Strange That The Mind Will Forget So Much: How Green Was My Valley (1941)

Poor How Green Was My Valley might have the single worst rap in the history of cinema.  Standing in as the film that beat out Citizen Kane at the Oscars many people dismiss it purely on the assumption that because it is a Oscar win that the film is somehow less legitimate, a feeling that is mounted tenfold against the work that beat out what was for quite some time the greatest film in ever made.  While Citizen Kane is the superior film and easily out delivers this film by lightyears, How Green Was My Valley was part of a rather respectable year of filmmaking one that saw the two films already noted competing against the likes of Sergeant York and The Maltese Falcon, for the latter its own place within the canon of cinema is equally well-established and could just have easily won.  Mind you Sergeant York is no film to be ignored either.  I say all this in a roundabout way as to claim that How Green Was My Valley is quite good, indeed, it evokes the likes of a ton of different European auteurs, notably Bergman, Bresson and De Sica, while also having a nod or two to the expressionist era as would be in line with Welles work of the same year.  All this is working within the same space and is orchestrated by John Ford, a filmmaker whose career is well-documented and incredibly storied, but also happens to be more closely tied to his prolific work within the Western.  In all its sentimental, coming-of-age glory, How Green Was My Valley could well have been a stand alone classic that was mention in the same breath as Citizen Kane, were it not to suffer the fate of coming out the same year and also winning a rather arbitrary Best Picture Oscar.  Those who have seen How Green Was My Valley know that it is nothing short of cinematic perfection itself, not necessarily reinventing the language of film in the way its competitor did, but certainly showing that when fully realized the methodology at play within this type of filmmaking could result in pure moviegoing glee and fulfillment, taking strides to recreate both the most abject moments of existence, alongside the moments when happiness is alive and well.  Amidst a non-American setting and a poignant religious allegory, How Green Was My Valley is what one should seek out when hoping to better understand Classic Hollywood.  Citizen Kane is the divergence of genius, whereas this film is the working within the confines to its most realized.

How Green Was My Valley focuses via an trans-temporal narrative on the memories and experiences of Huw Morgan (voiced by Irving Pichel and acted by Roddy McDowall) the youngest boy of the Morgan family, whose entire male line is tied to the mining community of their remote Welsh village.  Headed by the religiously stern, but absolutely loving father Gwilym (Donald Crips) the Morgans strive to be respectable members of the community, all predicated on their children Ianto (John Loder), Ivor (Patric Knowles), Davy (Richard Frasser) and Angharad (Maureen O'Hara) all following in line.  Indeed, all the Morgan boys work at the mine, making considerable money for the family, much of which Gwilym allows them to spend freely, yet when workers from other areas arrive, willing to work for next to nothing, economic prosperity begins to dwindle and the sons begin traveling as far as America to find work.  Huw who is far too young to work stays at home with his mother Beth (Sara Allgood) and helps keep watch over the house.  Tragically, however, a horse accident leaves Huw crippled indefinitely, causing him to understand the world from the space of his window sill bed.  During this time the various sons return and young Angharad becomes the object of romantic pining for local priest Gruffydd (Walter Pidgeon). Gruffydd is a far cry from the more conservative clergymen that have occupied the town in the past, both willing to party and drink with the workers, as well as openly sharing in their sentiments when it comes to creating unions and opposing the harsh and swift overpowering of their town by greedy mine owners.  Given Huw's injury his time to enter the mines is prolonged, instead being sent to school, where he becomes rough and tumble in the face of becoming the object of ridicule for persons who find his working class status despicable, most notably his own teacher.  Yet, with the help of family friends he becomes a powerful boxer and eventually does decide to work in the mines himself.  It is during his work in the mine that his father becomes trapped in the rocks, becoming so severely injured as to die in the mines.  This, however, does not occur before one last bonding between the two, one that is remember fondly and trans-temporally between the young Huw and his narrating future self.

How Green Was My Valley shares a lot in common with one of the first films I reviewed here on the blog Summer of '42, in so much as both offer a distinct focus on how to tell the coming of age tale.  In both films cinematic elements like light melodramic music and notably soft lighting, allow for the idyllic to take precedence in the visual cinematic space.  Indeed, both main characters, Huw and Hermie in Summer of '42 are delightfully humorous characters, Huw attaching fondly to his family while Hermie clings ideally to his friends, all of which is overlaid by the longing remembrances of a disembodied narrator.  Neither film is content to stage itself completely in the ideal depiction of the past, because these are stories of world-weary adults looking back on the past, their ability to recontextualize previous occurrences meaning that innocent and irrelevant events take on completely different occurrences when remembered.  Take for example, the first encounter with Gruffydd, it is situated within the church and is suggested to be the moment wherein Huw's sister Angharad becomes enamored with the priest.  In an impossibly high-angled shot one would assume it to be Huw's point of vision, which is somewhat true because he is looking at Angharad look at Gruffydd, only further repurposed when one realizes that it is Huw looking back on this moment of discovery.  Yet, what makes Ford's creation of this dreamlike remembrance particularly thrilling is the acknowledgement that certain past events cannot be detached from their emotive elements.  This is realized in its most joyful manner when Huw learns to walk again with the aid of Gruffydd, the scene playing out in a valley with a heavy amount of lighting as if to create an angelic quality over the entire event.  In contrast, indeed, comes the discovery of his father in his last moments alive, the shadows and claustrophobic nature of the mine are creepy and the older Huw clearly looks back on this moment with all the anxiety that would have reflected the initial encounter, as it is undoubtedly a past occurrence that is still loaded with much negativity.  With all this in mind, there is still the closing shot, which seems to suggest not a memory, but a future space, one that has a distinctly astral quality about it.

Key Scene:  If you Google this film, you will get the image of Huw right after he has learned to walk again and this is deservedly so, it is absolutely beautiful cinematography.

While I watched this on DVD, I can only imagine that the bluray is exponentially more stunning.  You should pick it up and let me know how gorgeous it looks.

Getting Involved Is So, So Involving: On The Town (1949)

I have already watched High Society as part of this month of musical, wherein a variety of stars coalesced together to make an enjoyable, but somewhat less than realized musical.  In contrast, is On the Town, a film that included a considerable amount of people working both in front of and behind the camera who were still establishing themselves in the entertainment business.  This establishment, however, does not equate to underwhelming delivery on any of their parts, indeed, Gene Kelly and Frank Sinatra put on career defining work, all the the swell of Leonard Bernstein compositions.  This alone would make for a noted and wholly engaging piece of film, but add Stanley Donen to the mix and it becomes a thing of sheer beauty.  The version of this film that I was able to catch up with was a digitized version of the VHS copy, which meant a bit of blurriness and weird fading in and out throughout, but like my copy of Pather Panchali which suffers from the same issues, this still worked beautifully.  The swagger that is seemingly inherent within Frank Sinatra's music pushes some of the numbers to new heights and an extended ballet sequence affords Gene Kelly a chance to shine, moving madly through the space as though it were foolish to even confine his dynamism.  It would be one thing to just sing the praises of the visual elements of the film, which are extensive and noted, but it also manages to also be an incredibly funny film, one that plays into the absurdity of heteronormative ideals in the musical, while also knowingly ascribing to them to avoid any confusion.  It is perfectly post-World War II in its composition using the narrative of a few Navy guys on leave to push for a stranger in a strange place narrative that also refers back to the down on their luck girl in the big city that made for a narrative in nearly every Busby Berkeley musical of a decade earlier.  I could sit here and pick apart every single thing that works about On the Town, but it would ruin some of the surprise, or worse would contradict the perfect simplicity of the film, using basic cinematic language to lovingly move through a stylized and sensational version of New York City.

On the Town works in a cyclical narrative focusing on the arrival of a group of Navy men on leave.  The Navy guys include the somewhat brutish but well-meaning Ozzie (Jules Munshin), the curly haired and dashing Chip (Frank Sinatra) who wants nothing more than to explore the city his father has spoken so fondly about.  Finally, there is Gabey (Gene Kelley) the everyman sailor who is simply along for the ride.  When it is Gabey who encounters Ivy Smith (Vera-Ellen) a local model and ballerina who Gabey assumes to be famous as a result of her being on the billboards of Subway trains.  Gabey is smitten with Ivy, but she flees the scene to return to her rather desolate life as a student/exploited worker for the maniacal Madame Dilyovska (Florence Bates).  Recruiting his pals, Gabey, Chip and Ozzie take it upon themselves to search all of New York City for the model.  Along the way the each member meets their romantic parter, Ozzie coming to be a point of desire and fascination for museum curator Claire Huddesen (Ann Miller) who compares him to a primitive male on display in the museum.  While, Ozzie is initially confused by such an assertion, he also enjoys the advances of the attractive Claire.  Chip meets up with the local cab driver Brunhilde "Hildy" Esterhazy (Betty Garrett) whose wild-mouth and assertive nature lead him to enjoy her company in a roundabout way, only spurred further by her near textbook memory of all the spaces in New York, thus making his tourism more well-executed and updated.  Yet, Gabey is still struggling to find Ivy a quest that is greatly shortened by a happenstance encounter.  Ivy explains that she is also quite attracted to Gabey, but her point of employment proves rather problematic since it involves burlesque dancing for the Madame Dilyovska who uses the cost of her ballet lessons over the young Ivy.  Agreeing to meet on the top of the Empire State Building things become complicated when Ivy must return to her work, the determined Gabey seeks her out, nonetheless, all the while the group must run around the city police force that have taken a stand against their various accidents and inducing of trouble.  The groups concerted effort does allow for the two to unite, in the process discovering that they might have been far closer together than they ever imagined.

This film, as I noted borrows from the Busby Berkeley narrative of woman in the big city, who is struggling in her place of employment, while also hoping that they can snag a man for their point of escape.  Furthermore, given that it involves a group of Navy men navigating New York City it also takes on a layer of the homosocial bond, their own engagement with the girls becoming a point of this shared desire.  What becomes fascinating though is that both group are played at odds to one another in a very heteronormative manner, the girls looking at the men as a bit ruff and tumble, particularly since they are Navy men, although in non-diegetic sense both Frank Sinatra and Gene Kelly exert more feminine identities at this point in their careers.  In contrast the men see the woman as things "to be saved" although it is rather clear that both Hildy and Claire possess jobs that are financially independent and of which they are quite proud.  Indeed, Hildy even makes a note of her distinct difference to the other male cabbies in New York.  It is a film that carefully crafts the two gendered and genre spaces together, at times making a clear distinction between the two.  There is a particular dance and musical number with the men praising the life of the Navy that allows them to constantly philander about never needing to settle down.  In yet another knowing moment the choreography has the women look at the camera asserting their own knowledge of this reality, while also seeming to suggest that they can end these wily ways by a mere flashing of their eyes.  The narrative pushes to have these unions be somewhat unconventional, pairing the oafish Ozzie with the intellectual Claire and the travelled Hildy with the somewhat sheltered Chip.  It would seem like it is a suggestion that all women are capable of finding a man, without expecting them to be a fabrication of themselves, again terribly heteronormative, but understandably so for the era.  I would seem this is the case, but it would negate the unfortunate experiences of Lucy Schmeeler (Alice Pearce) a comedic point of contrast to the "beauty" of the other women.  None of the men even acknowledge her as a sexually attractive individual.  Even though Gabey asserts that she will eventually find her partner, his conviction seems particularly uninspired.

Key Scene:  Frank Sinatra singing "You're Awful" is just about the most delightful song I have heard in quite awhile.

The DVD for this is cheap enough to suggest buying, but renting might not be a bad approach as it is admittedly not the lavish musical some might initially apply to a Stanley Donen work.

He Found Some Dice And Think The Devil Got Ahold Of Him: Cabin In The Sky (1943)

The black experience in America is one that is troubled by many factors and opening a history book more than denotes these various issues.  Yet, even with the heavy awareness of a history of slavery, Jim Crow oppression and a hard earned Civil Rights movement that resulted in the deaths of many a prolific figure.  A consensus that the black experience somehow did not extend to issues within popular entertainment is outright foolish and generally ill-conceived.  Indeed, jazz and poetry were part in parcel to the popular culture of the time, but became a thing to be appropriated within white culture, much in the same way that primitivism would inject new life into the modernist art movement without really providing any justification to its origins and certainly not the equal point of access to the very artists with which the work was drawn.  Now, when it came to Hollywood productions the black representation was far more troubling, certainly denoted this month with the various musicals I have watched, a variety of which use blackface in a very unapologetic manner, but this was far from the only genre to appropriate such imagery.  I say all this to note the exceptional nature of something like Cabin in the Sky in its complete use of an entirely black cast, which included musical powerhouses of the time, particularly a dynamic and inspired turn by Ethel Waters who is moving as a troubled wife that simply wants the best for her husband.  As the Warner Brother DVD notes at its beginning, the imagery present within Cabin in the Sky is not always the most ideal or positive when it comes to a representation of black culture during the time, however, there is something very aware in the filmmaking of Vincente Minnelli, who shoots the film in a very loving manner, allowing the performances to take on an heir of the natural, as opposed to some of the more hyper-performative things that happened in early all-black films, most notably Green Pastures.  Sure it is far from a perfect film in terms of racial depictions, but it is void of blackface and aside from a few unfortunate instances this really is a testament to the magnificent performance art coming out of the African-American community in the thirties and forties.

Cabin in the Sky focuses on the life of Little Joe Jackson (Eddie 'Rochester' Anderson) a dice gambler who is down on his luck and owes considerable money to various gamblers in his community.  However, Joe realizing the error of his ways has taken to a life of improvement, inspired by his loyal and devout wife Petunia (Ethel Waters).  Unfortunately, since his gambling is a considerable addiction, the rediscovery of a set of calamity cubes in his drawer followed by the prodding of local loan sharks, leads to Joe foolishly returning to the local gambling saloon, only to become caught up in a fight, in which he is stabbed in the process.  This near fatal would leads to the religiously confused Joe to be a point of confrontation between hell and heaven, each believing that they have the right to his soul.  Hell is represented by Lucifer Jr. (Rex Ingram) who posits that Joe must necessarily spend his eternity in hell because while on Earth he was suspectible to gambling, boozing and the provocations of the local temptress Georgia Brown (Lena Horne).  Yet, The General (Kenneth Spencer) represents the side of Heaven and asserts that considering the heavy amount of praying being undertaken on the part of Petunia that he should be given a chance for heaven.  In a religious bargaining, both sides agree to give the morally ambiguous soul of Joe six months to correct his ways, although his earthly spirit will have no recollection of the events prior, instead; having only his world and conscious to make his decisions.  At this point the battle for Joe's sole does take on spiritual proportions as both Lucifer Jr. and The General exact their sway on the individuals in the world, as well as the natural world around them in order to save Joe.  Lucifer Jr. attempts to play into Joe's weakness for gambling, using trickery to make him win a large amount of money in a lottery, one that causes individuals like Georgia Brown and his former loan sharks to come hunting for his money.  In contrast, The General uses the spirituality of Petunia to push Joe towards salvation.  All of these events lead to a climactic, jazz-infused confrontation with both sides that layers into a larger narrative in regards to where salvation truly occurs.

Cabin in the Sky is perhaps one of the great considerations of religious navigation and how one attains salvation and seeks forgiveness.  While I will not be able to review it anytime soon, I was able to catch up with Philomena and it is an equally ambiguous, but, nonetheless astute observation on how one navigates the world of salvation.  I would place Cabin in the Sky second only to Secret Sunshine in its look at how factors beyond simple faith or penance play into a person's ability to find religious understanding.  Joe is a troubled character who clearly wants to correct the wrongs in his life, looking initially to do so through financial means, as it is a world he understands as a result of his crippling gambling addiction.  This is clear in his choice to buy Petunia a electric washer for their house, despite having no electricity with which to run the appliance.  He assumes that what Petunia wants is a means to make her physical labors lessened, although she constantly asserts that she wants Joe only to be appreciative and around for her to love, as Joe's own salvation becomes more clear and define, to do his actions towards Petunia, bringing her gifts that he had to labor to accrue, most notably the simple, yet sweet, gesture of picking wild flowers.  It is this understanding that his own actions have come from the natural world that inspires Petunia to note the brilliance of God in the natural world.  Indeed, much of Joe's frustration and trouble comes from the mechanized and industrialized world, his connection to the damnation in the saloon or Georgia Brown's arriving via train.  This film, while somewhat troublesome in its context, seems to suggest that happiness is tied to understanding that not all joy and affection can be produced, indeed, when money is placed into the narrative, even Petunia becomes jealous, asserting that her frustration comes from Joe offering money to Georgia Brown, when it is somewhat clear that it is more a result of catching the two together, without understanding that Joe was doing his best to deter her advances.  The narrative does posit the absolute power of the natural to shift the order of things as a certain tornado comes to solidify Joe's final push towards salvation through a cataclysmic cleansing.

Key Scene:  The "consequences" song between Anderson and Horne is a moment of natural, simplistic aural contrast in an otherwise wholly visual film and it sticks out in an emotionally stirring way.

This is available via the Warner Archive and the DVD looks like near HD quality.  It is worth your time if you are fascinated by race in American cinema or musicals at their most realized.

And We Won't Come Back Till It's Over Over There: Yankee Doodle Dandy (1942)

I remember way back in the days of high school I though it a worthy idea to take a web design class.  The high school I went to at the time was far from exceptional and certainly lacked all the resources to actively and properly teach a class, especially since our professor insisted on the use of Geocities as a web server.  While I did not learn anything worth value in relation to the art of html or designing of websites, we were fortunate to be provided with an assignment where we created a website for an actor or actress that had won an Academy Award, the only stipulation being that they could no longer be alive, thus limiting, rather considerably, who I could choose.  When I was told that my choice of John Wayne would not suffice since he had only received an honorary Academy Award I decided, instead; to go with James Cagney.  Knowing nothing of the man, I preceded to discover that not only was he an icon of the gangster picture of the thirties, but that he also happened to be in Yankee Doodle Dandy, a performance that netted him a deserved Oscar.  This all happened well before I got into film, indeed, I think at that point I probably only cared about Lord of the Rings and could not be bothered to even acknowledge a world where other cinema might exist.  Yet, in the back of my mind I had always had this curiosity about Yankee Doodle Dandy, looking at the stills from the film and hearing brief soundbites of the actor delivering lines.  I have since then sought out the the film but never had the right moment to engage with it in any real way.  This month of musicals, however, is such an occasion and it was a frontrunner for inclusion.  Thankfully so, because Yankee Doodle Dandy within all of its grandstanding, jingoistic patriotism is something extraordinary, it is the forties musical at its most realized and absolutely fitting as a World War II propaganda piece that also doubles as an exceptional film.  It is baffling to think that Michael Curtiz released this film in the same year as Casablanca.  Other directors would work through their entire career just to obtain the success of one of these singular works.  For Curtiz it was a matter of multiple occurrences in the same year.  However, what is exceptionally phenomenal about Yankee Doodle Dandy, is not the work of Curtiz, although it helps, it is wholly the magic that the unlikeliest of performers brings to stage, the incomparable James Cagney.

Yankee Doodle Dandy focuses on the life of George M. Cohan (James Cagney) prolific songwriter and performer, known for his patriotic tunes "Over There" and "Yankee Doodle Dandy," although it sets the narrative up within the context of the elderly Cohan meeting with Franklin D. Roosevelt (Jack Young) whom Cohan has recently played in a musical.  Inquiring as to his thoughts on performing, Cohan begins to unfold his entire life story for the president, looking back on his time in vaudeville shows with his father, mother and sister, wherein he made a huge break taking on the role of Peck's bad boy, landing him in the curious eyes of agents and showman hoping to exploit his talent for huge financial gain.  In a wave of precociousness, a young Cohan is able to negotiate highly for his family, so much so that they can live comfortably well into Cohan's late twenties when the performer takes a shift towards songwriting specifically.  The Irish-American Cohan finding great joy in creating songs about the power and strength of America, making a name for himself in his rousing performances of revues that included songs like "Yankee Doodle Dandy."  Yet, Cohan seemingly always aware of the expectations of both audiences and critics strives to achieve the best possible in each scenario, answering the demands by critics that he branch away from his singular use of flag waving, or showy dance numbers.  Through trials and tribulations, Cohan manages to find his niche, always bring delight to audiences, even stepping in to serve as a figure of morale to troops during World War I when he is informed his age is a severe limitation to his being able to join the service.  Of course, age does catch up with Cohan, as does it with the rest of his family, both his mother and father stepping down from their jobs as performer to retire.  As they do so, Cohan comes to realize that the world around him is moving into a world of moving pictures and popular music, his show tune days becoming as aged as his body.  Yet, the spirit of resilience remains strong with Cohan, thus affording him a part in a play about Roosevelt.  In this moment the narrative returns to Cohan's discussion with the president, wherein Roosevelt rewards Cohan with a medal thanking him for his service to the country.  The elated Cohan dances down the stairs out into the streets, where marching soldiers are sing his tune, Cohan joining in the procession with tears in his eyes.

Jingoistic as Yankee Doodle Dandy may be, it is quite difficult to find a film with more inherent heart and good feeling within its structure.  Sure the film exists in a time when racial identity and gender oppression were troublesome, yet unlike the earlier reviewed Show Boat, Yankee Doodle Dandy does not purport to make these elements part of their narrative only to turn around and destroy them for the sake of white privilege.  The narrative of Yankee Doodle Dandy is a biopic first, afforded its musical status almost entirely as a result of its subject matter.  Music here works in a very literal sense, as they serve as depictions of moments from Cohan's life, as opposed to non-diegetic intrusions into the diegetic world of cinema that become things with which characters react.  Yankee Doodle Dandy, despite also being propaganda, also manages to tackle some issues of who is allowed to appropriate the American identity, particularly in a time when such actions took up layered implications.  Cahon's Irishness within the film, while not wholly acknowledged, is integral to the text, his attempts to break into the larger revue field, requires that he and his sister perform a song about Irish individuals, wherein, Cohan delivers his lines with a severe accent, almost knowing performing this element to mock the listening agents.  It makes within its narrative quite clear that the American mentality during World War II, even with something as seemingly inconsequential as music served as a state of heighten defensiveness, almost to the point of being confrontational.  Hell, one only needs to read the lyrics to "Over There" to discover how exceptionally flag-waving and idealistic films of the era proved to be.  It also works on layers, however, by showing Cohan interacting with a younger audience that to properly exert propaganda must require working within the space of the old ideas of entertainment (Cohan and his music) and new experiences within culture (the kids speaking adoringly of movies).  In many ways this is what Yankee Doodle Dandy does so brilliantly, it manages to be a culture exploration of patriotism and pride that works for a generation living with film and one who is decidedly confused by its operations.

Key Scene:  "He's a yankee doodle dandy...."

Buy this film.  It is an important backbone in the narrative of American cinema.

Women Make The Best Psychoanalysts, Until They Fall In Love: Spellbound (1945)

I enjoy doing blogathons, first because it proves a great way to extend my voice beyond the rather small crowd of readers hear at the blog and engage in dialogue with fellow film bloggers on great works of cinema.  The result is often a greater, of not completely new, understanding of a work, or awareness to a work I would never have come across prior.  Second, I also enjoy these blogathons, because, thus far, they have provided me wonderful opportunities to revisit some of my favorite films.  Michael and Jill's TCM Summer Under the Stars blogathon has already allowed me to re-watch the zany The Blob much to my elation.  This second post for the month, in correlation with TCM's day devoted to Gregory Peck afforded me a chance to revisit my favorite Hitchcock film Spellbound.  Considering that it has been some time since I had seen the film and have certainly been able to pad out my Hitchcock blind spots to varying degrees since, I can still say that this film is undoubtedly and unequivocally my favorite, indicative not only of the elements that have led to Hitchcock become the first definitive auteur, but also some of the ways in which Spellbound, a work decidedly entrenched within psychoanalytic narratives, manages to reject the subject matter and visual innuendos made ever so infamous by the late director.  I know that there are quantifiably better, indeed perfect, works by Hitchcock, but given that Hitchcock is clearly poking fun at himself affords this film a layer of detached irony that is less clear in his later works, not to mention the use of Ingrid Bergman, who also happens to be my favorite actress.  Pairing the great leading lady with the equally adept Gregory Peck results in a narrative that flows with intensity and earnestness that makes its winding deceit and dreamlike trance accessible.  Hitchcock wrote the texts on modern horror and thriller filmmaking and it is all on display to great effort in Spellbound, right down to the jarring last scenes in all their erie impossibility.  If all of this is not enough to sell the skeptics out there, may I remind you that Salvador Dali helped create the dream sequence for which this film is most well-known, and its very existence challenges even the most liberal understanding of cinematic possibility.

Spellbound focuses primarily on the experiences of Dr. Constance Peterson (Ingrid Bergman) a psychoanalyst, whose identification as a woman has proved both advantageous and hindering in her movement upward in the unconventional science.  The retirement of her boss and mentor Dr. Murchinson (Leo G. Carroll) proves quite troublesome, only to be extenuated by the immediate arrival of his replacement in Anthony Edwards (Gregory Peck) whose text on guilt and the labyrinth is a particular favorite of Constance's.  Hoping to stick to her guns and remain focused on her work, an initial dinner meeting between Constance and Anthony leads to obvious sexual tension that results in Constance finding herself creating excuses just to meet the new doctor, an encounter that assumedly leads to sex rather early.  It is during this meeting that Constance realizes that all might not be well with Anthony, particularly when he passes out after looking at the shadows of her robe, clearly breaking into some bizarre psychosis in the process.  The next day news comes of Antony Edwards not being alive and well, but dead after a murder, a picture affirming that he is in no way the person present in the psychiatric hospital.  Kowtowing to the suspicion, the false Anthony flees in fear, only to be followed by Constance to a hotel in New York, where it is revealed that the man, now going by John Brown, believes himself to somehow be tied to the murder of the real Anthony Edwards.  This allegation, Constance believes, is a result of mental deterioration and does not result in truth.  Committing to the act of helping John, whose last name is later revealed to be Ballentine, Constance helps the mentally troubled man discover that his fear of shadows and lines, comes from an unfortunate experience during skiing when he witness the real Edwards die inexplicably, a vision that opens up a repressed memory from his childhood involving a fatal accident with his brother.  Despite creating a rather clear psychoanalytic picture of Ballentine, Constance is stifled when authorities find a gun wound in the dead Edwards, to which neither have an explanation.  Despite Ballentine's being jailed, Constance continues her search for the truth, discovering that a little more than passing memories led to the death of Edwards and the psychological decay of Ballentine.  Indeed, foul play was afoot from the onset.

Let's talk about sex.  If this were any other film by Hitchcock, that would likely be the appropriate way to begin a critical analysis, and considering that this particular work makes it clear that it is pulling from the theories of Freud it would seem obvious to do just that, however, Spellbound may well be the least psychoanalytically inclined of his films.  Sure there are moments that would make even Freud blush, the fork and knife scene at the initial meeting between Ballentine and Constance being an obvious example, not to mention the surrealist touch with Dali's involvement.  Yet, none of this suggest a film where repressed memories are the result of wild navigations through the world, such as are the case in Vertigo, nor do the crimes take on a degree of sexual supplanting, as occurs in Dial M for Murder or Rope.  Beginning the film with a quote from Shakespeare, Hitchcock creates a film that centers the blame for crime and violence in the individual, further suggesting that their actions are not results of deeply entrenched psychological issues from one's youth, but a result of frivolous jealousy and assertions of lost masculine privilege.  For what may be the only time in Hitchcock's filmic career, a criminal act occurs, simply out of criminal intent.  That is not to say that the film does not extend on to explore psychological issues in other ways.  Take for example its look at the character of Constance, which is highly problematic by contemporary standards.  Considering that Hitchcock was quite invested in the world of the subconscious, his desire to degrade women is nothing new, except here it is particularly verbal and highly against their place in a career that would afford them authority.  Constance is played up to be good at her job, unless of course a dashing man enters the picture, at this point she loses all sense of rationality and is willing to forgive a man of murder (albeit correctly) on his word alone.  Guilt also figures prominently into the film, whether it be the falsified guilt of Ballentine early on or the very real guilt that faces the killer in the films next to last scene that involves one of the most haunting uses of point-of-view camera work in cinema to date, all adds up to the suggestion that what is ultimately the worst about murdering, or believing that one did so, is not the act, but the inability to get over doing so at a later time.  To be void of such guilt, would make one a Psycho...which is a discussion for a different blogathon.

Key Scene:  While I wanted to be unique and go against the obvious choice, one cannot help but adore that dream sequence designed by Dali.  It is the close a viewer will ever get to seeing what it would have looked like were Hitchcock to have worked in the era of German Expressionism and surrealism.

There are blurays of this available in multiple box sets, or individually.  There is also a Criterion DVD that is OOP, which is how I watched it, as such I will let you decide how to track this movie down, but I will note that it is worth doing so in the near future.  The movie is an absolute must see work.  As before I am grateful to Sittin' on a Backyard Fence and ScribeHard on Film for being able to participate in the TCM Summer Under the Stars blogathon.

What He Did To Shakespeare We Are Now Doing To Poland: To Be Or Not To Be (1942)

It is no small feat to create a narrative that is anything but dreary and preoccupied with loss and death during a war time era, this proves true for the previous post regarding A Matter of Life and Death which situates itself as a romance story amidst the death of war.  I assumed that comedy, while certainly present within the era would find itself entirely relegated to efforts relating to the warfront or training buddy films, never to step foot onto the fields of battle where such levity would invariably be misguided and executed poorly.  More so, I entirely dismissed the possibility that a film could emerge from  a setting involving any sort of concentration camp/occupied country space, specifically Poland.  However, Ernst Lubitsch's uproariously funny and poignantly serious To Be or Not To Be manages to be exactly the film to prove that when considering comedy, almost anything is fair game as long as those creating the jokes and humor know what they are doing and execute it with the appropriate respect and understanding it deserves.  On paper, nothing about To Be or No To Be should really work, between Polish citizens passing as Hitler and a oft-repeated joke involving infidelity and Shakespearian monologues, the film, one would assume, would either become heavily dated or better be served as a contemporary remake (Mel Brooks actually remade this film later in his career, which makes complete sense considering the subject matter and degree of serious commentary underlying the jokes).  Of course, cinematic history is filled with a ton of examples of unexpected moments in a movement, films that disregard the expectations or demands of the time to create something truly though-provoking and challenging, while also affording the moviegoer the desired escapism necessary for a great piece of non-experimental cinema.  It should me noted that To Be or Not To Be indeed has moments in which the gravitas of Nazi occupation invades the narrative, and deservedly so since it was an event that occurred and negatively affected whole nations, however, it is also worth considering that to people experience the real traumas, both abroad and personally, finding humor where possible proved greater a good than initially imaginable.

To Be or Not To Be focuses on the experiences of a Polish theater group at the onset of Hitler's moving through Europe, in which the troupe, full of idealistic actors attempt to provide escapism to their community by putting classic works like Hamlet, as well as plays parodying the infamous leader.  Although the group of actors are not particularly brilliant at their work, especially the leading couple Joseph (Jack Benny) and Maria Tura (Carole Lombard) who spend far more time bickering than they do assuring their success, in fact, their constant feuding comes to heightened state when Joseph realizes that Maria is talking with a young officer who constantly visits her during his performance of Hamlet's most famous lines, from where the film draws its title.  Hoping to catch her in the act, his attempt is halted by the announcement that Hitler has just invaded the border of Poland and, therefore, leads the group to refocusing their efforts on resistance.  This resistance proves well-organized and relatively efficient, although the power of the German army is far too great and Poland eventually succumbs to Nazi rule, much to the disconcertion of those still living there, particularly Joseph and Maria.  When the young soldier with whom Maria has taken a liking one Stobinski (Robert Stack) attempts to send a message to his new love via Professor Salinsky (Stanley Ridges) an assumed ally to the Polish, he is put off by Salinsky's complete ignorance to the famous Maria.  This information leads to suspicions of Salinksy being a spy and the resistance takes up a counter-intelligence movement in the hopes of trapping Salinsky and preventing him from betraying Stobinski and the other members of the town.  Considering that the group is a set of actors, they find their best course of action to be pretending to be high ranking SS officials, to which Salinsky has no knowledge of in physical terms.  This ruse works, until the set of actors go a bit overboard with their performance, ultimately, leading to their killing Salinsky in an ultimate form of silence.  At this point Joseph undertakes the role of Salisnky, now hoping to trick the Nazis a feat the works for length enough to extract the resistance from Poland, but not after one of the members passes as Hitler.  The group escapes to Scotland where their story is revered and Joseph earns the ability to play Hamlet, although in a clever final twist, another young man steps away amidst his monologue, fueling yet another layer of suspicion for the overly sensitive actor.

It is no difficult task to suggest that To Be or Not To Be is a film that is expressly concerned with performance, in fact, the performing of a theater troupe always influences the narrative, even in its more emotionally heightened moments, where their resistance movement acts take on a political level, most powerfully captured in their graffiti of Hitler hanging from the gallows.  However, I mean to refer to the notion of performing power, or at the very least appropriating the images of authority to pass as knowledgable in a moment of fear and ignorance.  Professor Salinsky, one of the characters decided villains arguably betrays others in the vain hopes that it will afford him safety against the ever encroaching armies of Germany.  It is fair to say that he is performing betrayal, because he sees it as a means to save his own skin, not so much as a genuine act of loathing.  He has no power within the Nazi army, evidenced by his inability to identify fake versions of key figures.  Furthermore, his own foolish belief that he can perform properly allows him to place a problematically high amount of trust in Maria who he convinces to be a spy.  Maria eternally tied to the resistance, nonetheless, performs the role of support to Salinsky, a illogical move in the eyes of others not because she would chose to side with Germany, but because she would be swayed in her decision by such an unattractive man.  Joseph arguably has the most to lose or gain from each performance, taking the risks of passing as people in the face of immediate danger, whether pretending to be Colonel Erhardt when Salinksy initially returns to Poland or reversing the process by pretending to Salisnky when he meets with Erhardt (Sig Rugman) played up humorously when the conversations seem to mirror one another.  Passing, in the case of this film requires a heavy degree of audacity and willingness to stretch beyond comfort, an act made possible perhaps by the very real threat failure assures.  However, it is also contingent on a power dynamic that is predicated upon blind obedience, affirmed by a fear of Hitler emerging, and, ultimately, a cowering of his fake presence, even by the most trusted of his advisors.  Infamy allows for silence, which for the most part is problematic, but when tested it can allow for those oppressed to earn safety.  Yet Lubitsch reminds people that a certain degree of performance pulls from reality and the Shylock part that draws the group its final bit of safety is as much pretend as it is is enflamed by a real question of suffering in the face of evil.

Key Scene:  For a decidedly comedic film the maddening imagery of the initial resistance acts and the Nazi occupation might be some of the most intense of the entire World War II era.

I watched this completely unaware of an upcoming Criterion release, I would suggest holding off until that bluray comes about, it is certain to be visually stunning.

No One Loves The Man Who He Fears: I Shot Jesse James (1949)

Where Howard Hawks would step in to completely perfect a genre, tapping into its varied tropes and ideas to extend them to their fullest possibilities, a filmmaker like Samuel Fuller would, instead; find the exact same tropes and undertake the task of twisting and stretching them to their greatest lengths only to watch them snap and disintegrate into maddening, fleeting moments of cinematic insanity.  One needs only to recall what is perhaps his most evocative work Shock Corridor to see this unfold, but it certainly holds true for his later works, even including White Dog, which may well hold the record for the most obvious metaphor in a film to date.  When compiling my list for the month of viewing I was elated to discover that the ever unusual Fuller had offered a film to the genre.  I Shot Jesse James, while an early work in the Samuel Fuller cannon, nonetheless, exudes all the intensity and fractured psychosis of the director's works, while also managing to create sympathetic and highly likable characters.  Wherein Andrew Dominik's evocative 2007 film The Assassination of Jesse James By the Coward Robert Ford would paint and dark and dismal picture of the famous outlaw's killer, this much earlier work manages to humanize "Bob" Ford, while also reminding viewers that he was clearly far from being sane or put together, and Fuller paints this picture with such exuberance and zeal that it is hard not to fall into the noticeably melodramatic trappings of this film and stay there well after its closing.  With its excellent visual opening credits and a performance by John Ireland, who was recently mentioned in my review of Red River, and some wonderful cinematography, I Shot Jesse James, much like the legend of the outlaw himself seems to take on mythological, almost implausible, proportions.  Indeed, the film was assumed impossible to find for quite some time and the few copies available proved quite desired, so when Criterion released a print it has moments where the film deteriorates and is covered with black spots.  In most any other film this would just be a sign of its age, yet in the world of this film and Fuller's continual concern with the slippage from sanity, these imperfections in the film almost seem preordained and nicely parallel the character of Bob Ford as he deals with his own internal fracturing.

For a film that is called I Shot Jesse James, the film is considerably preoccupied with not concerning the experiences of Jesse James, however, this is indeed where the film begins by focusing on a recent unsuccessful robbery attempt on the part of Jesse James (Reed Hadley) and his notorious gang of outlaws.  The heist is a failure in part because after being shot Bob Ford (John Ireland) drops the money in their escape.  Bob is quite apologetic about the failure, yet, Jesse is more than understanding knowing that it was purely and accident and a result of the wound.  In fact, Jesse is a rather simple man, who lives under an alias in a small Kansas town with his wife, only hoping to cash in a comfortable sum of money in order to rest, it is his gang who have far more complex problems, particularly Bob who desperately desires the adoration of Cynthy (Barbara Britton) a local saloon girl who is also being pursued by the wealthy silver miner John Kelley (Preston Foster).  Bob is fully aware that his financial failings will deter him from success with Cynthy and seeks an alternative means to make money.  When word spreads that any man who kills Jesse James will be afforded a governor's pardon and fame, Bob takes it upon himself to murder the outlaw, an act he does by shooting him in the back, much to the disdain of his gang members and every respectable man in the midwest.  Nonetheless, his pardon allows him to move freely and continue to pursue Cynthy, even attempting to make fame on his infamy.  Of course, this does little for Bob's financial success and he ends up seeking friendship with John, who also desires Cynthy.  When a chance opportunity affords Bob a great reward in silver mining he takes it upon himself to learn the trade and make money, again with the hope of winning the heart of his love.  Cynthy, at this point, is falling for John and is only amiable to Bob out of fear, and when Bob is informed of this information, he takes it upon himself to fight for the girl he loves, drawing guns against John in the street, claiming that he is the only one willing to kill out of love, a fact that is refuted when John guns him down first.  In these dying moments, Bob admits to a crippling guilt for what he had done to Jesse, suggesting a degree of misguided love in that action as well.

I Shot Jesse James adds such layers of complexity to the trope of the outlaw in the western that it is rather amazing that Fuller was not skyrocketed to the same status as Leone or Hawks in regards to making westerns specifically.  I would contest that there is really no other director who manages to subvert the methods of melodrama to heighten the moods of characters with whom the viewers are really not supposed to sympathize.  One could almost read I Shot Jesse James as a film noir work set within the confines of the wild west, although I plan to include an Anthony Mann film this month so it might be best to hold off that analysis until I get to that work.  Melodramatic elements are certainly present within the western, although one would not initially sense them, for example, the use of music to evoke a mood is much credited and even contemporarily parodied within film and is certainly used within I Shot Jesse James, think of the ways in which Aaron Copeland stylistic music is used in something like Red River and then compare that to the violins and swelling of traditional music within I Shot Jesse James, while it involves folk ballads they are a far cry from what exists within the traditional western, again, Fuller is merely using the setting of the western and its tropes to tell a story, he clearly has no concern with it properly fitting the genre format, indeed any other filmmaker would likely have given Jesse James a larger role, but it is not his film, it is about the emotional state of Bob Ford, therefore, Jesse's death some twenty minutes into the film is appropriate and absolutely underplayed.  What is heightened is Bob's reactions and preparation for the assassination, think of the bathtub scene and his intense gaze at the exposed back of Jesse.  This scene involves again heavy use of music, as well as a heightened camera movement that provides close-ups of Bob's face, whereas Leone would use these closeups in an extreme manner, Fuller only goes close enough to Bob to capture his curling desirous grins and beady eyes a clear trope of melodrama that is being subverted and reappropriated to the western genre, to subsequently subvert its elements.  Elements like these are no surprise considering that they came from Fuller he was a man who somehow managed to work within the studio system while rejecting everything it stood for in the process.  I Shot Jesse James is definitively a western while also managing to be anything but a genre piece.

Key Scene:  The bath scene is a master class in scene composition and allows viewers to truly understand the insanity latent in Bob's mind.

This is part of a wonderful box set released by Fuller that includes two of his other early works, I would strongly encourage getting a copy for this film specifically, the other inclusions are jut extra benefits.

No Stranger Ever Good Newsed Me: Red River (1948)

It really little surprise that Howard Hawks would find himself doing double time in my month of westerns, considering that both the previously viewed Rio Bravo, as well as the wonderfully classicist Red River stand as the giants within the genre.  As one of the employees at my local record stores suggest, Hawks had a certain ability to pick a genre and hit whatever he made within its confines out of the park, think not only of the westerns in question now, but his screwball comedies, most notably His Girl Friday and Bringing Up Baby, not to mention exceptional films in other genres as well.  As equally critically acclaimed as Rio Bravo, if not slightly more underrated, Red River is a chiaroscuro picturesque focus on the cattle herding element of western expansion, a narrative which in any other director but Hawks' hands would prove unbearably slow paced and lacking in the action necessary for the western.  However, as established with the previous discussion of Rio Bravo, Hawks is not a director whose primary aims are those of action, he is a narrative oriented filmmaker, yet, given his cast and the emotional investment of each line of dialogue the film, nonetheless, becomes very vibrant and fast-paced, making the even more intense scenes of shootouts and stampedes seem otherworldly in their excited pacing.  Also this is an unusual western from my frame of reference because it involves the presence of something unexpected, John Wayne playing the antagonist, a surprise doubled by the narratives beginning which would suggest him to be the good guy.  Of course, John Wayne is not the out and out bad guy, although he does engage in some dastardly actions throughout the film, he is simply a figurative obstacle for the coming of age of Montgomery Clift's character and sets in as an intriguing consideration of what exactly comes of those whose unbridled drive for success inevitably result in their tragic downfall.  Red River is a film whose plot is so straight-foward as to almost seem arbitrary, but within the mask of simplicity, Hawks provides viewers with a consideration of how self-identity is formed on an epic scale.

Red River begins with Thomas Dunson (John Wayne) informing his pioneering group that he is seeking his own course of action detached from their trek, much to the dismay of the pioneering leader, as well as his lover whom he casts away concerning himself for her safety.  This highly melodramatic scene is incredibly brief and the narrative then transfers to Thomas and his ranch partner Nadine Groot (Walter Brennan) searching about the land with the intent of finding an appropriate place to create a cattle ranch only to run into a rather aggresive young man who attempts to hold Thomas up with no success.  The young man Matt Garth (Montgomery Clift) proves to be wide-eyed and lost a fact that leads Thomas to take him under his wing and teach him the ways of cattle driving, with the hopes of finding an assistant and future owner for his establishment.  The narrative then progresses again a couple of years to find Thomas having trouble maintaining a profit with his cattle leading to a belief that he will have to take the herd over a long distance to sell them and make a nice profit.  This trek while dangerous receives the support of Matt  and Nadine and eventually even gets the help of a whole crew most notably Cherry Valance (John Ireland) a man almost of equal age to Matt and the two create a mutual admiration.  Thomas before the trip makes it rather clear that the trip will be intense and warns against anyone coming who might want to quit.  Once on the trip this statement proves quite valid as weather, stampedes and the psychological state of the crew prove too much to bare, leading Thomas, heavily relying on a bottle of whisky, to come down hard on any perpetrator, whether it be for minor theft or desertion.  Eventually, Thomas and his actions prove too much for Matt and he stands up to the aging man taking it upon himself to drive the cattle to a new location.  This endeavor is successful for Matt, after a minor run in with a group of attacking natives, yet Thomas, folows close on his trail, considering that a few scenes earlier he vowed to kill Matt upon finding him again.  Despite the outright success of the transactions, Matt is fully aware that he must face Thomas in the street, or else fear his constant presence for the remainder of his life.  When the two meet in the streets it turns from incredibly violent to familiar jousting to humor in a matter of moments.  Thomas, realizing that Matt has grown to be successful retracts his death threats and instead offers to share their future cattle brand and identity.

While I could pull from trope upon trop with this film, I want to talk about something that has been discussed on this blog in detail before that, of course, being the idea of the homosocial bond.  This is the intensely intimate relationship shared between men in a believe that their identities as brothers through situation is highly valued.  This is often depicted in war and sports films and certainly has a heavy presence in westerns as well.  The interesting thing with its manifestation within the context of Red River is that it quickly crosses from the purely homosocial to the distinctively homosexual.  I know it is a trick to read into films with such an anachronistic framework, but as the late Alexander Doty would argue, when it comes to repressed narratives such appropriation is necessary and when it is offered it should not be ignored.  Red River very much has a set of homosexually fueled relationships whether it be the tense relationship between Thomas and Matt which is both paternal and one of longing, they fail to kill one another because they are "too soft," yet it is also highly likely that their intense feelings of passion block them from doing so.  Yet the relationship that is really worth noting is the one between Cherry and Matt which is highly lustful from its onset, during their initial encounter the two size one another up, and each shares in a gaze of the other that is decidedly drawn out, an act that is quickly followed by the two exchanging guns and showing off their skills as marksmen...by this point the tension is palpable, although never fully enacted upon.  If this is not enough to justify the reading one can consider the scenes around the campfire when women are discussed by either man, the other often looks at them in a disgusted manner, hoping it to be a joke as to no betray their shared longing, in fact, in a bit of clever dialogue, Hawks often has these discussions cut off, not as a means to suggest the characters silence, but, instead; to say that talks that betray the homosocial, and, in this case, homosexual longing are not welcome.  Tragedy strikes in the films closing, however, when Cherry dies at the hands of Thomas, allowing for a female character to fully invade the narrative and reject both forms of bonding in the name of a more heteronormative framework.

Key Scene:  The post stampede scene will prove to be one of the most haunting images of the entire month and will stand magnificently next to those from Jarmusch's Dead Man.

This is a film that is leaps above its contemporaries and stands high in the genre as a whole.  Unfortunately, there is no bluray available at the moment so I would suggest renting it until one becomes available.

Experiments In Film: Meshes In The Afternoon (1943)

I knew that for this month of women in film that I wanted to include at least one female experimental filmmaker, and while I certainly considered using Su Friedrich, amongst others, I decided it was perhaps best to show some more adoration for Maya Deren, whose experimental films proved quite important in my ultimate understanding of the power and possibility of cinema.  While I am still slightly more in favor of Stan Brakhage's work, with each revisitation of Deren's catalogue I begin to realize that she may well be the superior filmmaker, especially, if one is to consider her most well known piece Meshes in the Afternoon.  Created with her then husband Alex Hammind, the film is very much concerned with the image and spatial movement of woman, perhaps heavily influenced by Deren's own hand in the making, although much contention has arisen regarding who of the couple should receive credit.  Meshes of the Afternoon manages to exist within multiple styles of experimental filmmaking, whether it be they heavy influences of Dadaism and surrealism that allow for the film to create doppelgängers and a non-linear narrative clearly influenced by the unconscious, yet, it is also a film with evasive visual imagery relying of refractions of light and shadow that are reminiscent of Chris Marker's La Jetée.  It is quite fun to watch people attempt to break down the symbolism within something like Meshes of the Afternoon, because it is a film where every scene and image, does indeed appear to be heavily contemplative and a clear decision on the part of the directors.  Whether it be a key that turns into a knife or a shattered mirror, the film seems to layer its meaning within itself, suggesting an engagement with its textual commentary that is entirely contingent upon each viewers emotional and mental attitude upon initially engaging with the material.  It is really difficult not to leap at over explaining and, subsequently, over selling something like Meshes in the Afternoon, because it is both a constantly baffling film, as well as something that a viewer will find themselves completely engrossed with for the thirteen odd minutes of run time.

After claiming that deconstructing the film is overly exhausted and to some degree counterintuitive, I will, nonetheless, attempt to add some context to my interpretation of the the multilayered and expansive narrative that is Meshes of the Afternoon.  Yet, I will attempt to only pull what would be pertinent to a feminist analysis, considering the theme of this month on my blog, and even in doing so I am not claiming it to be a certainty in any reading, but merely one of a wide set of possibilities.  Firstly, the manner with which the unnamed main character, played, of course, by Deren herself, moves through the space of the film, often extending arms, from the top of the screen downward, or being half shot in a reflection of a window, could speak to issues of disembodiment that many women face, specifically after being victim to sexual violence, something the film indirectly suggests has occurred.  Secondly, the key, perhaps the films most recurring image, could mean a variety of things relating to femininity, whether it be her own identity, or more abstractly her "way of being female" a key that, not accidentally, can turn to a knife without a moments notice.  Of course, these previous mentioned images and stylistic choices are key, but the films most jarring and enigmatic image has to be the mirror-faced grim reaper who moves through the space of the film, much to the awareness of the the main woman in the film, but at the same time completely detached.  If it were not for the presence, of the mirror, I would simply call it a rather normal relation to sex and death that often emerges in surrealist filmmaking, think of the moth from Un Chien Andalou for a classic example.  Yet the mirror for a face on the figure of death, is perhaps in a Lacanian kind of way, a suggestion to the woman's own othering and lack, there for visualizing her silence and inevitable death as a result.  Of course, I have no clue what to make of the phone that the grim reaper carries, but it only drives me to visit this film many more times in the future.

To view Meshes in the Afternoon online, or to get more information about Maya Deren, click on either of the images below:

Your Mothers Were Slimy Rats! Their Milk Was Sour!: Hangmen Also Die! (1943)

I am currently enrolled in a Contemporary Women's Playwrights course for which I am finding myself completely enthralled with the complex, masterful and exceptional plays which are being discussed, however, I am not a theater student and am instead taking it as an extension of my gender studies certificate.  As such, when the fellow students reference terms like "Brechtian" I find myself completely lost as to what precisely they mean and have been seeking to better understand.  I thought that by watching Hangmen Also Die!, a play whose script was written by Bertolt Brecht that I would come to better understand exactly the nature of such a style included.  Sadly I am no closer to understanding the deeply philosophical roots of all things Brechtian, however, what I did receive was a rather excellent viewing experience from one of my personal favorites Fritz Lang.  Admittedly, Hangmen Also Die! was a bit slow to start and I found my interests waning a bit instantly labeling it as yet another propaganda heavy war film from an exceptionally good time in Hollywood Cinema, but then something happened and the film found a second, perhaps even third, wind and became an extremely watchable highly cinematic study in human frailty, the notion of good and evil and deception in the name of a larger good.  A chiaroscuro revelation that could only come from the magnificent eyes of the Austrian Expressionist auteur, Hangmen Also Die!, like so many of the rarefied Kino Films releases stands to be obtained and watched, repeatedly if possible, but also suffers from a degree of obscurity that makes the prints available less then stellar, in fact, this particular print is considerably grainy and the sound often drops mid sentence for many characters, nonetheless, it becomes so stylistically impressive that all concern for its damaged nature disappear in the face of cinema at its finest, and a film that I initially chided for its choice of American actors playing gestapo officers, became something with a hugely complex and absolutely enthralling war film with just the right touch of noir madness.

Hangmen Also Die! exist within wartime Chzechoslovakia, which the name alone tells one was a time prior to two World Wars, and in this particular case a moment in which Germany occupied the nation, leaving its citizens uncomfortably within the rule of a cruel fascist hand.  One Czech patriot named Dr. Svoboda (Brian Donlevy) takes it upon himself to kill a German officer who has earned the infamous reputation of being the "hangman of Europe" for his willingness to murder all those not within the strict ideal of Aryan identification.  This act of course makes him criminal number one within the country leading to an all out assault by the Nazi occupants to seek revenge.  Fortunately for Svoboda, an elderly history professor named Stephen Novotny (Walter Brennan) and his daughter Mascha (Anna Lee) agree to help him and in the process also become intertwined within the gaze of the Nazi's.  Realizing that their best means to get the citizens to talk is to take hostages and begin killing civilians until they agree to speak against their neighbors, an action that proves relatively unsuccessful, even as men from the towns are gunned down by frustrated gestapo.  In fact, one member of the community a garrulous, rotund brewer named Emil Czaka (Gene Lockhart) sees the entire thing as a means to assure his well-being and safety within the ever growing power of Nazism and sells out his town for riches and protection.  When word is spread about Czaka's terrible decision a plan hatches to use his as a red herring, thus affording Novotny to go free, as well as to lift the eyes from Svoboda who is growing more conspicuous every day.  While the group is eventually able to convince the Nazi's that Czaka was responsible for the actions, through some clever deviations and redirected truths, it does not negate the deaths of so many via assassination, and while the film ends on a decidedly high note, it, nonetheless, reminds viewers of the losses within the film, which, no doubt, reflected very real loss at the time.

While I will fully admit that this film helped me little in better understanding the intricacies of Brechtian ideology as it relates to cinema specifically, I was quite enthralled by its genuine commitment to the concept of the group collective challenging the forces of evil.  It is out and out a film of World War II, in where the Allies make fools of the Axis, in this case going so far as to appropriate a country very close to Germany as an image of America, right down to its take no bullshit attitude and overemphasis on romanticism.  Of course, this appears to be a critique, but I am more than aware that it is a result of the culture and very much influenced by the propaganda of the era.  What Hangmen Also Die! ask viewers to do is to follow it as a group of individuals make a on-the-fly plan work in their favor, taking odds completely out of the picture, especially considering that so much of the success of their actions is predicated on their good fortune.  This is clearly evident in the luck Mascha has when obtaining Czaka's coveted golden lighter as a tool to frame him in their indictment, or when Svoboda is saved in the nick of time from almost certain death by, none other than Mascha's fiance, whom he had made a cuckold of only scenes earlier.  This sort of reliance on a larger good, helps events like these land, where petty wrongdoings like minor theft and pseudo-infidelity are diminished in the face of military style executions, and what would later be revealed to be large scale genocide.  While religion is certainly discussed throughout the film, it is not a central factor by any means, allowing for it to filmically exist within the context of expressionist noir, a genre very much associated with Lang's later films and while this will not prove to be anywhere near the film that Metropolis or Scarlett Street would be, it still whispers moments of brilliance, and could even be seen as being thematically within the same vein as his well-known masterpiece M.

Key Scene:  The stand-off in the hospital locker room is chiaroscuro perfection.

This, as so many of Kino's gems are, is an expensive DVD.  However, with a little patience one can obtain this as a rental from Netflix and it is more than worth pursuing, as it is a truly wonderful piece of lesser known film.

Simplicity Can Only Be Achieved By Great Agony Of Body And Spirit: The Red Shoes (1948)

A viewing of The Red Shoes has been a long time in the making, it was probably the biggest gap in my film viewing catalogue and was always a point of shame when I would have to admit to having never seen it when talking with fellow cinephile.  Finally, on Friday I had yet another individual with excellent taste in film mention it to me and I decided then and there that I would go home and watch it without hesitation.  Going into it I expected nothing short of perfection and I can say with every degree of certainty that the film still overwhelmed me with its magic, its madness and its sheer cinematic mastery.  The Red Shoes, has made a very welcomed come back thanks to the diligent work of some film preservationists at UCLA, the tireless efforts of the gang over at Criterion and a surprise advocation for the film coming from Martin Scorsese whose filmmaking oeuvre certainly does not reflect this ballet heavy, musical influenced film from the masters of Technicolor Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger.  There is not a moment within The Red Shoes that is not entirely entrenched within the cinematic spectacle, much like Singin' In The Rain the film exists as a work of grandiosity so artistic that to profess to disliking it would essentially be admitting that you hate living.  As pretentious as that may sound, The Red Shoes seriously is an impeccable film and aside from a few moments of wry British humor there is nothing about this film not to completely love, in fact, it manages to the cross the seemingly divergent lines of classicist filmmaking styles and highly expressionistic experimental filmmaking with such fervor that it has the feeling of being a colorful rendition of an early Busby Berkeley dance number.  Furthermore, like the aforementioned Singin' In The Rain you can easily go into this film assuming you know the plot to the film, yet it will very much unfold in front of you with such expertise and layers that when the close finally does come in its climactic intensity you will realize that you may well have stopped breathing for a few minutes.  It is still baffling that this highly realized film is essentially just an adaptation of a children's fairy tale, all be it a dark one.

The Red Shoes begins with a crew of students rushing an auditorium to witness the performance of an acclaimed ballet piece from Boris Lermontov (Anton Walbrook) whose prestige has led to all group regardless of class to view his work, including Julian Craster (Marius Goring) an aspiring conductor who is immediately baffled to realize that his own pieces are being lifted for the performance.  Also in attendance is Victoria Page (Moira Shearer) an aspiring dancer whose ties to high places afford her an opportunity to meet the elusive Lermontov post performance, using her charm to assure a chance to audition.  Craster via letter confronts Lermontov about his theft, only to regret his decision, in the process meeting Lermontov who hires him on the spot.  Both Craster and Page become witness to the insanity and deception latent within the world of ballet performance, and begin to fathom how much power Lermontov truly wields.  Each, nonetheless, takes their turn in making an identity for themselves, Page by dancing wildly at a minor performance for the company, where as Craster jumps at the opportunity to rewrite a ballet adaptation of The Red Shoes, which he does brilliantly leading to Lermontov choosing it as the company's next pieces.  It is within this performance of The Red Shoes that harmony comes together beautifully as Craster and Page unleash a chemistry undeniable in a ballet performance that literally transcends the space and time of the theater.  The show of course receives rave reviews and the names of Page and Craster become well known, yet they fall for one another, much to the disapproval of Lermontov who sees it as a risk to his newly found cash cow.  He demands that they split leading to a deep depression in the two and the subsequent falling apart of the company.  Lermontov, nonetheless, manages to convince Page to return to the performance, which leads to a falling out between her and Craster who leaves dejected.  Realizing her mistake Page attempts to return to Craster, only to encounter her demise in what is easily one of cinema's most harrowing moments.  Of course, The Red Shoes is danced on, although the lack of Page is a very real thing when the troupe decides to perform without the presence of their leading lady, or any person in her place.

I once attended a conference where I saw a presentation comparing The Red Shoes to the then recently released Black Swan.  A majority of the discussion grounded the comparison in a use of Jacques Lacan's mirror theory which at the time was something I was unfamiliar with making for a rather difficult to understand talk, although I certainly think, upon seeing The Red Shoes that something is to be said about the notion of identity, sanity and the affects of performance demands on the individual.  Both films feature female performers whose quest for perfection and acknowledgement lead them to spiral into a degree of madness, although in Aronofsky's film the madness is tied to sexual inexperience and clear mental distress.  In the case of The Red Shoes it is a desire for success and a clear passion for the art of ballet, which by all accounts is probably the most labor intensive art one could choose.  Furthermore, where as Black Swan is about a singular individual, The Red Shoes focuses on a group of peoples' experiences, viewers have just come to associate the film with Moria Shearer, because it is her image the dominates the most magical and cinematic portion of the film.  The Red Shoes is much more a film about navigating the world of art, which has inherent ties to prestige and bourgeois power moves.  We see this in Page's complete disconnect from the fact that she is able to attend and leave practice in a chauffeured car, where as her fellow dancers must walk everywhere.  In sharp contrast is Craster whose identity as a student means he has little wealth or power to navigate, making his being robbed of his musical identity the exact thing to push him into impassioned action, which has relative success, up until the films closing moments of course.  Where The Red Shoes and Black Swan seem to come back together is in the closing moments of both main female characters, each arguably perform their last leap of perfection with dire results, but both also raise the question as to where one can go but down after achieving perfection.

Key Scene:  This is a no brainer, the entire dance sequence in the middle of the film could play on repeat on televisions and I know I would watch it countless times.

The Criterion bluray really is something to be amazed by and well worth owning.

Buzz, Buzz, Buzz Went The Buzzer: Meet Me In St. Louis (1994)

I have a handful of genres or moment in film history where in I find myself rather certain that I will like everything from the are, whether it be New Korean Cinema, German Expressionism or Italian Realism, however, if you were to ask me four or so years ago when my love for cinema was initially burgeoning, I would never have even thought to guess that one of my favorite films genres would prove to be the technicolor musical, yet me deep affinity for Guys and Dolls, as well as a considerable admiration for Singin' In The Rain, it has come to my attention that, in fact, I do very much enjoy this particular time in musicals, although I can certainly name ones from the surrounding eras of which I love.  As such, it should not have come to a surprise that I too would enjoy Meet Me In St. Louis, which is a dazzling bit of music oriented cinema, one with some catchy, all be it simplistic songs, a segment of an unusual creepiness, not to mention one of the single greatest deliveries of the word "what" in the history of film.    However, what proved to be the greatest and most welcome revelation in the film was none other than Judy Garland, who like Marilyn Monroe was initially somebody I had boxed into a corner of Hollywood disaster icon, however, as I have done more film theory reading, particularly that related to feminist theory it has led me to appreciate certain performers in a new light, for Monroe it is her ability to perform against her objectification, while with Judy Garland I have come, within a single viewing of Meet Me In St. Louis, to understand what has allowed for her to become one of the most stalwart of icons for the gay community.  Her surprising amount of androgyny, personal life plagued by societal scorn as her constant desire for some form of comfort within her films explodes in a way very real and pertinent to the struggles of many gay individuals, males in specific.  Meet Me In St. Louis, in particular, shows viewers a Judy Garland that is clearly a little uncertain in her own body, but, nonetheless, embraces it in a manner so rich and rewarding that I could rewatch the film countless times only for her incomparable crooning...I am talking a Bing Crosby level of mastery.

Meet Me In St. Louis is a film centered on the Smith family, which is headed by the cantankerous father figure Alonzo (Leon Ames) whose desire for his family to attain middle class respectability and conservative normalcy affects every interaction, whether it be his eldest daughter Anna (Mary Astor) and her desire to be proposed to by a high school sweetheart, or the passing of his masculine privilege on to his son Lon (Henry H. Daniels Jr.), or simply trying to find a reasonable course of action for his daughter Esther (Judy Garland) who appears to be moving through her teenage years with a bit of confusion and uncertainty, although it is rather apparent that she has taken a considerable liking to the neighbor's son John Truett (Tom Drake).  It is precisely when a realization is made to Esther's feelings for John that big news shifts the household, it is realized that Alonzo will be required to move to New York in order to pursue a hefty promotion within his job, although this is much to the chagrin of the family who has worked so very hard to solidify their place in the ever growing St. Louis.  The narrative then focuses on the family preparing for their inevitable move, particularly Esther who must ween herself away from the loving John, in order, to assure her happiness in New York, void of her boyfriend.  It is during Christmas night when Alonzo hears Esther sadly singing Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas that he realizes his mistake in forcing his family on an exodus to the unwelcoming and bustling Big Apple.  At the last moment, before realizing that her father has changed her mind, Esther accepts a marriage proposal from John, although she warns him of the woes their engagement will face with a long distance factor, fortunately, they realize that changes allow them to pursue a life together within the city limits of St. Louis, ending spectacularly with the family, including their newest members enjoying the spectacle and wonderment of the World's Fair, which they all strongly believe serves as the moment to place the city on the world map.

So one could bemoan the problematics relating to the nuclear family as it relates to this film, just as easily as one could critique the film for embracing a clearly pro-middle class ideology and certainly these critiques would not be ungrounded.  However, I really want to consider the performance of Judy Garland in this film, one that is dressed and acted in androgynous manner.  While one could certainly chalk her specific look up to cinematographers and costumers/makeup artists adapting to technicolor, it is really quite hard to overlook the masculine features inherent to Garland in this film, whether it be her define jawline, or her unusually butch makeup.  Similarly, her singing in the film is notably deeper then her female counterparts, and often serves as a definably masculine aspect of herself within a feminine context.  Her appropriation of Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas, certainly hearkens back to Bing Crosby, as I noted earlier, adding yet another layer of androgynous performance.  It is also no accident that the two youngest daughters in the family perform cross-dressing for Halloween, not to mention Anna's tie dress, almost as if to add a layer of support to Esther and her divergent performance of femininity.  In an active sense, Esther also challenges traditional femininity in first her demand within her relationship to have a voice, one that discredits John's demand for an instantaneous marriage, not to mention disregards the lesser of male suitors, a decidedly unfeminine act for the era.  Ultimately, Judy Garland's performance within Meet Me In St. Louis is certainly not the most revolutionary ever enacted upon screen, but something is to be said about its divergences, if only to serve as a groundwork for her assured icon status within in the gay culture for decades to follow.

Key Scene:  The Trolly Song was a blast visually and aurally and well worth watching as a solo piece, although when Lon delivers a "what" in relationship to a bizarre proposition by Esther I could not stop laughing for the remainder of the film and well into the next day.

Buy this movie it is a cinematic gem, I plan to upgrade to bluray soon as the technicolor seriously drips of the screen at times.