 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
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 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  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? 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