 Wish these two did more together Director: Robert Wise
Writer: John Gay; Run Silent, Run Deep (1955) novel by Edward L. Beach, Jr. Cinematographer: Russell Harlan Producer: Harold Hecht by Jon Cvack I mentioned my love for the submarine subgenre in my thoughts on The Hunt for Red October (1990) and Crimson Tide (1995) - two great films that have yet to be topped in over twenty years. Das Boot (1981) is the masterpiece and The Enemy Below (1957) is unappreciated. U-571 (2000) is the younger brother to all of them; serving as that rare movie experience where the sound design is worth the viewing, and after a decade, has aged particularly well with some surprising faces. It’s the film most similar to Run Silent, Run Deep, involving an American submarine crew led by Commander P.J. Richardson (Clark Gable) who’s determined to destroy the Japanese destroyer “Bungo Pete” whose sunk four of his submarines in the Bungo Straits. Richardson demands submarine command be led by an Executive Officer straight from active sea patrol. In other words, Richardson is willing to leave his cozy office in order to get revenge via submarine. The premise is perfect in brevity. Richardson meets the Executive Officer, Lieutenant Commander Jim Bledsoe (Burt Lancaster), who while admiring Richardson's record, is annoyed and offended by the move; evidently with his eyes on command. Richardson leans on Bledsoe to whip the crew into shape, specifically by its ability to dive and raise periscope to fire within thirty seconds, no matter how many times they have to try. My favorite aspect of submarine stories is that, if done well, you get to see the division of labor. We see the mechanics, missile control, the radio men, cooks, and engineers all working together in order to accomplish the mission and stay alive. They take us throughout the ship where we learn the geography and how they do what they do. We witness the bonds they share which makes any great war movie part family film. Although Richrdson’s superiors banned him from the Bungo Straits, he ignores the order and shocks his crew when he avoids taking out an enemy cruiser in order to enter. They arrive in a long convoy where they find Bungo Pete. They take out a destroyer and attempt to hit Bungo Pete, but enemy fighter planes swoop in, followed by another ship dumping depth charges. It’s a scene that could be just as thrilling today; containing all of the elements that provide a great submarine movie - the Captain waiting to get the enemy in sight; hearing the torpedoes as they close in and narrowly miss; and most surprising, the classic silence while depth charges drop, rumbling the entire ship, or in Run Silent, Run Deep’s case, killing three. Going even further, they stuff the dead bodies into the launch tubes as a decoy. Richardson is knocked unconscious during the counter attack and led to the infirmary. Recently I wrote in The Misfits (1961) that Gable would die later that year from his alcoholism. While not nearly as haggard in this film, Gable still shows signs of decay. There’s a madness to the role that feels far more personal than you’d find in an action movie. Believing he can recover, the crew assembles privately, inviting in Bledsoe and requesting that he take over as commander. Reluctant and enraged, he later capitulates and explains that Richardson is done. There’s a great mythological quality about the movie; of a former cocky Knight who wishes to return to the Dark Forest and fight the kingdom’s enemies. It’s this classic plot that allows the filmmakers to focus on the action and characters while providing just enough juice to keep the story flowing forward. It is a film about individual moments, in which each scene matches or outdoes the previous, building and building until the ride comes to an end. BELOW: A movie where everything goes back to sex 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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 Two all time great performances in romance Director: William Wyler Writer: Theodore Dreiser, Ruth Goetz, and Augustus Goetz Cinematographer: Victor Milner Producer: Lester Koenig and William Wyler by Jon Cvack Comparable to Michael Curtiz, William Wyler is one of those incredibly prolific directors who made a few great films and mostly good ones. Like Curtis, his range was broad, from the rom com Roman Holiday (1953) to the thriller The Collector (1965) to epic Ben-Hur (1959) to war dramas The Best Years Our Lives (1946) and Mrs. Miniver (1942: best picture winner) and further still westerns The Westerner (1940) and Big Country (1958). He hit all the genres and only because I didn’t look at his filmography before viewing, I expected Carrie would be his first dud. Yet again, I was wrong, discovering one of the most heart-breaking love stories I’ve seen in years. In the early 1900s, Carrie Meeber (Jennifer Jones) decides to leave her family and head to Chicago. On the train, she soon grabs the attention of traveling salesman Charles Drouet (Eddie Albert) who plays the perfect creep; seeming like a kind and friendly guy until he starts refusing to take the hint. She finds work as a seamstress, in which the lax labor laws force them to work under dim candlelight, and where the slightest injury could get them terminated. When Carrie gets her finger trapped in the sewing machine she’s immediately replaced and forced to wander the streets. After, Carrie contacts Charles who takes her on a date to a restaurant where he lends her some money and ends up meeting the restaurant owner and married George Hurstwood (Laurence Olivier). Later and in one timeless moment, he asks if she wants to come upstairs, saying that the cab will wait if she doesn’t want to stay. He then winks the cab off. Soon Carrie moves in with Charles, catching the attention of the neighbors who disapprove of their cohabitation. George Hurstwood is married to the irascible Julie Hurstwood (Miriam Hopkins), providing an empty and often contentious marriage. He grows smitten with Carrie after meeting her. With Charlie constantly out of town, he one days visits their home; later taking her out to the theaters. While I’m often incredulous with expedited romances, the combination of Laurence Olivier and Jennifer Jones’ personas make it work. As big a presence as Olivier is, his vulnerability and anguish tamper his superstardom the way only Tom Hanks or Jimmy Stewart could master. Jennifer Jones is as graceful and elegant as any of the classic era superstars, and yet she too makes herself accessible and equally vulnerable. Both are desperate for happiness and Wyler captures absolute conviction in their love for one another. Soon George asks his wife for divorce. She refuses, declaring she’ll use everything in her power to keep his money; going so far as to go to his boss and explain the situation. His boss, fearing for the optics it would give the business, vows to give Julie his salary until the situation is resolved. Earlier that night, George accidentally shut the company safe without putting in $10,000 in cash. Unwilling to break things off with Carrie and return to his vapid marriage, he takes the cash with Carrie to Englewood where they two can start their lives over. They find a small apartment and for a moment things look on the up and up. For as much as they’ve lost their comfort, they’re now with the person they love, dealing with only a momentary setback; that is, until his boss sends a bondsman to come and lien the money, leaving them with close to nothing. With word having gotten around that the couple had stolen the money, both are forced into the streets, searching for any job they can get. George returns to being a waiter, but fails to maintain the job; especially when he leaves the iron on his suit jacket, burning in a hole. Things only get worse when his wife visits with their lawyer, demanding that George co-sign the deed to sell the house. George requests half the profits and Julie refuses, vowing to take him to court for bigamy unless he hands it all over. After George opts for a clean divorce. Thinking George could make things up with his son who’s returning from overseas, now a successful young man, he heads to the docks in a ratty suit; his son ignoring him. Later, Carrie has a miscarriage and loses the child. George regresses further, resorting to joining a scam employment agency which takes a percentage of wages in order to secure day playing jobs. Just as things look darkest, Carrie tries out for a play; which at this point, I thought was some type of minstrel striptease show and makes me think Wyler wanted us to suspect the worst. The small role leads to a larger one and soon Carrie thinks that the best she could do is leave George, allow him to get back on his feet while she pursues acting. It’s the one moment of the film where I was left wondering if Carrie was as selfish as the situation seemed. I don’t fully understand how else to see it; if George was so poor off, then it seemed like he would have needed Carrie the most. Regardless, she leaves him. Then again, maybe the point was that Carrie didn’t come to Chicago to be poor, but to pursue her dreams and George was an impediment to that, no matter how she felt. George further descends, becoming full on homeless, wandering the streets and scrounging for food and change; spending his nights in shelters where the rooms are nothing more than fenced in boxes with dirty mattresses and unwashed blankets. Carrie’s career continues on and she finds great success in the theater, receiving top billing and requests for interviews; her dream finally achieved. One desperate night, a weak and hungry George sees her name on the marquee, waiting for her out back where in a completely heart breaking scene we watch as he hides in the shadows, ashamed to show himself, let alone ask for any food she could spare. She takes him inside, racing off to get him something to eat. George is overwhelmed with his embarrassment and turns to head out, stopping at a gas stove with the flame on, turning it off and then back on as the gas runs - contemplating whether to kill himself (or maybe her) and then leaving. Olivier is the type of performer that seems to get better with age, as not knowing where this movie goes, I was enamored with his complete vulnerability. For such a legend, he somehow pulls off a miraculous arc, never allowing us to question where or who is. From a successful entrepreneur to a destitute and sickly vagrant, there is an incredible honesty to each moment, all while conveying his love for Carrie. Jennifer Jones is equal in stature, showing a complex woman who desires to get out of her rural and poor existence and make something of herself. We never get the impression that she was necessarily exploited by Charlie, as indicated by the concluding scene with Charlie returns, hoping he could rekindle their romance, with Carrie expressing guilt for how much he might have led her on. Jones prevents us from ever thinking that she was entirely wrong for abandoning George, no differently than we blame George for having abandoned his wife. It is a selfish decision, but with George dealing with the consequences of stealing and uprooting his life, Carrie now deals with those effects. I was left wondering what else Jennifer Jones had gone to do, if anything of equal caliber. I learned she had actually won a Best Actress Oscar for her role in 1944’s The Song of Bernadette and received five more Oscar nominations on top of that. I’m always left wondering how it happens that we remember some performers and others fade away. With the exception of The Towering Inferno (1974), I haven’t even heard of any of the movies she was nominated for and so I’m sure it’s her work’s inability to survive that might have led to the situation. Even still, you can’t help but watch this and wonder what else she went on to do and how an actress of this caliber has been so forgotten. Similar to Curtiz’s Flamingo Road (1949), it’s a small film that stands up to all their other great work; comparable to any of David Lean’s romances. BELOW: Weird little taste, though I'm not sure what purpose it serves Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Camera as phallus Director: Alfred Hitchcock Writer: John Michael Hayes; based on"It Had to Be Murder" by Cornell Woolrich Cinematographer: Robert Burks Producer: Alfred Hitchcock by Jon Cvack I probably haven’t seen this movie in over eight years, though it’s always been one of my favorite Hitchcocks. It’s rare cinematic perfection - serving both as an engaging story and technical masterpiece, from how it’s told to the immediate plot to the subtext and broader meaning. It’s the kind of movie that I think film school ruined for a while; as up to revisiting all I could hear were ideas about impotence and voyeurism. Yet for the first time I grasped them beyond an academic concept and more as what contributed to a complete experience. The film opens in the apartment of action photographer L. B. "Jeff" Jefferies (James Stewart) who’s bedridden with a broken leg. We learn the cause as Hitchcock moves the camera across the apartment, in which we see a photograph of a race car jumping up toward the camera; leading us to wonder how it could have possibly done and exactly what would happen to the photographer, which we learn. His leg is smashed and he’s more or less bedridden. It’s a hot day, drifting up to the high 80s and low 90s. His apartment overlooks a courtyard surrounded by apartments; each building and unit distinct from the other. There’s one lone window where a newly wed couple arrives, quickly shutting the window shade. Another is a type of glass wall, showing a pianist (Ross Bagdasarian) as he composes his latest piece for Hitchcock’s cameo, standing, completely disinterested. Right to that is the gorgeous Miss Torso (Georgine Darcy), stripped down to her underwear who is constantly stretching and exercising and showing off her every curve. Above her are an older couple Frank Cady and Sara Berner who own a small dog which they lower down via pulley so that it can play in the courtyard below; they’ve also been putting their mattress on the fire escape to keep cool. Below Miss Torso is Miss Lonelyhearts (Judith Evelyn), either as a widow or someone who’s yet to find a partner; cooking dinner for two, going so far as to pour two glasses of wine, waiting, for no date to arrive. And to the building to the right on the second floor is the gruffy Lars Thornwald (Raymond Burr) who’s caring for his bedridden wife Anna (Irene Winston). Jeff is anxious to get back to work and feeling particularly impotent, struggling to scratch the slightest inch with the cast that goes up to his groin. He’s dating one of New York’s most popular socialites Lisa Carol Fremont (Grace Kelly) who’s hoping that Jeff could give up his adventures and settle down into the seemingly safer territory of marriage. Jeff is uninterested, far more hungry to get back into traveling around the world. However, a significant portion of this has to do with his impotence. With a cast that goes up to his groin, it’s clear that even if he wanted to have sex he’d struggle to. Given his “manly” profession and that he’s now sleeping in a wheelchair, we’re unsure whether it’s the humility sex would demand or that he couldn’t perform altogether. It’s what makes Grace Kelly the perfect casting, serving as what most would likely position as one of Hollywood’s top ten most attractive actresses; both for her stunning beauty and undeniable charm. Counter to her usual righteousness and innocence, Kelly’s voracious taste for sex appears infects each interaction between her and Jeff; whether in what she’s wearing to allure Jeff, or to when she’s fallen into his lap and the two make out while exchanging suggestive commentary. Hitchcock worked closely with costume designer Edith Head on Kelly’s wardrobe specifically, knowing that it required capturing her character’s high society while also showing enough to heat things up. Cut between the leads is Jeff’s no nonsense caretaker, Stella (Thelma Ritter), who’s also been pushing Jeff to settle down and marry Lisa. Without so much as a wink at the idea, Stella seems to understand the end Jeff might face. For a man that was run over by a race car, how much longer could he possibly last as a middle aged man? And so with all this subtext in mind, Jeff watches his neighbors’ lives; particularly drawn to Miss Torso who provides far more a fantasy of his ideal life than anything actual. In his mind, her carefree demeanor means he’d go over there, they do their business, and he could resume traveling the world. On the other hand, he could look to Miss Lonelyhearts as a person who seems to have missed out on her chance for love; forever doomed to live alone. To the older boring couple who won’t even leave each other’s side while on the fire escape. To the newlywed couple that has just gotten married, determined to break the records of intimacy. And, of course, to Lars Thorwald who seems to have tired of his marriage and ailing wife, deciding to kill her to be free of the burden. This last point is particularly Hitchcockian; serving as both voyeuristic and psychologically. If all the other couples, or lack thereof, are possible avenues in life, it seems Hitchcock is at least nodding at the fantasy of a man killing his wife and achieving freedom, which isn’t to say Jeff wants to kill Lisa so much as fears what he might do if their life achieved a similar drudgery. One evening while sleeping in his wheelchair, Jeff hears a woman’s scream, waking up and finding all the windows dark. The next day he finds Lars Thornwald alone in the apartment; his bedridden wife now gone. Later that evening, Thornwald leaves the apartment with a small suitcase and the next day he makes another late night trip with the same suitcase. He expresses his suspicions to Stella, Lisa, and later his friend and war buddy Detective Tom Doyle (Wendell Corey) who agrees to look into the matter; later discovering that, in fact, Anna had been confirmed as taking a train to some far off city. She is alive and Thornwald seems to be taking care of their home affairs. Jeff’s only convinced until he finds Thornwald cleaning two massive handsaws in the sink and later receiving a large trunk which he covers in rope. One evening while Jeff lies asleep, the fire escape couple’s dog shrieks, waking his parents and the wife then screams, soon discovering the dog dead with its neck broken. Jeff wakes, finding Lars smoking a cigar in his room; the cherry glowing with each puff. Lisa is the last to believe Jeff, soon demonstrating the lengths she’d go to in order to uncover the truth. And yet meanwhile, Jeff and Lisa continue their conversation about the future, with Lisa failing to understand why Jeff can’t let go of his adventurous profession and Jeff then flipping the conversation and asking whether Lisa would want that kind of lifestyle; giving up her expensive clothes, jewelry, and status to travel to exotic locations abroad. She demonstrates her willingness for danger when offering to drop a note under Lars’ door, accusing Lars of killing the dog, all in order to see Lars’ reaction. Up until this point, Hitchcock doesn’t provide any proof of Lars’ guilt. All we’ve seen has been from Jeff’s perspective, including a large trunk, a couple saws, the dead dog, and his absent wife who was confirmed by the Detective to have arrived in a different city. None of it proves anything, and it’s this doubt that creates the tension. We feel the heat, horniness, and absolute boredom and want to believe there’s something exciting going on. Every time I watch the film, I seem to forget whether Lars did it or not, so doubtful I am any definitive proof. When Lars reads the notes nearly two-thirds into the movie, we finally get the first objective act that shows guilt; as he picks up the note and is washed with fear. Still, it’s not quite enough to prove anything. Suspecting that he buried parts of Anna in the court yard garden (which is why he killed the snooping dog), Jeff calls him and says he knows what happened and demands they meet at a bar; all in an effort to buy time so Lisa and Stella could go down and search in the garden. They find nothing, and as Stella returns Lisa runs off to Lars’ apartment; finding a locked door and using the fire escape to break in. It’s a thrilling sequence as Jeff gazes through his massive telephoto lens, as much a practical device for both Jeff and Hitchcock, while also giving a fairly unsubtle nod to Jeff’s performance problems. He finds Lars returning up the staircase and unable to contact her, he watches as Lars arrives back to the apartment. Jeff calls the police and reports the break in as Lars reaches his floor and enters, finding and pouncing at Lisa. Just as it looks as though he’s about to kill her, the police arrive, arresting Lisa for breaking and entering and saving her life. Stella then goes to bail her out, Jeff calls Doyle and begs him to come over, and the whole scene seems created for the very purpose of getting us alone with Jeff and Lars, and yet it’s Grace Kelly’s commitment that makes us buy it; transforming from socialite to adventurer and never for a moment making us think the switch is fake or in bad faith. For the final sequence, after Lars catches Jeff spying, he heads over. It’s one of the best sequences from a thriller. We wait for the feet to appear within the front door crack and then he enters. Jeff grabs his bulbs, and although the effect could use an update, the intention is effective enough. In a dark room, he pops off his single use bulbs which creates a blinding effect, though still Lars approaches, eventually pushing Jeff through the window, falling down where both of Jeff’s legs then crash to the ground as Doyle and the police arrive at the scene. Rear Window is a timeless and perfect movie, in which craft and story operate at the highest and broadest level of the spectrum; appealing as much to the general moviegoer as to the most erudite. It is the film most directors aspire to make - taking a simple idea and chiseling out a brilliant and extraordinary amount of detail; achieving the rare accomplishment in having mastered the plot. As I have doubts any gangster movie could stand alongside The Sopranos or what Scorsese and Coppola achieved, no one has yet beaten Hitchcock’s chamber drama, and off the top of my head, only Disturbia came close to replicating the plot (though still miles away). To think that in over fifty years no one has even come close to remaking this film goes to show how perfect it is. There is no need to revisit the format because it’s been perfected. It’s the culmination of Hitchcock; taking all that made him great and pouring it into a story that allowed it all to shine. BELOW: Master class in exposition Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Lean goes for the boom Director: David Lean Writer: Terence Rattigan Producer: David Lean Cinematographer: Jack Hildyard by Jon Cvack The Sound Barrier is a film most comparable to The Right Stuff (1983), The Spirt of St. Louis (1957), Hidden Agenda (1990), or First Man; following the collaboration of great scientific minds as they work toward achieving a technological goal. The genre contains specific tropes - some die during its pursuit; the technology seems insurmountable, then achieved; and once achieved, the technology often has another problem which could lead to mortal consequences. I struggle to think of more films that’d fit the description, leading me to believe that David Lean might have been the first to explore the idea. Released in 1952, the story takes place at a jet laboratory run by its owner John Ridgefield (Ralph Richardson) who’s determined to be the first to break the sound barrier at any cost, knowing the wealth it could create. His son Christopher Ridgefield (Denholm Elliott) is crazed with achieving the feat, though more for recognition by his father than any record. To combat the liability, John then brings on his daughter, Susan’s (Ann Todd) husband as an additional pilot, Tony Garthwaite (Nigel Patrick), who John takes an immediate liking to; treating him like the son Christopher could never be. Lean’s ability is far more through the power of blocking and suggestion than any specific line or melodramatic action. Like all the great directors, he packs an emotional punch into each and every scene. Later, John takes Tony to see what he made the journey out for; showing him the jet engine testing facility and providing one of our first glimpses at the sheer power being created. Keep in mind, Mach 2 wasn’t even broken until a year after this film’s release. What we were witnessing was history in the making; a story exploring a problem, knowing it’d soon get resolved. Tony attempts to achieve Mach 2 the same way others have tried: flying as high as possible and then entering into a nosedive, attempting to break through before crashing into the ground. During one test flight, Tony tries the maneuver. Filming actual planes, both on the land and the ground by flying the camera through the air, we watch as Tony flies up and speeds down, failing to hit speed and in a horrifying shot, crashes into the ground. I struggle to think of any film from the era +/- 20 years that so effectively used a model airplane for such a sequence. Lean doesn’t dwell on it, perfectly framing the vessel in a long shot, providing us nothing more than a straight crash onto the ground, cutting away to the others who watch, and back to show the plane exploding. Susan is horrified by the loss of her brother, but her father continues the mission, finishing up their latest jet design - named “Prometheus” - with company engineer Fletcher (Ralph Michael) who starts to doubt the mission, given the cost its bearing on all those involved. Nevertheless, Tony steps up, attempting to fly the new jet and break the barrier. In a series of shots throughout the town, we watch as the plane rips through the sky overhead; looking as real as anything I’ve seen. After numerous attempts, Tony again flies to 40,000 feet and races down, inching toward Mach 2 until finally breaking it; the boom heard through the town, though he too fails to escape before crashing into Earth; sacrificing himself for, at best, the science and at worst, his pride in being the first to achieve the record. It’s an inner struggle best compared to First Man where we watch as Neil Armstrong’s narcissistic pursuit of being the first person to land on the moon; sacrificing all those around him for, at best, the name of science, though what is arguably his own selfish pursuit to achieve immortality; ignoring all those who love and worry about him. However, counter to Chazelle’s movie, Tony never seemed entirely self-centered, so much as realizing that his mission would go on to assist the world as it battled greater evils. To have John die as well as Tony was a bold move; as being fictional, it could have been so easy to just have him eject and survive. Lean portrays the great sacrifice, shot only six years after Britain continued to recover from the horrors of WWII. There’s great honor in what they achieve, though perhaps it's by showing the complexity of human emotion. From John’s detachment, equally as driven as Christopher but failing to make the sacrifice; to showing Susan deal with the direct consequences; to what drove Tony and Christopher to sacrifice so much. It’s a movie as great as any of Lean’s greatest works, and being the last film available from what I can find, further proves he’s one of cinema’s greatest and most versatile directors; maximizing images and character to tell an already engaging story. BELOW: Lean does it all Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  The Master of Noir Director: Bretaigne Windust and Raoul Walsh Writer: Martin Rackin Cinematographer: Robert Burks Producer: Milton Sperling by Jon Cvack Classic film noir is dominated by two men - Robert Mitchum and Humphrey Bogart. Each offers their own version of the stoic and tough male figure; a precursor to James Bond, Clint Eastwood or Bruce Willis. They were old school Don’t Tread on Me Strong men. They smoked, drank, slept around, and didn’t trust anybody but themselves, often abandoning the law for a greater ethic. Mitchum’s best work is every bit as good as Bogarts, but Bogart’s haggard look makes his work all the more historical. The further time goes by, the more I wonder how a man like Humphrey Bogart became one of the most famous men in the history of entertainment. Given my deep dive into film noir (I even took a film noir class in college), I was surprised to have never heard of The Enforcer. The story opens up in the evening before a witness Joe Rico (Ted de Corsia) is set to testify against his former mob boss Albert Mendoza (Everett Sloane). The Assistant District Attorney Martin Ferguson (Humphrey Bogart) and his fellow officers babysit the terrified and paranoid Rico, who’s already faced a few attempts on his life. The setting is perfect, establishing a claustrophobic and hot police office, and yet with the coolness of an approaching rain. Rico moves in front of a window and a sniper from the building across the street fires, striking him in the arm and the officers scramble out to find the shooter. Rico is left inside with a couple of blue suits, heads into the bathroom and then escapes out the window and onto a slim ledge on the side of the building. Ferguson makes his way back and attempts to save Rico who then falls stories down and dies. The department looks to lose their case against Mendoza, when Ferguson decides to take one last look at the evidence. In pure noir fashion, the film flashes back to the beginning of the investigation in which we learn that Mendoza was essentially operating a hit service. We’re then introduced to a colorful and memorable cast of characters, starting with a crazed and freaky young kid James "Duke" Malloy (Michael Tolan) who bursts into the police station, declaring that he killed his girlfriend. He leads them far into the country and directs them to the grave where he buried her; soon admitting that the girl was actually a contracted hit job. He later kills himself and Ferguson opens an investigation. After rounding up another suspected contracted killer and using his daughter and wife as collateral to make him talk, he reveals an organization referred to as the “troupe” which takes hit orders via telephone from a mysterious third party. The personas range from the young dreamboat to an old man to a lazy eyed psychopath and the story follows the rise and fall of each of the individuals, breaking away to further flashbacks and tangents, and what could so easily be a mess, is non-linear noir as though made by Tarantino, in being about as much about the performances as the actions. It’s as close to Kubrick’s The Killing (1956) as I’ve ever seen. I’ve spent three days attempting to write this thing, forgetting that I’ll run into the same barrier every time. Inherent to most of the movement is a complexity in narrative. Film noir plots are a puzzle to figure out, ranging from Double Indemnity (1944) to The Big Sleep (1946); the latter of which after watching I asked what the film was about on the old IMDb message board (pre-wikipedia) and received a single response that told me to calm down, hit my “peace pipe”, and watch it gain. The person wasn’t wrong, I just never did. The Enforcer is a rare film that, like Touch of Evil (1958), although a somewhat confusing plot to recall, it all makes sense at the time. Like any great art, there is no single element to identify film noir with greatness. It’s a collection of all cinema can offer. To describe the plot in all of its intricate details diminishes how the film makes you feel. It’s the rare perfect experience with an old film; you always hope it’ll be amazing, but rarely is it. Shot in 1950 or so, the film has that additional pop of being shot on location in the LA city streets, which combined with the low key photography of DP Robert Burks who’d go on to shoot Strangers on a Train (1951) right after, and then the rest of Hitchcock’s best works. Humphrey Bogart provides all you want, and as we move past the point of parody - as I’m sure most upcoming generations have no idea who he is enough to even reference - he gets better with each film I watch from him. He embodies film noir and all its grit and creates yet another addition to the best from the movement. BELOW: A nice taste Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Never quite reaches the thrill you expect from mountain movies, but it's fun to look at Director: Ken Annakin Writer: Eleanore Griffin; Banner in the Sky by James Ramsey Ullman Cinematographer: Harry Waxman Producer: Bill Anderson and Walt Disney by Jon Cvack I’m pretty sure my favorite Disney movie is Bedknobs and Broomsticks (1971); a fantastical movie about a multi-dimensional space traveling bed used by a trio of children cared for by their nanny played by Angela Lansbury. Having always watched this movie while I was home sick from school, this is probably one of my most watched films of all time and I haven’t seen it in probably over fifteen years. It’s part of that bizarre 1960/70s era when Disney made many forgettable live action narratives between their animations. The handful of (perhaps) well known films such as The Parent Trap (1961), Swiss Family Robinson (1960), Herbie (1963), The Love Bug (1968), and one of their best known, Mary Poppins (1964). There are perhaps over three dozen of these films, most which I’ve never heard of - The Apple Dumpling Gang (1975), Snowball Express (1972), The Million Dollar Duck (1971), That Damn Cat! (1965), The Moon Spinners (1964), and The Black Hole (1979); all of which sound at least amazing enough to see once. Third Man on the Mountain was one of these films I’ve never heard of and discovered after seeing The Longest Day and looking up director Ken Annakin’s filmography. In addition to The Battle of the Bulge (1965), he also directed Swiss Family Robinson (which I haven’t seen) and The New Adventures of Pippi Longstocking (1988; which I also haven’t seen; though both are rated well). Checking these films, I then found director Robert Stevenson, who in addition to Mary Poppins, directed a bunch of other Disney Live Action movies, who’s filmography alone will give you an idea of their style. Third Man on the Mountain inspired the creation of Disney’s Matterhorn ride, which I’m not sure I’ve ever rode, and is somehow more famous than the movie. It takes place in a small Swiss town below the alps, filmed on location in Switzerland. It follows a tween boy Rudi Matt (James MacArthur) whose father died while guiding a mountain climb, now living with his uncle Franz Lerner (James Donald). Rudi works in a small store with alongside his soon to be girlfriend Lizberth Hempel (Janet Munro) and his boss Theo Zurbriggen (Laurence Naismith), though he takes every moment he can to ditch out and mountain climb, with his eyes set on the legendary Matterhorn where his father passed. His uncle disapproves of his ambition, where James Donald creates a person with the littlest amount of love before it becomes meaningless. Rudi soon meets the famous climber Captain John Winter (Michael Rennie) who recruits Franz to guide him up for his latest climb and convinces him to let Rudi join. Even in full screen with a terrible transfer, this movie was impressive; as you can feel the location’s authenticity, in which Annakin expertly frames the mountains to make you believe the whole crew must have climbed just as far up as they seem to. Rudi soon makes a silly mistake while camping out for the night, forcing the Captain and his uncle to risk their lives to save him; denying his invitation when they finally scale the Matterhorn. The story never develops the excitement for what’s to come, as by the end, literally down to the very last five minutes or so, it felt as though the movie had yet to peak out. The Captain and Franz bring their own guide, who’s abrasive, knee jerk, and completely self-interested. While there are more moments of absolutely gorgeous set design and matte painting, it’s the smaller moments which feel deprived. Soon Rudi meets up with the guide and as they ditch the Captain and Franz (for reasons not entirely clear), the guide then falls off the mountain and hurts his leg and arm. Rudi forgoes the final summit in order to help him back down the mountain to safety; leaving the Captain and Franz to make the ascent and they all return to town to wild cheers and celebration. The whole story feels like the first act to a movie, slowly moving through a bunch of different storylines, all pointing to the final summit. Perhaps it’s because we’re now spoiled with Kerouac’s Into Thin Air and it’s many renditions, but the film seems to suffer from a lack of the darkest hour. There are injuries and arguments and moments of tension, but it all seems to hint at what’s to come; later revealing that they’re all that there is. It’s a fun movie, and if you could find it in BluRay I’m sure all the story’s shortcomings might fade away with the visuals, but if not - the movie is like what late stage Hitchcock was to James Bond. BELOW: Definitely had no idea this movie influenced the ride, but I also never rode it Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Pretty much sums it up Director: Stanley Donen Writer: Albert Hackett, Frances Goodrich, Dorothy Kingsley; based on The Sobbin' Women by Stephen Vincent Benét Cinematographer: George J. Folsey Producer: Jack Cummings by Jon Cvack Recently I was watching the first third of Sixteen Candles (1984) in a hotel room before having to get packed for check out. The film nearly holds up except for Long Duck Dong’s character, which the grandfather suggests is being used as essentially an indentured servant; especially as we never know why they decided to have an exchange student stay with them other than the free labor. There’s a strange reaction when Samantha Baker’s friend thinks Andie says she wants to lose her virginity to a black guy. And Ted auctions off a girl’s underwear. To be clear, I am not someone who believes we should no longer consume these films, but I believe the points are valid, and even Molly Ringwald has expressed her criticism. Whether you want to call it racist-lite to accept these as fine, I’m in agreement that there’s a broad spectrum of offense, and aside from Long Duck Dong’s character, it’s more in the innocent teenager category than otherwise. Then again, there are films like Animal House (1978), License to Drive (1988), and Revenge of the Nerds (1984) which suggest actual rape, which are becoming less forgivable as time goes on. In terms of films in the #MeToo era, Seven Brides for Seven Men has to be one of the most insulting I’ve ever seen. At first thinking this must have been an obscure film that Netflix mistakenly up-ranked, I then discovered it to be one of the most popular musicals from the era, with AFI in 2007 listing it as one of the greatest musicals of all time. It opens with a big burly man Adam Pontipee (Howard Keel), singing the “Bless Your Beautiful Hide”, with lyrics including: Bless your beautiful hide You're just as good as lost I don't know your name but I'm a-stakin' my claim Lest your eyes is crossed Or, in a different version… Bless your beautiful hide, prepare to bend your knee And take that vow 'cause I'm a-tellin' you now You're the gal for me He then visits a general store to buy supplies, listing off what he needs and asking if they have a woman under the counter he could buy, who “...isn’t afraid to work”, as he has seven grown brothers at home who can’t keep the house clean. Four young women then enter the store. Adam proceeds to walk right up to them, checking them out like pieces of cattle while he rants about his mission to get a wife; going to say to the four women that they’re all “...pretty, fresh, and young” but he ain’t “...deciding on nothing until he looks them all over.” He leaves the store and finds a woman, Milly (Jane Powell), chopping wood and being feisty with her father. Adam proceeds to climb a tree and essentially demands she marry him which she agrees to after about two hours. He then takes her back home to meet the seven brothers who’re all incapable of taking care of themselves, leading Milly to whip them into shape, but her marriage to Adam makes them so jealous they ask that she help them attract some of the other women in town who are currently courting more reputable men. They all attend a county fair where a massive brawl takes place and destroys their chances with the women, and yada yada yada, they get increasingly more bored, especially as the winter months wane on, until one day they decide that their best bet is to kidnap all of the women and take them back to the cabin. The film doesn’t give you time to process whether this could even be a joke before they surround the girl’s houses, sneak into their homes and wait for them outside where the women are smothered with blankets and loaded onto a wagon and taken back home. The men they’re courting, while being the villains in this story, have the honor to chase down the men, only stopped when an avalanche strikes and they’re all snowed in. I’m not sure if this was ever funny, but the girl’s are now crying, wondering why they’ve been kidnapped, and fortunately Milly steps in, appalled, demanding the brothers sleep in the barn while the women get the cabin. The men grow increasingly frustrated and depressed (aka horny and aggressive), until when the snow begins to melt, the town arms up and races to rescue the women. When the women then see the men, they scream and shout for help, and the brothers tackle them to the ground to prevent their escape. The townsmen finally gain control, rescue the women, and are about to hang the men when all seven women suddenly have a change of heart and instead choose to marry the seven brothers. I struggle to think of a film that has so poorly aged with the ratio of intention/reality. This movie came out the same year as On the Waterfront (1954), and I’m left wondering how even in 2007 AFI would consider it one of the best of the genre. Unlike most 80s comedies, this does not have sprinkles of offense. Its entire second act is about assaulting, kidnapping, forcing women into marriage. It’s a film where there are no redeeming qualities. It takes a frightening situation and makes a complete joke out of it. Aside from the title “Bless Your Beautiful Hide” melody being stuck in my head for the last 24 hours, even the craft of this film isn’t all that great. Perhaps it’s worth seeing for how shockingly light it takes the material, but it’s also fine to miss altogether. BELOW: I guess the song and dance is okay, all other things aside Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  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? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  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 |
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