I Don't Think I Like Being In Love. It Puts A Bit In My Mouth: The Furies (1950)

Anthony Mann's The Furies is easily the most richly shot films I have encountered in this marathon.  Somewhere between between the deep grays and blacks and the way shadows explode and evaporate in his wide shots it is hard not to fall in love with the seeming sumptuousness of the film.  Of course Anthony Mann who I first encountered, fittingly enough in a Film Noir course for his work Border Incident, creates a landscape in his films that while beautiful, represents a decaying and fractured society and extends to reflect the psyche of those individuals existing in the space.  In fact, just like the previously mentioned Border Incident I would be inclined to call this film something of a film noir text, although it is also a woman's melodrama, in that Barbara Stanwyck whose presence alone is almost its own film noir trope, is playing a character who falls foolishly and blindly in love, an act that proves unusual for the actress who made a career as a femme fatale.  In its modernist blending of genres to create something spectacular, The Furies is a piece that is as captivating and it is jarring, the unusual soundtrack is more reminiscent of an Igor Stravinsky number than the swelling and sweeping violins of the traditional melodrama.  Everything about The Furies begs to be heavily considered and analyzed, no character throughout the film is purely of one mind frame or ethical framing, often contradicting their previous actions or betraying the very elements of respectablity which the western genre so heavily hinges itself.  The films possesses pseudo-villians, anti-heroes and even a reconsideration of who can occupy the space of such a good and evil dichotomy.  Sure the narrative gets a bit convoluted at the end and sloppily ties itself back together, but it is a work that wants to embellish its own fractured style, at times the slightest of alterations to the focus of the frame makes the scene blurry in the most inconspicuous of manners, nonetheless, suggesting a frame of reference that is, like the characters of The Furies, melting and sweating under its own heated paranoia.  Were this film not to be so heavily invested in the use of natural sets, one could easily place this among the greatest of expressionist masterworks.

The Furies, focuses on the farm and land for which the title borrows its name.  The land is located in the New Mexico territory and is compared to being a feudal ran area, which is fitting because the patron of the land T.C. Jeffords (Walter Huston) navigates the world as though he had a certain degree of regal authority about himself.  T.C., as the narrative establishes, is far from in control of his situation and indeed owes a considerable amount of money to various lenders, while also struggling to keep a group of previous residents turned squatters from occupying his land.  All these issues come to the forefront while T.C.'s own daughter Vance (Barbara Stanwyck) attempts to assert her own presence on The Furies, hoping one day to own the entire land for herself, without the societally assumed ties of another male figure, preferably a husband.  To make matters slightly more convaluted Vance also has a strong relationship with one of the squatters named Juan Herrera (Gilbert Roland) for whom her father does not approve, nor does the larger extent of society.  In enters Rip Darrow (Wendell Corey) a wealthy banker and loan shark, who has a considerable grudge with T.C. over name calling and wrongs in the past.  Yet, Rip is a powerful man and could free T.C. from his economic woes by marrying Vance, who takes an instant liking to debonaire gentleman.  Of course, Rip is far from Vance's ideal man because he is neither submissive nor interested in marrying her, even taking a bribe gladly not to mary her from T.C.  During her struggle to obtain the reigns of The Furies, Vance is blocked by T.C.'s mistress of sorts Flo (Judith Anderson) who has her own vision of what the ranch will become, a notion so infuriating to Vance that she violently attacks Flo with a pair of scissors.  After a final dispute over land, T.C. kills Juan and his men, pushing Vance to the edge, allowing her to remove all barriers from her desire to overtake her disillusioned father, using his blind economic ambitions against him and eventually tricking him into submission, an act that results in T.C. congratulating his daughter and allowing her control over the land.  Yet T.C.'s previous egregious behavior inevitably leads to him being gunned down by the remaining members of the Herrera family and act that leads Vance and her now fiancé Rip to plan on naming their first child after her late father.

It is no mystery that Westerns often borrow their narratives from other well established literary or filmic works, in many cases films borrow directly from Wagnerian operas or from classic samurai flicks.  Anthony Mann, on the other hand, had a very well-documented and feverish desire to create the perfect King Lear adaptation.  To a degree The Furies is almost a King Lear adaptation, in the blind patriarchal ambition and it is in this particular devotion to Shakespearian figures that one can find western tropes within The Furies being embrace and rejected, at times, simultaneously.  The King Lear figure is decidedly a masculine one, and those he is attempting to pass his land along to are decidedly male as well.  Mann in his quest for the appropriate replacement for the figure, creates an absurdly blinded vision of Lear that is highly metaphorical and not the literal "let him smell his way to Dover" one of the play.  The absurdity is no less present though, particularly in his refusal to allow his daughter to run The Furies despite a clear and established ability to do so successfully, it is this very issue of gender that both bends the idea of domestic roles, as well as the figures within the classical text.  Shakespeare who was no denier of gender bending, think The Twelfth Night or A Midsummer Night's Dream, and it would not be unreasonable to consider a version of Lear where the son's are replaced by daughters, or in this case at least one daughter who is attempting to assert herself as a masculine figure.  Stanwyck performs this role masterfully, moving through spaces in an erect and assertive manner, however, the narrative falters when she meets Rip who knocks down any assumptions she has about her ability to be a patriarchal figure and assert her authority.  This is perhaps where Mann loses his ability to commit to a real possibility for a new consideration of Lear.  What could have been a revolutionary statement of domesticity and classic adaptations flails in the end to tie up lose ends in a traditionalist notion, one that would allow for audiences to embrace the film without the confusion of a somewhat familiar story ending in a new way.  Ultimately, Mann succeeds more than he fails in his particular adaptation, it should just be noted that his reliance, even if minimal, on western genre tropes result in a failure to grasp the final rung of perfection in the films closing moments.

Key Scene:  The shootout between T.C. and the Herrera family is wonderful and really speaks to the psychological divisions of the film, as well as showing the wonderful way a world was filmed under Mann's direction.

This is a must grab, almost solely because Criterion puts more effort into a transfer and supplements than is remotely necessary.  The article provided is especially excellent, not to mention the inclusion of the book for which this film was based.

Man Is Born Crying. When He Has Cried Enough, He Dies: Ran (1985)

To steal a phrase from the popular Lord of The Rings meme, "One does not simply adapt Shakespeare."  I mean this will all seriousness; because it is hard encapsulate the deep-seeded ideologies, multiple narratives, and poetic grandeur of the world's most well known bard.  When it fails, it seems like a skeleton of a narrative that offers little more to the viewers than a overdone storyline that anybody could have offered.  However, when one does adaptations of Shakespeare correctly the result is epic filmmaking that captures the human condition on film and inevitably rips violently at the heart strings of its viewers.  Akira Kurosawa's Ran, an adaptation of Shakespeare's King Lear is one such example.  In the matter of two and a half hours, Kurosawa manages to make the screen explode with the ebb and flow of human suffering from the eyes of Eastern ideology.  The actors deliver their various performances with such conviction and subtly that it gives the best of Shakespearean troupes a run for their money.   The excellent narrative is only helped by Kurosawa's unflinching cinematic grandeur, which continually encompasses both the large ideas of the world and the tiniest of moments in a being's existence.  I often have a battle in my mind between Ozu and Kurosawa for best Japanese director, but it is films like this one that remind me that the late director of Seven Samurai may just edge out his fellow countryman. 

As an adaptation of King Lear, one can imagine the levels of deceit and familial disappointment that exist within Ran and Kurosawa certainly shows these notions.  The film focuses on the stepping down from power of a once great ruler named Hidetora Ichimonji (Tatsuya Nakadi) who realizes that his time in charge is over.  As such, he places power in the hands of his eldest son Taro (Akira Terao) who accepts his responsibility with nervous gratitude.  His younger sons react in opposing manners; Jiro (Jinpachi Nezu) gladly follows the orders of his father as middle keeper of the lineage, while the youngest son Saburo (Daisuke Ryo) mocks the decision and steps away from his ties to the family altogether.  Befuddled, Hidetora attempts to continue on his way without his youngest son.  Foolishly, Hidetora assumes that his transfer of power will still allow him all the rights of ruler without the responsibilities.  However, Taro's wife Kaede (Mieko Harada) pushes her husband to demand his place a ruler, ultimately, causing Taro to confront his father in a rather violent manner.  What results are various levels of deceit amongst the family, the employees of the clan and the villagers surrounding the castle.  In violent, yet poetic, fashion the rest of the film builds up to a war between the brothers all awaiting the return of their father who goes blind and crazy, as a result of his decision.  Ironically, although very Shakespearean, the only voice of reason throughout the film appears to be the fool Kyoami (Pita) who through song and rhymes explains the problems of human existence.  Ultimately, all the characters die either through violent ends or heartbreak, but viewers should not be surprised, because after all King Lear is a tragedy.  There is certainly more to the plot I just explained, but to go into any greater detail would be to ruin its watchability, it is far more experiential than a simple paragraph could ever hope to show.

The important question to ask when discussing Ran is how precisely is it an acceptable adaptation of a Shakespeare play.  The first element that makes the film a great adaptation is its loyalty to the original text.  While the names of the characters and their exact words have changed from the original source material, they, nonetheless, reflect King Lear rather clearly and it does not take a Shakespeare scholar to realize this.  Secondly, performance is key to making Shakespeare adaptations acceptable.  Without a deep understanding of the words and ideas being expounded the film will fall flat, however, as I noted earlier, Ran is full of brilliant performances and even knowing that I do not understand a bit of Japanese, I still managed to gather the deep moving nature of each word spoken by the characters in the film, not once was a line delivered dully.  The final factor, and perhaps most difficult to manage is to ensure that any adaptation of a Shakespeare work be unique and fresh.  Ran does this, perhaps more successfully than any other filmic adaptation I have seen to date, including Kurosawa's own adaptation of The Bad Sleep Well, although from a formalist standpoint it is a far superior film.  Perhaps Ran is so unique given that it is Japanese, yet Kurosawa's use of The Buddha, samurai code and the world of feudal Japan to rethink a story of familial deceit seem so original that I kept having to remind myself that he was borrowing heavily from Shakespeare.  With that being said, I guess what ultimately makes a Shakespeare adaptation work is the ability of a director to blatantly steal the bard's work, yet, doing such a good job of thievery that it seems like their own.  While imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, at times it can match, or, dare I say, outdo the original.

Some time ago, Criterion possessed the rights to Ran, but given their recently ended relationship with Studio Canal it appears as though it will never come back.  However, if you find yourself with the finances, picking up a copy of the out of print DVD will certainly prove rewarding.

Odin Is A Hawk, He Soars Above Us: O (2001)

Tim Blake Nelson's unconventional adaptation of Shakespeare's Othello is a film about deceit and pride that is by no means the greatest film to come out in 2001.  What O is, however, is a fully realized film that sticks to its guns and delivers a fresh and focused adaptation that neither relies solely on its original plot nor strays so far away that it becomes ridiculous.  From the Outkast heavy soundtrack to the minimalist acting, O is what a director should aspire to make.  O is sound in its execution and makes the viewing enjoyable, despite being a rather abrasive film.  Perhaps the greatest factor of this film is that it takes an issue like race, which was important in Shakespeare's play and extends it to become the most relevant factor of the film, which expertly reflects its contemporary conditions, from the awkward sense of entitlement for white teenagers, to the delusional drive of a black basketball player being exploited for his athletic prowess.  In short, O is one of the freshest and most masterfully executed Shakespeare adaptations to date and is criminally under-appreciated for this sole reason.

The plot for those familiar with Othello, should be rather obvious, but given its twenty first century spin, I will explain the story anyways.  The film's title character, as in its original, is a respected black male named Odin (Mekhi Phifer), whose basketball abilities have gained him the respect of his peers and the teams coach Duke Goulding (Martin Sheen).  However, the film's central character is not Odin, but Duke's son Hugo (Josh Hartnett) who despises Odin for not only his athletic abilities, but the attention he receives from his father.  As a result, of his jealously, Hugo engages in an elaborate and furious plan to ruin Odin's life which includes causing him to become suspicious of his white girlfriend Desi (Julia Stiles).  Hugo tricks Odin into believing that Desi is engaging in infidelity with another basketball player named Michael Cassio (Andrew Keegan).  Furthermore, in order to assure Michael's distance from the situation, Hugo causes a fellow student Roger Rodriguez (Elden Henson) to disdain Michael for his bullying behavior and his seemingly close relations with Desi.  In a spiral of deceit and confusion, Hugo gets Odin to kill Desi, while he attempts to get Roger to kill Michael.  When this portion of the plan fails, Hugo takes the act of killing Michael into his own hands, along with the killing of Roger who he deems a threat at this point.  However, despite his attempts to execute the plan, he is arrested and Odin ultimately kills himself realizing the errors of his recent murder and that his entire course of actions were the result of the jealous white people around him, a decisive end to a racially fueled film.

Aside from expert adaptation, O is an astute film in terms of racial commentary, particularly the exploitation of non-white individuals for the enjoyment of white individuals.  O does this both on a very blatant level and on a large scale throughout the entire narrative.  The exoticization of Odin as an athlete is constant in the film, whether it be the entire school gazing at him longingly as he plays basketball, or the continual reference of Odin as a prospect by college recruiters, which demean him as nothing more than an object for the exploitation of their own advancement.  This is rather necessary to the film plot, but the act of exploiting black athletes has become quite the point of contention in recent years as the NCAA continues to make large amounts of money off of their athletes which are predominantly black.  Secondly, the film focuses on exploitation of a black guy for the petty concerns of a white kid.  Hugo is clearly discontent with his life, as is evidenced by his continual drug use and, instead of simply facing up to his faults and confronting his father he attempts to increase his athletic skills through steroid use and by attempting to degrade Odin.  While not a perfect comparison it is likely that Nelson's concern in making this film was to show that these actions of jealously on the part of white persons toward those of color still occurred and while O is certainly a hyper-reality of such actions, the truth is that in America in the 21st century white people have blamed and exploited blacks for a lot larger things then getting praise as athletes.  O is not the greatest commentary on race in the United States, but it certainly does its share to continue the debate.

I cannot full out recommend purchasing this film as it will not be for everyone, but I would suggest renting it and watching it, because as noted earlier it is one of the best and most unconventional Shakespeare adaptations I have ever seen.