Foster on Film – Page 92 – The Film Criticism of Matthew M. Foster

The Lion In Winter (1968)

May 161968

Aging King Henry II (Peter O’Toole) has decided to hold a Christmas court at an out-of-the-way castle in order to deal with the question of succession. In attendance, besides peasants and soldiers, will be the queen, Eleanor of Aquitaine (Katharine Hepburn), who he has had imprisoned for the past ten years, and their three sons, the near psychotic Richard the Lionheart (Anthony Hopkins), the conniving Geoffrey (John Castle), and the obnoxious man-child John (Nigel Terry). Also arriving will be the teenaged king of France, Philip II (Timothy Dalton), and his twenty-three-year-old sister Alais (Jane Merrow), who by treaty must marry the heir or Henry must return her dowry, which he has no intention of doing. Complicating her marriage is the fact that Alais has lived in England since she was four, and raised for part of that time by Eleanor, and is currently Henry’s mistress and none-too-happy about marrying one his sons. Further complicating matters is that Eleanor supports Richard for king, and gave him the Aquitaine, land that Henry considers essential to his kingdom, while Henry supports John, who is his only son not to have raised an army against him.

This is a magnificent film, with historical weight, personal drama, insight into love and hatred and greed, all turned up a notch from reality. It’s thoughtful and entertaining and I was stunned after first watching it, and doubly so after my most recent viewing. It’s electric.

It’s a near perfect translation from stage to screen. James Goldman adapted his own play, and smartly adjusted little of the dialog. It was a great play, so don’t fix it. And the movie isn’t “opened up” needlessly. People don’t go running around just to be running around, keeping few locations and the feeling intimate. Instead, the change in format is used to give us a proper depiction of the Middle Ages. The Lion In Winter has been used in college history classes to show what it was like. The castle is damp and dirty, with pigs (literal pigs) mixing with royalty. It’s cold, and nothing can keep those gowns clean. This is no fairytale world.

Not that it should be taken as a documentary, though it’s one of the more accurate historical films. The major alteration from fact is that the Christmas gathering as presented didn’t happen. Rather the film fuses multiple meetings and events into a single day, but otherwise it sums up the situations as they were, at least according to one chronicler or another.

Before Henry II, England didn’t exist as we know it, and in 1183, what being King of England meant was still in the process of being determined, as was the rules of succession. Whatever rules there were, it came down to who could hold the thrown. If Henry didn’t lock down the succession, his kingdom would fall apart after his death (which, in part, it did). None of these three sons was supposed to inherent. The throne was to have gone to Henry The Young King, his second child with Eleanor and the first to survive to adulthood. He was crowned co-King with his father (a French tradition) and had been a rock star to the people, or perhaps a sports star is the better term as he was thought of as the greatest jouster of the time. He had been loved by all, though history allots him little of the intellect afforded the rest of the family. And he’d died as a result of one of his rebellions against his father, and their wasn’t a clear replacement. Henry The Young King hadn’t wanted to wait for power, and his brothers realized they wouldn’t be given any, so, along with Eleanor, they rose up, against their father, and against each other, but none could dethrone Henry. So family reunions were going to be tense.

These were people of extremes—smarter, crueler, stronger then most—who took extreme risks, and lived lives it’s hard to imagine now. Henry II was a warrior by the time he was 14, and ruled an empire he’d made as much as inherited by 21. He was considered the greatest warrior of the time both in individual combat and in strategy. Eleanor was considered the most beautiful women in the world, and both as clever and ruthless as her husband. And while Richard wasn’t their intellectual equal, he racked up the body count while he was young. These were historical giants, and here they are portrayed by cinematic giants. This is Peter O’Toole’s second great performance (after Lawrence of Arabia). He’d played Henry II a few years earlier in Becket, but that was feeble by comparison. Here he’s energetic—nearly manic, yet always believable, presenting us with a true character It’s the best cinematic performance of the year, and one of the best of all time.

Katherarine Hepburn puts in the second best of the year (and her best ever), Timothy Dalton the third, Anthony Hopkins the forth, and John Castle the fifth, with Nigel Terry and Jane Merrow not far behind. This is everything film acting should be. They aren’t giving us drab reality, but something more, something absolutely authentic, but not mundane. This is an actors’ film.

Not that it is all down to the acting. An actors’ film needs to give those actors great lines and things to do, and The Lion and Winter does both. The plot is filled with betrayals and compromises, love-making and assassination attempts, and it flows like a river.

As for the dialog, nearly every line is quotable:

War agrees with you. I keep informed. I follow all your slaughters from a distance.

Henry’s bed is Henry’s province. He can people it with sheep for all I care, which on occasion he has done.

Her eyes in certain light were violet, and all her teeth were even. That’s a rare, fair feature: even teeth. She smiled to excess, but she chewed with real distinction.

I even made poor Louis take me on Crusade. How’s that for blasphemy. I dressed my maids as Amazons and rode bare-breasted halfway to Damascus. Louis had a seizure and I damn near died of windburn… but the troops were dazzled.

Of course he has a knife. He always has a knife. We all have knives! It’s 1183 and we’re barbarians!

The Lion in Winter is great line after great line, in wonderfully composed scenes, wrapped in fascinating politics and personal stories, and all performed perfectly. It’s one of the great films.

Miscellaneous, Reviews Tagged with: Five Reels

Gamera vs. Viras (1968)

Apr 201968

Gamera is just wandering around in outer space, which is something he does now, when he runs into hostile aliens in a collection of beach balls. He destroys the balls after they have radioed home for reinforcements. On Earth, two Kennys, one Japanese and one American, are at some kind of international boy scout camp. They play some pranks, cause some problems, and manage to go on a submarine journey with Gamera. The new alien ship arrives and capture the two kids to use as hostages because Gamera would never do anything to harm children. It is up to the two young boys to save the day and have an exciting adventure.

While Gamera vs. Gyaos was a generic dikaiju movie adjusted to be for young children, Gamera vs. Viras is a children’s movie with monsters. There are hardly any adults and they exist to be the butt of the children’s pranks. This is all bright shiny colors as we follow our two child-leads as they explore a space ship, control a giant monster, and save the world. This is where the line “Gamera is a friend to all children” came from. We even have the entire world declare that we must surrender because we can’t allow the two boys to be hurt, which lets them bravely state that they would sacrifice themselves. Of course this is Japanese children’s programming, so they say “shit” and five guys are decapitated.

Cheap is the word of the day. There’s extensive use of past footage. At the twenty-one minute point, the film pauses for a ten minute recap of the previous films. Oddly, the recap is nearly twice as long in the American version, titled Destroy All Planets—bringing this overly short film up to 90 minutes. Gamera’s attack on a dam and on a city are re-used scenes from earlier films. Even the new footage is used repeatedly, with Gamera’s attack on the second ship filled out with a clip from his attack on the first. And much of the film is the kids’ exploration of the spaceship, which is one set re-colored as they supposedly enter the next look-alike room.

Is this worse than the previous entry? That depends. For anyone over ten who isn’t watching to make fun of it, then yes. But for your young child, or for your drunken party when you want to throw cheese puffs at the screen, Gamera vs. Viras will work better.

Foreign Language, Giant Monsters, Reviews Tagged with: One Reel

Oliver! (1968)

Feb 271968

Orphaned Oliver (Mark Lester) escapes his dreary life in the workhouse and as an indentured servant and heads for London. There he meets up with pickpocket The Artful Dodger (Jack Wild) and Fagin (Ron Moody), who runs an army of child-criminals. When his first time on a job goes wrong, Oliver is taken to court, where he’s put into the care of kindly Mr. Brownlow (Joseph O’Conor). But murderer Bill Sikes (Oliver Reed) wants Oliver back in the hands of the criminals, leaving only Nancy (Shani Wallis), Bill’s girlfriend, to help him.

Time has not been kind to the reputation of Oliver! Nor has winning the Oscar over 2001: A Space Odyssey. But everything doesn’t have to be in the newest style; sometimes an old fashioned musical is just the ticket. As for winning, that’s hardly its fault.

Oliver! is a solid musical film, with a satire-ridden plot courtesy of Charles Dickens, colorful supporting characters portrayed by charismatic actors (in a year without The Lion in Winter, I’d be looking at Ron Moody for Best Supporting Actor), and it’s gorgeous. It has something else that the other big musicals of the time didn’t: more than one memorable song. It’s filled with toe-tapping numbers (Consider Yourself, Be Back Soon), and some that tear at your heart (Boy For Sale, As Long as He Needs Me) and one that makes me laugh (Reviewing the Situation), and one that’s simply beautiful (Who Will Buy). There are no bad songs and a whole bunch of catchy ones.

This is a gripping and emotional film. It’s hard to find someone more loathsome, more hateable than Bill Sikes, nor anyone easier to love than Nancy. And I feel for Fagin. Oliver! plays all the emotional notes and they all sound true.

Yes, not everything works, mainly Oliver himself. Lester is not a talented child actor and his dubbed singing voice is surprisingly weak. But there’s little anyone could have done with the part, as even in Dickens the character is passive, bouncing about in the stream. He’s a breathing McGuffin. He’s a hole in the center, but all the characters around him are so indelible that it’s a minor flaw as it gives an excuse to focus on them. The more time with Fagin, Nancy, The Artful Dodger, and Bill, the better.

One complaint I’ve seen is that the character of Fagin, and to a lesser extent, all of the criminals except Bill, are made redeemable (or redeemed). But I don’t see this as a problem, but as an improvement. Oliver Twist was a satire of the British class structure, but it has a whiff of that classism, with Oliver being the only non-despicable person of the lower classes (well, partly Nancy), and he’s born with blue blood. Even for Dickens, everyone had a place. So a little change works wonders.

As for Fagin, in the book he’s a cruel, sadistic, greedy monster, compared to the devil. And of course, he’s Jewish, which is noted over and over again. So…a soulless, greedy Jew… Yeah. The musical is 100 times less anti-Semitic, which I call a needed alteration. It also allows for wonderful emotional moments and humor with Fagin, who becomes the most complicated character in the story.

Oliver! isn’t one of the great musical films, but it’s a very good one, and in the last few years of the 1960s, it easily stands over its competition of Sweet Charity, Hello, Dolly, Paint Your Wagon, Funny Girl, and Finian’s Rainbow.

Musicals, Reviews Tagged with: Three & 1/2 Reels

Destroy All Monsters (1968)

Feb 211968

In the far future of 1999, the giant monsters of the world, including Godzilla, Rodan, Mothra, and others no one cares about, have been imprisoned on an island cleverly named Monster Land (Monster Island in the subtitled version, which is… better). Of course all is not well as aliens plan to invade Earth using the monsters. These aren’t the aliens who planned to invade Earth using monsters from a previous Godzilla movie, nor any of the multiple alien races that would plan to invade Earth using monsters in numerous later Godzilla movies. Nope, this is a different group. And they are spectacularly inept.

Who’d have thought that by 1999 we’d have a moon base, space ships, and electro-guns, but still be speaking on giganto telephones? It is a little item, but does point to the lack of imagination on screen.

Once Toho combined Godzilla with space opera they just couldn’t stop themselves. Aliens invaded first in 1965’s Godzilla vs. Monster Zero, with Godzilla eventually defeating the extraterrestrial’s most fearsome monster. The exact same plot was used for the majority of the 70s Godzilla films and popped up several times after. This was its second use and already had the freshness of unwashed socks. Destroy All Monsters stands out merely in the number of mobsters on hand (13 if my count is correct). The previous several films had been box office duds, so this was planned as a big shiny farewell. However, Destroy All Monsters was a hit so it would be another decade before the big guy took his first hiatus.

Big and shiny it is, but that’s about it. For a film sold on its giant monster action, there isn’t much of it. Like all the alien invasion Godzilla movies, most of the running time is spent with poorly developed characters in unlikely confrontations with laughable aliens. Not that the monster fights are much of an improvement.

I saw Destroy All Monsters at the theater (part of a triple feature) as a child when it was initially released, and as an 8-year-old I found the combat silly and the suits and puppets embarrassing. Still, I enjoyed it. Far worse Godzilla movies were soon to follow. I suppose that is some kind of a recommendation.

Foreign Language, Godzilla, Reviews Tagged with: Two Reels

2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)

Jan 121968

Spoilers. Four million years ago, stagnating proto-humans were close to extinction until a rectangular, black monolith appeared, altering them, making them smarter and more violent, and allowing their descendants to become the dominate species on the planet. But those descendants have now become stagnant as well. In early 2001 (though earlier in the sequels), another monolith is found buried on the Moon, and when it is hit by sunlight, sends a signal to Jupiter. Eighteen months later, the spaceship Discovery heads toward Jupiter, with three awake crew members, Dave Bowman (Keir Dullea), Frank Poole (Gary Lockwood), and the computer HAL (voice: Douglas Rain), and five in cryogenic sleep. During the trip, something goes wrong with HAL, which causes Bowman and Poole to immediately plan to disconnect him. HAL responds by attempting to kill them, but Bowman survives and shuts down HAL. He then proceeds to Jupiter, where another monolith awaits. He is taken out of normal space, and ends up in what appears to be an overly ornate hotel room. In that room, he leaps from moment to moment has he ages, until he is transformed into a more powerful being, known externally to the film, as the Star Child, and looks down upon the Earth, which is now his to do with as he will.

2001 is not a straightforward film. One could fault director Stanley Kubrick for failing to communicate his message and leaving so many people confused, but I don’t. The film’s target audience is not everyone. It’s complicated and multilayered, yet I never felt confused. I’d read the novel (written during production by Arthur C. Clarke from whatever Kubrick wanted to show him) before I watched the movie, as well as the short story, The Sentinel, that inspired it, and also Clarke’s Childhood’s End, which has overlapping ideas. Not, mind you, that the novel is equivalent to the film. The book is one layer of the film—the simplest—and even then it’s an inexact match. The novel is literal, answering all questions and focusing on scientific advancement, but Kubrick wanted to avoid clear answers and was antipathetic toward a discussion of technology. He was telling a visual story (it’s nearly a silent movie), where the explanation in some cases is the experience, while Clarke liked clear, intellectually understandable explanations. Kubrick had a lot more in mind than he told Clarke, but the book does provide an easy access into the film for anyone who isn’t ready to wade into emotionless humans and psychedelic fractals without a crutch. And that appears to have been Kubrick’s plan. It was a useful crutch for me.

Kubrick’s stated that the surface interpretation, the one Clarke supplied, is but one way to look at the movie, the “simplest level,” and that he would not explain the deeper layers he had created. Oddly, it’s for that simplest level that 2001 has gained its more ardent fans. It gets odder when people claim that 2001 is an exciting film filled with epic moments and a hopeful message. It’s not any of that.

2001 is boring. I’ve had people get quite indignant when I say that, and exclaim that I “just don’t get it.” But it’s these folks who’ve missed the boat. It not only is boring, it is supposed to be boring. Kubrick worked to bring the audience into the experience of his films. While he did this with most of his movies, I’ll point to the other two most obvious examples: In A Clockwork Orange the viewer was meant to feel violent; in Eyes Wide Shut the viewer was meant to feel frustration. He didn’t want you to simply observe. You were a participant. And for 2001, participation means being bored. Modern man, duplicating his ancestor, had become stagnant, and once again needed the monolith to “progress.” This stagnation is shown in scene after scene. Events that should be exciting, such as a trip to the Moon, are shown as uninteresting commutes, filled with trivialities. Characters display little sign of emotion or even life. Floyd doesn’t appear to care about the most important discovery in human history. Finding an artifact made by unknown entities is just a business trip to him. Bowman almost never changes his expression and speaks in a monotone. Poole occasionally shows signs of life, but at other times, such as while on the sun table and later sitting before a screen, he appears as a robot who’s been switched off. Scenes go on long past the point of supplying any new information, and the few times major things happen (the pod hitting Poole, Bowman moving out of the airlock) we don’t see them. Kubrick wanted us to feel that drabness, that lack of energy, so that we could be jolted by the birth of the Star Child.

This brings up a question that has clung to me for thirty years: Can a boring movie be good? I find it difficult to pick a specific thing that damns a film, but invoking boredom seems to be the best candidate. Saying a film is boring is usually enough to reject it. Does it make a difference if the boredom was intentional? Well, it means the film is a success at what it is meant to be, but success isn’t equivalent to good. I don’t care if someone meant to leave the milk out in the heat for a several days or did it by accident; I’m not drinking it in either case. But I’m going to avoid making a definite statement on the philosophy of art here. It’s just another thing to consider.

And one more comment on the simple layer of the film: Why does anyone find the Star Child comforting? That final image is disquieting, not what someone would use in the cinematic language to express hope or goodness. Kubrick knew Clarke’s feelings—that he’d expressed with Childhood’s End—that as a human, he liked us the way we were and was not keen on an evolutionary jump into something unrecognizable. And this is more than unrecognizable; the Star Child is monstrous. Nothing in the film implies it will do anything nice for the residents of Earth. Destroy them? Play with them as a child plays with ants? Sure. But not help. Besides the frightful appearance, the Star Child’s existence is a parallel to those of the tribe of proto-humans, and that didn’t work out well for any other tribe. This time, there is no tribe, just one, gruesome god.

A majority of the fans go no further than this interpretation of the film, no matter that Kubrick said it was only one way to look at it. And yet, they delve into it, examining mysteries and looking for depth in what is a very straightforward tale. What happens in the final act? Well, god-like beings who are beyond our comprehension take Dave to a place beyond our comprehension and turn him into something beyond our comprehension. There’s nothing more than that, besides how it makes you feel, because it’s beyond your comprehension. If all you’re seeing in the film is man, evolution, and aliens, (plus one psychotic computer), you’re done.

So that’s 2001: A Space Odyssey, a meticulously made, and boring film. But now things get complicated, because this is a meticulously made film, which is filled with “mistakes,” and for the story it is telling, a lot of things don’t make sense. HAL doesn’t make sense in a storytelling way. Why is he even in it, much less why does he go insane? Clarke gives an answer to the later question, mostly in his book 2010: Odyssey Two, but it’s an uninteresting answer (HAL couldn’t deal with having to lie), and irrelevant to this film as Kubrick specifically took that answer out of the film. Certainly part of the reason for HAL’s subplot to exist is for there to be something going on while we’re given time to become properly bored. But that’s a fractional answer at best. For another fraction, HAL can be used as a comparison to the humans, to show how computer-like we have become and thus support the stagnation theme. And then HAL it is another parallel, of man uplifting machine as monolith uplifts man, only men aren’t very good at it. Yet none of that is enough, not for the time spent on it.

And then there’s a perfectionist filmmaker making so many technical errors. The lightning in much of the film is incorrect. The Moon, planets, and satellites are repeatedly lit from the wrong direction. And often the light doesn’t shift as the objects move. Shadows aren’t where they should be. In one scene there would have to be a second Sun to explain how the Earth is lit from one direction while astronauts on the surface of the Moon are lit from another. Then there are numerous times when things swap sides, such as the positions of the cryo-pods on the ship. And the Earth doesn’t even rotate. That’s a hell of a lot of mistakes for a guy known for not making mistakes. Too many. And just in case you didn’t have faith in him, instead thinking this is like many films where they just didn’t get it right, Kubrick breaks into the film to point out that all those glitches are on purpose, when an announcement is made about a missing sweater before the scene where there’s a “continuity error” and that sweater vanishes. In other words, the movie knows it’s a movie, and announces that. Things aren’t right because this isn’t reality, but is a movie, and maybe, just maybe, that’s what Bowman discovers, instead of aliens—or since there’s no single answer, maybe that’s what he discovers in addition to aliens. This gives an understandable explanation of what is going on in the space-hotel, to go with the one that’s beyond comprehension; Bowman is watching the movie of himself.

Dwelling on that during those long moments meant to bore you the first time through makes it less boring on later viewings.

And things are more complicated still since Kubrick implied there were multiple layers, not just two. I find it useful to examine what was going on during the making of 2001: A Space Odyssey. There’s an interesting 1966 documentary called A Look Behind the Future (it’s available on YouTube), which apparently had one television showing outside the US, but was intended for commercial and industrial use, that is, to get companies to invest in 2001 or to advertise it. It suggests that 2001 will be a movie primarily focused on new technology, and how exciting that tech is. It straight-up states that it will be a propaganda film, the purpose of which is to “indoctrinate” the ignorant masses to the future the government and industry are planning—to “educate through entertainment.” It also makes numerous mentions of Wernher von Braun, and no one seems to have questioned that the man who just made Dr. Strangelove might not be the best person for this job. Hell, forget that. This is the man who made his feelings very clear after Spartacus: The only messages that will be in a Stanley Kubrick film are Stanley Kubrick’s messages. He was no one’s propagandist but his own. Yet Kubrick went along with it all, nodding and smiling, right up until he stabbed them all in the back, and then twisted the knife for fun. NASA and IBM and others tossed money and experts at Kubrick, and he used them all, just not as they’d intended. He took the cash, and their designs, and then he ripped out all the info dumps on how the rockets work and how the Moonbase was made and how cool it will be when we all have briefcase phones. He jettisoned any suggestion that human error was at fault for HAL and pointed the blame back at IBM (well, there’s a reason for the subplot…). He took an interview with two of the scientific advisers where they seemed to lack humanity, and used it as a basis for an interview in the film. However, he kept in the voice-over narration (didn’t know 2001 had a voice over? It’s terrible) for a screening for the investors, and then he pulled it out. In my most recent viewing, I kept seeing Kubrick’s middle finger toward those who wanted to use him to indoctrinate the masses, while he yells to those masses, “Think for your damn selves.” So in that there’s an additional reason beyond letting it stand on its own for why Kubrick refused to explain his movie.

Is 2001: A Space Odyssey a great film? I don’t know. I do know it’s a fascinating one. There isn’t one right answer to what it all means. Rather, Kubrick tossed in all kinds of ideas and all sorts of messages and he didn’t care if they intellectually fit together as the thread that bound them wasn’t thought, but feeling. 2001 is first and foremost, about how the visuals make you feel. But secondarily there’s all the rest: boredom and stagnation, and aliens, and the utter destruction of humanity, and a critique of capitalism, and anti-propaganda statements, and the search for God, and self-aware cinema, and man’s semi-civilized violent nature, and movie screens within a movie screen, and Homer’s poem, and a concern that people are rejecting art for commerce. Yeah, there’s a lot going on. And if you don’t look for a single answer, but take them all, then 2001 makes sense.

Reviews, Science Fiction Tagged with: Four Reels

The Young Girls of Rochefort (1967)

Dec 151967

In the seaside town of Rochefort, love and romance swirls around the inhabitants and visitors over a long weekend. Yvonne Garnier (Danielle Darrieux) runs the café in the central square. Her twin daughters Delphine (Catherine Deneuve) and Solange (Françoise Dorléac—Deneuve’s real life sister) teach dance to children but want something more, which they hope to find in Paris. Delphine also wants to find the perfect man while Solange is destined to meet a foreigner. Maxence (Jacques Perrin) is an artist who frequents the café, waiting out his last week in the navy before he can run off in search of his “feminine ideal”—his painting of which bares an uncanny resemblance to Delphine. That painting hangs in the gallery of Guillaume Lancien (Jacques Riberolles), who wants Delphine for himself, but is clearly not going to get her. Simon Dame (Michel Piccoli), mourning a long lost love, has set up a music store in town, and is drawn toward Solange. He promises to help her by getting her in touch with Andy Miller (Gene Kelly), a successful musician in Paris, but Andy has chosen this time to visit Rochefort. Entering into this mob of possible lovers are a pair of “carnies,” Bill (Grover Dale) and Etienne (George Chakiris—the guy from West Side Story), here for the weekend carnival. Their interest in women is of the short term variety, and when they lose their dancers/bed partners, they are in need of replacements. All these people meet, or just barely miss each other, and then do it again. That’s a whole lot of characters, but it’s easy to follow.

A candy coated concoction, The Young Girls of Rochefort (which really should have been translated as “The Young Ladies” as we’re talking about mid-20-year-olds) is the follow-up to Jacques Demy’s The Umbrellas of Cherbourg. They share the jazzy musical style, actress Catherine Deneuve, and a complete lack of interest in reality. But while Umbrellas was mournful, Young Girls is celebratory. One is regret and rain, the other possibilities and sunlight. This is non-stop happiness and popsicles and hope and joy. Nothing gets this movie down. There is a literal sadistic killer in the film, and even that feels cozy.

Though filled with references to Hollywood musicals, the average American will find The Young Girls of Rochefort unusual. In classic film musicals, people burst into song; here they slip in and out of it. Speaking and singing are all the same. Likewise someone might walk a bit, then dance a bit. Main characters will chat normally while in the background others dance, or they may dance while everyone else is still. With a few exceptions (mostly the “twins’ song”), the music isn’t melody driven. It just an accompaniment when speaking turns to singing and for all that dancing.

There’s no equality in dance. Some (obviously Kelly & Chakiris) are experts while others are barely more than amateurs, but the film doesn’t care. Nor does it worry if two or more dancers are in sync. They aren’t there to perform routines, but to express their love or desire or longing, or just because it’s sunny. As for the voices, almost everyone is dubbed when singing, and some when speaking. Gene Kelly is mostly dubbed (which is very odd for those of us who know his voice well), but every once in a while he speaks with his own. This fits perfectly with this unreal world, this beautiful unreal world. Everything, and everyone, in every frame, is beautiful. Sometimes it’s hard to choose where to look on the screen as so much is going on and all of it is worth seeing.

Call it joie de vivre, the movie. There’s lots of regret, but that’s in the past (for the most part) and it’s clear from the first remarkable dance on a crane bridge, that things will work out. The Umbrellas of Cherbourg, with its more serious look at life, has tended to leave this film in the shadows, but I find The Young Girls of Rochefort both more emotional, and more meaningful. If this doesn’t give you direction in life, nothing will.

My other reviews of musicals with Gene Kelly: Cover Girl (1944), Anchors Aweigh (1945), Ziegfeld Follies (1946), The Pirate (1948), Words and Music (1948), On the Town (1949), Summer Stock (1950), An American in Paris (1951), Brigadoon (1954), It’s Always Fair Weather (1955), Les Girls (1957).

Foreign Language, Musicals, Reviews Tagged with: Four Reels

How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying (1967)

Nov 171967

Window washer J. Pierpont Finch (Robert Morse) finds the self help book, “How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying” at a magazine stand and decides to use its advice to become a corporate executive in less than a week. Through the help of the guide, plus his own brashness and trickery, he moves quickly up the corporate ladder, occasionally opposed by Bud Frump (Anthony Teague), the slimy nephew of the company president, J.B. Biggley (Rudy Vallée). He also catches the eye of secretary Rosemary Pilkington (Michele Lee), who thinks he’s sweet and sincere.

It’s hard to figure what the cultural significance of How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying is, but it seems that most of our current view of corporate culture of the 1950s and 1960s comes from this satire. It isn’t an accident that Robert Morse was cast in Mad Men. Films, songs, jokes, memes—this is where it starts.

The musical was based not on a novel, but on a 1952 bestselling humor book that was structured as an instructional manual. It was turned into a play, and then into a musical by the same team that’s made Guys and Dolls, with the most important player being composer Frank Loesser. The musical became a biting satire on the emptiness, sexism, narcissism, hypocrisy, and nastiness of the corporate world, while also being a fun romp with memorable songs. It was a huge hit and critical darling, winning not only eight Tony Awards, but the Pulitzer Prize.

The film, made just six years later, changes little though softens it a bit, cutting some songs and repositioning one, but keeping the story and characters essentially the same. It avoids the unnecessary “opening up” for film that dragged down so many cinematic takes on stage shows (you expand your scope when there is a reason to, not just for the hell of it). The appealing artificiality of the setting is retained, with rich primarily colors everywhere. Characters will freeze while others sing or advice from the book is read from an off screen narrator. Bob Fosse’s choreography was ported over from the stage, giving the dance numbers his eccentric and modern feel. How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying keeps its focus, and whips along.

Morse, Vallée, and Lee all recreate their Broadway performances. Morse is an impish powerhouse as Finch, who fawns, lies, and parasitically attaches himself to anyone he can use, yet is charming and likeable the whole time. It’s a neat trick considering how he is literally stroking most everyone he comes in contact with. Lee is delightful and it’s Rudy Vallée best cinematic work, though I suspect his adoring female fans of the 1930s would disagree. The rest of the cast is solid. Having stars who can sing is a relief after listening to other ’60s film musicals (Camelot and Guys and Dolls are particularly painful), and no dubbing was needed.

I’d have preferred if they’d kept the missing songs, and not changed the placement of I Believe in You, so that when Ponty sings it, it’s 100% narcissistic instead of 90%, but those are minor quibbles. This is as good a stage to film transition as has been made. Basically, if you like the show, your only complaint with the movie is missing those few cut numbers. And it’s hard not to like the show. It was a smart stage musical, and it is a smart film.

Musicals, Reviews Tagged with: Four Reels

The Mummy’s Shroud (1967)

Nov 141967

Sir Basil Walden (André Morell), wealthy and upright Paul Preston (David Buck), a generic soon-to-be-dead guy, and a hot psychic girl get lost in the desert searching for a boy pharaoh buried in a poor tomb. They couldn’t have gotten lost in a better spot (or Egypt is really small) as it turns out they are standing on the tomb, and the rescue party happens along almost immediately. That rescue party includes their boss, rich guy and all-around-heel Stanley Preston (John Phillips). They return to town and safety, or so they think, as a local nut-case fanatic and his mother use the shroud of the pharaoh to wake up a mummy and send him out killing all who entered the tomb.

I swear I’ve seen this all before. It’s hard getting the energy up to watch The Mummy’s Shroud all the way through, much less write a review of it. There is nothing new here, or exciting. It’s not all that bad either, not in the grand scheme of things, low budget horror-wise. But being better than other bland, clichéd retreads is not a slogan for an advertising poster, and that’s all The Mummy’s Shroud has to offer.

The acting is drab, or far over the top (the religious fantastic really needs to do a little less coke). Only the greedy and cowardly millionaire has a personality, but it’s a tiring one. The mummy suit is filled by Eddie Powell, who spent much of his time at Hammer as Christopher Lee’s stunt double. It could have been filled with fluff and moved by a crane for all the acting that shows through. I’ve seen worse mummy costumes, but I can’t recall where. And don’t let the cleavage-laden poster art fool you—there is no sexuality on display. No one even pretends to be interested in members of the opposite sex.

With so little on screen to capture my attention, I was free to let my mind wander to the little things, such as an ancient mummy’s knowledge of which photo-developing chemical will cause the worst burns. And does the over-acting demi-priest bring a sack lunch while hanging out in empty wastes? And was the tomb within a few miles of the city since everyone walks there and back in no time? And since it’s easy to shove things into the mummy, why don’t bullets pass through it and kill the person on the other side? In a more interesting film, these things wouldn’t matter, but here they are all there is to dwell on.

Well, I could dwell on all the very very very white guys pretending to be Egyptians in the shabby back story. The Mummy’s Shroud was the last film Hammer shot at Bray Studios, and it looks like they tossed whatever random clothing hadn’t been boxed yet onto the moving men and told them to run around and play Egyptian warriors. That still makes them more believable than the sets. Not that any of that prepared me for the amateur joke that was the mummy. No makeup here. Just papier-mâché. You may get some enjoyment from laughing at the creature. It won’t be scaring you.

The whole affair is numbingly predictable, except when people act even dumber than expected (such as when the psychic girl goes off alone with mad religious “guardians” to ask the mummy for forgiveness… Really?) Slow paced, with not a single character to care about, as well as no frights, and a comic monster, The Mummy’s Shroud is a dismal affair.

Hammer’s “Mummy cycle” include The Mummy (1959), The Curse of the Mummy’s Tomb (1964), and Blood From the Mummy’s Tomb (1971).

Mummies, Reviews Tagged with: One Reel

The X From Outer Space (1967)

Nov 121967

With the previous four Japanese Mars missions destroyed (maybe by a UFO, maybe not, but let’s not get too worried about little details like that), a new mission is set to go, with a manly-man captain, a goofy sidekick, a hot American Blonde, and a doctor who will soon be replaced by a grumpy American, as we keep spare Americans on the moon. Of course, they run into the UFO, which leaves bumps on the spaceship’s hull. Brought back to Earth, a bump turns into a giant chicken-lizard-triangle-thingy, codenamed Guilala for no good reason. Naturally Guilala wants to destroy a lot of miss-sized planes and tanks and stomp on some cardboard. What will the Japanese do?

It’s a comedy. No it isn’t. Yes it is. No it isn’t.

It would take so little effort to make this a comedy, but that wasn’t the intention. This is supposed to be a monster/action film, most likely aimed at kids. What it IS is silly, and that saves it. It is so ridiculous that it is fun.

We start off with jazzy tunes and giggly astronauts that tease each other about mistakes that could have been fatal because that’s what astronauts do. They also blast off in ships that are a cross between a seaplane and a sled, but to more jazzy tunes, so it’s OK. For the first half hour, I thought this might actually have been a very early parody.

If anything is clear about this primitive film, it is that money was every object. They didn’t have much. The chicken-lizard-triangle is laughable even by ‘60s giant monster standards. The miniatures look much like a child’s train setup (but to be fair, I had a pretty nice train setup). Perhaps my favorite is that the starscape is simply glued onto what is supposed to be the spaceship’s windows.

People’s bizarre behavior isn’t a matter of poor characterization. It is psychosis. For no reason the communication officer gets upset with the spaceship’s inhabitants and refuses to talk to them, even though she has necessary information to stop them from dying and was talking to them a moment earlier. Then she’s best friends with the Blonde. Then hates her, then best friends again. No one follows orders. And the grumpy Caucasian doctor goes nuts on the ship and attacks the other astronauts. A minute later, they’ve forgotten all about it and it is never discussed. Bondie also has some words about love and giant monsters which are…well…crazy.

Luckily, they can ease their insane thoughts with cocktail parties on the Moon. Flashy dresses just appear, as they would on the Moon, and the gang partys to lounge music.

Yes, it is lousy filmmaking, but The X from Outer Space isn’t boring, which puts it a notch above many of the Toho films that were technically far superior. As action or a monster film or science fiction, it is a joke. But it is a pretty goofy joke and who doesn’t like a joke?

I watched the older dub version, though you can get the film in Japanese with subs (if you like your cheese pure) or in a newer dub where the Americans all speak with German accents.

Foreign Language, Giant Monsters, Reviews Tagged with: Two Reels

Son of Godzilla (1967)

Oct 161967

In a faraway island, scientists experimenting with radioactive weather control (yes, you heard that correctly, radioactive weather control) accidentally cause huge praying mantises to grow into humongous praying mantises. The big bugs unearth and break open an egg and out pops a toad man… I mean a baby Godzilla. The full size Godzilla shows up, so the human characters including a reporter who literally drops into the movie and a cute island girl, sit around and watch Godzilla teach his son how to stand up to grumpy puppets.

QUICK REVIEW: The second of director Jun Fukuda’s cheap, juvenile island adventures, Son of Godzilla comes off as inoffensive. It also starts with a jaunty tune and seaside vistas that announce that this is a special episode of Gilligan’s island.

The humans have more depth than in a majority of Godzilla pictures (not a lot, just more) and the romance between surprisingly likeable characters is believable in a sitcom way. This may be the only Godzilla movie where I’d have been happy with more screen time for the humans and less for the monsters, though that is also due to how poor the monster action is. Godzilla is still in his Muppet, friendly-looking phase, and the Son is a blight upon world cinema. It is embarrassing to be seen watching this film when either are on sceen. The insects aren’t anything to write home about either. There is a nearly touching moment with the two Godzilloids in the snow, but that’s not enough.

Big time, adult fans of Godzilla should add a reel to my rating and catch this on free TV. Not kids though, at least if they are over five. Children will be less entertained by the humans, and more bothered by baby Godzilla (cool, this is not, and seven-year-old me who saw it many years ago wanted to hide under a rock, or hide it under a rock).

Foreign Language, Godzilla, Reviews Tagged with: One Reel

Quatermass and the Pit (1967)

Oct 101967

After a subway construction crew discovers the bones of ancient humans, and then a metal object, Col. Breen (Julian Glover) is called in to defuse what they assume is a left over, WWII, German, V-type bomb. But rocket scientist Bernard Quatermass (Andrew Keir) thinks the device is of extraterrestrial origin, and working with anthropologist Mathew Roney (James Donald), and Roney’s assistant Barbara (Barbara Shelley), he sets out to discover what it is, if it is dangerous, and how it is connected to local supernatural events.

An alien spaceship. Demonic possession. Telekinesis. A new type of human found in the fossil record proving our near ancestors existed far earlier than previously believed. Race memories. Ghosts that have haunted a specific area for hundreds of years. Genetic manipulation. Genocide as part of human nature. I get tired just listing all the things in the remarkable Quatermass and the Pit. This is entertainment for the literate science fiction fan. Filled with ideas stated during long segments of dialog, it manages to be fast-paced and always captivating.

This is the third and best of the Quatermass stories, all originally airing as BBC serials before Hammer Films turned them into features. The first two had suffered from the inappropriate casting of Brian Donlevy as an abrasive Professor Quatermass. For this entry, Andrew Keir takes over, creating a much more believable and sympathetic lead, without turning him into a sweet old grandpa. Quatermass is still arrogant and abrupt, carrying out experiments with too little concern for the safety of the subjects and scientists, but now he’s someone you can support. With the improved casting, there is nothing to distract from the intricate script, which will keep you thinking for weeks after the credits role.

Quatermass and the Pit has become a cult classic, and is particularly important to the development of both cinematic horror and science fiction for its mixture of occult activity and science. It takes the position that the majority of events that have been classified as supernatural happened, but we fouled up the analysis. Everything can be explained rationally, once you have all the pieces, and sometimes those pieces include extraterrestrials.

One of the most chilling aspects of the story involves racism and genocide. While the film was made in 1967, the TV mini-series had been produced in 1958, a more fitting time as it was close enough to WWII that most British viewers would have had vivid memories of the blitz and of the Nazi desire to exterminate “inferior” members of the human race. Quatermass and the Pit suggests that the behaviors common in the Third Reich are ingrained in us, and without constant vigilance and soul searching, any person could easily slip into fanaticism and murder. It manages this with a metaphor, and one you’ll likely remember.

So, if it’s so good, why am I so grumpy as to withhold the final ? Well, it may be out-of-vogue to judge a film negatively due to poor special effects, but I scoff at convention. (Scoff! Scoff, scoff!) It makes a difference if you can accept what you see on screen or if it takes you out of the moment to giggle, and the only thing I can say positively about the effects in this film is that they are better than in the previous two. A dream-memory is particularly painful, with obvious puppets bouncing up and down. The characters are all horrified by what they see. You will be too, but for a different reason. If you can look past the effects, you’ll find a fascinating film that shows how science fiction can be presented on the big screen.

The movie was re-titled Five Million Years to Earth for release in the U.S.

The other films in the series are: 1955’s The Quatermass Xperiment (The Creeping Unknown in the U.S.), 1957’s Quatermass 2 (Enemy from Space in the U.S.), and 1979’s The Quatermass Conclusion.

Aliens, Reviews Tagged with: Four Reels

The Snow Devils (1967)

Oct 101967

With the ice caps mysteriously melting and a Himalayan outpost destroyed, Commander Rod Jackson (Giacomo Rossi-Stuart aka Jack Stuart) and his sidekick, Frank (Renato Baldini), are sent to investigate. Joined by plucky Lisa Nielson (Ombretta Colli), they discover that blue, hairy snowmen from outer space are planning to invade the Earth.

Ah, another Italian tale of the swinging future, where manly-men in jumpsuits fight off evil aliens to protect babes in bikinis who know their place, and it’s all in a world of primary colors. Luckily, a man of action always has a trusty sidekick who will never get the babe, but can tell the hero when he needs to do something heroic. With the addition of pop electric guitars, you know the future is going to be groovy.

This time around, the manly-man is Rod Jackson, just off of his adventures in War Between the Planets. The intrepid commander is part of Gamma I, a space organization that defends the Earth, and he’s as tough on the ground as he is in his spaceship. Naturally, the girls love him, unable to avoid double-entendres like “I want you to take me (pause) on your expedition.” His opponents are evil aliens who feel no shame in wearing capes and leather vests that snap at the crotch. Look for fistfights, cheap spaceships and cheaper ray guns, and an ending that was determined as soon as the opening music began.

As no one in Hollywood was making full color, completely meaningless, space adventures for twelve-year-old boys in the 1960s, I have to give credit to producer-director Antonio Margheriti for filling the gap. His series of “Gamma I” films—including Wild, Wild Planet, The War of the Planets, War Between the Planets, and this—are all fitting for a Saturday afternoon, with your brain set on ‘low.’

Giacomo Rossi-Stuart also starred in the surprisingly good, Operazione paura which was given the horrible U.S. title, Kill, Baby… Kill!

Aliens, Foreign Language, Reviews Tagged with: Two Reels

1 2 … 90 91 92 93 94 … 133 134