Five Film Favorites: Johnny Depp Films

Upon viewing a still image of Johnny Depp as Tonto for the upcoming Lone Ranger flick (2013), I came to the conclusion that Johnny Depp looks tremendous in makeup. He probably looks good all the time, but he shines in makeup.  While the choice to have Depp represent Tonto may be politically and culturally dubious (as if the character of Tonto is not always already fraught with political and cultural dubiousness), Depp nonetheless looked terrific in makeup that may or may not be a culturally and historically accurate representation of Native Americans.  Maybe it is the slight and angular nature of Depp’s face and jawbone, or maybe his constant work with director Tim Burton has made me accustomed to seeing him made up with eyeliner, rouge, and base.  Whatever the reason, Depp almost always wears some sort of painted mask, yet this mask has not hidden his gaze.  Indeed, Depp, at his core, seems to always be clown, a jester, a joker.  He is always playing at playing someone or something else.  Instead of hiding behind the makeup, the makeup illuminates his true cinematic self. 

The image of Depp as Tonto along with the release of Dark Shadows (2012), another Burton film in which Depp dons a heavy dose makeup, provided the genesis of this five film favorites list.  Depp’s career is surprisingly long and agile; he has artfully and successfully meandered through a multitude of genres and styles. 

Depp also has the distinction of being cited as a hottie by some of the coolest and most intelligent women I have known.  He is the anti-Matthew McConaughey in the same way that Cate Blanchett is the anti-Angelina Jolie.  Without further ado, my five favorite Depp films.

Ed Wood (1994) – Directed by Tim Burton

A terrific examination of the cult B-movie director, Ed Wood indulges in Depp’s ability to simultaneously be both goofy and sincere.  This is also one of Burton’s more sincere films.  Burton often deals in fantasy, but Ed Wood depicts an actual artist’s striving and longing.  While often played for laughs, neither Depp nor Burton ridicule Wood’s desire and devotion.  The film also has terrific support from Martin Landau, Bill Murray, and George “The Animal” Steele. 

Dead Man (1995) – Directed by Jim Jarmusch

I can say, without hesitation or qualms, that this is my favorite Depp film.  Similar to Ed Wood, Depp is beautifully rendered by black and white film.  Indeed, the entire cinematography of Dead Man is stunningly gorgeous.  Aside from being my favorite Depp film, this is also my favorite Jarmusch piece.   Both Depp and Jarmusch should make more Westerns.  There is so much to love about Dead Man: natural black and white cinematography, references to William Blake’s poetry, Robert Mitchum (Robert Mitchum!), and Crispin Glover. I once took a date to see Dead Man at the University of Chicago.  She thought that the film was dull and tedious.  We did not go on another date.

Donnie Brasco (1997) – Directed by Mike Newell

Depp plays a tough guy, a FBI informant deeply embedded within the mob, and he exhibits a range and skill set that had not been afforded to him in previous films.  Depp is still most frequently cast as the artsy or quirky loner or trickster, but here he pulls off the FBI/mob tough guy schtick well.  He easily holds his own alongside more traditional tough guy actors such as Al Pacino, Michael Madsen, and Bruno Kirby.   

Finding Neverland (2004) – Directed by Marc Foster

Depp’s turn as author J.M. Barrie is both similar and different to many of his earlier roles.  He is an odd and artsy loner, but his performance is reserved and understated.  While the British accent is nothing special, he does pull off a particularly British mode of masculine self-restraint and emotional repression: a necessity in any British period piece that, like Finding Neverland, seeks to mimic a Merchant/Ivory production.  This film deservedly earned an Oscar nod, as did Depp, and is filled with terrific performances all around: Depp, Kate Winslet, Julie Christie, Radha Mitchell, Dustin Hoffman, and Kelly Macdonald.

Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street (2007) – Directed by Tim Burton

I suppose that this might be classified as a British period piece, but it certainly contains no restraint or repression.  Gore and guts abound.  Probably my favorite Burton film, Sweeney Todd succeeds as a lavish and horrific fantasy and a musical.  Moreover, it succeeds as a musical even though Depp and Helena Bonham Carter cannot sing.  In other words, it avoids the fate of Paint Your Wagon (1969).  Depp is able to get through the musical numbers by relying on his rock star like persona rather than his voice.  The more I reflect back upon Sweeney Todd, the more I like it.  And rather than list all the reasons that recommend this film, I will list only one: Alan Rickman.  If you need more explanation, you are beyond help.

RACING TO THE BOX OFFICE

             In the 1960s, there was a genre of film comedy about fictional international races to promote the seminal days of modern travel, The Great Race (1965), Those Magnificent Men In Their Flying Machines (1965) and  Those Daring Young Men in Their Jaunty Jalopies (1969). Largely inspired by It’s A Mad Mad Mad Mad World  but with Victorian backdrops, these films have large famous casts, big budgets, long running times and were released as events in “Showcase Theaters” able to feature Wide Screen technology and stereophonic sound.

THE GREAT RACE

Filmed in Hollywood, with some inspired moments, passable effects and a score by Henry Mancini, The Great Race is not a great film and did not recoup its 12 million dollar budget. It had, though, a real bonus for teenage boys like me: watching and hearing Natalie Wood larger than life. The direction is overwrought as was the occasional wont of director Blake Edwards; the story is less than intriguing but like Magnificent Men has a strong dose of feminism. An international car race circling the world is sponsored to publicize a newspaper; Vivian Vance plays the feminist wife of the newspaper’s publisher (Arthur O’Connell) who refuses to allow his female cub reporter (Wood) to do a dangerous story. Wood’s character, Maggie Dubois, is industrious and connives to tag along in the car of The Great Leslie (Tony Curtis). Leslie’s rival, Professor Fate, is played by Jack Lemmon as an ill tempered, snidely whiplash villain. His not too bright assistant is played by Peter Falk. Except for scenes in the southwest desert, most of the ‘foreign’ locations – Russia, France etc. – are clearly filmed indoors or on the backlot of Warner Brother’s Burbank studios. It has that studio’s fakey, 1960s look ala My Fair Lady (filmed on the same sets the year before). In a major sequence, Lemmon and Curtis’ cars are stranded together on an iceberg – clearly filmed indoors. With its American cast it lacks the international flavor that made the next film such a big hit.

THOSE MAGNIFICENT MEN IN THEIR FLYING MACHINES OR HOW I FLEW FROM LONDON TO PARIS IN 25 HOURS 11 MINUTES

The masterpiece of the three films – exciting, cinematic and a real crowd pleaser. A similar feminist story, it’s about an international air race in 1908 at the birth of air travel. Sarah Miles is Patricia, the daughter of Lord Rawnsley (Robert Morley), a sponsor of the race. She is clearly challenging mores when we first meet her by posing nude on a beach for an oil portraitist. Her suitor, Richard, a young aristocratic pilot played by James Fox, refuses to take her “up”, old fashioned is his belief that proper women should be grounded. She finds a sympathetic ear in a rugged Arizona cowboy, Orvil, played beautifully by Stuart Whitman (one of his best roles) who sees little difference between rustling a wild bull or airplane.

The flying scenes are sensational and palpably put the audience into the air (“Great Race” has one flying sequence that is badly matted). A lot of care was taken to reproduce the era’s airplanes and they really fly! Director Ken Annakin* was a scion of Victorian era and you can feel its rhythms and pacing in his thrilling film. It’s an “outdoor” movie that clearly takes us on an adventure in super wide-screen 70 mm Todd-AO by cinematographer Christopher Challis (who shot some Michael Powell/Emeric Pressburger films and shares their aesthetic for color). The sets and costumes clearly put us back in turn of the century England with comedic performances by Terry Thomas, Gert Frobe, Alberto Sordi, Jean Pierre Cassel, Benny Hill, Red Skelton, Eric Sykes and Robert Morley. The romantic triangle between the American cowboy, the young feminist and the snobby upper-classman powers the story. Though produced by the 20^th Century Fox and personally supervised by studio head Darryl F. Zanuck, Annakin’s capable English crews make for a euro-sensibility.

THOSE DARING YOUNG MEN IN THEIR JAUNTY JALOPIES

In 1969, Magnificent Men director Annakin and co-writer Jack Davies made Monte Carlo or Bust” released in the U.S. as Those Daring Young Men in Their Jaunty Jalopies, another big budget but independent production (the copy I saw was distributed by American International though IMDB credits Paramount). Despite a deviously funny and nasty turn by Terry Thomas (in one scene, when he is told on a golf course his father has died, he can hardly hide his glee at his coming inheritance and insists the game go on), it is a lame copy of Magnificent Men clearly designed by it’s producers to replicate its success, even putting Tony Curtis back into a Victorian car race. Frobe and Sykes return with different character names but play basically the same parts.

There were others: Those Fantastic Flying Fools  (1967 Burl Ives joins Terry Thomas and Gert Frobe in a race to the moon), as well as Chitty Chitty Bang Bang (1968 again – Frobe) adapted by Roald Dahl from Ian Fleming’s novel – fantastical, Victorian  entertainments – but by 1970, the genre had pretty much died out. In less than a decade, the Merchant/Ivory team would begin to paint a different picture of how we perceive the Victorian era.

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SOME BACKGROUND ON KEN ANNAKIN

Though Annakin’s early British career produced critically acclaimed low budget, mostly B&W films like Hotel Sahara (1951), Across the Bridge (1957), Crooks Anonymous (1962) and The Fast Lady (1963), he quickly developed a bent for commercial studio fare. His Huggetts family series featuring Petula Clark (sequels were rare back then) did well at the box office and are considered, along with the films of Douglas Sirk, a precursor to TV soap operas. Next up was a series of live action Technicolor adventure films for Disney: The Story of Robin Hood and His Merrie Men (1952), Third Man on the Mountain (a childhood favorite -1959) and Swiss Family Robinson (1960 – a massive hit). He became a “go to” guy for extremely big budget productions like The Longest Day (1962) and Battle of the Bulge (1965) – often with mixed results. This talent for complicated productions and big casts paid off handsomely, however, with the heartfelt Magnificent Men.

Really Great Film Recommendation: Nowhere in Africa

For sometime now, I have desired to write about and recommend director Caroline Link’s fantastic Nowhere in Africa (2001). The right opportunity has just never seemed to present itself. I do not know if mid-April 2012 is the right opportunity, but I did not want to sit on this any longer or devise excuses to not write about a film that has stayed with me like few others. One of the ways in which I judge a film is by the degree to which I can recall its moments and visions after only a single viewing. I viewed Nowhere in Africa nearly a decade ago, and it still resonates strongly; I have no qualms about discussing and recommending it nearly ten years removed from seeing it a single time.

A German director, Link writes about and directs a story that is quite familiar to us now: Jewish refugees fleeing from the Nazis and Holocaust during the late 1930s and 1940s.  Many films, too many to list or name here, have dealt with the plight of Jews during the Holocaust.  Some of these have been heartwrenching and depressing, but still excellent.  Link’s film, which deservedly won the Oscar for Best Foreign Language Film, discusses the same subject from a decidedly different perspective.

Link accurately acknowledge’s our familiarity with the horrible images of concentration camps, so she gives us none of those.  The horror is communicated by other means: a train leaving a station or a husband informing his wife that her family has been moved.  We know what is to happen in the film and what happened in history.  Link feels in no way compelled to recreate unnecessary imagery, and for that she should be thanked.

The storyline of Nowhere in Africa centers on a married Jewish couple, Jettel and Walter Redlich (Juliane Kohler and Merab Ninidze), and their daughter, Regina (Lea Kurka and Karoline Ekertz), who relocate to Kenya to avoid the catastrophes of Nazi Germany and WWII. And while WWII and the Holocaust settle into the backdrop, the film becomes much more a study of a family, a husband, a wife, and a daughter, who must come to know and re-know each other through global horrors, family traumas, and personal loss.

Nowhere in Africa begins with an image that is simultaneously endearing and ominous.  Jettel Redlich stands on picturesque Bavarian mountain as children sled.  Snow appears beautiful and innocent as only snow can when great cinematography wants to make snow appear beautiful and innocent.  Jettel stumbles in the snow, and young German officer, with the swastika clearly on display looks down at her, a German Jew.  He offers her his hand and guides her to his feet.  Both smile and continue to enjoy the Bavarian winter wonderland.

This beautiful initial sequence sets up one of the film’s tragedies: Jettel is denied a German identity even though she clearly values it.  Yes, Jettel is Jewish, but she sees herself as a German citizen who can lay claim to being part of the Germany.  Her Jewishness does not preclude her national identity.  For the longest time Jettel refuses to believe that her nation, one which she admired and defended, would not only deny her a right to be German but would exterminate her and her family because she and they also happened to be Jewish.

Walter comes to a quicker realization of how Nazi German sees Jews and the danger posed to him and his family, so he finds a way to relocate them to Kenya.  Jettel, jarred by dislocation and disbelief, struggles in her new home and engages in a dalliance with another man. The dissonance between Walter and Jettel on their Jewish and German identities frays their relationship.  Jettel, angry at being relocated to Kenya, directs her frustration and disappointment toward Walter.  Walter, in turn, grows increasingly frustrated at Jettel’s refusal to see the designs and intentions of Nazi Germany.

Jettel and Walter mend their relationship, but the mending occurs organically and lovingly, not through sappy closeups and bad background music.  Link allows both characters to develop and change, and it is through such careful character development that their marriage is lovingly put back together.

Jettel eventually realizes the more than horrible consequences of Nazi Germany.  In painfully emotional scene, she is told of the deaths of her family.  Kohler’s performance is exquisite.  She allows us to be frustrated with her character but at all times understand her internal dilemma.  Despite Jettel’s flaws and mistakes, we desire to love her much like Walter does.

Other films have documented and told tale of Nazis, WWII, and the Holocaust; these films often use and rely on grisly images to relay what was an evil reality.  Link’s film takes vastly different tactic, not necessarily better, but different and effective.  The film never forgets or attempts to elude the Holocaust.  The Redliches, while lucky in comparison, were torn from each other, their families, and cast out.  Large events can be told with a variety of narratives; Nowhere in Africa is one terrific narrative.

Five Film Favorites: Female Action Leads (Heroes and Villains)

Much of the press and publicity surrounding the release of the now box office sensation The Hunger Games (2012) focused on the fact that the film (and the franchise that is sure to follow) has, as its lead, a young female protagonist (the terrific Jennifer Lawrence as Katniss Everdeen). Melissa Silverstein celebrates this occasion by asking if The Hunger Games will be the “the first real female franchise?” Silverstein is correct to note that men and boys disproportionately populate action and superhero films. Despite the gross gender inequity within the film industry, some excellent women actors have performed wonderful turns as leads in action films, so I thought I would use this installment of “Five Film Favorites” to chronicle my favorite female action leads.  I have included heroes and villains.  Please feel free to add to my list in the comments.  Without further ado . . .

HEROES DIVISION

Sigourney Weaver as Ripley in all of the Alien films

Upon reading the title of Silverstein’s article, I wondered how Weaver might react.  By any measure, the four Alien films were the first action film franchise to have a female lead.  (If I have forgotten any such films that predate Alien, please correct me.) And these four films truly belong to Weaver and her magnificent Ripley.  Beginning in 1979 with Alien and ending in 1997 with Alien: Resurrection, each film had a different director, but Weaver was the constant.  She was neither sexualized nor romanticized.  She was smart, resourceful, brave, and empathetic: a hero.  To put Ripley’s magnificence into perspective, keep in mind that she defeated those indestructible creatures four times.  Four times!  If producers of the reality death show in The Hunger Games had dropped the aliens into the battle arena, the teens would all be dead within 15 seconds.  The aliens would then escape from the arena and lay waste to the rest of humanity until Ripley arrived and showed everyone how to properly get things done.  (By the way, that is how I would write any sequel to The Hunger Games.)

Jodie Foster as Clarice Starling in The Silence of the Lambs (1991)

It would have been wonderful if Foster had continued in her role as Agent Starling in the sequel.  I do not dislike Julianne Moore’s portrayal, but it is not the same.  Despite Anthony Hopkins’s brilliant portrayal of the sinister Hannibal Lecter, Foster ably matches him and prevents The Silence of the Lambs from solely becoming the villain’s tale.  Similar to Ripley, Starling is granted the space grow and overcome challenges, internal and external. Also similar to Ripley, Starling is not a sexpot or hamstrung by romance.  She simply use her wits, skill, and courage to defeat the bad guy.

Pam Grier as Jackie Brown in Jackie Brown (1997)

Out of the five in my list, Grier’s Brown is the only one who has any sort romance.  She captures the heart of Robert Forster’s middle aged bail bondsman.  However, the romantic subplot does not sideline her to “woman who needs to be rescued” status.  Like Ripley and Starling, Brown proves more than capable of defeating her various adversaries with smarts and skill.  Grier’s character seems to be an unlikely hero given that as an aging African-American woman clinging to the bottom rung of the lower middle class, she is immensely vulnerable.  She is a target for both the criminals who can implicate her and the prison industrial complex that can lock her up without a second thought.  Grier has always possessed terrific strong eyes, and in Jackie Brown those eyes simultaneously convey the precariousness of her circumstances and her inner strength.

VILLAINS DIVISION

Cate Blanchett as Marissa in Hanna (2011)

While the Saoirse Ronan does a fine job in the lead role as a 16 year-old would be assassin, Blanchett’s role as a devious and unethical intelligence agent drives the film forward and provides the necessary tension.  Readers of this blog know that I really like Cate Blanchett, but Blanchett’s pitch perfect portrayal of a dastardly villain should be quite apparent to more objective eyes. Marissa remains deadly and threatening not through kickboxing or the mastery of weapons, but through the tone of her voice (a wonderfully sinister Texas accent) and her ability to control and inspire fear in others.  Marissa is the only character I have seen whose own personal dental hygiene is as ominous as her soul. If Ronan’s character ever comes back for a sequel, she will be disappointed in the caliber of villain that must replace the deceased Marissa.

Mercedes McCambridge as Emma Small in Johnny Guitar (1954)

Weaver’s Ripley is my favorite character in this list, but Johnny Guitar is my favorite film.  Made during the height of Nicholas Ray‘s visual and narrative powers as an auteur, Johnny Guitar remains more subversive and visually stunning than most films made today.  I will not recap Johnny Guitar’s cult status or why one should see it (but you should see it if you have not).  Instead, I want to highlight McCambridge’s role as Small, who is anything but. Well, she is physically small compared to the rough and tumble cowboys, but the last third of the film is really driven by her relentless desire to destroy and defeat Joan Crawford‘s Vienna.  I have always found something admirable in Small’s ascent up the steep, rocky slope up to the hideaway in which Vienna and her men are stashed.  Yes, Small is evil, but she alone seems capable of bringing her villainy to fruition.  The film’s final scenes between her and Vienna are some of the best moments of cinema that I have ever seen.

Five Film Favorites: The Sound of (Relative) Silence

Apropos of Jean Dujardin’s Oscar triumph last month, I’ve been pondering some of the great nearly silent performances in cinema. David Thomson once wrote (in an essay I can’t find for the life of me) about the limitations of silent cinema, in part noting that silence itself is hampered in a silent film. After all, if no one is talking, then the quiet loses its impact.

So I’m more impressed whenever I see an actor carry a movie without saying much, or anything, for they’re made to communicate so much with their faces, hands, bodies. Dialogue exists, but it’s so much more difficult, and perhaps more intriguing. The unspeaking actor forces other characters to respond to the silence, probing them to carry their half of the conversation differently. (And I can only imagine the challenges of remembering cues!)

Half the movies on this list have characters working in silence for most of the film in question, and when they open their mouths it’s a revelation.  In fact, that tension–of knowing a character could speak, but chooses not to–is damned exciting if you ask me.

Note: don’t bother to complain that Will Sampson is not on this list for Cuckoo’s Nest, because I don’t find that a particularly incredible performance (though I dig Sampson), and besides, he’s only in that one for about fifteen minutes. I wish that Harry Dean Stanton spoke less in Paris, Texas, but he does, so I’m not including that one, either.

5. Max von Sydow as Dr. Vogler in The Magician (1958). Bergman’s Magician is one of his lesser seen films, and to be honest, I can see why. The film is rich and intriguing, the story of a band of traveling players who are forced to perform before a skeptical audience of a police officer, town official, and a doctor, the collision between faith, mysticism, and reason. I loved three-quarters of this one, but Bergman raises the stakes so much that the ending cannot match the expectations, resulting in a total, and I mean total, disappointment at the end.

But von Sydow is a wonder as “Doctor” Albert Emanuel Vogler, the magician in question. He has, you come to find out, made a vow of silence, disgusted as he is by the conditions of the world. von Sydow has a face I could stare at for hours anyway, his gracefulness is in full measure here, as he communicates the pain and suffering of a man in the throes of a complete existential breakdown. When he speaks, it is startling.

Here is one of the best scenes, around the 3:00 mark, where Dr. Vogler is interrogated by the patronizing city fathers, eager to disprove this mystic.  The Magician, despite its flaws, is definitely worth seeing, especially if you’re a Bergman or von Sydow fan.

4. Peter Boyle as the Monster in Young Frankenstein (1974). Man, I love this movie. And don’t bother trying to give me grief about leaving out the original Frankenstein. Have you seen that one lately? Karloff’s Monster is amazing, but the rest of the movie is pretty damned tedious (and Dr. F is a tremendous annoyance more than anything.)

But Young Frankenstein! Not only is it hilarious, and thrilling, but Boyle’s casting as the Monster was inspired. He brings a very strange, very touching humanity to the role, in part because of the startling contrast between the silences and the moments where he speaks… or tries to speak.

Case in point: the “Puttin’ on the Ritz” scene. Boyle’s Monster is right on the edge of failure throughout that whole performance. We know it won’t work, but for a broad comedy such as this, aren’t you surprised by how touching this scene is? Every time, I sit up in my seat, anxiously hoping the Monster doesn’t screw it up, even as I know he’s going to screw it up. Young Frankenstein has been building to this scene, and Boyle’s struggle to speak, to utter words we’ll understand, is both funny and heartbreaking.

Also: later, when Boyle’s Monster becomes quite, uh, articulate, it’s damned funny, and quite shocking. You couldn’t do either in a silent film.

3. Holly Hunter’s Ada McGrath in The Piano (1993). There’s no possible way to have an article like this without mentioning Hunter’s Oscar-winning performance in The Piano. Hunter uses every means at her disposal to create a mute character whose anger, frustrations, confusions, and most intriguingly, passions, are communicated clear as crystal.

And it is that last emotion that is most impressive to me. Yes, Anna Paquin won a surprise Supporting Actress Oscar playing her daughter, who also serves to speak for Hunter’s Ada. But director Jane Campion is not content to have the little girl (or Ada’s notepad) do all the speaking–Harvey Keitel’s George Baines cannot read (the pad is not worthless), and of course, Ada, as she falls for this hunk, isn’t going to have the girl around when things get, er, hot and heavy.

All this speaks to the complexity of The Piano, and the supreme confidence Campion has in her performers, even when they don’t say a word.

2. Warren Oates’ Frank Mansfield in Cockfighter (1974). I almost literally wrote this piece just so I can try and get you to dig a little bit and get Cockfighter, Monte Hellman’s follow-up to his masterpiece, Two-Lane Blacktop. This one should be no surprise, to a degree, since Two-Lane is itself a nearly-silent film, with long, long stretches of quiet as the heroes drive across the country.

Of course, the irony is that the chatterbox in that one is Warren Oates’ G.T.O., for in Cockfighter Oates plays Frank, who trains his killer birds and then makes a vow never to speak until he wins the Cockfighter of the Year award. His journey toward that prize is the story of the movie.

Like Two-Lane Blacktop, director Hellman totally immerses himself in a little-known world, peopling this planet with the obsessives who would thrive there. Author Charles Williford wrote the script (from his novel) and it’s fascinating to see how he makes the characters respond to Frank’s silences–from the competitors who face him, to the friends baffled by his decision (and it is clearly a decision to everyone in the film), to the women who love him.

Oates is amazing when he doesn’t speak, using his fists, little glances, that strange smile of his to say everything. When he does talk–in a flashback that explains why he takes this vow of silence–it’s a let down, and you think the man doesn’t ever need to open his mouth. (Though not in every flick–Oates is one of my favorites, and especially G.T.O. and the crazy stories he spins in Two-Lane Blacktop.)

Cockfighter is hard to find, though eBay has some copies for fifteen to twenty bucks… about the price of seeing The Lorax at the cineplex. You know it’s worth it. Cockfighter, that is.

1. Anything by Harpo Marx! The Marx Brothers. There’s not much I can add to that, except to say that without Harpo to add those amazing pantomimes, well, the group just isn’t as funny, not by a mile. It’s the contrast to Groucho’s cynical wisecracks, the great collision between witticisms and incredible physical humor–not to mention that damned horn!–that make the Marx Brothers the Marx Brothers.

Much as I love the silent comedians (especially Buster Keaton), it’s those contrasts that make Harpo so effective. For starters, it makes no sense that a woman would fall for this speechless lunatic, but whenever one does, Harpo responds with those faces, that horn, and God damn it all, that thing where he gets someone to hold his leg against their will (why that makes me laugh every single time is beyond me.)

Where Groucho’s one-liners expose the fissures in polite society, so too do Harpo’s manic silences expose the utter futility of the spoken word, reducing people to bumbling, stumbling fools, and thus elevating Harpo to the ranks of the most gracefully articulate. For a man who doesn’t speak, Harpo, in essence, talks for everyone who rages against the world around them, who wants just to be goofy, who wants to anesthetize themselves and fall into the arms of a beautiful woman. Er, isn’t that what we all want?

Spring Training Recommendation: Eight Men Out

While attending a Super Bowl party over a month ago, I decided to thumb through my phone for any news. I saw a rumor that the Mariners were close to signing Hong-Chih Kuo. Kuo, late inning relief pitcher, had been an All-Star as recently 2010, but he performed somewhat abysmally in 2011. Still, this news made me more excited than any single play or event that occurred during the Super Bowl. My reaction confirmed two truths: I like baseball and the Mariners much more than American football, and the Super Bowl is a rather dull, cardboard-tasting media affair.

So as spring training passes its mid-point, I felt that I would once again recommend one of the few baseball movies worth a damn: Eight Men Out (1988).  This film, directed by the perennially underrated John Sayles, chronicles the 1919 Chicago White Sox and the scandal that nearly brought down professional baseball.  Sayles’s film is not perfect; it has a tendency to traffic in the over romanticization of baseball, and at times it tries too hard to tug at our heart strings in drawing out sympathy for some of the eight White Sox who were punished with lifetime bans for attempting to throw the World Series.  I think that the actual historical record will not look as kindly upon Buck Weaver (John Cusak) and Joseph “Shoeless Joe” Jackson (D.B. Sweeney) as Eight Men Out does.

Regardless of the bouts of sentimentality and occaisonal historical inaccuracies, Eight Men Out rises above the usual baseball film fare, which ranges from mediocre to disastrous.  Part of what helps Eight Men Out succeed is that it exposes the seedy and unseemly side of professional baseball.  Baseball is a busines,s and the players and owners are out for themselves.  Some a greedier and slimier than others.  And Charles Comiskey, according to this film and anecdotal evidence, was one of the greediest and slimiest.  Comiskey is probably the film’s most prominent villain.  His greed and indifference to his employees helped spur many of the players to engage in an arrangement to throw the Series.  Yet few, if any, escape without some blame attached to them. In many ways, this baseball story is much more “American” than the more conventional baseball films.  Moments of fun and joy become intertwined with regret, sorrow, and, ultimately, loss.  Like Sugar (2008), which I recommeded last year, Eight Men Out refuses to end on a victorious note.  There is no triumph, and I believe that this violation of the sports film genre has led it to be forgotten among the pantheon of baseball and sports films.  Victory is easy to narrate; loss is difficult.

The other factor that separates Sayles’s film from so many other baseball projects is Sayles himself.  I have long admired Sayles, and Eight Men Out does not even number among my favorite Sayles flicks.  Matewan (1987), City of Hope (1991), Lone Star (1996), and Sunshine State (2002) all rank higher on my personal list.  Eight Men Out‘s ranking says more about Sayles’s quality as a director than it does about Eight Men Out.

As a writer, Sayles has always been able to capture men and women in moments of moral dilemma.  His characters have no good options.  Every avenue they choose has consequences, but they must choose an avenue and live with what that choice brings.  In Eight Men Out, pitchers Eddie Cicotte (David Strathairn) and Claude ‘Lefty’ Williams (James Read) embody this trait.  As viewers, we hate what they do, but we cannot hate them.

Eight Men Out also contains the requisite brilliant visual sparseness that can be found in most Sayles films.  The eye of Sayles’s camera rarely if ever capture broad vistas and horizons in glorious detail.  Everything in Eight Men Out is much more condensed, almost limiting.  Hotel rooms, train cars, and locker rooms all put the characters in close contact with each other, thus elevating the tension.  Even the ball parks seem bounded by the stands and outfield walls.  Many cinematic view of stadiums provide the grand overhead shot that projects largeness and possibility.  Sayles’s camera rests on the ground level, chaining itself to the field of play.  In the same way that the players have limited possibilities, we have limited vision.  And while the cinematography of a Sayles film would never be confused with that of Malick or Scorsese, I can still distinctly recall the colors in Eight Men Out.  The outdoor shots have a brightness that seems slightly drained, as if dusk is always closing in.  Of course, for eight players it metaphorically is.

I suppose that my recommendation of Eight Men Out has more to do with my love of baseball than of the film itself.  I do not think that Eight Men Out is a great film, but it is a good baseball film, which might be one of the rarest films of all.

P.S. Kuo has pitched abysmally this spring, and might be cut.

Five Film Favorites: Suffer the Children

How many great movies are there featuring children? Fewer than you’d think. I wonder, sometimes, if it’s because there’s a dearth of great child actors. After all, when I think of children in movies, the mind conjures up Disney Channel garbage, or Macaulay Culkin screaming his fool head off in the Home Alone movies.

Then again, you also have to want to write a script with a child at the center of the story, which also veers into the saccharine. As I was pondering this list, it also occurred to me that the best children’s movies are ones in which the children in the movie suffer, and usually suffer in profound and disturbing ways. These are children forced, at such a young age, into adult situations that make the adults in the audience pause. Even the “fun” movies that didn’t make the list–Paper Moon, That Bad News Bears, The Black Stallion–have kids put through the wringer of being orphaned, the product of divorce, shipwreck, you name it.

To wit: there won’t be any Miley Cyrus here.

Maybe, too, Hollywood doesn’t want to make too many features with children since child actors usually grow into wrecked adults. Not that Hollywood has ever given a rip about the lives of the people who work in movies.

5. Haley Joel Osment, The Sixth Sense. Haley Joel Osment received an Oscar nomination for his work as the beleaguered Cole Sear, a child who has the great misfortune of being able to see the frustrated dead. And that’s what makes The Sixth Sense such an amazing film, especially on repeated viewings. The secret of the film is such that as soon as you know it, as soon as you’ve seen it once, it ceases to become a horror film. What it is instead is a melancholy portrait of grief, made powerful both by Bruce Willis’ distraught psychiatrist and Osment’s frustrated, sad child, who suddenly has the dead trying desperately to get him to help ease their pain in the afterlife.

In this clip you can witness the magnificence of Osment, in a performance of subtlety and vulnerability, and what is most heartbreaking here is that despite his running away, you notice that he is very much used to the presence of horror.

4. Owen Kline, The Squid and the Whale. The Squid and the Whale is one of the most brutally honest movies ever made about the wreck of a family. And it’s one of the most shockingly honest movies about childhood–real childhood, the one with bizarre behaviors, growing pains, puberty–ever made. My brother and I winced when we saw it, as it seemed to hit very close to home, though I’m guessing anyone who comes from a divorced family sees a lot in this sad film.

It was Owen Kline’s performance as the angry, confused younger brother that prompted a friend of mine to complain that he thought it almost abusive to allow the kid to do the things he does in this movie. Kline was 14 at the time, but he looks younger (he’s supposed to be 12.) He’s the son of actor Kevin Kline, so he’s been in the business, but he’s made only one movie since then, and it was a short.

You do wonder what the family thought about his role. Kline’s performance is so edgy it haunts me to this day, and kudos to him and director/writer Noah Baumbach for the courage to write such a character. (Actually, for all the characters in The Squid and the Whale.)

I warn you in advance that this scene is of a sexual nature and is disturbing.

3. Jodie Foster, Taxi Driver. Well, Jodie Foster. The role that made whats-is-name go crazy and shoot our actor president. It’s so natural and so damned creepy–I mean, she’s a prostitue, for God’s sake, and while I know there’s 14 year-old prostitutes, having my kid play one, well, that’s another story. And yet, without Foster, Taxi Driver would lose its center, wouldn’t it?

One thing about Foster here: she looks much older than her 14 years. I’m guessing she’d already been through a ton by then.

2. Billy Chapin, Night of the Hunter. Ah, you know I could go on and on and on about Night of the Hunter, such is my love for this movie. But I’ll make it brief. Everyone talks about Robert Mitchum, as they should, but without Billy Chapin’s John Harper as the pursued, this movie simply won’t work. Chapin is amazing here, vulnerable, tough, a little soldier you want to cradle in your arms and then shrug as he squirms free to go and do his own thing. John Harper is our entry into the story. He is the child in us that is threatened by the avarice of adulthood.

Like many child actors, Chapin got lost as he aged, and supposedly fell into drinking and drugs. Who knows where he is now? I wonder if he thinks back on Night of the Hunter. Does he carry a little bit of John Harper with him today? Is he still being chased by the Preacher?

1. Jean-Pierre Léaud, The 400 Blows. If I hadn’t seen The 400 Blows for a French New Wave class I’m taking right now, this might have been lower on the list. I honestly don’t know how anyone can say this isn’t the most amazing, most natural performance by a child in cinema history. Look at Jean-Pierre! As Antoine Doinel, the only child of a spoiled mother and stepchild to a race car driving man, the kid is so graceful, so beautiful to watch, by turns hilarious one minute and so dour the next, he reminds me of Brando, of De Niro, of the best actors in their finest roles.

Balancing perfectly the playfulness of childhood, the wicked joy of being a little thief, and the penetrating frustrations that accompany every kid (and especially one in his crappy situation), he totally owns this movie. I watch him spinning in the amusement park ride, stealing money from a secret place in the cramped apartment, setting the table, running away, laughing, looking pissed, and I see childhood in its essence. Léaud is breathtaking.

Intriguingly, Léaud went on to do a ton of movies with both Truffaut and Godard, and in a sense became Truffaut in many of that director’s autobiographical movies. What an auspicious debut. If you get the Criterion DVD (and don’t stream it, because you won’t find these options), you can see Léaud’s screen tests, which are totally charming.

At the 1:50 point of the trailer you’ll see a brief glimpse of Léaud’s famous scene, when Antoine meets a psychiatrist and opens up. It’s an actor’s exercise that shouldn’t fit, but does, and reveals a very special talent.

(All the children are uniformly brilliant in The 400 Blows. If you haven’t seen it, you should, and quickly.)

The Art of Practical Effects

As noted by my other entries, I am biased towards natural cinematography shot on motion picture film.  If it’s shot through a lens onto celluloid, count me in!  Recently, I have been thinking about a list of films with flawless execution of “special” effects.  By “special,” I mean true to life, in camera, photographic effects.  This excludes computer generated imagery of course.  Optical printing effects such as the brilliant work of Douglas Trumball were not included.  Those excellent works will be saved for another list.  There’s nothing like the actual texture of alien creatures, fantastical puppet wizardry, and goosebump inducing make-up art.  This short selection of six films contains representatives from numerous eras.  On any given day this list may  change, but this is the selection for today. Free from computer templates and copied looks – these films are as fresh as they day they were exposed.

6. House on Haunted Hill, Dir. William Castle, 1958

From the opening shot with Watson Pritchard’s disembodied head to Vincent Price puppeteering a skeleton at the climax of the film, this film is full of cleverly executed effects.  Some may merely dismiss this movie as camp, but I do not think that gives the film a fair discourse.  The effects in the film do not aim for realism, but instead follow a simple rubric.  Just ask yourself, if you were going to scare someone into hysteria using basic Halloween store gags, what would you use and how could you do it.  The visuals support a beautiful low-fi and tactile approach.  It’s a film that reminds us all about how we scare our younger siblings through masks, make-up, fake blood, lighting, and a good old fashion skeleton.

5. The Phantom Carriage, Dir. Victor Sjöström, 1921

Victor Sjöström‘s Swedish Silent masterpiece showcases some of the earliest and most refined use of multiple exposure effects.  The new Criterion restored Blu-ray version enables one to see the poetry of ghostly layered figures.  We, the audience,  are in awe when we first see death’s helper lift the soul out of a dead body.  This is the soul of a man who has just committed suicide.  Another spectacular moment is when the carriage goes to the Norwegian Sea to pick up another soul and floats above the water.  Uncanny in its translucent depiction of death, “The Phantom Carriage” amazes one in the precision of back winding and re-exposing the same strip of film.  This is movie magic indeed!

4. Alien, Dir. Ridley Scott, 1979

One of the best horror films ever made.  It’s slow patient dolly shots of the interior of the Nostromo create an unsettling feeling and never gives too much away.  For the first half hour we find comfort in the dynamics of the crew and their working class cargo hauling job.  In 1979, nobody was prepared to see Kane’s (John Hurt) chest burst to reveal a slimy lizard like creature that uses the human body as a host.  My Dad loves the “Alien” series, and I will forever have the memory of seeing this scene as a six year old, looking between my fingers.  The sense of fear and wonder never goes away.  Recently, I screened the film for my wife who had never seen it.  I was so excited for the little alien to pop out of John Hurt’s chest that I ruined the surprise for her.  Make sure to not say a word to the newcomer.  Their reaction will be worth your patience.

3. The Dark Crystal, Dir. Jim Henson & Frank Oz, 1982

A world made up entirely of puppets and real sets and locations.  The cinematography blossoms with organic textures of both creations and natural elements.  We have not seen the caliber of puppeteering in a feature film since this outing by Jim Henson and Frank Oz.  Watch your favorite computer generated picture and follow it with “The Dark Crystal,” and you’ll see that favorite synthetic piece fall from your mantle.

2. A Trip to the Moon, Dir. Georges Melies, 1902

It was nice to see homage paid to Georges Melies work in the book “The Invention of Hugo Cabret.”  The best part of the Scorsese adaptation of the Brian Selznick children’s cinematic novel was that it introduced mass audiences to the magical world of Melies.  I wish the movie version would have been graphic animation or been created using Melies methods.  The mise-en-scene and camera trickery of “A Trip to the Moon” has never been topped for originality and charm.  The rocket crashing into the face of the moon is such a surreal  image that it sticks with one forever….hence its significance in “Hugo.”  I have seen numerous versions of this film and would love to see the restored 35mm hand-colored print the was screened at the Cannes Film Festival last year.

1. John Carpenter’s The Thing, Dir. John Carpenter, 1982

Somehow horror won out over charm in this list, but respects had to be paid to John Carpenter and his special effects team.  “The Thing” raised the bar as to what could be done with puppets, robotics, and latex.  Seeing a human head grow spider legs and run off on its own does make an impact on you.  My expectations for this film were not very high, but I was pleasantly amazed at the craftsmanship and detail that went into making the puppets that had a combination of human, animal, and alien forms.  Now “The Thing” is one of our perennial October favorites!  Please do yourself a favor and rent the blu-ray version, and screen it to a group of friends who have never seen it.  There’s just so much texture!

Computers make it so easy to make the creative filmmaking process digital and industrial.  If you want the “The Matrix” look, drop this effect onto your footage and everything will be yellow and green.  If you want a dinosaur, just drag and drop it into your sequence.  Looped music is so overused that when you hear a track you can attribute it to the specific looping software.  These visual formulas are so easily and often copied over and over.  They really can inhibit critical and creative thinking.  The list of practical effect films are examples of humans collaborating with film itself and the world to make art.  Practical effects encourage “happy accidents,” a term frequently used by cinematographer Conrad Hall.  These accidents bring the organic touch and a charm that are a necessary part of the filmmaking process.  Without them, films become antiseptic.  Hats off to the folks who keep the art of practical effects alive!!

Thanks for the Magic

On the most recent February 11th, if you were in the VCU Grace Street Theater’s cozy auditorium you may have sensed a touch of magic in the air. From being there, what I detected was a particular brand of magic I recognized as an old friend.

The occasion was the Biograph Theatre’s 40th anniversary celebration, as presented by the James River Film Society. A 1960’s black and white double feature was screened. More about that night’s revelry later. To understand what is meant by “magic” the reader may need a little background … fade out.

Fade in … the contributions that filmmaker/film historian Kevin Brownlow has made to my cinematic education have been significant. For his role in rescuing Abel Gance’s all-but-lost masterpiece, “Napoleon” (1927), and bringing it back to the screen in 1981, he became a hero in my book. It’s a beautiful story.

In 1981 I saw the version of “Napoleon” that resulted from Brownlow’s mighty restoration effort. It was at New York City’s famous Radio City Music Hall. A full orchestra accompanied the light being thrown from three synchronized projectors onto three huge screens, side by side.

In 1983 I was in Manhattan again. A friend (whose name escapes me) asked me if I wanted to see a special limited presentation of a 163-minute British documentary at the Museum of Broadcast. After I said, “sure,” I got to see “Unknown Chaplin” three years before its American premiere as a three-part series on PBS in 1986.

It was a gas watching the presentation. The screening room was slick, but there were less than 100 seats. Dustin Hoffman was seated a few rows behind me.

Hoffman ran his mouth incessantly. He was talking to a couple of other guys about a Chaplin biography project, one with him as Charlie. At first it seemed cool. Then it got obnoxious. Fortunately, Hoffman left after a couple of hours.

Having gotten the name-dropping out of the way, now about that magic thing: What Brownlow’s documentary revealed was that Charlie Chaplin saw filmmaking as a form of showmanship tantamount to magic. After all, it is an illusion that pictures move; what moves is the strip of film going through the projector.

With Chaplin’s stage background he was an accomplished magician before he started making movies in 1914. And, once he understood the power of the illusion of motion, like a magician, Chaplin went to great pains to guard his secrets of his craft.

So, Chaplin might shoot a scene 500 or 600 times and splice pieces of different takes together. He might run the camera backwards, and so forth. Then he would systematically destroy the evidence of how he got the finished results.

We know about the lengths Chaplin went to in order to hide his tricks because some of the footage survived, in spite of his efforts. Some of it was smuggled out of the workplace and hidden for decades. Brownlow found the missing outtakes, etc. He used them to help tell the story of Chaplin’s unusual methods.

Another of my favorite filmmakers, Orson Welles, was a magician and also saw movies as a form of magic.

During my stint as manager of the Biograph Theatre (1972-83), I eventually came to see that all of us who produced and presented films to audiences were dabbling in magic.

In putting together double features and film festivals, in a way, we at the Biograph were conjuring up something out of nothing. With an invented title and theme for our film festivals we were creating new opportunities for appreciating what certain movies had in common … something the director never intended.

On top of that, as the manager, I never grew tired of standing in the back of a packed auditorium, appreciating the vibes in the air, because all those people were taking in a great movie at the same time. It was a sweet magic. That I had a hand in providing such experiences to those audiences was satisfying in a way I still miss. And, I miss the wonderful post-screening conversations in the Biograph’s lobby, or perhaps in nearby watering holes.

So, I want to thank the nearly-100 people who watched the “Breathless” (1960) and “Lonely Are the Brave” (1962) screenings with me on February 11th. It was heartwarming to see the familiar faces from when the Biograph was open. It was uplifting to see the younger, unfamiliar faces. My gratitude goes out to all of them for shelling out $20 to support the James River Film Society, its annual film festival, and the dream of establishing a storefront repertory cinema.

Regarding the benefit, James Parrish, the film society’s vice president, volunteered that once expenses were paid the special event raised nearly $1,000 over what it cost to stage it. That’s called success in this old show biz promoter’s view. Fade out…

Fade in … speaking of that storefront cinema concept, following the success of the Biograph’s 40th celebration, Parrish said, “I really believe we can make a strong case that a 100-seat cinema in a well chosen location with good projection and solid programming can be supported by our community.”

(Actually, it was sometime-cineaste Ted Salins who got me in to the 1983 “Unknown Chaplin” screening. While I’ll always be grateful for his role in providing that experience, after his boasting in a recent magazine article that he never missed an important film at the Biograph in the old days — which was no small reach for Ted to say — he missed the 40th party. So, Ted had a little elbow to the ribs coming to him.)

Bottom line: Thanks again for providing me yet another taste of the magic that motion pictures can work on a roomful of film buffs.

– 30 –

Five Film Favorites: Five things I want to see during the 2012 Academy Awards Show

The Academy Awards Show airs this Sunday, and while I will not attempt any sort of dissertation on what is wrong or right (but mostly wrong) with the Academy Awards, I will simply assert that, at the bare minimum, Sunday night’s gross spectacle provides an opportunity to discuss and think about films.  There are a few things that I do wish to see on Sunday evening, and here are my five favorite.

Gary Oldman Winning an Oscar for Best Actor

Despite my hope, this will not happen.  I do not think that anyone was better than Oldman, but he does not travel in the exclusive Hollywood circle that George Clooney does, nor was he in The Artist (2011).  Therefor, his chances of holding a statuette are worse than minimal.  However, at least his nomination in a prominent category gives a little more publicity to Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (2011), a film that I feel has been vastly overlooked.  Indeed, I think its director, Tomas Alfredson, was worthy of a best director nod.  TTSS is also nominated for best original score and best adapted screenplay. 

“Man or Muppet”

I enjoyed The Muppets (2011) more than some of the films nominated for best picture, and I will enjoy the performance of its signature song “Man or Muppet,” which is nominated for best original song.  If the telecast employs the characters from the film, Jason Segel, Jim Parsons, and their muppet counterparts should provide an entertaining four minutes.  I am disappointed that “Me Party” was not nominated.  I would love to watch Amy Adams perform that joyful number once again.

Best Documentary, Features

Due to rules more complicated and obtuse than number theory,  historically terrific and notable documentaries have often failed to win or even garner a nomination in this category.  (See Hoop Dreams and Grizzly Man).  However, this year’s crop of five is rather promising.  I wrote about the fascinating If a Tree Falls: A Story of the Earth Liberation Front (2011), and Peter Schilling, our James River Film Journal colleague, raves about Wim Wenders’s Pina (2011). I have only heard great things about the final three nominees: Undefeated (2011), Hell and Back Again (2011), and Paradise Lost 3: Purgatory (2011). 

Rango Winning the Oscar for Best Animated Feature Film

Unlike my desire to see Oldman emerge victorious, my wish to see Rango win has a more than plausible chance of being fulfilled.  I thought that Rango was great and believe that it is deserving.  Its chances are only enhanced by the relatively weak field around it.  Pixar usually owns this category, but Cars 2 (2011) was so dreadful that it was bumped out of this year’s nominee field by Kung Fu Panda 2 (2011).  Aside from being the best animated film of 2011, Rango may also have been the best Western. 

Octogenarian Royal Rumble for Best Supporting Actor 

Christopher Plummer and Max von Sydow are both nominated in this category.  Both are 82 years-old, and both are still producing great work.  If either one wins, it will not be a John Wayne/Henry Fonda/Jack Palance moment: charity for an old man.  No, both nominations are fully justified, and either Plummer or von Sydow will have earned the Oscar on the strength of their respective performances and not on the residue of their past.