 A Clark Kent just doesn't work with Ryan O'Neil Director: Peter Bogdanovich Writer: Buck Henry, David Newman, and Robert Benton Cinematographer: Laszlo Kovacs Producer: Peter Bogdanovich by Jon Cvack Peter Bogdanovich is one of the stranger figures in cinema history. The first image as Dr. Melfi’s dry and gawky therapist who drinks out of a netted water bottle, followed by remembering that he also directed one of the 70s best films, The Last Picture Show (1971) and then Paper Moon (1973) after this film. Further from that are the countless BTS and film history documentaries where he talks at length about the filmmakers, as much critic and historian as actor and director. What’s Up, Doc? Is Bogdanovich’s experiment with the screwball comedy, with a synopsis immediately bringing to mind Bringing Up Baby (1938). It involves Dr. Howard Bannister (Ryan O'Neal), a musicologist from Iowa Conservatory of Music, carrying a suitcase full of rocks that he believes possess particular music properties. He’s joined by his grating wife Eunice Burns (Madeline Kahn) who’s on the precipice of being unbearably annoying. Within seconds you struggle to buy that Ryan O’Neal is with this type of person, glasses or no glasses, and even though a joke, it’s just too much. I’m left wondering if instead of a nagging fiance, they went with someone completely self-involved or apathetic and oblivious. I struggle to recall a more annoying spouse in a film. Howard and Eunice arrive at the hotel for the science conference where they bump into Judy (Barbra Streisand) who has an identical bag to Howard’s, full of clothes and a dictionary, in addition to another man named Mr. Smith whose same bag is full of secret government files. ater, a fourth bag is thrown into the mix, owned by Mrs. Van Hoskins (Mabel Albertson) and filled with jewels. Judy starts following Howard around, serving as the rebellious free spirit to tempt and win him away from his boring trajectory. They soon end up together, providing a weird scene where because Howard and Eunice are staying in separate bedrooms, she visits Howard, jealous after Howard comes home to find Judy in his tub. He sends Judy out onto the window sill, high above the streets while Eunice searches the place and later Mr. Smith arrives, hoping to get back his suitcase. He fires his gun and provides a moderately funny action-comedy scene resulting in the television exploding and the room catches on fire. Howard is kicked out the next day, having lost Eunice and still missing his suitcase full of rocks. They end up at a ritzy party where another dopy sequence takes place as the mob arrives and people fight and throw pies and still grab the wrong bags. The film has the cheesy feel of 70s popular cinema. Where although authentic to the era, the costumes and set pieces look like parodies. I was left wondering why none of it seemed to work. It seems some combination of having a very real and sexy chemistry between O’Neal and Streisand; the insufferable Eunice; too many characters with too many bags, leading to a plot confusing to the point of distraction. It made the common mistakes of throwbacks, in trying to be the best of what came before, failing to realize that the originals remain the best because in nearly 80 years few have been able to recreate the classic screwball comedy formula. Someone will one day find a new spin on the genre, but in terms of the original structure, there is little to improve upon. Even still, the closing sequence which had to receive the majority of the budget is absolutely incredible to watch; up there with The Blues Brothers (1980) in making you wonder how they possibly did it before the age of computer effects. The scene starts with Howard and Judy stealing a three seated bike, cruising through a Chinatown parade, getting stuck in a dragon puppet, all while being chased by Mr. Smith, the mafia, and someone else I don’t remember. Taking place in San Francisco, the cars leap over the hills and through the iconic streets. In a tense and humorous set up, a man hangs a sign on a tall ladder while two men move a plate of glass; serving as a scene straight Chaplin and Keaton where no sound is even required. We know what will happen, it’s just a question of when. In another insane moment, the cars race off a giant staircase, literally flying off and shattering massive chunks of concrete when they land. It’s the type of shot that couldn’t even be possible today. It shocks you with how real it is, making you long for the days when films had the willingness to go this far. It keeps going as Howard and Judy hope to jump their car off a pier and onto a moving fairy; failing to even come close and they crash into the water. Serving far from the most original climax, that is until one of the mafia convertibles follows, speeding down the pier and a figure stands up, and in a single quick take, catches a bunch of umbrellas to the face before the car jumps off and he jumps with it and you wonder how close he was to being killed; like how many times could they keep trying that stunt until injury or death? The film starts to nosedive as all of the characters are brought before a pill popping judge, attempting to tell their stories, enraging the justice until Judy raises her hand and addresses him as father. Getting to this point takes about ten minutes, though, and aside from not knowing what was discussed, it felt like an early version of a joke that they forgot to remove after realizing how much better the car chase was. Eunice leaves Howard, the jewelry bagged woman pays off all of their damage and court fee expenses, and just as he thinks his life is over, he finds Judy in the seat behind him and they kiss. It’s a movie I’ll probably never watch again, other to perhaps show the car chase. I struggle to define why it failed. There was something a bit too goofy about the characters; leaning just a tiny bit too far away from reality. Ryan O’Neal as a complete dork, especially after coming off Love Story (1970) just felt ridiculous, showing off with a grandiloquent irony. We get it. He’s not actually this type of person, versus Eunice in which Madeline Kahn felt very much honest to her character. Even Streisand seemed off, as never before had I seen her in such a sexy and alluring role, which for someone who always kept more moderate, made it feel wrong for to view. her as a sex object; as though it was taboo. There were other characters, but it’s like they were all kept at a distance. Randy Quaid makes a small cameo, but few others stand out. The head of the music conference, Frederick Larrabee (Austin Pendleton) was a great face to see; that weird type of actor that you know you’ve seen dozens of times before but couldn't get his name off a multiple choice test. Everyone else is just a distant blur. A body and a face to react to Eunice, Howard, and Judy. Combined with a weak plot involving rocks and music, it didn’t feel like anything was at stake. Howard left Eunice by the first third and the remainder of the movie involved Judy and Howard running off. They don’t know they have the wrong bag. We’re not even sure they have the wrong bag. And if they knew they had the wrong bag it seems like a simple solution to exchange the bags for the right one, meaning that this whole movie was about four of the same styled bags being switched and if that didn’t happen Howard would present his music rocks. It forces the only tension to be sexual. With no other stakes beyond the bag, we were only left like dogs, wondering when Howard and Judy would finally get it on. Even that only ends with a kiss. It took inspiration from a fun place, but failed to establish the most important piece of a romance is to ensure that there is chemistry between the characters which can extend beyond sex; that we can picture them sticking around with each other when the lust wears out. I Googled best screwball comedies and the latest film they offer in their list of nearly twenty is 1942. It’s a cinematic movement that seems confined to a particular era, making you wonder what it is that prevents the format from working any longer. Bogdanovich made a bold move to try, but he joined the massive graveyard of all those who came up too short. BELOW: Worth checking out for the car chase alone Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page
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 It's silly but never breaks Director: Michael Cimino Writer: Michael Cimino Cinematographer: Frank Stanley Producer: Robert Daley by Jon Cvack Up through the late 60s and up through the mid-70s, Hollywood produced a strange series cynical, though successful films - Bonnie and Clyde (1967), The Graduate (1967), The Wild Bunch (1969), Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969), Easy Rider (1969), The French Connection (1971), Straw Dogs (1971), Deliverance (1972), Mean Streets (1973), with 1974 having a full resurgence with The Parallax View, The Conversation, Chinatown, Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia, and Woman Under the Influence. It’s no wonder that Thunderbolt and Lightfoot - released the same year - while moderately successful, has been smothered by its peers. Not knowing Michael Cimino directed the film, I’m not sure where I heard about this film, though I’m fairly certain it must have been on a list of the greatest heist films. The film abides by a similar limpid structure as other road movies from the period. Not so much a lack of clarity, so much as having that indefinable growing pain as cinema drifted into modernity. The film opens in a wide shot of a rural wheat field and moves on into a church where we see Clint Eastwood as a priest reading a sermon. Having no idea what this movie was about other than that it was well rated, I wasn’t sure whether to expect an action film per the likes of Dirty Mary, Crazy Larry (1969) or Easy Rider, or a cerebral story along the lines of Five Easy Pieces (1970) or Scarecrow (1973). Ten minutes in and you realize the film is actually an action crime dramedy. An assassin, Red Leary (George Kennedy), attempts to kill the preacher who we later learn is called Thunderbolt, who narrowly escapes and meets Lightfoot (Jeff Bridges), who just moments before had stolen a badass muscle car. Lightfoot soon learns Thunderbolt is an infamous bank robber, and part of a disbanded gang who were neary busted; with Thunderbolt going into hiding as a preacher. His fellow gang members are now trying to kill him, suspecting betrayal. Soon the Leary and his timid sidekick Eddie Goody (Geoffrey Lewis) catch up to Thunderbolt and Lightfoot, expecting to kill him but rather unite for a final strike against the same bank they failed to rob the first time. So begins one of the better prep and go heist sequences as we see them unload a 20 mm cannon to blast through the vault door and for Lightfoot to then dress up as a woman in order to seduce the security guard and tie him up. The bank job itself goes by fine, but it’s when the crew decides to hide out in a local movie theater that film shifts to its most exciting sequence. Red and Eddie hop into the back of the car, but Red’s jacket hangs out the back, causing the cashier to think that the car is sneaking in people without paying. I’d have to check, but I don’t believe we see the cashier call the police. Instead we listen and watch the crew listen to the sirens close, standing in their positions, soon coming through the entrance where Thunderbolt takes off. After the police shoot Eddie, Red sneaks through the back seat and demands they quit. He tosses the body and kicks the absolute shit out of Lightstood, steals the car with the loot and takes all of the heat with him; later ending a brutal shootout and lethal shootout. Thunderbolt & Lightfoot continue on through the night, eventually coming across a major stash of cash hidden in an old schoolhouse. Thunderbolt buys a car, and Lightfoot becomes increasingly delirious; soon losing the ability to speak and dies shortly after. It’s an ending that matches the era - Thunderbolt is left alone in the middle of the country, alone, unsure of where he goes from there. The Graduate, The Wild Bunch, Easy Rider, Dirty Mary, Crazy Larry - all the films contain that Vietnam era cynicism. Two years in, I can only really name Death of Stalin and The Post as pure Trump Era cinema. The reasons could warrant an entire post, but a mixture of exhaustion and Trump’s self-satirizing might contribute to the problem. I also think that compared to over 55,000 conscripted young adults dying in a war most didn’t want to fight, there just isn’t the same need for catharsis. The older I get, the more this generation of cinema reflects a deeply dark period of American history; something we should be thankful for is far from where we are right now. These films express the hopelessness people sought to connect with. I often feel a melancholy when watching them, appreciative of how incredibly and unique they are; in some ways fortunate our greatest storytellers have not yet been jaded enough by the world around them. Not yet. BELOW: Great opening Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  The original meme Director: François Truffaut Writer: Michel Fermaud, Suzanne Schiffman, and François Truffaut Cinematographer: Néstor Almendros Producer: Marcel Berbert by Jon Cvack It was after finishing Truffaut’s most popular work - The 400 Blows (1959), Shoot the Piano Player (1960), Jules and Jim (1962), and Day and Night (1973), Small Change (1976) - and then moving onto his other work that I started to realize that he an obsessive interest in shitty men cheating on their wives or partners with young and beautiful women. After The 400 Blows and Antoine and Colette (1962), the rest of the series follows an increasingly self-centered man who compulsively cheats on the women around him. With two of his films left available on Netflix, I saw that sure enough The Man Who Loved Women and The Soft Skin (1964) once again explored the topic. Yet while the latter film offers a gripping and expertly crafted story on desire, The Man Who Loved Women falls victim to the era; sensationalizing a serial philanderer. The story follows a middle aged sex addict Bertrand Morane (Charles Denner) who obsesses over sleeping with as many women as possible. In pure Truffaut fashion, he has a bizarre job where he tests large boat and airplane models in pools and wind tunnels, which operates at the precipice of distraction. We listen as he explains how much Bertrand loves women’s legs, and watch as he, with ease, convinces nearly all of the beautiful women he approaches to sleep with him. The achievements inspire him to start typing out a book on his pursuits, allowing him to reflect on all his conquests. He remembers a middled shop owner Hélène (Geneviève Fontanel) who while exploring the relationship, later confesses that she only sleeps with men thirty years or younger. He then learns that a Doctor’s exhibitionist wife he once met, Delphine Grezel (Nelly Borgeaud), is getting out of prison, reflecting on all the risky places they elected to have sex and how an attempt to murder her husband landed her in jail. Eventually, Bertrand gets gonorrhea, and struggles with having to stop having sex for a few weeks until it cures. He soon finishes the manuscript and submits it off to publishers, cautioned that publishing is very much a matter of who you know and only the most talented writers could ever get their books released. Sure enough it gains the attention of one Paris’s top publishers, making its way to the editor’s desk where three men decide it’s too risque to publish, but sure enough a woman Geneviève Bigey (Brigitte Fossey) vouches for it, believing that it demonstrates the complexity of a man. The two then start seeing each other. Bertrand gets a bit nervous about the book, attempts to cancel it when remembering he left an old girlfriend out. Geneviève prevents the revision, and the books released, titled “The Man Who Loved Women”. However, Bertand still can’t control his obsession, soon chasing girls into a busy street where he gets hit, later dying in the hospital while pursuing a nurse. It’s never mentioned or suggested that Bertrand is a sex addict, and given its 1977 release and a USA remake of the same name with Burt Reynolds in 1982, it seems like another film where the humor has failed to age, completely shifting into a relatively disgusting story that’s not funny enough to even consider a comedy anymore. Truffaut seemed to throw in Geneviève the editor as even he couldn’t accept how gross a scene is with four old male editors drooling over a middle aged man’s manuscript about all the women he’s slept with. It leaves me wondering about the story’s purpose. There are still about half a dozen Truffaut films I haven’t seen which aren’t available - The Story of Adele H. (1975), Two English Girls (1971), The Wild Child (1970), Confidentially Yours (1983), and Mississippi Mermaid (1969) - all of which I assume Criterion will release over the next few years. About half of these deal with a man cheating on his partner with another woman. To think that he’s not even remembered for most of these films makes me wonder what he was possibly searching for. Only engaged, but never married until he was almost fifty years old (four years after this movie), it makes me wonder how autobiographical these stories are, or whether he was simply struggling with the fantasy and used film to express the imaginings. Yet there’s something deeply personal about how he sees these men, and if pressed, it feels like these films are very much taken from real life. Even saying that makes me feel guilty, as there’s far more to an artist than their personal life. Tragic enough, Truffaut would die three years after getting married. The story simply feels voyeuristic at times, as though I’m getting far too intimate a look at another person. It’s worth checking out if you’re working through Truffaut. It’s fairly well made, but I’m unsure when I’d ever return to it. BELOW: Burt Reynold's remake Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Tarantino meets Kurosawa Director: Shōhei Imamura Writer: Masaru Baba; based on Vengeance is Mine by Ryūzō Saki Cinematographer: Sinsaku Himeda Producer: Kazuo Inoue by Jon Cvack This is my first dig into Shōhei Imamura work; whose The Pornographers is the film I'm most familiar with (simply for the lecherous plot; especially for a 1966 release). I haven't explored too many Japanese films from the 1970s and up through the present day; though it seemed that, just as all English thrillers are standing on the shoulders of Hitchcock, all crime films from this era are expounding on the Kurosawa and what he did with his contemporary work - High and Low (1963), The Bad Sleep Well (1960), or Stray Dog (1949). And yet second to the taste of Kurosawa is the clear influence Tarantino would take from the film's hyper violent structure. It opens with the arrest serial killer Iwao Enokizu (Ken Ogata) who’s in the back of a police car, on his way to be interrogated for the murder of numerous individuals. Greeting a roaring crowd of journalists hungry for the scoop, he’s led inside to the interrogation room Told through a series of flashbacks, Iwao recounts the story of how he became a killer. In a non-linear structure, we learn he’s the son of a fisherman who lost his boat to the Japanese Navy with the rise of the modern empire and future Axis of Evil member. He had exhibited rebellious and violent tendencies from the earliest age. He ends up meeting a beautiful woman Kazuko (Mitsuko Baisho) who he brings home to ask his father’s permission to marry. With Kazuko not being a catholic, the father denies his blessing, though they get married anyway. Soon Kazuko falls for and seduces another woman Shizuo (Rentarō Mikuni) in one of the hottest scenes I’ve seen from the era; involving a hot tub and a summertime storm. Enokizu then gets involved with his first double homicide, which provides him the means to travel to another city where he ends up at a brothel; dating one of the prostitutes, Haru (Mayumi Ogawa), while convincing the recently returned house mother, Hisano Asano (Nijiko Kiyokawa) and her husband that he’s a college professor. Enokizu soon leaves the brothel as suspicions abound that he might be the killer. He returns back to Tokyo where he cons a mother out of bail money for her son and murders a lawyer, always returning to the brothel. With the news constantly running his sketched headshot across the television, the family soon pieces together the story. When Enokizu returns, he kills Haru, Hisano and her husband, pawns off their goods and falls back on the road. Five years later, he’s caught. Writing out the synopsis, the story and characters feel so much more shallow than they are. Similar to Anton Chigurh from No Country for Old Men (2007), Enokizu is frightening in how fast he shifts from indifference to charm. The story between his wife Kazuko and his father Shizuo is equally fascinating; full of maddening desire and sensuality. The scenes between Hisano and Haru provide a interesting look at a mother and her daughter told with a fantastical and tragic situation; as the daughter genuinely believes she’s falling in love with a college professor. At its most base level, the story is similar to Ozu in providing an honest and realistic portrait of lower and middle class characters. It’s as though Imamura took the crime films from Kurosawa and put them in the world Ozu. As alarming and violent as this film is - at times difficult to watch - the great characters dial you in. Vengeance is Mine is up there with any of the great crime films from 70s, if not alongside the very best. BELOW: Not much on the YouTube front so here's the trailer Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Fetishizing the black body Director: Richard Fleischer Writer: Norman Wexler; based on Mandingo by Kyle Onstott Cinematographer: Richard H. Kline Producer: Dino De Laurentiis by Jon Cvack Mandingo was the third film in the series hosted by my friend in the back porch of a used book store, following Joe (1970) and Bone (1972). I was assured by my friend that it was a film not to be missed; described as, "...the bastard child to Gone with the Wind", which is apt. Mandingo takes place at the decrepit Falconhurst plantation, owned by unscrupulous Warren Maxwell (James Mason ; in one of his best and most transformative roles), who’s first introduced reviewing a band of slaves brought in for sale; examining them like cattle - forcing them to open their mouths, bend over, and do laps to test their agility. He buys the best built slave, Mede (Ken Norton), along with a few others and returns back to his house to have lunch with his friends and son, Hammond (Perry King), who pretty much runs the place. Hammond is more accommodating to the slaves; uninterested in abusing them beyond what most were used to beneath other masters. After Mede attempts to escape, Hammond is forced to whip them, and we watch in a brutal wide as he forces a larger black man strip down, ties him up, and begins to paddle him down hard enough to bleed, but not hard enough to exert any lasting physical damage. Hammond’s cousin, Charles (Ben Masters), then stops by, scolding Hammond for going too easy on the slave. He takes the paddle himself where he unleashes a frightening series of violent corrections. An ongoing discussion after the film was whether or not this film offensive sensationalism for white people, or provided a candid look at a terrifying moment in history; albeit through a melodramatic format. It was hearing both sides, though particularly the former, that is something to recall below. It’s difficult to write about these scenes without first highlighting this specific conflict from the viewer as it’s what makes the film so complex. For instance, after the barn flagging, the Falconhurst women slaves prepare a young woman Ellen (Brenda Sykes) to lose her virginity to Hammond in one of the huts. The girl has no idea what to expect other than it’ll be painful. She stares forward deep in thought, counting down the moment while an adult slave - whether her mom, aunt, or no relation - rubs her down, trying her best to keep her calm. Given the previous disclaimer, it’s a scene like this that breaks down anyone who sees this as necessarily sensationalizing the performances. As popular as the film was, I have trouble believing such a larger audience had some extremely weird snuff fetish and was satisfied by the rape, violence, and murder of black Slaves (especially because the film also performed well with black audiences). If the film wanted to be insensitive, they could have had the women joke about the girl’s pending assault; or at least not care, or they could have avoided showing any of the prelude and how these characters might feel about the experience. Instead I found myself terrified. Watching it in this day and age, you realize how little time 150 years is and what people were capable of doing to others. It’s so easy to believe that we have progressed or evolved out of it, and while improvements have been made, it’s not as though those desires or possibilities are forever vanquished from man. Evolution doesn’t work like that. We have a government that has progressed to protect more people; but it can just as easily go the other way. Throughout his term, Trump has repealed the recognition of transgender people deserving equal rights; meaning they're more vulnerable to hate crimes. White Supremacist violence is on the rise. People are getting assaulted or killed. That is a fact and demonstrates how things can regress. The question is as to how far. Hammond and Charles then take two female slaves back to their room and divide them up; both women shaking in fear. Charles’ sadism is further on display as he strips his slave naked and beats her, vowing to violently rape her, which alarms Hammond who takes Ellen into the next room and treats her with relative respect; "allowing" her to look him in the eye and kiss him on the mouth. Maxwell pressures Hammond to get married and decides on his wealthy cousin Blanche (Susan George; who I had previously seen in Dirty Mary, Crazy Larry (1974)). Hammond remains suspicious that Blanche has already lost her virginity; with a strong hint that it had something to do with Charles (we later learn, though immediately suspect - given Chris’s violent penchant - it was sexual assault). During the honeymoon, Hammond finally pops, storms out of the room, and straight to a brothel where he later finds Mede fighting one of the other black slaves. The whole brothel clears out to watch and Mede destroys his opponent. The defeated slave owner then offers Hammond $10,000 for Mede. Hammond refuses, instead challenging him to a rematch. The pair return to Falconhurst and Mede begins a brutal training regime, culminating in forcing him to sit in an iron cauldron of near boiling salt water in order to “toughen his skin.” When a group of slaves attempt to escape, Hammond sends Mede out to hunt them down; tackling one to the ground who begs Mede to let him go rather than do the bidding for the master. Mede struggles for a moment and the armed workers close in, he seizes the rebel slave and ties a noose around his neck while he sits on a chair, the chair tied to a truck which then drives away, leaving him to hang as dozens of slaves and hunters, including Mede, watch as the fugitive suffocates to death. Back at the plantation, Hammond continues his affair with Ellen while ignoring Blanche who descends into severe alcoholism; kicking back hot toddies by the minute and developing a volatile temper as a result. Soon she suspects the affair between Ellen and Hammond, which Hammond denies. However, when Hammond, Maxwell, and Charles take Mede back to the city for the rematch, Blanche calls up Ellen to her room and in a drunken rage, she beats her senseless with a cane. Back in town, Mede starts his first fight and so begins an even more brutal death scene than the hanging, as just as Mede is up against the ropes, he flips the fight around, popping out his opponent’s eyeballs and then biting off a chunk of his neck, killing him. The crowd cheers and Mede is hailed a hero. No one ever even mentions the fact that he’s also a murderer. In celebration, Hammond buys two pieces of jewelry; a necklace for Blanche and matching earrings for Ellen. After arriving back, we learn that Ellen is pregnant with Hammond’s child. Maxwell learns the news and threatens to kill her if she tells Hammond. However, at dinner, when Ellen wears some expensive earrings Hammond bought her and after Blanche receives her far inferior present, she connects the pieces. Later, in another violent eruption spawned by learning of the pregnancy, she pushes Ellen down the stairs; causing Ellen to miscarry the child. Still, Ellen doesn’t tell Hammond what happened, either about the baby or Blanche’s abuse. Years later, Hammond now travels on other business; leaving Blanche alone with Mede who she calls to her room, demanding he make love to her and providing a type of bizarre interracial porn without the graphic detail. Soon Blanche becomes pregnant and decides to have the baby. Their local friend and doctor delivers the child, inviting Maxwell upstairs alone where he shows him the interracial child. Maxwell orders the doctor to kill the baby and then tell Hammond there was an accident. Hammond forces his way up, discovering the dead infant, and then poisons Blanche’s toddy; killing her. He storms outside, orders the slaves to boil the cauldron of water, finds Mede, and at gunpoint, demands he jump in. Hammond then shoots him and Mede falls into the water, burning alive. Hammond then grabs a pitch fork and tries to drown him. Another slave Agamemnon (Richard Ward) enters the scene with a rifle pulled, shooting Maxwell after he calls Agamemnon a “grisly nigger”, dropping the rifle, and leaving Hammond to kneel next to his dead father. So ends the film and what began as a discussion that lasted for two hours amongst the audience and the evening’s host. The majority saw the film as a piece of racist trash, while the other saw a film that was, at the very least, demonstrating the horrors of slavery. One man brought up the fact that these movies were based a series books by Kyle Onstott who wrote them through the decades after slavery and up to the 1960s. The man said that these books were trashy melodramatic works that were most popular amongst white women. Not knowing the facts, I couldn’t argue back, but later realized the inherent assumption about the books. Although no one knew anything about the source material, per the movie, they must be trash; catering mostly to white upper class women; failing to acknowledge the fact that 1) the vast majority of readers are women any way, and 2) most emancipated slaves and their descendants were illiterate due to Jim Crow laws, and up until Onstott’s death, were second class citizens and victims of the utter failure that was Reconstructions. Again, this movie was popular amongst black audiences. Someone else had mentioned that a prominent Marxist film critic at the time applauded the film for showing the darkest realities of capitalism. Quentin Tarantino considered the film Hollywood's first exploitation film and looked to the film when developing Django Unchaine (2012). I was left thinking of Giuseppe De Santis’s Italian Neo-Realist masterpiece Bitter Rice (1949) who combined a melodramatic story within a socialist text; demonstrating the utter horrors of rice farmers against the land owners. Santis’ philosophy was that in order to attract people to complex and progressive ideas required an accessible narrative. The mainstream would have no interest in watching a socialist text otherwise. Mandingo suffers from the problems that films even up to the 1990s exhibited with movies such as Mississippi Burning (1988), A Time to Kill (1996), and Ghost of Mississippi (1996) in which, while exploring movies about pre-Civil Right abuses and murder, they were nonetheless focused on the white character savior. The primary issue is that the narrative is from a white and racist man’s point of view; however complex Onstott attempted to make him. My suspicion is that Onstott might have been attempting to show the abject horror of slavery within a narrative which could lure white people; as I’m not sure how many mainstream audiences there would be for watching a film like this otherwise. Of course, "Roots" (1977) would disprove the idea only five years later, told from author Alex Haley’s point of view (whose shelf life demonstrates the efficacy in a proper point of view). This was a wildly popular film, and I’m certain portrayed a side of slavery rarely encountered by most white audiences. To view the film as nothing more than fetish porn is to diminish what it is at least attempting to do - portray the shocking history of our country. At no point is slavery celebrated. To the very end we view the Maxwell family as despicable human beings surrounded by even more despicable human beings. The film’s popularity might be attributed to the evil people saw in themselves. In today’s world - at the time of this writing - where 11 Jewish people practicing their religion were butchered down by an anti-semite and two black people were killed by a racist in Kentucky, the hate is still there and must be tamed. Better to see it and do whatever you can to prevent regressing even an inch in that direction than be shocked when the horrors return. BELOW: Gives Tarantino a run for his money Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Was he real? Don't know. Don't really care Director: Larry Cohen Writer: Larry Cohen Cinematographer: George Folsey Producer: Larry Cohen by Jon Cvack Bone was the second film from my friend’s Divided America series; featuring the legendary Yaphet Kotto (of Alien (1979) fame) as the film’s title character. Directed by B-movie filmmaker Larry Cohen (of The Stuff (1985) and It’s Alive (1974)), who arrived in the back of the book store to introduce the film, and provided a long and entertaining story about how he bounced from studio to studio to try and sell the thing; finally finding a buyer and launching his career. The opening is a Fellini-esque surrealistic sequence, taking place in a junkyard where dead bodies fill each of the automobiles. It then cuts to the backyard of a rich Beverly Hills couple - Bernadette (Joyce Van Patten) and Bill (Andrew Duggan); Bill as a car salesman and Bernadette who doesn’t work, instead opting for endless margaritas throughout the day. When a rat ends up in the gutter, Bill and Bernadette are at a loss for what to do and suddenly Bone appears; kneeling down next to the pool and grabbing the rodent. Problem solved. The couple are horrified at the situation; both disgusted by the rat and that a black man is in their backyard. Bone takes them hostage, going straight to the husband’s office where he ravages the place, looking for money. He doesn’t find any and reveals Bill’s dire financial situation. He owes far more than he’s taking in. Bone demands he go to the bank and retrieve the remaining few thousand dollars that exist and pay him off and he’ll spill the beans. Bill heads out while Bone stays back, vowing to rape Bernadette if he doesn’t return. Soon Bernadette convinces Bone to let her make some strong blended margaritas in the game room, where after a quick drink, he attacks her; ripping off her clothes and exhibiting a terrifying rape scene that embodies the idea of why I think we filmmakers should reserve these explicit scenes for historical events only. I’ve seen enough of them - most recently in Wind River (2017) - and whatever shock value it provides is nothing beyond shock value itself. Cinema works best with the power of suggestion, but to watch a man explicitly sexually assault a woman seems next to impossible to defend in most, non-historical situations. There’s no reason to see it, and I think the only people who take pleasure from it are the ones who shouldn’t see them in the first place. Yet, in what would become all the more common in the 80s, Bernadette, though naked, bruised, and terrified soon finds herself sexually attracted to bone and the pair later have consensual sex; with Bone providing Bernadette one of the first orgasms she’s had in a long time - if not ever. Meanwhile, at the bank, Bill runs into an attractive young kleptomaniac, named The Girl (Jeannie Berlin), who brings him along on an adventure around town (similar as to that seen in Joe) in which they head to a local grocery store where she gets Bill to steal some steaks, which she cooks well done on a hot pan in her cramped apartment before she then seduces him; providing Bill with a night of equally passionate lovemaking. Postcoital, Bone and Bernadette devise a plan to kill Bill in order to retrieve his insurance, kickstarting the film’s third act, in which the pair chase Bill down, quickly elevating to a car chase which lead the pair onto a bus that drops them off near the sand hills of Malibu, where Bernadette smothers and suffocates Bill with sand. She then looks up and Bone’s gone. One of the first references people made was to Mike Nichol’s Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1966; 1962). It’s been awhile since I’ve seen the film, and while I think back on what it was about exactly it was about - a marital dramedy about an upper middle class married couple who drink and fight all night, whose son had recently died - I’m not sure why I also had felt the same way. I suppose instead of the tease of murder from Albee, the fantasy is actualized. And simplified. The next comment made was whether or not Bone was an actual person, or figment of their imagination. Remove him from the film, and it’s a story of Bill going to the bank, meeting and sleeping with a random girl, then getting murdered by his wife. Bone’s addition provides both an enlightening and pejorative view of Black America. On the one hand, Bone’s unique lifestyle breaks the conservatism of the upper class white people. On the other, he’s presented as a complete brute with next to no moral code; embodying the stereotypes so often launched toward them. He might not rape Bernadette, but he unequivocally assaults her. He might not murder Bill, but if he definitely coaxes her into the act, and would be an accessory to murder. If Bone was real, the film tops off his unscrupulousness by allowing a criminal to go free and wreak his havoc again. Over the weeks since seeing this I’ve tried to consider a different view of the film. Floating above Bone’s character logic is, I suppose, a comment on Black American; a satire in which white America’s upper class confront their greatest fear. However, the more I try and take this apart and see what the message ultimately aimed to explore, I’m left reaching. As we never see Bernadette and Bill entering into the violence bickering like George and Martha from Who’s Afraid, I never saw any reason for Bernadette to want to kill her husband beyond his lying about their finances, failing to give her an orgasm, or falling in love with Bone; and still that fails to justify what takes place, and worse, adds another layer of immorality to Bone. All the while Bill is presented as a similarly unscrupulous man - failing to pay his bills, cheating on his wife, all while earning a living selling luxury cars. But again, beyond those traits, I’m not sure what I was supposed to take away. He was a bad person who didn’t necessarily deserve death, failing to change or follow any form of arc. It makes me consider the ways in which bigotry existed even with liberal and inclusive intent; the way the 90s satires (i.e., Scary Movie (2000)) highlighted the fact that while most teen-oriented films, whether horror or rom com, contained black characters; they were almost always portrayed as hip one-dimensional comedy relief who speak in cheap racial phrase (“Man, that’s whack!”), never getting the girl, never going through much of any transformation, and are often killed first in horror films. Looking back, you realize how often this was the case. In terms of Bone, I’m left wondering if the intention was to make Bone a noble anti-hero, but remained mired in racial stereotypes and white class fears. BELOW: Hey, but the music's good! Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Peter Boyle as the perfect Red Hat Director: John G. Avildsen Writer: Norman Wexler Cinematographer: David Gil Producer: John G. Avildsen by Jon Cvack A friend of mine announced on Facebook that he was going to host a "Divided America" film series, featuring some 70s classics that parallel this Trump Era. I actually met this guy through the Criterion Collection Facebook page back nearly 10 years ago when you could friend people you didn’t have any connections to. After ten years, we finally met in person at the film screening series in Los Angeles. He introduced the film perfectly in that it took on an eerie bell curve - once regarded as brutally accurate, then leveling off to seem aged (particularly under Obama), and is returning once again to its origins. It’s a perfect follow up to any of the Vietnam era classics - Easy Rider (1969), Bonnie and Clyde (1967), The Wild Bunch (1969), or Midnight Cowboy (1969); depicting an intensely real side and stark side to life that I had never really seen before before getting into cinema. Joe's cover and synopsis makes the film appear about the central character Joe Compton and yet it opens up in a junkie’s house where a young hippie, Melissa (Susan Sarandon in one of her earliest roles; five years before Rocky Horror Picture Show), takes a bath when her deadbeat drug dealing boyfriend Frank Rizzo (Patrick McDermott) enters the apartment, anxious to shoot up. Later, before Frank heads to a coffee shop to try and make some deals he gives Melissa a pill, which she takes and causes her to enter into a random bodega, grab some lipstick, draw it all over her face and then carome down the aisles, knocking everything she can find off the shelves. She wakes up in the hospital where we then meet her white collar parents, Bill Compton (Dennis Patrick) and his wife Joan Compton (Audrey Caire). They learn of Frank and Bill heads back to Melissa’s apartment where a stoned Frank then returns. The two get into an argument and soon wrestle on the ground, culminating in Bill killing Frank and he then leaves the dead body behind. Bill ends up at a local dive bar where the film’s title character, Joe (Peter Boyle), is in the middle of a drunken racist tirade, shouting every epithet in the book. It was this scene in particular which my friend highlighted; just but two years ago, this sort of screen would be too fantastical and old fashioned; impossible to exist in the Obama years. Now, in the Trump age, as countless viral videos have displayed similar heinous rants, this felt right on point. Caught up in Joe’s ideas about race, liberalism, and hippies, and still shocked over what he did, Bill admits he killed a hippie, piquing Joe’s interest. From there the narrative shifts, and we follow Joe home, where his wife, Mary Lou (K Callan), preps mashed potatoes for dinner, and pops open a fresh beer for him. He tells her about his day and when she attempts to reciprocate, he ignores her, turning back to the tv, chowing down his Salisbury steak drenched in ketchup. He heads downstairs to his Man Cave where he keeps a collection of guns, pops a couple more beers, and cleans a handgun. Days later, Joe sees a news report of what sounds like the murder. He calls up Bill at work to have him and Joan over for dinner at their house. Fearful that Joe is going to blackmail him, Bill accepts, and the two head over; providing a tale of two classes. Mary Lou serves the drink and plays the friendly host, serving them cheap drinks and canned nuts for an appetizer. However, when Mary Lou keeps ranting about the blinds and furnishing, an embarrassed Joe tells her to shut up; making things even more awkward. It’s a subtle point, but there’s a great revelation here about Joe and Mary Lou’s marriage; both ranting about things that people don’t care about as though they’re together because they had and have no one else. Joe takes Bill down to see his gun collection, revealing rare - and illegal - pieces; some he got off his dead enemies during the war. Bill reads far more into it than Joe might mean, fearing the result of what could happen if Bill failed to live up to Joe’s demands. Later, Joe and Bill head to a dive bar and learn about each other’s lives. Joe’s a union man making close to four dollars an hour while Bill is pulling in $60,000 per year. Joe continues with his rants against hippies, liberals, and blacks, quickly acquiring the admiration of Bill who’s dealing with the dangers first hand; coming full circle when Bill, a successful white collar guy, agrees and further legitimates Joe’s ideas. The night continues, and Joe brings Bill to one of his urbane and expensive bars where they meet one of his colleagues. Bill encourages Joe to put on an act as a new vice president coming into the company which Joe fully embraces; providing a brilliant complexity as I drifted between thinking it was a condescending prank against Joe, or that it provided Joe, who ate it up, a better insight into Bill’s superficial world. Meanwhile, Melissa escapes from the hospital, heads home and overhears her father talk about the murder; fearful that she could be next, as yet another doomed hippie. She runs off once again, and it’s clear that this was likely a repeated situation before she ended up with Frank. Bill calls up Joe in order to help him find his daughter; leaving us wondering if he wants Joe as a friend, or Joe as the gun carrying bigot who would be just crazy enough to combat another problem like Frank. So begins a sub-genre per the likes After Hours (1985) or The Hangover (2009). Long into the night they hunt Melissa down, first going to a bar where Bill brings a bag of hard drugs he stole from Frank. A group of hippies see them, bummed that father figures have crashed their place. They decide to mess with the pair, learn about the drugs and invite the pair back to an apartment they’re squatting in. This has to be one of the first scenes featuring two old dudes breaking out of their shell to smoke some weed and join the “cool kids”, and somehow it goes further than most ever have. What begins as a friendly exploration of weed and shrooms (Joe takes the shrooms) quickly progresses into a explicit sex scene, as both Bill and Joe each sleep with one of the hippies, enjoying all the excitement and feeling that both being high and having sex with young attractive women in their prime could possibly offer. For a second, as dark as the movie had been, I thought perhaps that the film was aiming toward this - that both Bill and Joe would redeem themselves and see that hippies aren’t all that bad, and that they had it wrong all along. But the scene goes even further, and while Bill enjoys himself, Joe struggles to pleasure his partner, getting more and more frustrated as the film cuts back to Bill who passes out. The men with the girls steal both the drugs and their wallets, leaving the women behind. When Joe wakes up, he grabs his empty pants, storms into the bedroom and strangles the woman, demanding to know where he can find the others; the strangulation goes on just a bit longer than you expect, and becoming all the more terrifying because of it. There was a distinct feeling of disappointment in this moment; as I realized that my hope for them to change didn’t just dwindle, but served to further legitimize their bigotry. It’s not just that they hate, but that they view those lives as worthless and expendable. Up to the torture scene, the film follows and relatively dark comedic route, and immediately the tone shifts. Joe and Bill end up at a hippie commune in the middle of nowhere, where before going in, Joe pops open his trunk and grabs a couple rifles. Bill initially rejects the offer, then accepts, following Joe him inside, where Joe proceeds to shoot down and slaughter each of the hippies; whether they beg for their lives or not. Others appear and Joe commands Bill to help him take them down. As Bill knew with Frank, he knows that there’s no way any person could leave if he hopes to retain his life and freedom. Amidst the chaos, one girl runs out and Bill shoots her in the back; a freeze frame showing it’s Melissa. The conclusion immediately recalls the cynicism of Easy Rider or Bonnie and Clyde; films that captured a deeply divided, post Civil Rights nation; seemingly never ending as Vietnam continued on and assassinations claimed a politician per year from JFK to John Lennon. One of the questions discussed was why this film hadn’t been able to stand the test of time. There were a range of responses - from the fact that Joe’s rhetoric was too offensive, especially during Obama’s term; some so offended that they couldn’t see Joe as anything other than a subhuman; unworthy of any of their sympathies or understanding. It was this incapability of empathizing with Joe that made me most alarmed, as I struggle to think of any time in history when viewing a certain type of person as anything but subhuman has been followed by a healthy policy. The moment someone like Joe and others like him are seen as inferior, then his rights are limited per the law, and should an authority’s fear reach fever pitch, it’s easy to see how quickly the remaining rights would corrode. What I saw was an ignorant man, who as a result of little education, was limited to thinking of grossly superficial reasons as to why his own life and the culture around him were so despicable. LBJ said it best, “If you can convince the lowest white man he’s better than the best colored man, he won’t notice you’re picking his pocket. Hell, give him somebody to look down on, and he’ll empty his pockets for you.” That quote alone sums of a large part of the bigotry in this country; if people are poor and can’t afford to educate themselves to escape their limitations, then it’s easier to have them believe gays, women, immigrants, or black people are responsible for their hardships rather than complex ideas about economics, history, or science. Joe works a repetitive job at the mill, goes home to his equally uninteresting wife, drinks beer and plays with his guns. That’s his existence, which wouldn’t be a problem if he didn’t take his bigotry to the public and start spouting off. My empathy topped out when Bill invited him back to the yuppie bar in downtown. Joe’s eyes widen as he gets to be part of the upper class. He might have even seen Bill as an opportunity to get ahead. With the girl he murdered, I got a sense that if the girl offered to see him again, he might have forgotten all about his wallet; thrilled that someone interesting and attractive was into him. Instead, his bigotry was corroborated by a petty theft; supporting all he ever feared and believed in. While either the girl or the job might have activated his passion, instead he was left with his guns and a complex situation he knew nothing about. The teens were drug addicts, failing to produce the change they attempted, and struggling to keep going with what they believed in. Instead he saw the obstacle standing in the way of his happiness. On the other hand, we see Bill pulled further to the right, succumbing to the temptation to kill what he doesn’t understand, rather than ignore it. What Joe does so well and subtly is balance and provide reason to both sides. Frank is a deadbeat drug dealer who caused Bill’s daughter to overdose and the hippies did steal their money. It showed radicalization existing on the far left as well as the far right. As noble as the hippie’s intention might have been, they were now living in squalor, hooked on heroin, and stealing whatever they needed to maintain their petty existence. It didn’t warrant a mass slaughtering, but it doesn’t provide a clear cut divide between the good and evil. The more the film settled, the more I saw how perfect Joe is for these times. The story is very much about a breaking point; where words suddenly change to action over some innocuous event. As the protests erupt on both sides, and violence grows (at the time of writing this, the all-male/white supremacist Proud Boys were caught on video battering some Antifa members who stole a MAGA hat), it feels almost inevitable that there will be a boiling point sometime soon; when one side no longer believes screaming at each other is enough and resorts to the next step. Given that we’re now knee deep in the Covid Lockdon and this same crowd is demanding the world reopen for them and their needs, the water might be beginning to bubble. BELOW: The exact ending you expect from a politically charged 1970s flick Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Wide and Lean Director: David Lean Writer: Robert Bolt Cinematographer: Freddie Young Producer: Anthony Havelock-Allan by Jon Cvack I had finished A Passage to India (1984) right before checking out Ryan’s Daughter; disappointed by the former’s lack of Epicness usually portrayed in Lean’s work. Ryan’s Daughter was Lean’s second to last film, and not knowing anything about the plot, it wasn’t until I received the two discs from Netflix that I realized it combined Lean’s epic lengths with his romantic tales of infidelity. The film takes place in a coastal town in County Kerry, Ireland; opening up with magnificent vistas of the vibrant green rolling hills atop thick cliffs which stand upon a cerulean ocean. We’re introduced to a woman, Rosy Ryan (Sarah Miles) who’s walking the expansive beaches, deep in thought, greeted by the “village idiot” Michael (John Mills) who shows her the live lobster he just caught. He rips off its claw and offers it over, hoping to win her affection. Appalled, Rosy rejects the offer and Michael returns to the town, scolded by the youth who make fun of his every step. Rosy heads over to the local schoolhouse, where teacher Charles Shaughnessy (Robert Mitchum) has just returned and is preparing the room for the incoming students. Per Lean’s mastery, without any specific mention, we can feel Rosy’s desire for Charles ooze through the screen; not as a woman in want of a man, but a sexual dissastisfaction that’s bursting for resolve. Made in 1970, long after Mitchum established himself as Hollywood’s Alpha Male, we see him change direction; departing from his typical personality and into a more sensitive individual, who’s unable to satisfy the woman who desires him. Rosy suggests they get married and, as per usual from Lean’s earlier period, they agree within days of knowing each other. The news gets back to Rosy’s father Tom (Leo McKern), who treats his few loyal patrons to free Guiness as they disparage the British who occupy their town. Tom couldn’t be more thrilled at the news, throwing a massive party, which kicks off and culminates in some weird ritual where the town sees Charles and Rosy off to their bedroom where they’re to make love for the first time. In the most shocking performance I’ve seen from Mitchum, we see as he lasts only seconds, never providing Rosy the satisfaction she desired. A few months later, their life has regressed to a passionless and banal routine, in which Rosy takes care of the house work while Charles teaches a small school. Rosy remains unfulfilled, until an injured British soldier, Major Randolph Dorya (Christopher Jones), returns from the trenches arrives in town; decorated with a Victoria Cross for valor and exhibiting extreme shell shock; triggered by even the most minor of disturbances which render him writhing on the ground. While Rosy covers for her dad at the bar, Randolph enters, quickly collapsing on the ground when his disorder is triggered again by the commotion. Without a word, Rosy’s passion is reignited. She races to save Randolph, lifts him up, and unable to control herself, kisses him with all of the desire she’s desired. Tom and his friends return, cutting them off, leaving Rosy to crave his affection. Soon the pair meet up on a horse ride, making love in the middle of the woods, providing Rosy all of the satisfaction she’s been waiting for. The affair continues and Charles grows suspicious to the point of paranoia; soon confronting Rosy who denies anything has happened. In a fantastic scene, Charles takes his students to the beach, in which he follows a pair of footsteps, leading to a small pool where an empty hole indicates the home of a former sea shell. He follows them further and toward the caves where he’s confident Rosy and Randolph are off making love; which they are and which Michael sees by watching them from the cliff tops; seeing Michael follow the trail and abandon his pursuit, for Randolph and Rosy to then exit the cave. The scene’s power is in abandoning full logic in order to portray the way in which paranoia can unravel the truth. Ultimately, we don’t know if Michael ever gains the hard evidence, or that his mind convinces him without reason. After finding a seashell in Rosy’s underwear drawer, he confronts her once again, and Rosy finally admits to the infidelity. Charles confronts the town priest, Father Hugh Collins (Trevor Howard); who aside from his fair mindedness and willingness to accept the sins of the flesh, nevertheless disagrees with divorce and its ability to give broken couples a way out (not to mention being Michael’s chief defender). When Michael finds and puts on a military ribbon, goes up to Rosy and salutes her; hoping the decoration will win his affection, the town pieces the information together and forms a lynch mob. They head to the school where they demand Charles release Rosy for indiscretion. Soon she’s attacked, having her hair chopped off and clothes torn apart; all while her father turns a blind eye. Meanwhile, intercut within the romantic story is that of the early IRA members who are smuggling arms into the small town to organize an uprising. With only a cursory understanding of the politics, during the First World War, Ireland had not yet gained their independence; leading to the rise of the Irish Republican Army (IRA) terrorist organization which fought for its cause. In the most epic scene from the film, up there with some of the best of Lean, we watch as the town gathers on the coast during a storm as they retrieve the arms scattered about the cove; where massive waves slam the munitions into the cliff bases. When they load up and attempt to return to town, Randolph and his unit stop them, killing the three responsible while the town is forced to watch; with Randolph shooting one of the men in the back as he runs away, further gaining the town’s ire. Come the end, Father Collins convinces Charles and Rosy to make up, though Charles demands they leave for Dublin and start a new life; knowing they no longer can live in the town. Rosy ends things with Randolph, though when Randolph and his team recover further munitions on the beach, Randolph detonates a stick of dynamite, killing himself and all his pain. While it’s been nearly a decade since I’ve seen Dr. Zhivago (1965) or Lawrence of Arabia (1962), but what I most recall is the way in which Lean used personal struggle to further reflect on the larger conflicts at hand. In A Passage to India, we saw as Adela Quested suspected rape by Dr Aziz Ahmed (which began as a burgeoning friendship) and how it referred to the larger issue of British colonialism in India. In Ryan’s Daughter, Rosy and Randolph’s relationship seemed to indicate Britain and Ireland’s inability to reconcile. Like Ireland, Rosy hoped to gain her independence, and like Britain, Randolph’s power was diminishing; indicating Britain’s downfall as the world’s superpower. Watching the Behind the Scene documentary, it was surprising to learn that David Lean was not much of an intellectual; much more concerned with providing immersion into the world rather than complex ideas. When he recruited screenwriter and intellectual Robert Bolt, the two were often in conflict as to how to portray the story; Lean wanting to depend on visuals while Bolt hoped to convey information through the interaction of characters. While the film would go on to win a well deserved Best Cinematography and Best Supporting Actor Oscar for John Mills performance, it seemed a prelude to Lean’s deflation with A Passage to India. The film is beautiful and the story is engaging, but at nearly three and half hours long, it provided too little action for the running time. Still it’s well worth checking out; ideally on BluRay if you can find it. BELOW: Some old school white privilege (though mostly because there's slim pickings on YouTube) Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Not one of the best movies, but one of Gena Rowlands' greatest roles Director: John Cassavetes Writer: John Cassavetes Cinematographer: Alan Ruban Producer: Al Ruban by Jon Cvack Somebody once said that a person should wait on reading Nietzsche until later in life, as a young mind simply couldn’t understand the practical aspects of his philosophy and cultural criticism without having lived for a while. I’d say the same thing about John Cassavetes; a filmmaker whose work I had long known about, but put off visiting until about five years ago, starting with Shadows (1959) and working my way through his six famous films - Husbands (1970), A Woman Under the Influence (1974), Faces (1968), Killing of a Chinese Bookie (1976) and rounding out his oeuvre with this film.* Opening Night is about an upcoming stage play, featuring many of Cassavetes’ regular players - Gena Rowlands as the over the hill actress and alcoholic Myrtle Gordon; Ben Gazzara as the play’s producer; and John Cassavetes as the male lead, Maurice Aarons, opposite Gordon. It even features a cameo from Peter Falk in the end. At nearly two and a half hours, the film follows the disintegration of Myrtle’s mental stability as she struggles with growing old while trying to maintain the fierceness and craft which defined her earlier career; kicked off when a crazed fan chases Myrtle out of the theater, gets hit by a car and dies. For two and a half hours we watch as Myrtle spirals out of control, attempting to convince the playwright Sarah Goode (Joan Blondell) that she’s in full control, even while Myrtle’s failing to complete the simplest of tasks. She forgets lines, she can’t control her drinking which is perpetuated by the producer and her co-star who realize getting sauced is all that can satiate the demons brewing beneath the surface. Myrtle is fully aware that her days are numbered; as between her inability to control her drinking - or even admit the problem - and its subsequent toll on her mind and body, her professional opportunities are rapidly drying up. It's a self-fulfilling prophecy; she drinks because she can no longer perform, but she can’t perform because she drinks. Cassavetes would die from cirrhosis of the liver only twelve years after the film’s release; and given that most of his movies involve binge drinking characters, in no way exploring the activity as a problem so much as a debaucherous pass time, the story is eerie. Opening Night continues the theme, except while his other films display the humor associated with late-night binge sessions with friends, Opening Night shows the severe consequences. As Roger Ebert (and fellow alcoholic) says in his review, while alcoholics can talk about how great things used to be, they eventually must deal with the harsh reality of a sober now. Unfortunately, Myrtle never gets to that epiphany. In the concluding scene, as Myrtle arrives at the opening performance hardly able to stand or speak, she passes a stagehand who offers the film’s best line, “I've seen a lot of drunks in my day, but I never seen anyone as drunk as you and still be able to walk. You're fantastic.” And yet it’s the fact it’s not all that funny that emphasizes Ebert’s point. Myrtle makes it to the stage, abandons the script and proceeds to improvise alongside Cassavetes as the audience laughs. In the end, everyone smiles and hugs, and yet - like Ebert - I was left wondering what the cause of celebration was all about. It’s clear that Myrtle has struck rock bottom, and if she doesn’t get some help soon, she will likely die soon enough. I was left thinking of the HBO Documentary Risky Drinking (2015) about severe alcoholics, in which one man was so addicted that he could not physically function without getting blotto on alcohol; having difficulty even walking down the stairs, eventually going to a hospital to get himself sobered up. The withdrawal then kicked in, causing crazed and violent episodes of vomiting and pain that rivaled Trainspotting (1996), and still the man couldn’t kick the habit. We never knew what happened beyond the relapse, but I think it’s safe to assume the man too had a premature death. Myrtle seems destined for a similar destiny, and yet Cassavetes never comments on this doomed fate. The film seems more about a woman struggling to deal with an ailing career and old age than with a severe alcohol problem. BELOW: Alcohol's a hell of a drug Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Catholic Fashion Show Director: Federico Fellini Writer: Federico Fellini and Bernardino Zapponi Cinematographer: Giuseppe Rotunno Producer: Turi Vasile by Jon Cvack As often mentioned, I’m not the biggest fan of surrealist or experimental cinema, as it often functions under a subjectivity that excuses any points of confusion or misunderstanding, either as the fault of the viewer or created by design; in which nothing necessarily has to make universal sense, and therefore anything’s permissible. Recently checking out The Holy Mountain (1973) and I was surprised to see that - counter to El Topo (1970) which fell victim to the surrealist fallacy - it always kept its abstract images within the realm of comprehension; providing at least some parameters and general themes. I had known Roma took on a similar structure, focused specifically on Rome and its people. Watching two BTS interviews on the Criterion BluRay, I was comforted in being far from the only one who was confused by what the film was exactly about; as even his closest collaborators struggled to make sense of it. Reading David Forgacs’ Criterion essay, he puts better words to the feelings you get - of an old Rome competing with a new one; a semi autobiographical narrative about a Fellini-like character who arrives in the city for the first time, absorbing all of the cultures and traditions, good and bad. There is no coherent narrative to the story, but rather a set of somewhat connected chapters, mostly in their being about a specific element of Rome. Countless scenes specifically come to mind: the brothels examining both the lower class destinations for furloughed soldiers and men from modest means to the more extravagant destinations, where the women are gorgeous and competing for the highest dollar. Another is your classic Fellini traffic jam injected with steroids as we see a film crew filming an extraordinarily complex and chaotic scene. The third is one as the most memorable moments, spending ten to fifteen minutes on the lower class streets, moving from family to family as they eat dinner and arguments abound. The final being a team of archaeologists heading down beneath the city, discovering rare frescoes soon destroyed by the fresh and salty air pouring into the room. A fifth at a vaudeville show where the audience scolds each performer, forcing them to abandon their act and leaving the stage. The final scene features an extravagant Catholic fashion show. The film plays as such a deep and profound reflection on life, functioning more as a series of memories and allegories that there’s no use in trying to think of what it all means when pieced together. The film is as much an autobiography on Fellini being a fresh Rome transplant as a fully realized filmmaker, struggling to capture the city he loves. Each scene is photographed with absolute beauty, where regardless of criticism, the film so beautiful it excuses any confusion. Like all great filmmakers, Fellini has a love affair with his city. What John Ford did with the West, Paul Thomas Anderson with Los Angeles, or Scorsese or Woody Allen with New York, Fellini makes the city a character, showing the good, the bad, and the ugly. Like any great film about a city, I left feeling a personal relationship to it. In the end I was left thinking, in my own superficial and ignorant way, how we hadn’t yet seen the Coliseum; the one specific landmark from the film. Then the closing images came in, with the biker gang roaring through the streets, their motors bouncing off the building, drowning out all else; where if they had entered any other scene we would have lost all the wonderful sound of the streets and people. It seemed to embody superficiality. As with any great city, soon the romance displaces all of the common people which made it great to begin with; now reserved for the wealthy and tourists who do nothing more than race by. BELOW: Eating in the streets of Rome Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page |
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