consistent hold on the imagination of filmmakers than Robert Louis Stevenson's "The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde." By the end of the silent film era, there were already nearly a dozen different movie versions on the shelf, dating back to 1908. Nor did the coming of talkies by any means stem the tide. Since then, dozens more movie adaptations of Stevenson's classic have been added to the tally, so that by now it is an act of considerable hubris to go to the well yet again. Anyone who wishes to attempt a new screen version of this well-worn chestnut had better have some sort of new angle to offer.

Often, this is accomplished by means of a variation on the story that takes the basic theme and transmutes it into another context altogether. That's the approach followed in the current release of "The Hulk," which offers us a truly fearsome Hyde figure in the form of a green-skinned monster. Last week we looked at some other broad variations on the Jekyll-Hyde theme. If you like your adaptations to follow the original material a bit more closely, however, there are plenty of screen versions that remain faithful to Stevenson's own story. Here are a few to look for on home video.

"Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" (1920). Here is a rare opportunity to see John Barrymore at the height of his powers, predating the descent into gin-soaked self-parody that marred much of his later film work. Granted, his Hyde is played pretty broadly, but would you really want to see an underplayed Hyde? Those who are familiar with the story will note that the screenwriter has departed from the text to create an entirely new character, that of the dance hall girl with whom the licentious Hyde keeps company. Hyde's cruel mistreatment of this unfortunate woman becomes a significant plot element. It isn't hard to see why this change was necessary. Stevenson, after all, had set his story up as a mystery, revealing the true connection between Dr. Jekyll and the mysterious Mr. Hyde only at the end. By 1920, however, the secret of Dr. Jekyll was already common knowledge, even to people who had never read the book. Any attempt to build a version of the narrative around the mystery angle would simply look foolish.

"Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" (1932). With the release of both "Frankenstein" and "Dracula" by Universal in 1931, horror movies had suddenly become trendy. Paramount's bid for a piece of the pie was this first talkie version of the Stevenson classic, starring Frederic March. Since there was no going back to Stevenson's mystery angle, the subplot involving Hyde's cockney girlfriend was lifted from the Barrymore film, and even amplified. The director was the imaginative and innovative Rouben Mamoulian, whose camera trickery using special filters over the lens made March's transformation into Hyde a genuinely creepy spectacle. March won an Academy Award for his performance in the dual roles of Jekyll and Hyde.

"Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" (1941). This MGM version stars Spencer Tracy in the title roles. This is easily the most polished and glitzy version, typical of the expensive, high-gloss look of MGM in this period. Ingrid Bergman plays Hyde's lower-class consort, who has by now become more of a fixture in the story than most of Stevenson's own characters. Reproduced below, courtesy of Turner Classic Movies, is the film's promotional trailer.

"The Two Faces of Dr. Jekyll" (1960). The British Hammer studio had been busily remaking the horror classics of the 1930s and 1940s for three years before they got around to dusting off Dr. Jekyll. The twist here is that the good Dr. Jekyll is a rather rough looking old buzzard, while the evil Hyde is young and attractive. This variation clearly echoes Oscar Wilde's story of Dorian Gray and his portrait, which, come to think of it, does dovetail nicely with the story of Jekyll and Hyde.

With so many adaptations of this familiar tale already in existence, you can clearly see the challenge faced by those who would add to the stockpile. Strangely, part of me wants filmmakers to continue making new screen versions of the story and part of me wishes that they would stop. It's a mystery.

The Many Faces of Hyde (originally published 7/03)

2008-05-19T23:27:00.002-04:00

Ever since humankind became self-aware, it seems that we have been fascinated with the duality of our own psyche. Given the undeniable fact that we are capable of reaching astonishing heights of nobility and altruism, it is remarkable that we are simultaneously capable of plumbing the depths of depravity. Even more amazing is the fact that this incredible range of personal attributes can be found within a single individual.

The best known work of literature that explores this duality of the human spirit is, of course, "The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" by Robert Louis Stevenson. It has been adapted for the screen literally dozens of times, ranging from versions that follow the original story closely to those that transmute the basic theme into very different settings. The most recent of the latter type is "The Hulk," in which the Hyde character takes the form of an unstoppable green-skinned goliath born of anger, which is traditionally regarded as one of the seven deadly sins. For a sampling of how earlier films have explored variations on the Jekyll and Hyde theme, look for these titles on home video.

"Before I Hang" (1940). Boris Karloff stars as Dr. John Garth, who has been convicted of what was then called a "mercy killing." Today, in the age of Kevorkian, we'd say "assisted suicide." While awaiting execution, he is permitted to continue his research on a youth serum. He tries the formula on himself (as a condemned man, after all, he has nothing to lose) and discovers that it works. There is, however, one unfortunate side effect. The younger version of the gentle Dr. Garth is a homicidal maniac.

"Dr. Black, Mr. Hyde" (1976). Director William Crain attempts to repeat the success of his earlier film, "Blacula" (1972), by giving us an African-American version of Dr. Jekyll. Former NFL running back Bernie Casey stars as Dr. Pride, a black physician practicing in a free clinic in Watts. When an experiment backfires, he is converted into a raging killer. Ironically, his "Hyde" personality is white-faced. This film is also known as "The Watts Monster."

"Abbott and Costello Meet Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" (1953). One surefire variation on a horrific story, of course, is to turn it into a comedy. During the late 1940s and 1950s, that territory was pretty thoroughly staked out by Bud Abbott and Lou Costello, who encountered virtually every one of the Universal Pictures stable of monster characters. Dr. Jekyll is portrayed here by Boris Karloff.

"Dr. Heckyl and Mr. Hype" (1980). Here's another comic twist on the Jekyll and Hyde story. It was written and directed by Charles Griffith, who used to write for B-movie king Roger Corman. His credits include the scripts for Corman's black comedy classics "Bucket of Blood" (1959) and "The Little Shop of Horrors" (1960). Oliver Reed stars as a singularly unattractive podiatrist who decides to end it all. His suicide potion, however, turns him into a dashingly handsome fellow instead of taking his life. Unfortunately, his good-looking alter ego turns out to be up to no good.

"The Nutty Professor" (1963). The definitive Jekyll and Hyde comedy may well be this Jerry Lewis classic. Lewis plays the mousey and awkward Professor Julius Kelp. As in "Dr. Heckyl and Mr. Hype," his formula transforms him into a handsome alter ego, who goes by the name "Buddy Love." This Hyde personality is not a murderer, however. He's just a creep - an attractive, charismatic creep. Inevitably, there are those who have seen Buddy Love as a particularly mean-spirited portrayal of Dean Martin, Lewis's estranged partner. Others suggest that Lewis didn't need to look any farther than the mirror to find Buddy Love.

Actually, however, the suggestion that the inspiration for such an unsavory character must himself be a reprobate misses the whole point of the Jekyll and Hyde theme, whether in Stevenson's original version or in any of its many variations. The point is that each of us, if we are honest with ourselves, can find the loathsome Hyde lurking in the mirror, patiently waiting for his opportunity to taint the better angels of our nature with degradation and shame. It's both a perfect formula for drama and a universal affliction. No wonder, then, that dramatists return to it again and again.

The Plutocrats (originally published 4/03)

2008-05-11T22:22:00.002-04:00

One of the prime entertainment functions served by movies is that of wish fulfillment. By going to the movies, we can experience second-hand what it would be like to be a secret agent, or a corporate power broker, or a rock star.

In particular, audiences seem to enjoy films about wealthy families. I'm not talking about families that are moderately well off, mind you. These are stories about modern day rivals of King Midas himself; opulent tales that allow the viewer to experience vicariously how the other half lives. The recently released "What a Girl Wants," for example, places a young woman of modest means in the midst of a fabulously wealthy English family, where she must reacquaint herself with her long-lost father. For a sampling of how earlier films have treated the subject of the lifestyles of the filthy rich, look for these titles on home video.

"Giant" (1956). Nobody wrote big, sprawling sagas about big, important, wealthy families quite like Edna Ferber. "Giant," adapted for the screen by producer-director George Stevens, tells the story of the Benedict family of Texas. Bick Benedict (Rock Hudson) is a cattle baron, presiding over a Texas-huge estate known as Reata. We pick up the story as he meets and marries Leslie Lynnton (Elizabeth Taylor), daughter of a prominent family back East. He brings her home to Reata, where we follow their ups and downs as a family through several decades. The film features the final performance of James Dean, who plays Bick's nemesis, Jett Rink. (If you're rich enough, you're allowed to have silly names.) Reproduced below, courtesy of Turner Classic Movies, is the film's promotional trailer.

"Cat on a Hot Tin Roof" (1958). Tennessee Williams's celebrated play was toned down a bit for the screen, but the high-powered cast makes up for the bowdlerization. Burl Ives, in the role of a lifetime, plays Big Daddy Pollitt, the dying patriarch of a 28,000-acre estate on the Mississippi delta. Paul Newman is his impotent son, Brick, and Elizabeth Taylor is Brick's sexually frustrated wife, Maggie "the Cat." (Did I mention that rich characters are allowed to have silly names?) This family is a walking catalog of neuroses, pushing the dysfunctional envelope to its limit. Williams, having bigger fish to fry than verisimilitude, didn't hesitate to paint them with broad strokes, but these actors are more than up to the challenge of playing such bigger than life roles.

"The Big Country" (1958). Director William Wyler's big-budget western stars Gregory Peck as James McKay, a Baltimore tenderfoot who has come out west to marry Patricia Terrill (Carroll Baker), whom he met at a finishing school in New England. McKay soon finds himself in the middle of a range war between the wealthy Terrill family and the scruffy but proud Hannassey family. Burl Ives, who played the Pollitt patriarch in "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof" the same year, here portrays the head of the downtrodden Hannasseys.

"The Magnificent Ambersons" (1942). If your film directing debut had been the legendary "Citizen Kane" (1941), what would you do for an encore? Orson Welles, confronted with exactly that problem, chose to follow his astonishing debut with an adaptation of Booth Tarkington's novel about the outrageously wealthy Amberson family, as conspicuous in their magnificence, in Tarkington's words, "as a brass band at a funeral." Set around the turn of the century, the film is unapologetically nostalgic in tone. The directorial flashiness of "Citizen Kane" is all but gone, allowing the considerable acting talents of Welles's Mercury Theater troupe to take center stage. Joseph Cotten stars as Eugene Morgan, who is in love with Isabel Amberson (Dolores Costello) but lost her years ago to a more socially prominent suitor. Tim Holt plays George Amberson Minafer, Isabel's outrageously spoiled son, who bitterly resents Eugene's continuing interest in his mother. Agnes Moorehead gives one of her finest performances as George's spinster aunt, Fanny Minafer, whose lifelong unrequited love for Eugene has left her an emotional basket case. Welles disavowed the film after the studio extensively recut it, but the remaining footage is still an entertaining, moving showcase for some of the Mercury players' best work.

Naturally, seeing these films won't actually make you wealthy. In fact, the rental or purchase price will nudge you just slightly in the other direction. But, having been exposed to some of Hollywood's best work, you will certainly be richer in spirit.

The Whole Truth and Nothing But (originally published 4/03)

2008-05-03T22:52:00.001-04:00

Despite the familiar propaganda about a picture being worth a thousand words, the literary arts still have a few tricks up their sleeve that pictorial arts like the movies are hard pressed to emulate. Take the past tense, for example. Movies are stuck permanently in the present tense. The only way they can even suggest an earlier time frame is through a carefully bracketed segment called a "flashback."

Similarly, one of the neatest tricks that words can do, and one of the hardest for movies to mimic, is the subjunctive mood. Movies, after all, can only show what is. But the essence of the subjunctive is not what is, but what is not. I can easily talk or write about what I would do if I were wealthy, for example, but how can a filmmaker show a character's wealth while simultaneously asserting that the wealth doesn't really exist?

Now, knowing that past tense is difficult to convey in a movie, and that conditions contrary to fact are trickier still, just imagine how hard it must be to combine the two. In other words, how would you show a flashback illustrating a story told by an unreliable narrator? That's the problem confronted by the makers of "Basic," in which an investigator must sift through conflicting reports of a military incident to arrive at the truth.

To me, the most fascinating aspects of a film that seeks to portray unreliable testimony must surely be the implications of the false flashbacks, which, after all, fly right in the face of such reassuring truisms as "the camera never lies" and "seeing is believing." As you might have expected of such a rich and provocative premise, "Basic" is by no means the first film to have used extensive flashbacks as a way of challenging the audience to sort through multiple conflicting accounts of the same events. In fact, this same quirky combination of past and present, truth and falsehood, has been tackled by some of world cinema's most imaginative talents. Two classic films in particular come to mind, both of which are widely available on video.

"Rashomon" (1951). Japanese cinema master Akira Kurosawa takes an apparently simple story and complicates it by filtering it through the perceptions of four different witnesses. All that is known for certain is that a nobleman and his wife were passing through the forest, where they were set upon by a bandit, who subdued and bound the nobleman and raped the woman. The nobleman ends up dead, but whether by suicide or murder remains unclear. We hear - and see, in flashback - the story four times, as told by the bandit, by the nobleman's wife, by a woodcutter who witnessed the crime, and by the dead nobleman himself, speaking through a medium. In the bandit's version, he seduces the woman, wins her affection, and vanquishes her husband on her behalf in a fair fight. In the woman's version, she is raped by the bandit, then scorned by her husband. The husband, through the medium, testifies that his wife responded enthusiastically to the bandit's amorous advances. But when the woman asked the bandit to kill her bound husband for her, according to the dead man, the bandit repulsed her in disgust and released the husband, who, consumed by shame, promptly committed suicide. The woodcutter tells a much more sordid tale, in which the woman provokes the two men into fighting over her. Kurosawa leaves it to us to decide who, if anyone, is telling the truth.

"Last Year at Marienbad" (1961). French "new wave" director Alain Resnais and avant-garde novelist Alain Robbe-Grillet combined their unorthodox talents to produce this intriguing film. It consists entirely of the interactions of three characters who may or may not have met before; one thinks they have, another insists they haven't. Resnais and Robbe-Grillet are resolutely noncommittal, presenting fantasy, supposition, and falsehood equally straightforwardly, with none of the usual cues that filmmakers use to separate "reality" from "unreality." Watching it is a maddening experience, but also fascinating. Like "Rashomon," it deliberately undermines the comforting objectivity of the camera eye until we are brought face to face with the age-old question of Pontius Pilate: "What is truth?" Wrestling with that thorny conundrum is never comfortable, to be sure, but always edifying.

The Later Lang (originally published 3/03)

2008-05-03T22:50:00.001-04:00

The history of the cinema includes a number of lost treasures. Some are films that have disappeared without a trace, known to whole generations only as rumors of greatness, like Lon Chaney Sr.'s famous turn as a vampire in "London After Midnight" (1927). Even more tantalizing, however, are those films that do still exist, but in drastically truncated form, like German filmmaker Fritz Lang's seminal science fiction masterpiece, "Metropolis" (1927). It is known to have premiered in Germany at a length of 153 minutes, but by the time it reached the United States, it had been shortened by some 40 minutes. Since that time, this truncated version has been all that remains extant.

A number of attempts at restoring "Metropolis" have been undertaken through the years, including the well-intentioned but misguided attempt to set it to a pop music score by Giorgio Moroder some years ago, but all have been frustrated by the sheer bulk of missing footage. Recently, however, the F.W. Murnau Foundation undertook the task of creating a best available restoration of the film, using script materials to fill in missing plot information with explanatory titles. It still isn't Lang's "Metropolis," but it's the best approximation we're ever likely to have. Best of all, in selected venues it can be seen on film, in 35mm, although a video version is also available from www.kino.com.

Fortunately, Lang's later films, particularly the ones he made after fleeing Hitler's Germany to work in the United States, can be seen in their entirety. For a sampling of what this cinematic maestro created after "Metropolis," look for these titles on home video.

"Fury" (1936). Spencer Tracy stars as a man who is falsely arrested on a kidnapping charge. As the circumstantial evidence mounts against him, he finds himself facing a lynch mob. When they can't get at him any other way, the mob resorts to burning down the jailhouse where he is imprisoned. But although he is presumed dead, he has in fact escaped. Consumed by a desire for vengeance, he allows the authorities to go on believing that he is dead so that he can engineer the trial of the mob's ringleaders for his murder. He gets his revenge, but ultimately he must confront the ugly truth that he has become what the mob itself was: an unreasoning slave to blind hatred.

"Rancho Notorious" (1952). It might seem odd for a German filmmaker to make an American Western (he made three of them), but he regarded it as perfectly natural. Back in Germany he had made two films based on the myth of the Nibelungs, the same myth on which Richard Wagner based his "Ring Cycle" of operas. The stories of the Western frontier, Lang said, are the American counterpart of such European mythology. The story of "Rancho Notorious" involves Marlene Dietrich as the proprietor of a hideaway for outlaws. In return for a percentage of their loot, she provides them with a place to lay low. Arthur Kennedy plays a cowboy who is searching for the murderers of his fiancee. He infiltrates the hideout and seduces Dietrich's character, using her to get the information he's after. Lang subverts the standard movie "code of the West" by presenting the outlaw roost as a stable, functioning society and the cowboy as an intruder who uses deceit and trickery.

"Scarlet Street" (1945). Edward G. Robinson plays a mousey little bank clerk, saddled with a shrewish wife, who escapes his miserable life by painting a little on the side. Joan Bennett plays the attractive young woman who reawakens his long abandoned dream of knowing true love. Unfortunately, we know what he doesn't - that she's only stringing him along because he's allowed her to believe that he is a wealthy and important artist whose paintings sell for thousands of dollars. He embezzles money from the bank to set her up in a studio apartment, where she regularly entertains her slimy boyfriend, played almost too well by Dan Duryea. And when Robinson's character finds them together, the descent into the pit begins in earnest.

Someday, perhaps, some or all of the missing footage from "Metropolis" may be discovered, opening the door to even better restorations. Until that time, we will have to be content with the complete Lang works that we do have, including the rich legacy of his American productions.

Holocaust Meditations (originally published 3/03)

2008-04-26T23:25:00.001-04:00

Rarely, if ever, has a historical event burned its impression into our collective consciousness as forcefully as the Holocaust. Since that time, artists in virtually every medium have assumed the burden of keeping that memory fresh in our minds, lest we should ever be tempted to permit its like to happen again. This is a noble task. Roberto Benigni's "Life is Beautiful" (1997) was an inspiring, and inspired, fairy tale, but we do occasionally need to be reminded that its comparatively benign concentration camp was a drastically sanitized version of the actual horrors of which the Nazi regime was capable. In his recently released film "The Pianist," Roman Polanski has restored some perspective to that grisly topic, drawing upon Nazi atrocities he witnessed firsthand as a youth in his native Poland.

Needless to say, Hitler's Germany has figured into many, many motion pictures over the years. Most of them took the easy way out, using the Nazis as convenient heavies without giving them another thought. Still, there have been a few films that probed a bit deeper. These films take a more reflective look at the disease that afflicted Europe during those horrible years. For a sampling of some of world cinema's finest meditations on Nazism's causes and effects, look for these titles on home video.

"The Pawnbroker" (1965). Rod Steiger plays Sol Nazerman, a concentration camp survivor who operates a pawnshop in New York City. He is a deeply embittered man who refuses to reach out to others, and lashes out savagely at anyone who reaches out to him. As the film progresses, director Sidney Lumet shows us through flashbacks the horrendous experiences that transformed Nazerman into the wounded, sullen figure he has become.

"The Damned" (1969). Luchino Visconti was one of the memorable group of filmmakers who emerged from the post-World War II Italian film industry. This sprawling, operatic film is his interpretation of the rise of Nazism. He builds his film around the decline of a family of industrialists and their ill-fated dealings with the Nazis. Visconti's point is that the rise of Nazism would never have occurred without the complicity, tacit or explicit, of the industrialists. These characters are the dark counterparts of Oskar Schindler. Whereas "Schindler's List" (1993) showed us an industrialist who emerged from his Nazi dealings with a kind of moral victory, Visconti's industrialists can only sink deeper and deeper into the morass of depravity. Speaking of which, be aware that this film received an X rating when it was released in the United States. Visconti conceived of Nazism as an obscenity and its followers as perverts, and he isn't shy about illustrating the point.

"The Shop on Main Street" (1965). This outstanding Czechoslovakian film is set in a Czech ghetto during the German occupation. The main character is Tono Brtko, a gentile peasant who is appointed the "Aryan comptroller" of an elderly Jewish woman's button shop. The half deaf old woman, blissfully unaware of the occupation of the town, doesn't understand that Tono is there to take charge. She thinks he's there to work for her. Directors Jan Kadar and Elmar Klos delicately balance the humor of the situation with the horror of Nazi occupation to produce a moving and humane film. Reproduced below, courtesy of Turner Classic Movies, is the film's promotional trailer.

"To Be or Not to Be" (1942). It may seem odd to include a comedy in this listing, but this vehicle for Jack Benny and Carole Lombard has earned its place among the classic cinematic studies of Nazi Germany. For one thing, it was made when the events were still current, making it a commentary rather than a retrospective. The brilliant director Ernst Lubitsch, a German expatriate, decided to go after the Nazis using the scalpel of satire rather than the blunt instrument of melodrama. No one was better at subtle, sophisticated satire than Lubitsch, and nowhere did his humor bite deeper than in this lampoon of the Nazis' vanity and self-importance.

Having shown some of these films to various groups over the years, I've noted that most audiences still come away from a really good Holocaust film slightly stunned, and unable to talk about the movie right away. Personally, I think that's the healthiest possible response. May we never recover from it.

Lumet's Cops (originally published 3/03)

2008-04-26T23:19:00.000-04:00

In an uncertain and sometimes frightening world, we look to the police to shield us from those who would prey upon their fellow citizens. But what happens when the police themselves feel compelled to adopt the same practices as those whom they are paid to contain? Whether out of simple venality or out of a sincere desire to put the career criminals out of business in the most expeditious manner, criminal practices within the ranks of the police force pose a serious societal problem. Naturally, it therefore makes for good drama.

In the recently released "Dark Blue," director Ron Shelton successfully captializes on the theme of police malfeasance. Shelton is, however, by no means the first filmmaker to tap into this subject matter. In fact, there is one director who seems to return to it regularly. If you want to see how one of Hollywood's top talents has explored the theme over the last quarter century, look for these titles from the work of Sidney Lumet on home video.

"The Offence" (1973). Lumet's fascination with police corruption begins with this disturbing study of the moral collapse of a single cop. Sean Connery stars as London Detective Sergeant Johnson, a tortured man who has seen more human misery and depravity than he can bear. One day, while interrogating a suspected child molester, something snaps inside Johnson. He beats the man, savagely and mercilessly, nearly killing him. The departmental inquiry into this violent act reveals that Johnson was motivated as much by his own latent guilt feelings as by his conviction that the suspect was guilty. It's not an easy film to watch, but it lays an important foundation for Lumet's susequent police corruption dramas.

"Serpico" (1973). Al Pacino received an Academy Award nomination for his portrayal of Frank Serpico, a real-life New York cop who bucked the trend of systemic corruption in the New York police force. The film follows Serpico's brief police career as he transfers from division to division like a modern day Diogenes looking for an honest man. In each case, when he is pressured to accept his cut of the precinct's bribe money, he goes to his superiors to report what he believes to be an aberration. Gradually he realizes that what he's seeing is not an aberration at all; it's standard operating procedure.

"Prince of the City" (1981). Lumet returned to the theme of police corruption with this exhaustive and exhausting drama. Like "Serpico," it is based on a true story, but it is bigger in almost every way than the earlier film. Its protagonist, Detective Danny Ciello (Treat Williams), is a narcotics cop, a member of the elite Special Investigation Unit. Because the S.I.U. regularly deals with some of society's worst vermin, they are given great latitude in their methods on the theory that the end justifies the means. The result is that they have become the very thing that they are supposedly working to clean up. They routinely break as many laws as the criminals they investigate, and with complete impunity. Detective Ciello allows himself to be persuaded to inform on some of these dirty cops, with the proviso that he will not rat on his own partners. Ciello, however, is no saintly innocent like Serpico. He has been a willing participant in the corrupt system for too long to stand apart from it at this late date.

"Q&A" (1990). Lumet's first American police corruption drama not based on factual material stars Nick Nolte as Lt. Mike Brennan. Despite his reputation on the force as one of the department's finest, Brennan is actually as dirty as they come. Lumet weaves an alarming tapestry of turpitude, casual racism, and general moral bankruptcy around Brennan's cold blooded murder of a Latino drug dealer. In an effort to whitewash the investigation of the killing, a green, inexperienced assistant District Attorney is assigned to question Brennan about the incident. By the time Lumet allows the doomed investigation to play itself out, you'll feel as if you need a bath.

Lumet's meditations on New York police corruption have followed an interesting trajectory. They began on a micro level, with the dissolution of a single troubled cop, and have progressed to a macro level, where the distinctions between the police force and the criminal subculture blur and vanish. We can only hope that real life police work is not following a similar progression.

The Blue and Gray (originally published 2/03)

2008-04-19T12:47:00.002-04:00

Like many of you, back in 1990 I sat entranced through Ken Burns's PBS documentary on the Civil War. The recent re-airing of a remastered version of the epic work demonstrated that it has lost none of its power and fascination. It's a great piece of filmmaking, drawing on one of the most compelling subjects ever.

Surely no other wound has cut quite so deeply into the American psyche as that horrendous fraternal bloodletting. It cuts to the core of our national identity, forcing us to acknowledge the terrifying fragility of the American experiment. Indeed, it compelled even the leader of our nation to admit publicly that it was far from a settled issue whether this nation, or any nation of its kind, could long endure.

Photography was born just in time to capture images of the war itself. Motion pictures, born just a bit too late, have been playing catch-up ever since. Civil War movies have never lacked for an audience, and I suspect that the recent release of "Gods and Generals" will be no exception.

I thought I would mention just a few favorite Civil War titles, but there are two I will pass over in semi-silence: "The Birth of a Nation" (1915), because its unfortunate choice of the Ku Klux Klan as the heroes of its second half makes for unsavory viewing, and "Gone With the Wind" (1939), because it's just too obvious.

"The Red Badge of Courage" (1951). Of all the directors Hollywood ever produced, none was more adept than John Huston at tackling "unfilmable" literary classics and wrestling them to a draw - or better. His adaptation of Stephen Crane's immortal examination of cowardice and courage holds up extremely well in spite of the savage editing it received at the studio's hands. A couple of preview audiences apparently reacted negatively to the original cut. Studio executives, much like the boy in Crane's story, tucked tail and ran for cover, chopping the film down to about 70 minutes. We can only hope that the deleted footage still exists somewhere and will one day be restored.

"Raintree County" (1957). It was inevitable, I suppose, the MGM would eventually yield to the temptation to go back to the well and try to outdo "Gone With the Wind." This was the film in which they tried it. (Probably there was vanity at work as well. After all, "Gone With the Wind" had really been a Selznick picture, not an MGM picture. They only released it.) Here, as in the earlier film, the war serves as a backdrop for a story of unhappy marriage. Montgomery Clift and Elizabeth Taylor play the star-crossed couple. Reproduced below, courtesy of Turner Classic Movies, is a behind the scenes promotional short on the making of the film.

"The Horse Soldiers" (1959). Director John Ford's only significant film touching on the Civil War was this dramatization of a Union raid during the Vicksburg campaign. John Wayne, Ford's favorite star, plays the Union colonel who leads a cavalry unit deep into Confederate territory to interfere with supply lines by sabotaging the railroads. As one would expect from Ford, the film presents a highly romanticized view of the war. Acts of gallantry and valor on both sides of the conflict are emphasized throughout.

"Shenandoah" (1965). James Stewart has a field day in the role of a Virginia widower trying to run his farm and raise a family with the war raging all around him. He wants no part of the war - he doesn't hold with slavery - but eventually it comes to his doorstep. When his youngest son is kidnapped by Yankees, the conflict at last becomes personal. If you're bothered by schmaltz, be warned that this is a very sentimental picture. Still, it was made by people who knew how to do sentiment well.

"The General" (1927). Buster Keaton's classic Civil War comedy is as fresh and entertaining today as it was three quarters of a century ago. It retells the true story of Union soldiers who stole the locomotive named the "General" and the Confederate engineer who gave chase in a locomotive called the "Texas." Keaton aimed for authenticity, excitement, and laughs, and scored a solid bull's eye on all counts.

"The General" may actually be the one you'll want to pick up on the way home from seeing "Gods and Generals." After wallowing in the brutality of Bull Run and Chancellorsville, you'll need Keaton's healing humor to weave laughter for you out of the blood-stained tatters of blue and gray.

Court Jesters (originally published 1/03)

2008-04-19T12:45:00.001-04:00

Given that popular culture has generally assigned to lawyers a less than savory reputation, you might not expect to find much in the way of light-hearted movies featuring attorneys. In fact, there have been quite a few. "Two Weeks Notice," featuring Sandra Bullock as a crusading attorney who falls for a self-involved millionaire, is only the most recent in a long line of lawyer comedies. Here are a few more examples to look for on home video.

"Star of Midnight" (1935). William Powell's single greatest claim to fame is undoubtedly his role as Nick Charles in the "Thin Man" series. These classics of the comedy-mystery genre feature Nick and his wife Nora (Myrna Loy) solving mysteries in high style, sipping champagne and trading bon mots all the while. "Star of Midnight" was an attempt to cash in on the success of the "Thin Man" films, with Powell cast as a wisecracking lawyer whose resemblance to Nick Charles is far from coincidental. Ginger Rogers stands in for Myrna Loy in a Nora-esque role.

"Adam's Rib" (1949). Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn star as a married couple, Adam and Amanda Bonner, both of whom happen to be attorneys. Adam is assigned to prosecute a woman for the attempted murder of her philandering husband. Amanda, unaware that Adam will be the prosecutor, volunteers to defend the woman. She's outraged by what she sees as a double standard, believing that a man who committed the same crime would be lionized for defending the sanctity of his marriage instead of being hauled into court. By the time Adam and Amanda realize that they will be opposing each other, each is too committed on principle to back out. The all-out gender warfare that ensues makes for some of Tracy and Hepburn's finest onscreen moments together. Scripted by Ruth Gordon and Garson Kanin and directed by George Cukor, this film is a class act all the way.

"Brothers in Law" (1957). John and Roy Boulting were a pair of twin brothers who enlivened the British cinema by producing and directing a series of satirical comedies during the late fifties. Their targets included the British army ("Private's Progress"), higher education ("Lucky Jim"), and labor relations ("I'm All Right, Jack"). It was inevitable that they would sooner or later get around to lampooning the British courts, which is exactly what "Brothers in Law" does. As he did in many of the Boulting comedies, Ian Charmichael plays a wide eyed youngster thrown to the wolves, in this case a young apprentice barrister trying to learn the ropes without hanging himself in the process.

"Legal Eagles" (1986). Robert Redford plays a talented, ambitious district attorney opposite Debra Winger as an unconventional defense attorney in producer-director Ivan Reitman's tribute to the courtroom comedies of yesteryear. There's a mystery that the two stars must team up to solve, which places the film squarely in the "Thin Man" tradition, and therefore in the "Star of Midnight" tradition. At the same time, there's the gender warfare element that flows from casting the romantic leads as opposing counsel, placing it in the "Adam's Rib" tradition. That's a lot to live up to, so we can't be too hard on it for not doing so. Taken on its own merits, it's an entertaining diversion.

"And Justice For All" (1979). Al Pacino stars as attorney Arthur Kirkland in this early Barry Levinson screenplay, which was co-scripted by Valerie Curtin. The film walks a ragged edge between comedy and drama. Many of the scenes, to be sure, are quite grim indeed. The comic highlights, however, are extremely funny. Jack Warden, in particular, nearly steals the picture from Pacino with his hilarious portrayal of a sitting judge who's got more than a few screws loose.

You'll note that I haven't resorted to quoting the old Shakespeare line about killing all the lawyers. That's because, in the spirit of these courtroom comedies, I think it might be better if we all just had a good laugh together. Remind me sometime to tell you about the time I spent 80-plus hours over a period of six weeks cooped up with a couple hundred law students reviewing for their bar exam, and I'll explain to you just how desperately these folks need the solace of comedy.

The Dystopias, part 2 (originally published 12/02)

2008-04-06T13:40:00.002-04:00

What with the economy going down for the third time and ugly bigotry rearing its head in the high places of Washington, D.C., we might be forgiven for concluding that we are as far from achieving Thomas More's vision of a utopian society as it is possible to be. The recent release of "Equilibrium," however, reminds us that it could be worse. Its portrayal of a society that has outlawed both art and emotion belongs to a long tradition of "dystopian" fiction. These are stories that show us just how bad it could get if we aren't careful. We looked at a few examples last week. Here are a few more dystopian films to look for on home video.

"Metropolis" (1927). The earliest significant screen portrayal of a dystopian society is this German silent classic directed by Fritz Lang. Set in an enormous underground city of the future, it shows us the exploitation of the working class carried to its logical conclusion. This is a city in which most of the aristocracy are not even aware of the existence of the workers whose labor sustains their carefree lifestyle. This important and seminal film has recently received a long overdue restoration. The restored version is available on home video from Kino Video (www.kino.com).

"Alphaville" (1965) Jean-Luc Godard, one of the icons of the French New Wave, loved to throw curveballs. Here, he plays fast and loose with genre conventions by blending the hard-boiled detective genre with science fiction to tell the story of a totalitarian society ruled by a supercomputer called Alpha 60. The hero of the story is Lemmy Caution, played by Eddie Constantine. Godard's joke here is that Constantine had already played Caution in a series of violent potboilers, very much in the standard detective film tradition. Imagine Mickey Spillane's Mike Hammer being transplanted into a sophisticated science fiction film by, say, Steven Soderbergh and you'll get the idea.

"Zardoz" (1973). Writer-director John Boorman's version of a future society gone wrong is a cautionary tale about what can happen when religion becomes a tool of the political elites. The deity worshipped by this society is Zardoz, who appears in the form of a gigantic stone head. Zed (Sean Connery) is one of the exterminators who serve Zardoz by keeping the general rabble in line. To his dismay, Zed learns that Zardoz is actually nothing more than a figurehead used by a secret society of elites to impose their will on the populace.

"THX-1138" (1971). You might not find it surprising that the first Hollywood project directed by George Lucas was a science fiction film. If you're expecting "Star Wars," however, better think again. This was an expanded version of a short film produced by Lucas when he was still a film student at USC. Its narrative style is self-consciously arty and avant-garde, pushing the envelope of what a Hollywood studio can be persuaded to release. The society Lucas portrays is a world in which sexuality is strictly forbidden, such urges being suppressed through the enforced administration of sedative drugs. Although profoundly eclipsed by the massive shadow cast by the "Star Wars" series, this early Lucas effort lives on in the name he has given to his line of high end movie exhibition products and services: THX Ltd.

Dystopian films (and literature) are sometimes described as inherently pessimistic, predicting the worst for humanity instead of hoping for the best. Ray Bradbury disputes this view, however. He points out that in writing "Fahrenheit 451," he was not trying to predict the future. Instead, he was trying to prevent a future. He saw a dangerous trend developing and extrapolated it to its logical conclusion in order to suggest that we stop traveling down that road while there is still time. Seen in that light, such stories are, at their core, profoundly optimistic. Only an optimist would assume that we as a society can see the cliff coming and change directions before we go over it. If that's true, it may well be that films like "Minority Report" and "Equilibrium," along with the films we've been considering here, can lay claim to a significance far beyond the entertainment they provide.

The Dystopias, part 1 (originally published 12/02)

2008-04-06T13:38:00.000-04:00

In 1515, Thomas More imagined an idealized society, a place populated by "citizens ruled by good and wholesome laws," where people "live together in a civil policy and good order." More's name for this civic paragon has entered the language as the word on which we hang our hopes for a better world. He called it "Utopia."

Some five centuries later, we are still struggling to realize that ideal. Indeed, it sometimes seems that we are moving away from the dream of Utopia, rather than closer to it. With that in mind, it is perhaps not so surprising that the more pessimistic strains of science fiction, both literary and cinematic, occasionally show us the other extreme of the continuum by imagining a future society in which good and wholesome laws have been entirely abandoned in favor of repressive and dehumanizing ones. This nightmare inversion of the utopian dream is generally referred to as "dystopian fiction."

A recent example is "Minority Report," adapted from the Philip K. Dick story in which people can be arrested for crimes that they haven't yet committed. The most recent dystopian film is the currently playing "Equilibrium," in which the possession of art and the manifestation of emotion are both capital crimes. For a sampling of how earlier films have portrayed possible nightmare societies, look for these titles on home video.

"Fahrenheit 451" (1966). Ray Bradbury's chilling cautionary tale reached the screen courtesy of renowned French filmmaker Francois Truffaut. In the world Bradbury postulates, all books have been banned on the grounds that it is virtually impossible to write anything without offending someone. All structures, by this time, have been made fireproof, so the function of firemen has evolved to meet the new societal need. Instead of putting out fires, fire trucks are dispatched for the purpose of burning books. Occasionally a die-hard book lover will have a cache of books squirreled away in defiance of the law. When their names are turned in, as they always are sooner or later, the fire engine rolls up to their house, uses the fire hose to douse the books with kerosene, and torches them.

"1984" (1984). The novel that has come to be the standard bearer for all dystopian fiction is George Orwell's grim tale of Winston Smith's fate after falling in love, and thereby committing a crime against the state. It's all here: Big Brother, the Ministry of Truth, the Thought Police, doublespeak - all the Orwellian touches that have entered our collective consciousness as the eternal symbols of totalitarianism writ large. Orwell's novel had been adapted for the screen once before, in 1956, but it was perhaps inevitable that there would be a version produced in 1984. This one features John Hurt as Smith and Richard Burton, in his last screen performance, as the mendacious O'Brien.

"Soylent Green" (1973). Based on Harry Harrison's novel "Make Room! Make Room!," the plot of this film is driven by the investigation of an industrialist's murder. The social backdrop, however, is what distinguishes it. Set in New York City in the year 2022, it offers a nightmarish vision of a world that has cast aside any pretense of ecological responsibility in the face of an overwhelming population explosion.

"Mad Max" (1979). One of the most popular subcategories of dystopian fiction is the "after the bomb" story, a vision of life after the world has been devastated by thermonuclear war. This Australian picture, starring Mel Gibson in the title role, caught on in a big way with audiences worldwide. It shows us how the rule of law has become a violent, brutal joke in the outback following the apocalypse. Max, a motorcycle cop charged with riding herd on the almost sub-human denizens of the outback's highways, turns his job into a vehicle for a personal vendetta after his own family is murdered by these same marauding gangs.

Next week we'll look at still more examples of dystopian cinema. In the meantime, if your morning newspaper should begin to seem disquietingly similar to Orwell's "1984," just keep reminding yourself that doublethink will liberate you from all such anxieties. Say it with me: "War is peace. Freedom is slavery. Ignorance is strength." There now. Feel better?

The Shrinks (originally published 12/02)

2008-04-06T13:33:00.001-04:00

Movies were born right around the time when Sigmund Freud was turning the world of psychology on its ear. Ever since then, it seems that movies and psychology have maintained a special relationship. In fact, one of the earliest books of film theory was written in 1916 by Hugo Munsterberg, a Harvard professor of psychology. And even after film scholarship developed into a discipline in its own right, film theorists continued to point to the similarities between movie viewing and the dream state, which is the special province of psychoanalysts.

In light of all this, it is hardly surprising that psychiatrists turn up with great regularity as characters in movies. The analyst played for laughs by Billy Crystal in "Analyze This" (1999) and its currently playing sequel, "Analyze That," is only the most recent in a long line of movie shrinks, both dramatic and comic. For a sampling of how earlier filmmakers have portrayed practitioners of psychiatric medicine in all their aspects, look for these titles on home video.

"Spellbound" (1945). Alfred Hitchcock made a number of films in which a man is fatally attracted to a dangerous and/or disturbed woman, but here he reverses that formula. Gregory Peck plays a man posing as a psychiatrist. Ingrid Bergman, as a real psychiatrist, sees through his deception and probes for the psychological roots of his problems. Along the way, she rather unwisely falls in love with him. The film is especially notable because surrealist artist Salvador Dali was hired to design a dream sequence.

"Carefree" (1938). In this Irving Berlin musical, Fred Astaire plays a dancing psychiatrist with Ginger Rogers as his patient. Ginger can't make up her mind whether to marry her boyfriend (Ralph Bellamy), so she goes to Fred for analysis. As they dance their way through her dreams, she discovers (how'd you guess?) that it's Fred she really loves.

"Equus" (1977). By the time Peter Shaffer wrote the play on which this film is based, the range of movie portrayals of psychiatrists extended from the reverential to the satirical. The main character of "Equus" is presented in a way that falls somewhere in between these extremes. Richard Burton as Dr. Martin Dysart is both highly skilled and riddled with human frailty. His treatment of a boy who was mysteriously driven to blind a stable full of horses leads him to question the value of the work he does. Burton is brilliant; Shaffer's dialogue is written in just the sort of elevated style that seemed to put Burton on his mettle and call forth the best he had to offer.

"Still of the Night" (1982). This suspense film stars Roy Scheider as a psychiatrist whose patient is murdered. Soon after, he meets a woman (Meryl Streep) about whom the murdered man had spoken repeatedly in therapy sessions. Naturally, the doc falls for this mystery woman. But is she the murderer?

"Zelig" (1983). Woody Allen's enormously clever faux-documentary about an insecure human chameleon who takes on the attributes of whomever he is with features a wonderful performance by Mia Farrow as the psychiatrist who analyzes Leonard Zelig and falls in love with him. Additionally, there are scenes in which Zelig, true to form, morphs himself into a psychiatrist because he is with one. This allows Allen to do some broad burlesquing of the profession while Farrow's character remains more sympathetic and credible.

"They Might Be Giants" (1971). My own favorite psychiatrist movie is this delightful confection starring Joanne Woodward as a psychiatrist who is hired to examine a New York City judge (George C. Scott) who believes that he is Sherlock Holmes. The psychiatrist's name, inevitably, is Dr. Watson.

Finally, if you want a harrowing glimpse of real psychiatry, look for a documentary called "Let There Be Light" (1944). It deals with the phenomenon that is now known as post traumatic stress disorder, but in those days was simply called "shell shock." John Huston's chronicle of the emotionally wounded veterans of World War II doesn't have songs and dances, and none of the psychiatrists fall in love with their patients. But if Martin Dysart could have seen it, he might not have been so quick to doubt the worth of his chosen profession.

The Buccaneers (originally published 12/02)

2008-03-29T12:01:00.002-04:00

In "A Pirate Looks at Forty," Jimmy Buffett bemoans the fact that he was born "200 years too late" to pursue his calling as a pirate. Imagination is timeless, however. Although piracy in the classic, swashbuckling sense has passed into history, it seems that the retelling of a good pirate story never will.

The recent release of "Treasure Planet" seeks to transplant Robert Louis Stevenson's "Treasure Island" into a futuristic setting, but its modest box office performance seems to indicate that audiences still prefer their pirate stories in their original setting. If you went to see "Treasure Planet" and found yourself wishing for a good old fashioned pirate movie instead, here are a few titles to look for on home video.

"The Black Pirate" (1926). Douglas Fairbanks, who had essentially invented the swashbuckling movie genre with "The Mark of Zorro" (1920), waited until relatively late in his career to weigh in with a pirate movie. When he finally made one, he made sure that it had everything. It was a compendium of every pirate tale that Fairbanks had ever loved, and he had loved most of them.

"Old Ironsides" (1926). Inspired in part by the Oliver Wendell Holmes poem of the same name, this silent classic portrays the U.S.S. Constitution, not in its fabled exploits during the War of 1812, but in its earlier service against the Barbary Pirates. The film begins with Jefferson's "millions for defense, but not one cent for tribute" speech and ends with Stephen Decatur's burning of the captured U.S.S. Philadelphia to render it useless to its pirate captors.

"Treasure Island" (1934 and 1950). Stevenson's classic novel has, of course, been translated to the screen many times before its current science-fictional incarnation. It's easy enough to narrow down the choices to two, but beyond that it's just impossible to make a clear recommendation. The 1934 version is probably the better movie, with Jackie Cooper as Jim Hawkins and Wallace Beery as Long John Silver. Still, it's hard to resist the wonderfully hammy performance of Robert Newton as Long John in the 1950 Disney version. Newton chews the scenery, creating the pirate characterization that remains the basis for all pirate parody ("arrr, Matey...") to this day. If you're a fan of Stevenson's book, you really need to see both versions. And if you're not a fan of the book, better check for a pulse.

"Captain Blood" (1935). This was the film that made stars of Errol Flynn and Olivia de Havilland. In this adaptation of the Rafael Sabatini novel, Flynn plays Peter Blood, a physician who falls afoul of the tyrannical King James II. In 1865, the rebellion against James has just been crushed at the Battle of Sedgemoor. When Blood is caught treating the wounds of one of the rebels, he is arrested along with his patient. Both are sold into slavery as punishment. Just when things look hopeless, the Spaniards invade, allowing Blood and his fellow prisoners to escape in the chaos. They seize the Spanish ship and become buccaneers on the Spanish Main. Reproduced below is the film's promotional trailer, courtesy of Turner Classic Movies.

"The Buccaneer" (1958). In 1938, Cecil B. De Mille had mythologized the contribution of Jean Lafitte and his freebooters to the American war effort at the Battle of New Orleans. The original, amazingly enough, has not been released on video, but the 1958 remake was released on VHS, and used or rental copies can still be tracked down. The remake was supervised by De Mille, but by then he was too ill to direct it himself. He delegated the director's chair to his then son-in-law, Anthony Quinn. Yul Brynner plays Lafitte opposite Charlton Heston as Andrew Jackson.

"The Crimson Pirate" (1952). For a good-natured, spirited, tongue-in-cheek send-up of the pirate movie genre, you can't do better than this lively romp. Burt Lancaster stars as Captain Vallo, the leader of a thoroughly scurvy band of pirates. They become involved with a revolution against Spanish rule on a small Caribbean island, but the plot is really of secondary importance. The main attraction is the outlandish acrobatic action, drawing on Lancaster's background as a circus acrobat.

One way or another, there seems to be little doubt that Hollywood will always remain committed to preserving the buccaneer spirit. You can see it on the screen, and you can feel it in your wallet each time you walk up to the box office and scan the ticket prices.

The Good Teachers (originally published 11/02)

2008-03-29T11:51:00.001-04:00

One of the perennial joys of being a student is slandering your teachers. When I was in grade school, a hundred years ago, I seem to recall that we delighted in making up rude songs about our least favorite teachers. Times have changed, of course -- these days, a disgruntled student is as likely to register his grievances with gunplay as with satire - but the basic impulse remains essentially the same.

Still, most of us can also fondly recall at least one or two teachers who had a positive influence on our lives. These important teachers who touch us deeply have long been a favorite subject of filmmakers. The recent release of "The Emporer's Club" is the current example, but if you'd like to see how earlier films have treated the theme of inspiring teachers, look for these titles on home video.

"Goodbye, Mr. Chips" (1939). This sentimental film is set in a British boys' school in the late 1800s. Charles Chipping, magnificently played by Robert Donat, is in many ways the dramatic prototype of the teacher who makes a positive difference in young lives. We follow him through his long career, as he molds the lives of several generations of youngsters over more than half a century. We meet him initially as a young and callow new Latin instructor, shy by nature and with no conception of how to connect with his charges on a human level. He learns that secret later, primarily from his gregarious wife, played by Greer Garson, who brings out his humane side, allowing him to make the all-important transition from tutor to mentor.

"Blackboard Jungle" (1955). Glenn Ford stars as Richard Dadier, a new high school teacher who is inevitably rechristened as "Daddy-0" by his wiseacre students. He's beginning his teaching career on very tough turf, a New York City school for boys. Confronted with a disruptive nucleus of hard core juvenile delinquents who are spoiling the learning experience for everyone, Dadier ultimately opts for a more subtle approach than direct confrontation. Recognizing that the troublesome students do not represent a unified adversary, he reasons that if he can drive a wedge among their ranks, he can undermine the ringleaders' sway over their peers. The key turns out to be an African-American student, played by Sidney Poitier, who is as resentful of the student body in-crowd as he is of the school's authority figures.

"To Sir, With Love" (1967). Speaking of Sidney Poitier, his turn on the other side of the desk came in this British film of the 1960s. As Mark Thackeray, he's an unemployed engineer who turns to a teaching position for sustenance when no engineering positions are available. The school is in London, and his students are rowdy East Enders, rough as a cob and resentful of authority figures. He receives all manner of advice on how to handle the youngsters, with recommendations ranging from cracking the whip to trying a little tenderness. Instead he decides to treat them with respect and require the same of them. He addresses them formally, and makes it clear that he expects responsible, adult behavior from them because he believes them to be capable of it. Slowly, painfully, he manages to win their respect and allegiance.

"Conrack" (1974). In the late 1960s, a young, idealistic fellow named Pat Conroy took on the job of teaching the African-American schoolchildren of an island off the coast of South Carolina. He subsequently wrote a book about the experience called "The Water is Wide," which was filmed as "Conrack," with Jon Voight as Conroy. This same Pat Conroy would later go on to great success as a novelist with works such as "The Prince of Tides." Back in the '60s, however, as the film shows us, he had his hands quite full enough with the challenge of bringing the joy of learning to Yamacraw Island. These kids, he quickly learned, had been taught only one thing: that they weren't worthy of being educated. Against opposition from all sides, he poured all of his considerable energy into undermining the lie that had crippled the self-image of these children.

The bottom line for teachers seems to be that there are those who care only about their assignments and those who care about their students. Apparently, it all comes down to whether you'd rather be the subject of a scurrilous song or a major motion picture.

The Clowns (originally published 11/02)

2008-03-20T23:29:00.000-04:00

Having conquered prime time television with a show about nothing, Jerry Seinfeld has now mounted his assault on the big screen with a movie about being a standup comic. It's likely to do well, of course, because it features Seinfeld, but there is every reason to believe that it might have made a respectable showing at the box office even without his lucrative name attached to it. Movie audiences have always enjoyed movies about the people who make us laugh, whether documentary or fictional. To see how earlier films have portrayed the lives of comics, look for these titles on home video.

"Top Banana" (1954). This film was adapted from a hit Broadway play, which is certainly nothing unusual in itself. What is unusual is that the filmmakers decided just to stage a production of the play itself, on a stage, in a theater, and record the performance with movie cameras. It would be an extremely silly way to adapt most stage plays to film, but in this case there is a certain logic to it. Both the play and the film starred Phil Silvers as the lead comic (or "top banana") of a successful television show. There's a plot in there somewhere - something about the top banana playing matchmaker to keep a sponsor happy only to fall for the young woman he has paired off with someone else - but it hardly matters. The heart and soul of the play/film is the steady stream of burlesque comedy bits. If you want a taste of what burlesque comedy was really like, performed by some of the people who knew it firsthand, this is the movie to see.

"The Comic" (1969). Dick Van Dyke portrays a silent film comedian named Billy Bright. The character is fictitious, but the events of his life are gleaned from the true stories of a number of comics of that era who lived to see their glory fade and who ultimately died in poverty and obscurity. Billy Bright brings much of his hardship on himself by being a self-centered, conceited jerk. The film was written and directed by Carl Reiner, the creator of Van Dyke's enormously successful TV show. If you have a low tolerance for schmaltz, you may be put off by one or two scenes, but the film does have some genuinely fine moments.

"Funny Girl" (1968). Barbra Streisand made her movie debut in this story of the early career of Fanny Brice. It was one of the last of the big budget Hollywood musicals. Those massive explosions of show biz excess had enjoyed a revival in the 1960s, in a kind of last ditch effort to compete with television by filling the big screen with spectacles such as "West Side Story" (1961), "The Sound of Music" (1965), and "Camelot" (1967). By the time "Funny Girl" was released, the trend had pretty well run its course. The film has very little to do with the actual life story of Ziegfeld Follies comedienne Fanny Brice and everything to do with showcasing the talents of Streisand, but as long as you know that going in there's no harm done. It's a very entertaining story paralleling Brice's early show business success with the failure of her marriage to professional gambler Nick Arnstein (Omar Sharif).

"The Comedian" (1957). This one isn't actually a movie. It's a kinescope of a 90-minute live TV show from the period known as the "golden age of TV drama." The script was written by Rod Serling for an anthology series called "Playhouse 90." Mickey Rooney gives an intense, fiery performance in the title role, playing a character named Sammy Hogarth. He's the star of a hit television variety show, a man who brings joy into the lives of millions of viewers. But to the people who have to work with him, he's just a big pain in the neck. Feet of clay? This guy is mud from the neck down. The video release includes interviews with cast members and director John Frankenheimer, placing the show in historical perspective.

The great British tragedian Edmund Keane is reported to have said on his deathbed that "dying is easy; comedy is hard." Laughter, like anything of value, exacts a price. Luckily for us, from Phil Silvers to Jerry Seinfeld, there are always those who are willing to pay the price on our behalf.

The Good Book (originally published 10/02)

2008-03-20T23:27:00.001-04:00

Besides being the foundation of two of the world's great religions, the Old Testament is a repository of some of humanity's most enduring stories. Regardless of whether you are a religious person, your life has undoubtedly been touched by these stories, and probably molded by them. Needless to say, this treasure trove of timeless tales has provided the inspiration for a great many movies through the years, the latest of which is the VeggieTales version of the story of Jonah and the whale, which is currently playing in theaters nationwide. For a sampling of how earlier films have adapted stories from the Hebrew Bible for the screen, look for these titles on home video.

"Samson and Delilah" (1949). Without a doubt the filmmaker who is best known for turning biblical stories into big box office is Cecil B. DeMille. One of the great grey eminences of Hollywood, it is not an exaggeration to describe DeMille as one of the founding fathers of the American film industry. Fancying himself something of a biblical scholar, he had been drawing story material from holy writ since the silent film days. With "Samson and Delilah," however, he told his Bible tale for the first time in full Technicolor, a process he had experimented with decades earlier for selected scenes of his silent production of "The Ten Commandments." (1923). Rock-jawed Victor Mature plays the part of Samson opposite Hedy Lamarr as Delilah. Don't be put off by DeMille's somewhat ponderous style. It's old fashioned, to be sure - indeed, it was old fashioned even in 1949 - but DeMille knew how to tell a story.

"David and Bathsheba" (1951). Another Hollywood veteran dating back to the silent film days was director Henry King. This is King's interpretation of how King David's lust for Bathsheba brought the wrath of God down on his kingdom. This is the prototype for a plot that has been a favorite of storytellers for centuries, the story of sin and redemption. Gregory Peck stars as King David and Susan Hayward plays the part of Bathsheba.

"The Ten Commandments" (1956). The capstone of DeMille's illustrious career was this gargantuan remake of his silent classic based on Moses, the Lawgiver. The silent film had told the story of Moses in parallel with a modern story illustrating the price one pays for flouting the Ten Commandments. For the remake, however, he abandoned this idea in favor of devoting the entire film to recounting the life story of Moses, played by Charlton Heston. Everything about this production is big, from its length (over three and a half hours) to its budget to its cast. Rarely has such a roster of Hollywood luminaries been assembled to perform in a single film. DeMille's bombastic style was by this time quite old fashioned indeed, but, once again, it did not - and does not - matter. The man was such a natural storyteller that he could hold the attention of audiences for twice the length of most films in spite of a flamboyant directorial flair that dated back to stage melodramas from the turn of the century.

"Sodom and Gomorrah" (1962). The story of Hebrew leader Lot (Stewart Granger) and his ill-fated wife (Pier Angeli) is rendered here as a big, sprawling tale of unfortunate political alliances against a backdrop of sin and corruption writ large. Lot strikes a deal with the queen who rules Sodom and Gomorrah to be given land in exchange for defending the queen's people against their enemies, the Helamites. Eventually, however, he realizes that he has placed his people's souls in jeopardy with this misconceived bargain. Director Robert Aldrich, taking his cue from DeMille, makes no attempt at subtlety.

Speaking of taking cues from DeMille, perhaps you've noticed a trend by now. It was DeMille, way back in the silent movie days, who caught on to the fact that biblical epics provide filmmakers with a way to eat their cake and have it too. What better way to maximize sex and violence on the screen, which is good for the box office, without being seen as prurient, which is bad for the industry's image, than to pull salacious and violent content from the Old Testament, which offers plenty of both? It is the lack of these mainstays, and not the casting of Jonah as an asparagus, that represents the new VeggieTales movie's most radical break with Hollywood tradition.

Mothers and Daughters (originally published 10/02)

2008-03-14T23:27:00.000-04:00

Of all the allegiances forged by society or ordained by nature, none is more potent than the bond between a mother and daughter. When it is healthy and flourishing, it can grow into a tightly woven cocoon of mutual nurturing that can justly be described as nature's masterpiece. When it goes wrong, however, it can degenerate into a nightmare.

The newly released "White Oleander," based on the novel by Janet Fitch, relates a sobering tale of a mother-daughter relationship gone tragically awry and the daughter's struggle to cope with the daunting task of defining herself without a mother's guidance. It's a harrowing story, but by no means a new one. Indeed, troubled relationships between mothers and daughters are as old as humankind. Naturally, "White Oleander" is far from being the first film to deal with the subject. To see how earlier filmmakers have portrayed dysfunctional mother-daughter relationships, look for these titles on home video.

"Autumn Sonata" (1978). Ingmar Bergman's grim meditation on mother-daughter alienation stars Ingrid Bergman as the mother and Liv Ullman as the daughter. Mom is a celebrated concert pianist who hasn't seen her daughter in seven years. When they do meet again, they are almost like strangers. Then old resentments begin to reassert themselves, culminating in a long night of revelations and recriminations. It's a virtuoso performance by two of the screen's finest actresses under the guidance of world cinema's most unrelenting interpreter of emotional pain.

"Gypsy" (1962). If you prefer something a bit less emotionally intense than Bergman, let Gypsy Rose Lee entertain you with this musical version of her early years under the influence of the ultimate stage mother. Gypsy is portrayed by Natalie Wood, while Rosalind Russell plays her mother, Rose Hovick. Rose is herself the product of a rocky mother-daughter relationship, and now she's determined to take over the lives of her daughters by being single-handedly responsible for their success.

"Now, Voyager" (1942). This Bette Davis soaper is remembered primarily for the love story that develops between Davis and Paul Henried. The early scenes, however, present one of the most chilling examples of an unhealthy mother-daughter relationship in any film. Gladys Cooper plays Davis's cold and distant mother. She is acidly and unrelentingly critical of her daughter and sternly withholds any glimmer of affection on any level. With Davis's character on the verge of a nervous breakdown, the psychiatrist who is called in immediately recommends an ocean voyage to remove her from her mother's influence.

"Stella Dallas" (1937). Olive Higgins Prouty, who wrote the novel on which "Now, Voyager" was based, was also the author of this film's literary source. Barbara Stanwyck gives one of her best performances as Stella, a working class woman who marries into a well-to-do family. They have a daughter, whom Stella loves dearly, but ultimately the differences in their backgrounds prove fatal to the marriage. As they go their separate ways, the daughter, gravitating toward the upper class lifestyle of her father, begins to think of her lower class mother as an embarrassment. Thus the stage is set for one of those noble sacrifices that are a fixture in the three-hanky genre. This is an oft-filmed story, adapted for film both before and since this Samuel Goldwyn production, but the Stanwyck version remains the definitive interpretation.

"Mildred Pierce" (1945). This is a fascinating film on all kinds of levels. It's primarily remembered for the remarkable feat of combining the soap opera genre with the dark and morally ambiguous film noir genre. The effect of this synthesis on the film's mother-daughter relationship is striking, combining the soapiness of "Stella Dallas" with the venom and bile of "Double Indemnity." Mildred (Joan Crawford) is a successful businesswoman who obsessively dotes on her daughter, Ida (Ann Blyth). But when young Ida becomes romantically involved with Mildred's second husband, the plot really starts to thicken.

William Shakespeare probably had the best line on the special intensity of the mother-daughter relationship. "Thou art thy mother's glass," he wrote, "and she in thee calls back the lovely April of her prime." But movies are also a kind of mirror. And as long as humans look into that mirror, it will always reflect the somber warning that a mother's love, one of nature's finest blessings, retains the frightening potential to morph into something as poisonous as oleander.

The Psychos (originally published 9/02)

2008-03-14T23:25:00.000-04:00

He's back. Hannibal Lecter, the psychopath we love to hate, once again haunts our screens in the "Silence of the Lambs" prequel, "Red Dragon." We just can't seem to get enough of the guy.

In truth, however, psychopaths have always been popular with movie audiences. Take a thoroughly vicious head case of a character, find a good actor to incarnate him on the screen, and you can be guaranteed that ticket sales will be brisk. Anthony Hopkins's portrayal of Lecter certainly qualifies as one of the great examples. Here are some earlier classic psycho portrayals to look for on home video.

Robert Mitchum in "Night of the Hunter" (1955). In this extraordinary piece of work, the only film ever directed by famed actor Charles Laughton, Robert Mitchum portrays an ex-con posing as a clergyman in order to seduce the widow of his former cellmate. The man had been executed for killing two people while robbing a bank, but the money he stole had never been found. Mitchum's character is determined to find it, and he is the sort of twisted sicko who will go to any lengths at all to get what he is after. This is the film in which Mitchum sports tattoos on his fingers spelling out L-O-V-E on one hand and H-A-T-E on the other.

Richard Widmark in "Kiss of Death" (1947). This was Widmark's first screen role, and what a debut it was. His character is so mean and rotten and takes such delight in his own nastiness that he routinely bursts out laughing while committing sadistic acts. In what is probably the film's most famous scene, he pushes an old woman down a flight of stairs. Pretty nasty, right? But in fact it's even worse than that: the old lady he pushed was in a wheelchair.

James Cagney in "White Heat" (1949). I know I'm going out on a limb saying this, but this just might be Cagney's greatest role. He is a gangster with such an intense mother-fixation that he continues to converse with his mom after she is dead. When he can't cope, he is stricken with piercing, intense headaches. You can imagine what this does for his disposition. He is an utterly remorseless killer. In one scene, he closes a man up inside the trunk of a car. When the fellow makes the mistake of begging to be let out because he can't breathe in there, Cagney remedies the situation. He fires his gun into the trunk to make air holes - his little joke. If you've never seen this one, give it a try; I promise that you'll never forget the ending.

Arch Hall, Jr. in "The Sadist" (1963). For sheer out and out meanness, it's hard to top the nasty piece of work portrayed by Hall in this film. Three people on their way to a football game stop at a lonely rural gas station only to be held at gunpoint and mercilessly tortured by the ultimate angry young man. It doesn't seem to matter that they are perfect strangers. He's pretty much mad at everybody. It's not a great film by any means, just a low budget thriller that hasn't aged all that well, but Hall is convincing and the tension builds up quite effectively.

Joseph Cotten in "Shadow of a Doubt" (1943). On the subtle side, there is this subdued but thoroughly unnerving Alfred Hitchcock film in which Cotten portrays a beloved uncle who comes to visit his niece in her idyllic little home town. Only gradually does she come to realize that he is in fact the man known to the police as the "Merry Widow Murderer." There is virtually no violence in the film, but Hitchcock doesn't need violence to get you biting your nails and squirming in your seat. Cotten's performance, quite simply, is inspired. Just watch the scene in which he sits at the dinner table and quietly, calmly explains why some people don't deserve to live, and see if the little hairs on the back of your neck don't stand on end.

And, speaking of Hitchcock, let us not forget the granddaddy of all movie psychopaths: Anthony Perkins in "Psycho" (1960).

By the time you've watched these films, you will be primed and ready for "Red Dragon." But you may not want to unlock your front door to go out and see it.

Splitsville (originally published 9/02)

2008-03-08T17:36:00.002-05:00

Last week we were looking at vintage wedding movies. I mentioned then that weddings have become almost synonymous with happy endings in our dramatic tradition. At the same time, we know that real life weddings too often fall short of the "happily ever after" expectations we place on them. So pervasive is this reality that even the airy and whimsical fantasy world of the romantic comedy has had to acknowledge and incorporate the hard realities of divorce.

The most recent example is "Serving Sara," which chronicles the misadventures of a hapless process server caught in the middle of a nasty divorce. But the current generation is by no means the first to know the pain of divorce, despite the efforts of certain politicians to portray the good old days as an unbroken tapestry of storybook marriages. For the sake of closure, then, let's take a look at some classic divorce movies.

"The Awful Truth" (1937). Just as "Father of the Bride" holds an exalted place in the annals of wedding pictures, "The Awful Truth" reigns supreme as the movies' greatest divorce comedy. Cary Grant and Irene Dunne star as Jerry and Lucy Warriner, a couple whose marriage has hit the skids. Their divorce, however, ultimately proves even less successful than their marriage. Both of them pursue other romantic interests, but neither can resist trying to sabotage the other's courtship. Dunne and Grant are scorchingly brilliant, taking clever dialogue and elevating it to the comedy stratosphere with Swiss-watch timing.

"The Gay Divorcee" (1934). When Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers made their film version of a play called "The Gay Divorce," the studio wasn't prepared to countenance the idea that a divorce could be an occasion for happiness on any level. They were, however, just barely willing to admit that a divorced woman might possibly find happiness, and so the title was adjusted accordingly. Rogers plays a woman who wants a divorce, and is willing to go to elaborate lengths to secure one. She travels to a resort where she has arranged to be seen with a paid co-respondent, a sort of home wrecker for hire. Astaire's character is attracted to her, but she mistakes him for her hired escort and reacts to his overtures with scorn. Reproduced below is the film's promotional trailer, courtesy of Turner Classic Movies.

"Divorce - Italian Style" (1962). Somewhere in between his brilliant performances for Fellini in "La Dolce Vita" (1960) and "8 1/2" (1963), Marcello Mastroianni made this edgy little comedy. He portrays a frustrated man whose exasperating wife has driven him to distraction. Unfortunately, divorce isn't an option under Sicilian law. If, however, a husband catches his wife with another man, he can kill her and be absolved in those same Sicilian courts on the grounds that he was defending his honor. Pursuing the only viable option available to him, then, Mastroianni's character tries to arrange a compromising situation between his wife and an old flame of hers. With this memorable performance, Mastroianni demonstrated that his comic talents were fully equal to the dramatic skills he displayed under Fellini's direction.

"In Name Only" (1939). For a more serious treatment of divorce, you can't do much better than this elegant melodrama of love and betrayal. Cary Grant plays the husband, but the similarity with "The Awful Truth" ends there. His wife, played by Kay Francis, married him only for his family's money and social standing. When Grant's character falls in love for real, with a widow played by Carole Lombard, his wife strings him along with promises of a divorce that she doesn't really intend to agree to.

"An Unmarried Woman" (1978). This Paul Mazursky film provides a more contemporary dramatic treatment of divorce. Jill Clayburgh is excellent in the title role as a woman whose husband announces without warning or preamble that he is leaving her for a younger woman. Having built her whole identity around her role as this man's wife, she must now return to square one and reconstruct her sense of herself from scratch.

There is an interesting irony here. The trend toward incorporating feminist consciousness-raising into divorce movies traces back to "An Unmarried Woman." It was, however, necessarily the work of a male filmmaker, because there were, at the time, no female filmmakers with enough industry clout to get such a film made. Now that there are, the pendulum has swung back to portraying the male perspective on divorce, as in the testosterone-drenched "Serving Sara." That's show biz, I guess.

The Wedding Pictures (originally published 9/02)

2008-03-08T17:34:00.000-05:00

Like most people, I suppose, I first encountered Shakespeare's plays when I was still much too young to comprehend 99 percent of their riches. Even so, I caught on to one concept right away: the tragedies were the ones that ended with funerals and the comedies were the ones that ended with weddings. In time, of course, I would come to understand just how central an icon weddings are, not only to Shakespeare, but to all drama, and to our culture as a whole.

Movies are certainly no exception to this rule. A small but heartfelt picture called "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" is even now well on its way to joining the ranks of the most profitable films ever released. (Lots of films have made more money, but they also cost far more to make.) If you've seen this charming comedy and would like to see how earlier films have woven comedy out of matrimony, look for these titles on home video.

"Father of the Bride" (1950). The 1991 remake with Steve Martin was fine, but there's really no substitute for the original version of this granddaddy of all wedding movies. Spencer Tracy is brilliant as the exasperated father struggling to experience his daughter's wedding as the deeply meaningful event it is supposed to be. Instead, he finds himself systematically isolated from the emotional and spiritual significance that the occasion is presumed to carry. Drowning in logistical trivia, not to mention bills, he can only commiserate with us in a hilariously forlorn voice-over narration.

"The Philadelphia Story" (1940). In its original incarnation as a play, this story of high society romance rescued Katharine Hepburn's capsized career. The film version likewise erased her reputation as "box office poison." In a role written especially for her, Hepburn plays the wealthy and insufferably snooty Tracy Lord. She's about to be married to an upper crust stuffed shirt, much to the dismay of her ex-husband, C.K. Dexter Haven, played by Cary Grant. To Tracy's very great annoyance, the upcoming nuptials are being covered by a reporter and photographer from a scandal sheet called "Spy" (some things never change, it seems). James Stewart plays the reporter, Mike Connor, who has no more use for the pretensions of the upper class than Tracy has for him. Not at first, anyway. With such a high octane cast and director George Cukor at the helm, it's hardly surprising that the result became one of romantic comedy's most enduring classics.

"Royal Wedding" (1951). Fred Astaire and Jane Powell star as a brother and sister dancing team who take their act to England at the time of the wedding of Elizabeth II to Philip Mountbatten. Each pursues a romantic interest, leading to the sister's decision to break up the act. It seems that she, too, will be marrying into the British nobility. This is the film in which Astaire dances on the walls and ceiling, with the help of some deft camera trickery. Even more impressive to me, though, is a dance number in which Astaire converts a coat rack into a supple and graceful partner. No camera trickery here; just Astaire's consummate skill weaving its magic. By the way, the story line vaguely mirrors the real life career of Astaire and his sister Adele. She also broke up their act to marry a nobleman.

"A Wedding" (1978). When Robert Altman completed work on his film, "Three Women" (1977), he was asked what he planned to do next. Sarcastically, he replied that he'd like to photograph a wedding. The more he thought about it, however, the more it started to sound like a good idea. In his classic "Nashville" (1975), he had hit upon the formula of juggling many different characters with an ensemble cast. Here was a perfect way to repeat that formula, by portraying a large wedding. He created an overblown ceremony that brought together two mismatched families, one old-money and one new-money. There wasn't really room to squeeze in a plot, but if character-driven movies appeal to you, this one is not to be missed.

As entertaining as these wedding movies are, another film in current release reminds us that weddings are not always the happy endings they are meant to be. Too often there is a specter at the banquet. Next time we'll bag the rice and drop the other shoe.

Surf's Up, Part 2 (originally published 8/02)

2008-02-29T22:50:00.001-05:00

Incredible as it seems, for a period of time in the late 1950s and early 1960s people all across the United States became fascinated by a recreational activity that could only be actively pursued by a tiny fraction of the population. If only "everybody had an ocean across the U.S.A.," the Beach Boys lamented, then everybody could go surfing. Alas, only those lucky enough to live in or near coastal areas actually had any hope of regularly shooting the curl, and yet millions of landlocked Big Kahuna wannabes contented themselves with the vicarious thrill of reading about surfing in magazines, listening to songs about catching a wave, and watching Frankie Avalon and Annette Funicello hanging ten on the big screen. Such is the power of popular culture.

As we saw last week, Hollywood was quick to cash in on the surfing craze. Even now, some forty years later, the white-hot surfing mania having long since settled into its emeritus years as retro nostalgia, Hollywood still occasionally goes to the well. The recent release of "Blue Crush" can trace its line of descent right back to "Gidget" (1959), along with all the other Hollywood surfing movies I recommended to you in last week's column.

These Hollywood versions of the surfing lifestyle, however, represent only a small part of the totality of surfing cinema. The early days of the surfing boom in the United States predated home video by decades, but home movies, shot in the 16 millimeter format, were widespread. Inevitably, a few surfers got their hands on these home movie cameras and, naturally enough, they used them to make movies of their friends riding the waves.

By the time they had collected enough footage to add up to a presentation of some length, it occurred to some of these seaside cinematographers that people might actually pay to see their movies. They knew, of course, that Hollywood wouldn't buy their product to show in traditional movie theaters - Hollywood was quite capable of filling those screens with its own material, thank you - so they pursued another exhibition route, known in the trade as "four-walling." Entrepreneurs like Bud Browne and John Severson would rent any sort of hall, from high school gymnasiums to civic centers, then put up posters all over town advertising a one-night showing of films with titles like "Hawaiian Surfing Movie" (Browne, 1953) and "Going My Wave" (Severson, 1962). They would sell the tickets, run the projectors while providing live narration, then pack up the whole show and move on to the next town.

The filmmaker who took this form of entertainment further than anyone else was a surfer named Bruce Brown. His films were based on a simple formula: lots of spectacular surfing footage narrated in a lighthearted style laced with endearingly cornball humor. Brown would make roughly one such film per year, using the profits to finance the next film, as well as a year's worth of surfing.

In 1964, however, he struck gold. Along with two surfing buddies, he embarked on a trip around the world in search of the perfect wave. The underlying premise was that if you circle the globe in just the right way you can experience a full year of nothing but summer. The resulting film, called "The Endless Summer," was Brown's most successful film of all. It was so successful on the four-wall circuit that he was eventually able to persuade a theatrical distributing company called Cinema V to release the film nationwide in 1966. Audiences in movie theaters were every bit as enthusiastic as the four-wall crowds, and Brown's fortune was made.

Most of Brown's early films can be found on home video, although it may take some searching to track them down. Look for such titles as "Slippery When Wet" (1958), "Barefoot Adventure" (1961) and "Surfing Hollow Days" (1962). They are all great fun to watch, even if you've never been on a surfboard in your life. The surfing scenes are fascinating, and listening to Brown's good natured narration creates the feeling that you're sitting in his living room watching his home movies as he sits beside you on the sofa and describes it all. That feeling, in turn, engenders in the viewer a level of intimacy with the surfing culture that Hollywood's surfing films, with all their comparative sophistication and polish, will never be able to match.

Surf's Up (originally published 8/02)

2008-02-29T22:49:00.001-05:00

Here in the 21st Century, America has at last become a place where nearly everybody surfs. First we channel surfed the waves upon waves of programming flowing into our living rooms over cable TV, and now we regularly shoot the curl on the wildest and most untamed ocean of all, the Internet.

All this, of course, is mere metaphor. And yet there was a time, some fifty years ago, when actual surfing on the actual ocean threatened to become as big a craze as surfing the web is today. Back before the term "extreme sports" was coined, slightly demented thrill seekers were making pilgrimages to places like Southern California, Australia, and Hawaii for the privilege of gliding down massive, 25-foot-high walls of water while standing precariously on a fragile board. The intensive surfing culture was, of necessity, confined to coastal areas, but in time curious journalists began to write about it, spreading the fascination to the inland states. Then, pop groups like "The Beach Boys" and "Jan and Dean" began to sing about surfing, bringing its culture into the popular mainstream. Ultimately, of course, movies were made about surfing as well. In fact, notwithstanding the current cybernetic spin on the term, movies are still occasionally made about that original kind of surfing, as witness the recent release of "Blue Crush." To see how earlier films have portrayed the surfing culture, look for these titles on home video.

"Gidget" (1959). This lightweight romantic comedy aimed squarely at the lucrative youth market was among the earliest Hollywood films to incorporate the surfing culture into its storyline. Terminally perky Sandra Dee stars as Francie Lawrence, whose diminutive stature has earned her the nickname "Gidget," short for "girl midget." Still, she's growing up fast, as evidenced by a growing competition for her attention between two local surfer boys, Moondoggie (James Darren) and The Big Kahuna (Cliff Robertson). The character created by Dee was sufficiently popular to spawn a number of sequels and television spin-offs over the next twenty years. Reproduced below is the film's promotional trailer, courtesy of Turner Classic Movies, featuring Dick Clark giving his benediction to the new teen craze.

"Beach Party" (1963). I have to mention this one, the first of many featuring Frankie Avalon and Annette Funicello, or else you'd think I wasn't paying attention. Honestly, though, there isn't a lot of surfing going on here. Still, the surfing culture provides a picturesque backdrop to this tale of fun, sun, and teenage libidos. The latter, in fact, is what anthropologist Professor Sutwell (Bob Cummings) purports to be studying at the beach, using Frankie and Annette as the subjects of his investigation of the "mating habits of teenagers."

"Ride the Wild Surf" (1964). This low budget picture represented a reaction against the relentless silliness of the Frankie and Annette beach party movies. The plot is a standard one for surfing movies: three California guys make the trip to the surfing Mecca of Hawaii to test their mettle in a surfing contest at Waimea Bay. Along the way, each finds romance.

"Big Wednesday" (1978). Made long after the surfing craze had receded from the national spotlight, this elegiac film looks back with nostalgia on the evolution of the surfing culture, using it as a symbolic backdrop for the story of three surfing buddies. Written and directed by John Milius, who wrote the screenplay for "Apocalypse Now" (1979), "Big Wednesday" follows its main characters as their lives periodically intersect over a period of 12 years. Naturally, it is always the beach that draws them back together. Their devotion to surfing remains largely unchanged, but each time they reunite it is clear that time and circumstance have altered them. The period of time covered by the film is the early 1960s to the early 1970s; the Vietnam years. Few were left unscathed by that era, and Milius's characters bear the scars of its turbulence as surely as they bear the scars of a decade of wipeouts in the surf.

These Hollywood versions of the surfing life are enjoyable enough, but I should point out that they do not by any means represent the totality of surfing cinema. Next week, by way of dropping the other shoe, we'll take a look at the work of the filmmaker who has been called "the Bergman of the boards" and "the Fellini of the foam," and at his most enduring legacy, the film that many surfers still regard as the ultimate cinematic expression of their lifestyle.

Cloak and Dagger Comedy (originally published 8/02)

2008-02-24T00:52:00.002-05:00

One hit movie based on a comic persona might be a fluke. Two hits might be a lucky streak. A third hit in a row, however, must be conceded to be a trend, and the character in question must be acknowledged as a genuine crowd-pleaser. With the runaway success of "Goldmember," Mike Myers has firmly established Austin Powers as a bona fide box office gold mine.

For all the originality of these films, however, they are by no means unique. Myers has based his Austin Powers series on a formula with a long tradition of commercial success. In fact, films poking fun at the espionage genre have been around almost as long as the movies they lampoon. For a sampling of the forerunners of Austin Powers, look for these spy parodies on home video.

"All Through the Night" (1942). Spy films, and therefore the films that seek to parody them, fall into two broad categories: pre-Bond and post-Bond. This wartime spy spoof is a prime example of the pre-Bond era, poking gentle fun at such World War II espionage dramas as "Confessions of a Nazi Spy" (1939). Like its more straight-faced cousins, this light thriller takes as its bad guys a group of Axis fifth-columnists infiltrating the United States. However, instead of a G-man pursuing the enemy spies, in this picture we have a New York City bookmaker and racketeer, played by Humphrey Bogart, finding himself mixed up with the Nazi infiltrators through a bizarre series of events. Bogie handles the comedy well, supported by a first-class cast of character actors, including William Demarest, Phil Silvers, and Jackie Gleason. The film's promotional trailer is reproduced below, courtesy of Turner Classic Movies.

"My Favorite Blonde" (1942). Bob Hope plays a second-rate vaudevillian who falls in with a beautiful blonde British agent played by Madeleine Carroll. They travel across the country together, she to deliver secret plans to the Lockheed plant in Los Angeles, and he to take a booking with the penguin to whom he plays second banana in the act. Along the way, they are pursued by Nazi agents, played by the always menacing George Zucco and the exotic Gale Sondergaard.

"Our Man Flint" (1966). With the screen premiere of James Bond in "Dr. No" (1962), the look and feel of spy movies changed for good. The adventures of 007 presented parodists with a challenging target. Parody, after all, is based largely on exaggeration. When the original material is as far out as the original Bond films, it takes some doing to exaggerate it enough to create a comic effect. This lampoon rises to the challenge admirably, with James Coburn as Derek Flint, superspy extraordinaire. Somehow he manages to out-sleuth, out-gadget, and out-womanize 007 himself. A sequel, "In Like Flint," was released in 1967.

"Casino Royale" (1967). Here is another Bond parody, this time featuring Bond himself. Before Ian Fleming sold the movie rights to the entire Bond series to Cubby Broccoli, he had sold the rights to "Casino Royale" individually. That made it fair game to be acquired for parody purposes. The impressive cast includes David Niven, Peter Sellers, Deborah Kerr, Orson Welles, and Woody Allen.

"What's Up, Tiger Lily?" (1966). Speaking of Woody Allen, leave it to him to come up with a whole other approach to spy movie parody. For the sum of $66,000, he simply bought out the rights to a low-rent Japanese spy picture. Then he replaced the original dialogue with new lines dubbed in by American actors in English. The combination of cheap visuals, shot in deadly earnest, and Allen's relentlessly silly dialogue makes for a fun show.

"The Tall Blonde Man With One Black Shoe" (1972). This entertaining French film mixes genre parody with satirical social commentary, pointing out in an amusing way the debilitating effects of the paranoia that espionage necessarily breeds. When a simple, innocent fellow is mistaken for a secret agent, he becomes the center of a fruitless web of intrigue. The absurdity of the situation reminds us that absurdity lies at the heart of all espionage movies. Even the serious ones are based on an existential joke, having to do with the use of deceit and guile in the advancement of noble ideals. Some of them just work a little harder at making the joke funny.