 Van Gogh's last painting; a scene At Eternity's Gate opted to leave out Director: Vincente Minnelli Writer: Norman Corwin; Lust for Life by Irving Stone Cinematography: Russell Harlan and F. A. Young Producer: John Houseman by Jon Cvack Days before seeing this I finished Herman Hesse’s "Goldmund and Narcissus" (1930). It’s the best piece of fiction I’ve read all year, exploring a young and promising student, Goldmund, who enrolls in a monastery where he befriends the equally intelligent Narcissus. When the two abandon campus one night, Goldmund comes across a beautiful Gypsy girl who kisses Goldmund, igniting an uncontrollable desire, soon causing him to abandon the cloister in order to pursue the girl and enter into a life of Apollonian proportions - centered around the pursuit of art, lust, and love. Throughout the story is a comparison of the sacrifices required of a religious monk versus that of being an artist; namely, that both pursuits often require poverty, obedience, and discipline. I had no idea of the similarities between "Goldmund and Narcissus" and Lust for Life before going in, serving as yet another coincidental pairing previously seen in The Major and the Minor followed by Claire’s Knee. Vincente Minnelli and George Cukor’s Lust for Life follows Vincent Van Gogh (Kirk Douglas) who possesses a similar commitment to his craft. Like Goldmund, he too wanted to enter the monastery. However, his rebellious persona seems at odds with the church authorities, and before kicking him out, they decide to place him in a poor mining community as one last chance to prove himself. There he discovers a terrifying world full of child labor and unregulated industry that claims lives by the day. Van Gogh is horrified by the conditions, refusing the money provided by the church in order to live a life similar to the community; sleeping on hay in a cold and damp shack and eating watered-down gruel that provides the bare minimum of sustenance. During the time, he begins drawing the conditions he encounters; hoping to capture the essence of the community’s destitution. When the church learns that he’s been giving his little payback to the people, the church finally kicks him out. He returns home to his wealthy family, hoping to marry his cousin, who rejects him due to his impecunious lifestyle. In protest, Vincent visits his uncle for money and attempts to prove his passion by holding his hand over a flame and destroying his flesh. It doesn’t work and he heads to the nearest bar where he meets a drunk prostitute Christine (Pamela Brown) who nurses his burnt hand and the two later move in with each other; though she too leaves him when his poverty proves too difficult. Vincent decides to fully immerse himself in his art, requesting that his brother Theo (James Donald) act as his benefactor and agent. So begins a gripping tale of Vincent pursuing his craft at a time when the art world was under a period of rapid change. We watch as dozens of painters attempt to push the craft to its limits; living in poverty; all in the hope of selling that one piece that could launch their careers. Vincent ends up in Aries where he’d go on to produce some of his most famous work, including "The Cafe Terrace at Night" (1888) and "The Starry Night" (1889); bouncing between cheap apartments; constantly checking in with his brother, always hopeful the next piece will sell. He’s soon joined by fellow painter Paul Gauguin (Anthony Quinn) and the pair enter into dozens of discussions on craft and purpose. Paul wants to pursue his work with a deliberate and careful approach, working at high intensity for few hours at a time in a comfortable studio while Van Gogh works all hours of the day, giving every ounce of energy he has toward improving his craft. Van Gogh’s commitment to capturing the essence of the environment he sees; whether workers in the field and the hard labor they experience (which Paul resents; given Van Gogh’s benefactor) or the colors of nature and their embodying the spirit of God. Soon the two come to a loggerhead, mostly rooted in their lack of success and competing philosophies and Paul leaves once again; not wanting to watch Vincent spiral out of control. Vincent retains his obsessive work habits, culminating in a mental breakdown where he engages in the infamous act of cutting off his ear, utilizing the same offscreen approach as Reservoir Dogs (1992) and creating the film’s most memorable moment. Nearly dying, the event forces Vincent to check himself into a mental institution where he continues to paint. He later returns to Theo, learning that one of his paintings sold for a low sum to another painter; an event presented as insignificant though which the audiences know is the turning point he's been waiting for. Although he gives up drinking, Vincent’s mind continues to deteriorate, arriving at the equally infamous moment of his suicide, in which he painted his final piece “Wheatfields with Crows” (1890). Moments later, he would shoot himself in the head, leaving his body to be discovered by a local farmer. He would never realize his fame. In Virginia Woolf’s "To the Lighthouse" (1927), there’s an ongoing discussion about timeless artists. Aspiring painter Lily Briscoe refers to Shakespeare and muses on why and how the man has been able to survive over four hundred years after his death; in which other popular writers have reached the mainstream and faded within fractions of that span. I don’t know enough about painting to even speculate on why Van Gogh has achieved immortality, other than that he was able to introduce his work into a world that had yet to see anything like it. As with any artist, it was his ability to immerse himself into this task - of transcending all those came before him - which allows his craft to reach the level it has Like painting, filmmaking is a craft; and all other things being equal (school, family, and money excluded) only those who are most committed to the craft will succeed. I think about how although I’m frustrated, I might be one of a handful of students from my school to be making a living from directing content, and I’m so far from “filmmaking” there’s no certainty that it could ever happen. Like a need to paint all day, or like any artistic pursuit, filmmaking takes money and those who have both the talent and the funds stand a better chance for success than anyone else. It demands that those without the money are the very best, as with all things being equal, there is no other way to differentiate oneself. You have to be so good that so amount of subsidy would matter. Such a pursuit demands a love for the craft itself. I doubt I’ll ever chop my ear off, but I understand the obsession; there’s a desire to constantly push oneself, knowing that given the current failure, only improvement can stand chance for success. A film like Van Gogh provides a barometer; testing how much you love what you’re doing and how serious it is. For anyone pursuing a career in the arts or even beyond - perhaps wanting to be the best lawyer or doctor - this is a movie to watch. It’s the kind of biopic that gives you what you want, which is to see Van Gogh’s work and to watch him work - intercutting at the peak of most scenes a still image of the painting he created during that moment. Counter this to a movie like The Theory of Everything (2014), which seemed more interested in opening the most cursory glance at Hawking’s life versus showing us the dedication he had in pursuing his work. Or At Eternity's Gate (2018), which while beautiful, is much more about Van Gogh the person than his achievements and journey. Lust for Life dives deep into the man and his work, providing that special comfort you get when seeing what pains others have gone through. BELOW: One of the best death scenes from 21st century horror Like what you read? 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 Director: René Clément Writer: Jean Aurenche and Pierre Bost; based upon L'Assommoir by Émile Zola Cinematographer: Robert Juillard Producer: Agnès Delahaie by Jon Cvack The first film I’d seen from Rene Clement was Forbidden Games (1952), which unfortunately is no longer distributed by Criterion. The second was Purple Noon (1960), serving as the original adaptation of what would be remade as The Talented Mr. Ripley (1999; also the better film of the two). Gervaise follows the Parisian lower classes, focused on laundrywoman Gervaise Macquart Coupeau (Maria Schell) who’s married to roofer Henri Coupeau (François Périer). When Henri experiences an accident, rendering him unable to work and mostly bedridden, he quickly turns to alcohol, developing a severe addiction. Nevertheless, Gervaise has saved up money and leases her own laundromat. Though times remain tight, it doesn’t stop Henri from using their meager profits to continue his alcoholism, increasingly erupting into violent fits of jealousy, rage, and assault. Gervaise befriends two other men who contribute to the problem; one who helped front her some money in order to keep the shop afloat, and the other strikingly similar in look to Henri. Let’s just say that the latter benefactor is a handsome and decent man, while the lookalike husband is a bit of a con artist. I’m certain that Gervaise sleeps with the latter, and does so while her husband is passed out, and I think she’s done the same with the former; though it was much more dependent upon the power of suggestion. After Henri has stolen the laundromat’s profits once again, going so far as to dig into the savings due to employees, Gervaise offers Henri an ultimatum - either quit drinking or she’d leave him. During the film’s best scene, and one of the possibly best dinner scenes of all time, Gervaise uses her remainder of savings to throw a dinner party; cooking a duck for a party of ten which could hardly feed four. Soon both men arrive, driving Henri into a jealous rage, in which we’re just waiting for him to explode. However, the added layer to the scene is watching as Gervaise exchanges glance with the benefactor, meeting him in the kitchen, a bit lit up on wine and unable to control her desire. I’ve never seen food used in such a sensual way as when they dig into the goose; the juices oozing and dripping all over their fingers as each person bites into the tender meat. Henri also provides one of the greatest alcoholics I’ve ever seen on screen; showing the many nuances of impotence. On the one hand, he's sick and requires alcohol, and it's this illness that causes the injury which/ perpetuates the problem. On the other hand, we see his beautiful wife who’s pursued by much more successful men, and in some ways empathize with his complete feeling of inadequacy, requiring him to turn even further to the bottle. It was a pleasure to see a woman as complex as Gervaise, especially from the period. Rather than painting her as the saint who sticks by her husband, we see how his actions push her away, toward flirting with and then pursuing her own desires. It’s a character that struggles for what is right and good; maintaining the honor of the love she wore versus living the life she deserves. This is a tragically underrated film. BELOW: A brilliant, moving from light slapstick comedy to horror show Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Soon to go on to receive far less sympathy Director: François Truffaut Writer: François Truffaut and Marcel Moussy Cinematographer: Henri Decaë Producer: François Truffaut and Georges Charlot by Jon Cvack I think this is at least one of the first ten classic foreign films I had ever watched, alongside Bicycle Thieves (1948) or Breathless (1960). I remembered little beyond the final freeze-frame at the beach, having read at least half a dozen essays on what it all meant in college and not remembering a thing. Like Breathless, it was a film that was over-intellectualized; deconstructing each and every frame until there was nothing left to see beyond the academics. This old Criterion disc featured Truffaut’s sequel, Antoine and Colette (1962). As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve developed a strange pleasure with watching old foreign films nowadays; as though it only took a decade to love them both for their craft and their stories (both actual and historical), rather than for the significance they held. I call bullshit on nascent cinephiles who allege genuine pleasure while watching October beyond the pride in being one of the few who consumed it (I say this once having that feeling; at least compared to hedonistic feeling it provides me now). The series begins with a realism that allows the endearing to create the bizarre, rather than how the later films forfeited a bit of reality in order to accommodate more colorful plots. The 400 Blows follows Antoine Doinel as a fourteen-year-old boy living in a lower-class apartment with his unfaithful mother and a deadbeat father. Antoine sleeps in a nook next to a kitchen, laying in a sleeping bag on a piece of plywood. The arrangement fails to help his ailing studies, in which he cuts class to gallivant the neighborhood; creating one of the film’s most memorable scenes which would go on to forever inspire stories about cutting school; making you wonder if Ferris Bueller is entirely based from this one montage. His mother and father are called in by the teacher. They try to discipline the boy, never taking themselves into consideration and how their treatment affects him. But its Jean-Pierre Léaud’s performance that prevents the character from ever feeling entirely like a victim. Léaud appears as much deliberate as confused throughout the movie; expressing awareness years ahead of his peers in that what else is there to do but live life to the fullest, especially when you’re young? After getting kicked out of school for plagiarizing a Balzac essay, he and his friend fall further into the Dionysian lifestyle, culminating in the theft of Antoine’s stepdad’s typewriter back at work. The theft lands Antoine in jail, serving as the final straw for his parents who take him out of school and toss him into a reform academy. In the second most famous scene, Antoine is interviewed by the child psychologist, shot as though in her POV while Antoine explains - in a purely objective, nearly (but not entirely) emotionless terms - why he did what he did and is what he is. He starts off explaining why he stole 10,000 francs from his grandmother, to which he says with full conviction that she sleeps all day and doesn’t need the money and is probably going to do die soon; what sounds like something his mother would say in defense of a comparable action. Antoine goes on to explain that his mother then stole the money he stole that night, along with a book his grandmother gave him. The questioner continues as to why Antoine doesn’t like his mother - to which Antoine explains that he has forever resented how his mother left him after birth with a wet nurse, then moving onto his grandmother’s when his mother couldn’t afford it, who then got too old to take care of him, forcing him to come back home. We discover that his mother not just neglected the boy, but that she very well could have hated him; resenting having had him at all in the first place. The interviewer then asks if he had ever been with a woman, to which Antoine smirks, leading most to believe he knew the lines, but not the questions. He explains that he hadn’t, but had once been taken to a hooker at a hotel. While the connection’s a bit too Pop Freudian, the question does establish the subsequent films, in which Antoine will forever search for the proper woman, sabotaging relationships and opportunities along the way; falling into a pattern of self-destruction, culminating with Love on the Run (1979). It’s a film that feels odd to take apart, as each individual piece feels so heavy or generic; the photography or style is not all that unique beyond a historical document; and yet it somehow all adds up into an absolutely wonderful film that is fully deserving of its position as one of the all-time greatest films from mid-century world cinema. BELOW: Arguably one of the most iconic closing images in world cinema history Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  How I felt watching it Director: Gene Kelly and Stanley Donen Writer: Betty Comden and Adolph Green Cinematographer: Robert J. Bronner Producer: Arthur Freed by Jon Cvack The name of this film cannot stick with me. I’ve searched It’s Always More Fair and It’s Always Fairer at least a dozen times now while searching for the film, never able to recall the title. If you could judge a film by its name then this musical would honor the principle completely. Netflix advertised the movie as a satire of MGM musicals, which called to mind The Band Wagon (1953) and its ability to explore genre and trope within a traditional format. I had been on a role with Gene Kelly these last few years, specifically his collaboration with Frank Sinatra in On the Town (1949) and Anchors Aweigh (1945), figuring the same plot of soldiers returning from the war would offer another yet another solid addition, Sinatra or no. Unfortunately, it’s a film that plays like it was made with the year’s remaining budget, forfeiting big set pieces and matching song and dance numbers for a film that flirts with ideas about post-war alienation, never amounting to much. The film opens up on VJ day in 1945, as three war buddies Ted Riley (Gene Kelly), Doug Hallerton (Dan Dailey) and Angie Valentine (Michael Kidd) work their way through the parading streets, ending up at a bar where they each discuss their dreams. Angie wants to be a famous cook, Doug wants to be a world renowned painter, and Riley wants to be rich and successful. After an underwhelming song and dance sequence, they swear to meet up with each other in ten years. The time races by as wives, kids, and the professional grind impede their plans. Ted never becomes the big shot businessman (or whatever it was he hoped to be), currently involved with some mafiosos in fixing a fight; Doug has hit the corporate grind, moving up the ladder and abandoning the canvas; and Angie never gets his Michelin 3-Star restaurant, instead trying to manage a small diner. The three remember the bet, and while each has to finagle his way out of their commitments, they meet back up at the bar, finding that they have little to say, if not completely disliking each other. The film did a fantastic job of setting up an interesting situation in which the brotherhood formed in war fades when civilian life enter into the picture; leaving me thinking of alienation explored in The Best Years of Our Lives. It’s the musical element that stand in its own way. The film flirts with the more substantive issue. Doug offers the most interesting conflict as he reaches his breaking point with the executive role, getting wasted during a company party and embarrassing his boss. Angie’s story kind of fades by comparison whereas Ted offers your traditional gangster-gone-good redemption. Somehow they get involved with a television producer Jackie Leighton (Cyd Charisse) that wants to put their story on a live television show that night, plot serving the film to get both an attractive love interest into the mix along with providing an underwhelming climax. Riley eventually ditches out on the fixed fight and the gangster goes after him, ending up at the show where a fight breaks out and the police arrive. The whole thing feels grossly under budgeted, plays boring, though does illustrate that not all musicals from the period were the spectacle movies as seen in the more popular titles. Nothing in this film stands out beyond the possibility of a good story; exploring the lives of three men who discover they have little in common beyond the bonds of war. To think of all the sequences that could have stemmed from this seed - flashbacks to battles, drunken furloughs, spanning across all theaters of battle, all while trying to make the others understand why their life has become so ordinary - seems like one of the most significant missed opportunities in musical history. BELOW: One of the film's few impressive song and dance numbers Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Little boys and trains knows no bounds Director: Yasujirō Ozu Writer: Kogo Noda and Yasujirō Ozu Cinematographer: Yūharu Atsuta Producer: Takeshi Yamamoto by Jon Cvack I figured it was safe to assume that Early Summer would follow the style of Ozu’s other seasonal titles, focusing on a family as one of the members dealt with a woman who was reluctant to leave home. Late Spring (1949) follows an aging widower whose aging daughter refused to leave his care, The End of Summer (1961) flips the narrative, focusing on a widow who recruits her friends to match up her daughter, with Early Summer removing the more interesting co-stars, replacing them with a pair of matchmakers, creating a rom com structure with a melancholic romance. It involves 28-year old secretary Noriko Mamiya (Setsuko Hara) whose boss Satake (Shūji Sano) recommends as a match for his forty old friend and businessman. Not too interested, Noriko delays the decision as most of the members from her extensive family begin pushing her to accept. Soon she meets a childhood friend Kenkichi Yabe (Hiroshi Nihonyanagi), a doctor and recent widower, whose wife died a few years and brother was killed in WWII. Soon he’s called to a remote village for work, bringing Noriko along and the two soon get engaged, devastating her family. In the end they accept the decision, happy that she’s happy, watching her off as she travels off to start her new life, walking off through the barley fields. It’s this last point that someone on Wikipedia really lays into, editorializing that this closing image represents the “impermanent nature of life.” I personally just saw it as an art house version of a fairly classic romance. A girl is told to marry a successful businessman versus an impecunious doctor who’s dedicated his life to serving others and the family eventually comes around. Most of Ozu’s “seasonal” work I’ve seen has masterfully integrated these ideas into the narrative, combining older and younger characters that fully capture the finality of life and universality of what it means to be human. Early Summer was the first time I was bored with the filmmaker, as considering this story anything more profound than a 30s/40s American rom com is stretching the praise. What Ozu did so well with his other films (and I’m only about halfway through his filmography) is taking ridiculously simple stories and providing characters that create volumes of insight. Early Summer almost feels incomplete; as though failing to ever getting the full polish included on all his other work. It’s worth checking out, if nothing more than for realizing that he can repeat the same story for a third time, and with only minute differences, and make it feel far more empty. BELOW: Those closing barley fields - beautiful image or profound meditation on the impermanence of life? Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  First time using a .gif as it seems Google has cracked down hard on unlicensed film images Director: David Lean Writer: H.E. Bates and David Lean; based on a play by Arthur Laurents Cinematographer: Jack Hildyard Producer: Ilya Lopert by Jon Cvack Something’s getting particularly exciting with seeing older films shot overseas in color before color film was ubiquitous; with the blues, reds, and yellows popping in technicolor, all while thinking that this was perhaps the first time most people had seen these exotic locations in motion. It’s an easy point to forget that before the internet, it was either a crappy television that would show you moving images or movies; meaning that when you went to the theater - seeing an image that digital is still trying to replicate - you were witnessing one of the finest ways to experience images. Summertime takes place in Venice, Italy, where a middle aged and single school secretary Jane Hudson (Katharine Hepburn) arrives with a fifth of whisky and camera, immediately meeting a few fascinating characters, including fellow midwesterners and recent retirees Lloyd (MacDonald Parke) and Edith (Jane Rose ) whose hunger for Venice is more for crossing it off a list of places to visit than the culture. Being use to David Lean’s larger stories - Dr. Zhivago, Bridge Over the River Kwai, Lawrence of Arabia - or even his larger adaptations Great Expectations or Oliver Twist. I believe the previous film I saw of his was Hobson's Choice (1954), which was equally surprising in style, though not necessarily for the better. Summertime plays like a modern indie film, much more in the spirit of Linklater’s Before Trilogy than any type of classical romantic drama from the period. For the first half or so we’re simply following Jane as she navigates the Venice streets, often told through the point of view of her camera where she films the architecture, art, and people. She eventually meets a young kid and huckster Mauro (Gaetano Autiero) who takes her around the city, coaxing cigarettes from Jane. To see a film that was honest enough to show a kid actually smoke - who might very well exist in such a setting - is another of hundreds of details that all add up to an incredibly authentic piece of filmmaking. It’s evident that David Lean wasn’t throwing darts at a map, but rather providing an intimate and personal story about a particular city. It’s rare for older films to allow me to so heavily empathize with characters, as I’m often distracted by the performances, iconic performers, or older styles. Not being the biggest fan of Katharine Hepburn, I thought this was her greatest and most vulnerable performance I’ve seen. It’s Hepburn’s large personality that can turn me off at points, as it’s grown redundant to the point of parody. Hepburn disappears into Jane, breaking my heart as we watch a woman that is in no way desperate for love, though dealing with the melancholy of approaching old age (Hepburn was in her late 40s at the time), knowing that she might very well be alone for the rest of her life. As annoying as Lloyd and Edith are, they’re a couple whose relationship has lasted a lifetime, adding up just enough to expound Jane’s struggle with age and loneliness. While shopping in an antique shop, looking at a red 18th century goblet, she meets Renato de Rossi (Rossano Brazzi); a handsome and slightly older man. In a brilliant scene, Jane inquires about the goblet’s price. Renato says 10,000 lira and Jane agrees, with Renato then explaining how she should never accept the first offer, instead offering 8,700. The two meet each other again and head back to Jane’s place when Lloyd and Edith return, with Edith mentioning how she had just picked up a bunch of goblets from a local glassblower. She opens up the case and we see the same red goblets. Jane asks how much Edith had paid, who amits to 10,000 lira. Jane accuses Renato of lying, who defends himself by explaining that she did in fact have an 18th century goblet, as it’s a very popular style, and even if it was the same, he still gave her the discount. Ultimately we never know whether or not he was telling the truth. Later, after agreeing to go to dinner with Renato, Jane meets his son who explains - getting lost in translation - that Renato is married. Again Jane confronts him, where Renato admits both to having had an affair with another woman at the hotel, along with being separated, though not yet divorced from his wife. It’s all questionable, as even after the affair with the fellow patron is defended as being none of Jane’s business, having occurred before her arrival, and again we’re not exactly sure what is truth. Jane continues to see him, but with her time - and money - limited, she knows she must return back home. In the film’s best scene, up there with David Lean’s finest, we see her leave, waiting for one last goodbye from Renato, who as the train is leaving, has a present in hand, chasing her down, never to catch up. Writing so much of this out it all seems so cheesy or uninspired, and yet like the best stories, with Linklater’s Before Trilogy serving as the finest example, it’s often the simplest ideas that can open up the most fascinating stories. We’re not sure of Renato’s veracity, whether Jane actually thought the relationship was doomed, or was too scared to try for reasons we never understand, but can only surmise through the melancholy Jane expresses and carries throughout the film. I struggle to think of a film that could be remade with the same script today - down to the child smoking - and remain just as relevant. Lean had the magnificent ability to create timeless stories. This is by his most underrated film, and one of the most underrated films from the period. BELOW: Lean making flirtation play like Hitchcock Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Director: Jack Arnold Writer: Robert M. Fresco and Martin Berkeley; story by Jack Arnold; based on "No Food for Thought" (teleplay, Science Fiction Theatre, May 17, 1955) by Robert M. Fresco Cinematographer: George Robinson Producer: William Alland by Jon Cvack I’m running low on solid 1950s creature features, surprised I hadn’t seen or even heard of this film (or at the very least that it’d be worth checking out). Released alongside such legends from the genre as Them! ('54), The Thing from Another World ('51), Creature of the Black Lagoon ('54), The Blob ('58), Godzilla ('54), The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms ('53), or the tragically underrated Night of the Demon ('57), they captured the fears of a Red Scare, coupled with fears of nuclear fallout, what they really provided was the first modern look at monster movies. The films never contained the high and ultra modern craftsmanship found in more laudable fare from the decade such as Anatomy of a Murder ('59), The Enemy Below ('57), or Touch of Evil ('58), the films weren’t all that far behind; likely constrained by budget more than ingenuity, in which most of the funds either went toward star power, or if they were smart, toward the monsters themselves. What makes Tarantulas outshine much of its competition was abandoning the inevitable difficulty in constructing a monster, instead relying on some type of superimposed creature shadow; shooting what looks like an actual Tarantula and laying it over the film stock, ensuring that the scene’s lighting would justify a silhouetted creature. It opens up in Desert Rock, Arizona where a facially deformed man dies running through the desert, escaping from something or someone. An attractive man and young doctor from the city, Matt Hasting (John Agar) completes the autopsy, discovering that the person died from acromegaly which is a form of excessive growth hormones that can cause deformity over the long term. Yet while it should have taken years, he believes he saw the same man just days before. Dr. Gerald Deemer signs off on the autopsy (Leo G. Carroll) while also conducting his own experiments back at his mansion home located far in the middle of the desert, which we later learn is using growth hormones to create giant versions of rabbits, mice, and of course, a tarantula. His newest assistant is the gorgeous Stephanie Clayton (Mara Corday) who takes a liking to Hasting and slowly unravels Deemer’s plans, soon connecting them to the attacks. 1950s sci-fi films are often divided between the scientists and the army/police, each doubting the other side’s ability to resolve the problem, reflecting a conservative/liberal split. The Thing and It Came from Outer Space ('53) took the scientific point of view, while Them! and Tarantulas took the military’s. Deemer’s intention might have been honorable, but the dangers of science led to the creation of the monster and the police are aware of that fact. It’s only when they call in the air force that the creature can be destroyed, as fighter jets dump their entire stock of napalm and burn the thing to a crisp, with Hasting and Deering having close to no role in the resolution, serving as a rare conservative voice in a genre that seems increasingly determined to utilize allegory rather than demonstrate a terrifying view of the world that has no explanation. Both can be effective. Tarantulas is a great creature feature, able to stand with all the rest of them, and yet a film I’ve heard very little about. BELOW: A brilliant use of lighting to pull of a simple effect. The same technique today, updated correctly, could achieve some cool stuff Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  The most disproportionate ratio of how cool the movie looks:how bad the movie is Director: Henry Hathaway Writer: Nunnally Johnson; based on Rommel: The Desert Fox by Desmond Young Producer: Nunnally Johnson Cinematographer: Norbert Brodine by Jon Cvack This year I’ve noticed myself coming across James Mason films more and more, starting with A Star is Born (1958), then to 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea (1954), then to Journey to the Center of the Earth (1959), and now to The Desert Fox. I had first heard of the film when I was assembling a list of great WWII films, and figured this sounded pretty good. Although the comparisons are clear, James Mason would never achieve the fame of Cary Grant, and his body of work reflects such; in that he with the exception of Lolita (1955) and North by Northwest (1959), he hasn’t really been in all that many classic popular films. The story involves a first address by Lt.-Colonel Desmond Young, who plays himself, describing how he’s going to try and understand the man who was Rommel, who served as one of the more foremost threats to civilization. We flashback to North Africa circa 1942, where Rommel fails to counter Montgomery’s attack and was forced to retreat, leaving Rommel less certain of Nazi Germany’s future. Back home, he’s approached by an old friend , Dr. Karl Strölin (Cedric Hardwicke), who asks Rommel if he wants to join their anti-Hitler group. Rommel refuses and is later assigned to the Atlantic Wall, where Operation D-Day shortly follows. Rommel implores Hitler to reinforce certain positions, which Hitler denies, leaving the despondent Rommel to then join the anti-Hitler group. We then get to see the Valkyrie July 20, 1944 assassination plot, which fails, leaving Hitler hyper paranoid, soon implicating Rommel. Writing this out and reading this story I first have to say that this is an amazing story that I never knew about and highly recommend checking out. This is a remake waiting to be told, as it examines a complex character torn between loyalty to country versus all mankind. Unfortunately, this film falls far short of catching that. I suppose it’s impressive for even attempting to examine the man, and made only six years after WWII I wonder what the American military would’ve thought of it. Would they despise the man for butchering their brothers, respect his vast military intelligence, or celebrate the secret? One of the biggest problems is that James Mason maintains his British accent, along with most of the Nazi soldiers. While it left wondering when exactly the movies decided to add the accent, I just couldn’t believe the world because of it. Would it be more offensive for Rommel to have someone attempt his accent, or have Mason preserve his own? I would take the accent as I was immediately pulled out of the film every time he spoke. There’s also a scene with Hitler, which while interesting for historical purposes (this was one of the first dramatic Hitler performances), was way too goofy to work. It was another film that used actual war footage to intercut the timelines, and while it was kind of justified given Young’s narration, it made the narrative scenes look cheap as a result. I’ve got a few more decent James Mason films to get to and I’m excited to see what else the man can do, but it all reminds me of his connection to A Star is Born; a man who was at the top and fell. In some ways Rommel shows the same trajectory, as though anticipating where Mason would head. BELOW: One of - if not the first - dramatic portrayal of Hitler, which somehow feels comedic and shallow Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  In terms of cinematic history, an underrated performance from Welles Director: Richard Fleischer Writer: Richard Murphy; Based on Compulsion by Meyer Levin Cinematography: William C. Mellor Producer: Richard D. Zanuck by Jon Cvack Last time I saw Rope we were a few weeks out from entering into production for Road to the Well, which gets better with every viewing and left me all the more inspired to work on our film's blocking. For a few days, our DP Tim convinced me to name the RttW’s production company Leopold and Loebe, until our producer made us realize that having a company named after two psychotic murderers wasn’t the smartest a move. The more I read about the crime, the eerier they became; committed by two Northwestern Law students, taking the ideas of Nietzsche and his thoughts on the übermensch in order to try and commit the perfect murder. I went to school directly beneath Evanston, in Rogers Park and there’s something especially chilling about the cold Chicago weather and frozen Lake Michigan that paints a creepy portrait. I had no idea that there was a crime drama about the actual Leopold and Loebe, let alone one that stars Orson Welles. So on it went. First off, like El Dorado for a B&W crime film, this is a brilliant transfer, showing off every wrinkle beneath Orson’s scolding eyes, shot by William C. Miller, who didn’t really do much else beyond The Greatest Show on Earth; as neither did director Richard Fleischer (who did such films as Soylent Green and The Jazz Singer remake with Neil Diamond, and portions of Tora! Tora! Tora! a few years before that). The forces formed a near perfect story, examining the two students as they plan, execute, and fess up to a murder. I was especially excited to see how they dealt with the gay undertones that have been reported in the story. The film finds the perfect balance between suggestion and subtly. Friends Judd Steiner (Dean Stockwell) and Artie Strauss (Bradford Dillman) are two law students with genius IQs, who believe they could use their supreme intellect to commit the perfect murder. Artie professes his knowledge of Nietzsche and his ideas that moral subjectivity, based upon the individual, and uses the logic for evil. I wrote my philosophy thesis back in college on this exact idea, working with my professor Tom Carson to explain the few conditions necessary to make Nietzsche’s ideas work. One of the most significant qualities was that the individual needed to be “psychologically healthy” (with the arbiter of “healthy” reserved for a different paper). Point being that Artie was immediately misinterpreting the message, twisting it to include cold blooded murder. The story proceeds into a cat and mouse game, with Artie caught in a love triangle between Ruth Evans (Diane Varsi) and her current boyfriend and fellow law student Sid Brooks (Martin Milner), who got a job at the Chicago Globe, investigating the body that Artie and Judd killed off, discovering Artie’s pair of glasses that he left there. The police take whiff, and in a brilliant scene involving the detectives asking Artie to demonstrate how he would have lost his glasses, they eventually book the two, bringing in the best part of the movie - Mr. Orson Welles. Part of me thinks that Orson Welles only signed onto this movie in order to complete the last scene’s monologue, as he doesn’t appear until over halfway through, and while commanding each and every moment from there on out, it’s the final monologue where he argues for the boy’s to be spared the death penalty that he really shines. The role is brilliantly complex, in that on the one hand Jonathan Wilk (Welles) is an exceptionally well paid attorney and atheist, acting for the prestige, power, and money the case could bring, others might see him acting as a man solely against the death penalty in whatever facet. The only concern I had is with the abrupt conclusion. I’m aware that there wasn’t more to see or experience. The boys were going to be killed and that was that. It’s this fact that makes me all the more appreciative of what Hitchcock did with his version. He seemed to understand that there wasn’t much drama come the conclusion of Leopold and Loebe, instead focusing on the smaller moments, condensing the story and creating something equally terrifying. Compulsion’s a great film. I’d love to see it on the big screen, but it’s more about the performances and photography than the story. Definitely worth checking out. BELOW: How I've never heard of this scene, let alone the film, is beyond me Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  One of Bergman's better roles Director: Mark Robson Writer: Isobel Lennart; based onThe Small Woman by Alan Burgess Cinematographer: Freddie Young Producer: Buddy Adler by Jon Cvack This is one of the earlier versions of the white-person-goes-to-war-torn- foreign-country-and-saves-the-people-of-color I’ve ever seen (i.e., Dangerous Minds, Seven Years in Tibet, The Last Samurai, etc), featuring Ingrid Bergman as Aylward, a impecunious and real life Swedish missionary who’s determined to get to China in order to help the poor and spread the Christian word. She boards the Train-Siberian railway and heads to Yang Cheng, where she meets fellow missionary Jeannie Lawson (Athene Seyler) who begins working at an old Inn - newly named The Sixth Inn of Happiness - where in exchange for a meal, patrons will get Biblical stories and a free copy of the book. Soon Jeannie dies, leaving Aylward in charge of the place. The town is controlled by a type of mayor (I’d like to know the proper noun for this position), who provides us with our second white person, Lin (Curt Jürgens) - white in the sense that it’s a very white British actor playing a half white/half Chinese man in a way that leaves me wondering just how many other white men dressed up like Chinese people, as Mickey Rooney would go on to do the same thing just a few years later in 1961’s Breakfast at Tiffany’s and Alec Guinness would do in A Passage to India (1984). Jürgens’ comes to complete with a grating high pitched squeaky voice that makes his character almost as annoying as it offensive. And still there’s a third half white/half Mandarin man called "The Mandarin", also played by a white actor (Robert Donat). Not to go too far into the politics, but it really leaves you wondering whether it was that no one thought to cast an actual Chinese person, or that the studios forbid the possibility due to some racist policy, as regardless of which, it’s so glaringly offensive, that each scene was smothered by this fact, preventing me from being fully drawn in. Nevertheless, Gladys Ayward goes onto to complete some incredible work, reforming much of the town and gaining the people’s affection - much to the chagrin of Lin. She gets the town to ban foot binding, cares and educates the town’s children, and ushes in better prison conditions, dedicating her entire life toward helping out others. I recommend checking out Ayward’s wikipedia page, as her story is a pretty cool read. The Japanese soon invade China, during the Second-Sino Japanese War, heading straight for Yang Cheng, forcing the Mandarin to go join the military. During a bombing run, the town is nearly destroyed and Japanese forces just days away. With many of the townspeople gone, Ayward is left in charge of the dozens and dozens of children, leading them through the mountains and back to safety. While Ayward’s life and what she accomplishes is great, the white actors playing Chinamen is distracting. It’s a long film, clocking in a two and a half hours, and while I’m sure at the time it could have been a great movie, I’ve just felt like I’ve seen it so many times before. It’s worth checking out, as Ingrid Bergman’s performance is worth the viewing alone. BELOW: Pretty good final scene (also not finding anything else on the YT) Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page |
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