Murder, My Sweet (1944)

Directed by: Edward Dmytryk
Written by: John Paxton, based on the novel Farewell, My Lovely by Raymond Chandler
Starring: Dick Powell, Claire Trevor, Anne Shirley

Black & White, 95 Minutes

Grade: B


Raymond Chandler's Philip Marlowe is one of those characters that never get old. He's the ultimate antihero, the quintessential hardass. He's tough, sarcastic, greedy, conniving, but he always to try and do the right thing. He has been played by just about everyone, from Humphrey Bogart to James Garner to Elliot Gould to Robert Mitchum, and many, many lesser actors. Chandler's favorite screen Marlowe, however, was Dick Powell in Edward Dmytryk's Murder, My Sweet. Powell, a star of musicals, found freedom in Marlowe. Freedom to take on more dramatic roles, and while he didn't necessarily find super-stardom, he did get the opportunity to spread his wings in films like Vincent Minnelli's excellent The Bad and The Beautiful. Nonetheless, his performance as Marlowe is quite good, even if he would be overshadowed two years later when Bogart played the character for keeps in Howard Hawks' adaptation of The Big Sleep.

After a bravura opening in which we see Marlowe, seated and blindfolded, being interrogated by the police on an accusation of murder, we are told the story through one long flashback. A man named Moose Malloy (Mike Mazurki) commissions Marlowe to find his old girlfriend Velma, whom he hasn't seen in eight years. Marlowe goes on the prowl, liquoring up old women to get the answers to his questions. Unfortunately, no one has ever heard of Velma, let alone seen her in the last eight years. While back at the office, our hero gets a visit from a man named Lindsay Marriott (Douglas Walton), who says he will give Marlowe $100 to accompany him in handing over an $8,000 ransom for a very valuable jade necklace. At the rendezvous point, Marlowe begins to snoop around and is suddenly blindsided by a spade to the back of his head. Hours later, he awakes to find Marriott dead. The next day he is approached by Ann Grayle (Anne Shirley), a young woman who lets it slip that her stepmother Helen (Claire Trevor) is the owner of the stolen necklace that got Marriott killed. Marlowe's interest is piqued and he begins inquiring as to the whereabouts of the necklace, meeting various shady characters, and escaping death numerous times in the process.

Chandler is known for his head spinning, convoluted plot, and this one is a real doozy. We get violence that seemingly comes out of nowhere, wild drug induced hallucinations, and a stepmother and daughter both vying for the affections of Marlowe. All the usual noir trademarks are here, flashbacks, voice-over narration, chiaroscuro lighting, sassy, hard boiled dialogue, and of course, the femme fatale, courtesy of the wickedly enticing Trevor. Director Dmytryk revels in this material, and he does what he can to make us forget the less than large budget that he had to work with. It's screenwriter John Paxton, however, that deserves the most credit, he is able to cut down the various plot points, find a mainline, and wrap it all up very nicely while always staying true to Chandler's tone and vision. It's a smart screenplay, and it does exactly what it should: it takes us on a roller coaster ride that surprises us at every turn, yet takes just enough time to let us catch our breath, without letting us think about the inconsistencies in the plot.

It's in the acting that film falters the most. Powell is good, not remarkable in any way, but good. He's a little goofy, he fumbles around a bit too much, he doesn't really know how to convincingly handle a gun, but he can take a beating in style. He always looks a little bewildered, but it's convincing when he comes out with the upper hand. He's a fun Marlowe, and it's a nice juxtaposition to what Bogart would accomplish. He may not carry the film as convincingly as better actors would in years later, but it's a kick to watch him try. The problem comes mostly in the supporting performances, Trevor, as mentioned earlier, is believable, but she has too little screen time. Shirley is cute enough for her role, but she has no dramatic weight whatsoever, and she falls flat in nearly every scene. Everyone else in the film is just a broad caricature, which isn't necessarily a bad thing, and it's quite common in noir, but you usually have a smoother, tougher hero to stand behind. Powell has his strengths, but making us root for him is not one of them.

Farewell, My Lovely was Chandler's second novel, but the first one adapted for the screen. Murder, My Sweet, the title was changed so audiences wouldn't think it was another Powell musical, was actually the second cinematic version, after 1942's cheapie The Falcon Takes Over. Of all the multiple film versions of Chandler's work, Sweet is generally considered to be the most faithful. This may be true, but that doesn't mean it's a great film. It serves more as a very interesting curio than a great cinematic work. It's not any one person's fault, it's just that not too many people can stand shoulder to shoulder with Bogart. I can't honestly say that Murder, My Sweet is worth a peek, but it is safe to say that Chandler/Marlowe fans may find something more valuable at work here. Personally speaking, though, the film is already fading from memory. Admirable effort to be sure and probably more so in its time, but you've seen it all done before, and done far better.

The Ox-Bow Incident (1943)

Directed by: William A. Wellman
Written by: Lamar Trotti, based on the novel by Walter Van Tilburg Clark
Starring: Henry Fonda, Dana Andrews, Anthony Quinn


Black & White, 75 minutes

Grade: A














A rancher is violently attacked and shot in the head. An angry mob forms, vehemently crying for blood. Three men stand accused of a crime they passionately deny. In recent years, William Wellman's The Ox-Bow Incident has been accused of being a product of it's time, flat and dated by today's standards. I can assure you, there are very few films from the 1940's that are as timely and relevant for the Reign of Dubya as this one (The Tipton Three anyone?).

Lamar Trotti's script intelligently focuses the action on two particular situations: the forming of the mob and the carrying out of the mob's will. At the center of this hysteria is (who else) Henry Fonda's Gil Carter. We see from the first frames that Carter is a man who means business. After tossing back a few shots of whiskey he beats the hell out of a man named Farnley (Marc Lawrence), who accuses him and his pal Art (Harry Morgan) of stealing cattle. A few moments later, a man rides into town and saying that a farmer named Kinkaid, a good friend of Farnley's, has been shot, and his cattle stolen. Farnley, still shaken from his fight with Carter, is understandably upset, and he calls for a posse to find the murderer. In spite of some opposition from a few prominent figures, the townspeople band together and hit the trail.

After riding half the night, the mob eventually comes across three men sleeping by a campfire. The three consist of a family man, played by Dana Andrews (Laura), a mysterious Mexican, played by Anthony Quinn (La Strada), and an old timer who can't even remember his name, played by Francis Ford ( brother of director John). They don't necessarily look like murderers, but they'll do. The mob begins to interrogate, and the men admit to having bought cattle from Kinkaid fairly recently. The problem is that they have no bill of sale. Quinn is discovered with Kinkaid's gun, but he swears he found it in the road. The majority of the mob is convinced the men are guilty, they were before they even found them, but there are a few who feel the men deserve a trial. Unfortunately, majority always seems to win, no matter how idiotic or wrong or misaligned they may be.

The strength of this film comes in its own ability not to conform. We aren't given a tidy, feel good ending. This film that takes aim at your gut, and it lands its fair share of blows. On top of that, our hero is not exactly heroic. Fonda has given us some of the noblest individuals in cinema. He's portrayed Abe Lincoln, Wyatt Earp, Clarence Darrow, Juror #8 in 12 Angry Men, and of course Tom Joad, but here he's a little aloof. He wants to do the right thing, but it's only when others make a stand that he follows suit. It's a brave performance, because the audience is waiting on him to rush in and convince the rest of the mob, but it doesn't happen. As disappointing as that may seem to some, it only elevates the film, adding more tension as a result of extreme realism.

Fonda, with his soul piercing eyes, had the uncanny ability to blend ferocity and humility with the utmost ease, and because of this he has a tendency to leave most of his co-stars in the shade, but Wellman gives all the actors equal attention. Dana Andrews is superb here, you feel for him as he pleads for his life, his eyes filled with tears. We see him writing a letter to his wife and children, and it's nothing short of heart wrenching. Jane Darwell (Ma Joad in The Grapes of Wrath) provides nice contrast as a hellraising old lady who only fuels the mob's fire. Anthony Quinn's performance is a little too wooden for my taste, but in his defense, his character is underdeveloped. All in all, though, it's Fonda who burns in the mind, and this is just another in a long line of performance that practically predated the Method movement that would become popular a decade later with the emergence of Brando, Clift, and Dean.

There is one plot point involving an old flame of Fonda's that halts the film by adding a melodramatic element that is entirely unnecessary, but Wellman and Trotti take time to include other substantial elements, such as an Army Major forcing his son to join the posse, and an African-American preacher whose own brother was lynched years before, that tie up very satisfactorily in the end. Wellman had a very small budget, and the film was shot entirely on soundstages, but Arthur Miller's stark photography does a great job in bringing 1885 Nevada to life, and in evoking the horror in these proceedings. Wellman's direction is tight and confined, and he never lets the camera get in the way of the story. He's smart enough to realize when he has a good thing going.

This film falls short of what it could have been, but for what it is, it's still worth your time. In fact, it should be required viewing, not only for fans of cinema, but for everyone. We can all learn a lesson here. The law may not always work, it may not always be quick, but it's there for a reason, unfortunately many of those responsible for the law tend to forget said reasons. Nearly 65 years after its release, the film still packs a punch. This may be good for us as viewers, but it's terrifying for us as citizens.

The Wrong Man (1956)

Directed by: Alfred Hitchcock
Written by: Maxwell Anderson, Angus MacPhail
Starring: Henry Fonda, Vera Miles

Black & White, 105 minutes

Grade: A


Today, Alfred Hitchcock is considered such a meticulous craftsman and visual stylist that we often lose sight of the fact that he was also one of the most experimental of filmmakers. From the use of Salvador Dali's designs in Spellbound to the theatrical setup and long takes in Rope to the cheap, exploitive look in Psycho to the pioneering sound effects in The Birds, Hitchcock was always pushing audiences and himself to new heights. It was in 1956's The Wrong Man, that his experimentation would hit its zenith. In telling the true story of 'Manny' Balestrero (Fonda), Hitchcock pared his visual style down to the basics, giving the film an almost neorealist, semi-documentary approach. The result is one of Hitchcock's most frightening, and touching, films.

Balestrero is a jazz musician at a night club, a devout Catholic, and a good family man, but he's incredibly unlucky, and he just can't seem to catch a break. Unfortunately, things are only going to get worse. In order to pay for his wife's dental work, Balestrero decides to get the money by borrowing against her life insurance policy. While at the insurance office, an employee mistakes him for the man who has held her up at gunpoint on two separate occasions in the past. The police are contacted, and Balestrero is arrested. Interrogated for hours on end, fingerprinted, and forced to spend the night in jail, Balestrero is at his wits end. After some friends pool enough money together to post bail, Balestrero hires himself a lawyer (Anthony Quayle), and does his best to remember where he was on the days that the robberies took place. His wife Rose (Miles) is faithful, and she does her best to help, but the proceedings eventually begin to take their toll on her sanity. Balestrero is left with a balancing act, trying to juggle his wife's emotional stability while still trying to prove his innocence.

If Notorious is Hitchcock's most romantic film, I Confess his most personal, Vertigo his most subconscious, and Frenzy his most perverse, then The Wrong Man is easily his most realistic accomplishment. Cases of mistaken identity are present in much of his work, but here there are no crop dusters to dodge, no Mt. Rushmore to dangle from, there is only the terrifying realization that, unless a miracle happens, you are being put behind bars. Hitchcock knows that this fact is scary enough on its own, and he makes sure the visuals never call attention away from the story. The direction is simple and matter of fact, and there are only two or three instances (the camera going through a peephole in a jail cell door, a cracked mirror drawing a line through the middle of Fonda's reflection) that make it instantly recognizable as vintage Hitchcock.

Fonda, the great everyman, is fantastic in his performance. You can see the worry in his brow, the shock in his eyes, and the fear deep inside him when his lips tremble. Seeing Fonda play a nice guy is nothing new, but the casting is right, and he gets to the foundations of this character. Vera Miles, the biggest surprise here, is every bit as good as Fonda. We understand she is a loyal wife and mother, but Miles manages to convey something a little darker, and more mysterious. Is she driven mad simply because of the emotional strain, or because she actually begins to believe that her husband is guilty? Miles makes you wonder. While I've appreciated her performances in Psycho and The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, I've never understood why she was Hitch's first choice for Madeleine/Judy in Vertigo. Now I know.

The Wrong Man is a tense, exciting, and fascinating film. It's not as highly regarded as many of Hitchcock's films, but it is just as essential. It proves, as if we didn't already know, that even though his films may not have always been as "groundbreaking" as some of his contemporaries', he was never to be outdone. He was filmmaker who welcomed change, and thrived on it, and this is precisely why his films are so endlessly fascinating. He may have never received an Oscar, but I defy you to show me a filmmaker whose work holds up as well as his.

Day of Wrath (1943)

Directed by: Carl Theodor Dreyer
Written by: Carl Th. Dreyer, based on the play Anne Pedersdotter by Hans Wiers-Jenssens
Starring: Lisbeth Movin, Preben Lerdorff Rye, Thorkild Roose

Black & White, 97 minutes, Danish


Grade: A-


"You asked if I ever wished you were dead. I have wished it hundreds of times."

These are the defining words of Carl Th. Dreyer's 1943 masterpiece Day of Wrath, a film of dark provocations that, like all of Dreyer's work, will haunt you the rest of your days. The story, set in 17th Century Denmark, concerns a very small town in which an elderly woman has been accused of witchcraft. The woman passionately denies the claim, and after hours of torture, she is burned at the stake. Before she dies, she curses her accusers, Reverend Absalon(Thorkild Roose) in particular, and tells them that they will all die for what they have done to her. The Reverend pays no mind to these words, he knows the ways in which people react to being burned alive, but it's what he doesn't know that just might bring the old lady's prophecy to pass. What he doesn't know is that his very young and newly acquired wife (Lisbeth Movin), is having an affair with his son (Preben Lerdorff) from a previous marriage. This affair will have ramifications that no one, except the recently departed old woman, could have predicted.

Carl Dreyer is, quite simply, one of the four or five greatest filmmakers to ever set foot on this planet. The reason for this, besides his masterful technical skill, was that he was utterly and completely uncompromising. During his sixty years as a filmmaker he made only fourteen films, and only five of them were made in sound. In my own personal opinion, I find Dreyer to be responsible for the greatest silent film of all time, 1928's The Passion of Joan of Arc (Buster Keaton's Sherlock, Jr. is a close second), one of the strangest and most uniquely atmospheric horror films I've ever seen, 1931's Vampyr, and what just has to be the definitive film ever to deal with the Christian faith, 1955's Ordet. Now, if you can get through these heaping piles of praise, let me say that Day of Wrath is the weakest Dreyer film that I've yet to watch. That being said, and Dreyer being who he is, it's still more powerful than most of the movies you'll ever be likely to come across in your lifetime.

The power in the film lies in the performances. Unlike any typical Hollywood production, Day of Wrath contains nothing resembling "acting." Dreyer was known for doing long takes, multiple times. He wanted to emotionally drain his performers until they were no longer acting, and Wrath follows in this tradition. The acting here is extremely naturalistic, as if these people were truly living out these situations, and Dreyer captures the burning intensity in each and every pair of eyes that comes in front of his camera. This intensity carries over to the audience, raising the level of tension to alarming heights. We aren't simply watching a movie here, we're seeing a filmed record of a terrifying time period in which seemingly no one was safe from persecution, and it all plays out on the faces of the performers. All of the stars of Hollywood out there making $20 million a movie could really learn a thing or two from watching acting like this. This is what acting should be.

There are no glaring flaws here. All of Dreyer's work is filled with exceptional photography, and Day of Wrath is no exception. Karl Andersson is the cinematographer here, and he fills the each frame with layers of shadow, letting only the smallest amount of light, and hope, shine through. Erik Aaes' art direction is spare, (the interior of a house, a torture chamber, the strictest confines of a church), yet entirely believable. The problem I have with the film is not the slow, deliberate pace that's common throughout all of Dreyer's work, but in the ending. Missing is the cathartic, emotional climax that made Joan of Arc and Ordet so special. The ending in Wrath is satisfying, but it doesn't tear at your soul in the trademark Dreyer way, and it is this reason only that the film strays from masterpiece status.

My one complaint aside, this film is still essential. Dreyer's influence can be found in many great filmmakers, but it is in Wrath that I see the foundations for some of Ingmar Bergman's greatest works. The dealings with the Reverend reminded me of Gunnar Bjornstrand's struggles in 1963's Winter Light, and the burning of the old woman had to lend some inspiration to the death of the child witch in 1957's The Seventh Seal, and like those two films, Wrath defies easy convention. It is a demanding, powerful, and thought provoking piece of work. Give in and let the film work you over. You will not regret it.

I Walked with a Zombie (1943)

Directed by: Jacques Tourneur
Written by: Curt Siodmak and Ardel Wray, based on an original
story by Inez Wallace
Produced by: Val Lewton
Starring: Frances Dee, James Ellison, Tom Conway
Black & White, 69 minutes


Grade: B


In the late 1930's, Val Lewton made a name for himself working as a story editor for produce David O. Selznick. Lewton was on the front lines of such productions as Gone With the Wind and Hitchcock's Rebecca. Remember the famous crane shot in Wind that pulls back to show Scarlett walking through hundreds of wounded soldiers? That was Lewton's idea, which he meant as a joke. A few years later, growing tired of Selznick's megalomania, Lewton left to become head of RKO's B-horror unit. RKO was on the verge of ruin, due to the financial failure of Orson Welles' Citizen Kane and The Magnificent Ambersons, and desperately needed to quickly churn out a few inexpensive hits. Lewton was given a handful of titles to choose from and told to turn them into screenplays. He was given free reign over the films, and when choosing his first director, he turned to old pal Jacques Tourneur. Their first film together(Cat People) was a huge hit, and RKO wanted more.

For their next collaboration they chose an "original" story by Inez Wallace. Now, to be fair, Wallace's story may be completely original, but the screenplay, cooked up by Curt Siodmak (The Wolf Man), borrows more than a few elements from Jane Eyre, not to mention a voice-over from Rebecca, and mixes in a bit of voodoo for good measure. Betsy Connell (Frances Dee) is a nurse that's still a little wet behind the ears, and more than a bit naive. She is offered a position taking care of Jessica Holland (Christine Gordon), a catatonic woman, referred to as a "zombie," who resides on a sugar plantation in St. Sebastian, an island in the West Indies. Betsy is promised "palm trees, sunbathing, and swimming," but the island holds darker, more terrifying secrets (they always do). In trying to find a cure for Jessica's illness, Betsy falls in love with Paul (Tom Conway), her patients husband. The problem comes in the fact that Paul may or may not have caused Jessica's illness when he found out about the affair she was having with his half-brother Wesley. This all happens in the first ten minutes. After that we get a visit to a voodoo encampment, a creepy looking, bug eyed dude that does nothing but stare, various shots of skulls and hollowed out gourds, and a couple of interesting twists in the third act.

If you can't tell already, this is probably the most plot heavy horror film ever made, and amazingly it lasts just over an hour. The performances are as serviceable as usual for this type of low budget chiller, but it is in the production values that the film excels and Lewton shows his genius. Tourneur, who went on to make Out of the Past, knows how to stage a suspenseful scene, and cinematographer J. Roy Hunt plays with shadow so effectively that he betrays his low budget roots. Roy Webb's music does exactly what a horror film score should, it maintains an eerie atmosphere without ever pointing out the shocks on screen.

The film has an authentic local flavor, those voodoo chants in particular, that seemed to me to be a sort of precursor to Robin Hardy and Anthony Shaffer's The Wicker Man. The overall gothic atmosphere of the proceedings also reminded me of Toni Morrison's Beloved. Yet, in the end, I would rather watch The Wicker Man again, or reread Beloved before I give this film another spin. I admire what Lewton and his accomplice were able to accomplish under such restrictions, but regardless of their intelligence and quality, the films are quite dated. What was creepy and effective sixty years ago has unfortunately been squandered away thanks to all the ultra-violent excuses for horror films that we have seen throughout the years (I'm talking about you Hostel). This is more of an admission of my own ignorance than anything. It's certainly not the fault of Lewton or his films, there's no way that he could have possibly had the foresight to know how desensitized we would all become.

All in all, I Walked with a Zombie is not a waste of time in any way. It's a smart film that's competently made, and it's certainly better than anyone could have anticipated at the time, and it's actually much better than it has any justifiable right to be. It's always nice to look back and see what scared the audiences of former generations, but throughout Zombie's 70 minute running time, I couldn't help but wonder what my grandchildren will think of the violence in the films of my generation. Scary thought, no? Certainly scarier than anything in this movie.

The Mortal Storm (1940)

Directed by: Frank Borzage
Written by: George Froeschel, Andersen Ellis, Claudine West
Starring: Margaret Sullavan, James Stewart, Frank Morgan

Black & White, 100 minutes


Grade: B+


Frank Borzage's The Mortal Storm is an admirable little film released right before America's involvement in World War II. Today this film has been forgotten, but it's ripe for rediscovery seeing as how it's themes are still relevant today. Southern Germany in 1933, Professor Viktor Roth (Frank Morgan, the title role in The Wizard of Oz) is celebrating his 60th birthday. His family throws a birthday dinner for him, and they invite two young men, Fritz Marberg (Robert Young) and Martin Breitner (Jimmy Stewart). Both of the men are in love with Roth's daughter Freya (Margaret Sullavan), but it is Marberg that gets to her first, and they announce their engagement at the dinner table. Only a few moments later, the family gets another life altering announcement, this time over the radio: "Adolf Hitler has just been appointed Chancellor of Germany."

Roth's stepsons are elated, and so is Fritz. They see Hitler as the guiding light their country needs. Roth, however, realizes what is at stake. His wife and stepsons are of "Aryan" race, while the Professor and his daughter are not. The biggest troublemaker, though, is Breitner, a German (yes, Stewart's Pennsylvania accent is intact) who refuses to support Nazism. "I think peace is better than war," Breitner says to his friends, and his friends aren't happy to hear this. Freya still harbors feelings for Breitner, and tries to keep him around, but Fritz's increasing amount of loyalty to the Reich makes it dangerous. Freya finally realizes Fritz's ignorance and leaves him. When she reveals her feelings to Breitner, he reciprocates, but it's too late. He has to help a friend cross the border to Austria (on skis no less), and Freya's father is taken and put into a concentration camp. Realizing that time is running out, Freya must find a way to escape.

Now, as melodramatic as it may sound, this film is quite remarkable for it's time. It takes a clear, unwavering stance against Nazism, and was one of few Hollywood films at the time that did. The most amazing aspect is that not only does it take a stand, but it clearly shows the ignorance and naivety of Nazi supporters. The film depicts them as individuals who sincerely believe that Germany will be changed for the better, and they stand by that belief no matter what, even when their families are torn apart because of it.

Director Borzage has a keen grip on this production. There are many set pieces (a classroom, a pub, the dining room) that he stages with such great precision that the tension becomes nearly unbearable. The cinematography by William H. Daniels takes a few too many cues from Rudolph Mate's work in Dreyer's The Passion of Joan of Arc in certain scenes, but he really excels with the exteriors, especially on the slopes, and gives the whole thing a real sense of urgency.

As much as I respected The Mortal Storm, there are many faults that are hard to overlook. Honestly, Jimmy Stewart as a German?! The man is my favorite actor of all time, and I think his talent was unbelievable, but his accent is completely unmistakable. In fact, none of the other actors are believable as Germans either, but the acting in this film is so good, especially by Morgan and Stewart, that after about ten minutes you just go with it. The intentional ambiguity (Roth is never referred to as being Jewish, he is simply "non-Aryan") becomes laughable and makes the film feel more dated than it should be. The biggest complaint I have, however, comes from the climax. Turning an intelligent, mature, and touching story into a routine chase across the Alps reduces the film to high class soap opera.

While it may not be a masterpiece, The Mortal Storm is a so very solid film that still stands as a bit of an anomaly in Hollywood's history. It's a bold film that has a purpose, and that's always something rare, even in today's market. In fact, after seeing this film, Hitler banned all of MGM's films in Germany, which was quite a big deal since MGM had a big market in that country. The film also serves as a nice reminder of Stewart's awesome range as an actor. Right before this film he did Capra's Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, and right after would be his Oscar winning performance in Cukor's The Philadelphia Story. These are three very different roles, and he excelled in them all, so for Stewart fans this film is essential, and that's a good enough reason for many people. Unfortunately, The Mortal Storm is not available on DVD. For some reason we can get twelve different versions of Saw II on disc, but not a classic Jimmy Stewart movie. However, if you do come across this film, whether it be on television (like me) or VHS, it is definitely worth your while.

The Earrings of Madame de... (1953)

a.k.a. Madame de...

Directed by: Max Ophuls
Written by: Marcel Archard, Max Ophuls, Annete
Wademant
Starring: Charles Boyer, Danielle Darrieux, Vittorio De Sica

Black & White, 105 minutes, French


Grade: A+

Max Ophuls' The Earrings of Madame de... is one of the most critically acclaimed films of all time. Andrew Sarris, who used Ophuls as the basis for his "auteur theory," often referred to it as the greatest film of all time, and Dave Kehr went one better by calling it "one of the most beautiful things ever created by human hands." It was in the shadow of such high praise that I watched this film, and, surprisingly, I wasn't disappointed in the least. This is a beautiful, multi-layered, and fascinating motion picture that can easily stand with the greats.

The reason for the films success is quite simple: Ophuls was a masterful filmmaker. Practically unknown to the general public, but loved by critics, Ophuls was a bit like The Velvet Underground of cinema. Not everybody has heard of him, but those who have witnessed his work were extremely effected by it. After years of reading his praises and searching for his films (only one of his films, Lola Montes, has been released on DVD, and it's now out of print), I finally found a copy of Madame de... on VHS. The transfer was nothing short of horrible, and the subtitling was even worse, but Ophuls' talent was evident from the first frame.

In 19th century Vienna, we see the Comtesse Louise de... (Danielle Darrieux), whose last name is never given to suggest that she is practically interchangeable with any other female member of the priviliged class, frantically tearing through her bedroom, looking for something she can sell to help pay off her debts. She likes her necklaces, and she sure as hell isn't going to give up her furs, so she settles on a pair of diamond earrings that were a wedding present from her husband, General Andre de...(Charles Boyer). The romance has left their marriage, the nostalgia has faded, and she never really liked the earrings to begin with. At the pawnshop the broker is stunned to see a pair of earrings that he had sold to Andre years before, in happier times.

Later that night at the opera, Louise makes a big spectacle about her missing earrings. Her husband, who has no knowledge of her financial troubles, goes to the trouble of having an article put in the newspaper about the missing jewelry. The pawnbroker sees this and automatically brings the earrings back to Andre. The General is visibly upset, yet he does not confront Louise about it, instead he prefers to subtly ask her questions about them, and the audience discovers that Louise is a compulsive liar. The General eventually gives the earrings to his mistress, who loses them at a roulette table in Constantinople. Eventually they end up in the hands of Baron Donati (Vittorio De Sica), who has just ran into the woman of his dreams, a woman that happens to be the Comtesse Louise. From this point on, Ophuls provides us with a love triangle whose actions and ramifications are surprisingly touching.

Ophuls' biggest claim to fame is the way he handles his camera. He was a master of the mobile camera, and Madame de... has some of the most amazing tracking shots put on film. His work may have inspired later masters, such as Kubrick, Scorsese, and Bertolucci, but unlike those directors, Ophuls' style is not there to simply dazzle us, it has a purpose. The fluidity is natural and integral to the plot, as if the story was meant to be filmed this way, and only this particular way.

Aside from these tracking shots, Ophuls peppers his film visual flourishes. In one scene we see a letter torn to shreds and thrown out the window of a moving train, the floating paper quickly turns into falling snow, and we are now in winter. The most stunning accomplishment in the film, however, is the ballroom sequence. Ophuls shows us Donati and Louise spinning around on the dance floor. The camera circles the two of them, and without missing a beat we see their clothes have changed and an entire courtship plays out in a matter of minutes without ever leaving the dance floor, establishing Ophuls as the most economical of filmmakers.

The performances in Madame de... are simply perfection. Darrieux brings the right amount of naivete and elegance to a role that would falter in lesser hands. Boyer is assertive and demanding as Andre, and De Sica, the biggest surprise here, proves that he can act as well as he can direct, and that, my friends, is quite an accomplishment. His Baron is an innocent, hopelessly in love with an impossible woman. Other actors would exploit the ignorance in the character, but De Sica is solid in his sincerity, and we buy into every bit of it.

The General tells his wife that their relationship is "superficially superficial," and so it is, but Ophuls, through all the beautiful costumes and production design, finds a deeper truth in his material. We see the vanity, shallowness, and greed of the upper class, but, nonetheless, we care about these individuals. Madame de... does not deserve the attention of Andre, and she certainly doesn't warrant the fuss made by Donati, but we want a happy ending. The fact that Ophuls refuses to give us that satisfaction proves that he is not a romantic, he is a cynic, plain and simple.

As I mentioned earlier, Ophuls' films are hard to find. Madame de... has just been restored and is being shown in art houses across the country. Hopefully this will revive the recognition that it once received, and we will see some of his releases hit the DVD market. Personally, I've been searching in vain for a copy of his Letter from an Unknown Woman from 1948, mostly because I harbor a secret crush on Joan Fontaine, but a world class filmmaker with such immense talent demands an audience. This is a man whose reputation ranks him alongside the likes of Welles, Hitchcock, and Bergman. If you are lucky enough to find any of his films, I cannot urge you enough to spend the money and the time. Such talent is rare, and it must be cherished.

To Have and Have Not (1944)

Directed by: Howard Hawks
Written by: Jules Furthman, William Faulkner, based on story by Ernest Hemingway
Starring: Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall, Walter Brennan

Black & White, 100 minutes


Grade: A


Think about it. Bogie, Bacall, Hawks, Hemingway, Faulkner. What could go wrong with a line up like that? Honestly, not a whole lot. In the summer of 1940 on the island of Martinique, fisherman Harry Morgan (Bogart) is doing his best to make it. He and his alcoholic pal Eddie (Brennan) are giving fishing lessons to high rollers and they aren't too interested in the local political climate. In a bar, Harry meets Marie (Bacall), a curvaceous pickpocket that can work any man she meets, except Harry of course. During their flirtatious exchanges, a shootout occurs in the bar between Vichy forces and members of the Resistance. Afterwards, the patrons of the bar are interrogated, and Harry is suspected of being a sympathizer of the Resistance. With his money and passport taken from him, Harry does take a job helping the resistance and he develops a conscience, as well as a romance, along the way.

To Have and Have Not is basically Hawks' version of Casablanca. Similar in both story and tone, it's easy to see that Hawks' film is the more stylish of the two, but it doesn't have the grandeur of the Curtiz film. Both films are very laid back in their storytelling approach, and that would be my one complaint about this film. Technically speaking the film is superb, but, unlike Casablanca, the lazy feeling tends to hamper the plot. Now, this is a very minor complaint, and the Furthman and Faulkner layer the film with sharp, biting dialogue that is worthy of Wilder's best work, and the actors eat it up. Bacall practically defines sex appeal when she tells Bogie how to whistle ("put your lips together and... blow").

Although I've unfairly compared this film to Casablanca, there is very little competition for Howard Hawks. Here was a director who was seemingly unstoppable. He had the ability to not only work in any genre he wanted, but to work extremely well in any genre. A list of his masterpieces would consist of gangster films (Scarface), comedies (Bringing up Baby), westerns (Red River), noir (The Big Sleep), and even sci-fi/horror (The Thing from Another World). He may not have been the visionary that John Ford was, and he surely wasn't as groundbreaking as Orson Welles was, but it is no question that his work influenced every filmmaker who followed him. This film could be seen as a minor success for him, but that doesn't make it any less worthy of your time.

Besides being the film that introduced 19 year old Lauren Bacall to audiences, To Have and Have Not is the film that introduced her to Bogart. They would marry soon after, and would work together three more times, most notably in The Big Sleep. Her role here is tailor made for a star. Not only does she gets the best lines in the film, she gets to sing alongside Hoagy Carmichael. This film makes it very easy to see why Bogart fell for her, she is completely magnetic and the chemistry between the two of them practically emanates from the screen. Bogart is his typically reliable self, which is great, and Walter Brennan plays comedic relief like it's second nature. Hawks, aided immensely by editor Christian Nyby, handles the action scenes perfectly, and makes sure that the characters never take a back seat for the sake of the story or locale.

While it would make a great double bill with Casablanca, To Have and Have Not also serves as a nice warm up for what this team would eventually pull of in The Big Sleep. The sparks are there, but it would take another two years before the blaze really caught on. This film doesn't get as much press as some of Bogie's other efforts, but it certainly should. He would push his performances to new heights later in his career with The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, In a Lonely Place, and The African Queen, but he would never be matched on screen the way he is here. Bacall is every bit as sassy and tough as he is, and it's a joy to watch.

Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (1936)

Directed by: Frank Capra
Written by: Clarence Budington Kellund and Robert Riskin
Starring: Gary Cooper, Jean Arthur

Black & White, 115 minutes


Grade: A+


Longfellow Deeds (Cooper) is a simple man who enjoys long walks in the woods. He doesn't drink, he doesn't smoke, he has a good job writing poems for postcards, and he is something of a local celebrity in his hometown of Mandrake Falls, Vermont. The serenity of his peaceful existence is thrown off kilter when his uncle passes away and leaves Deeds with a $20 million inheritance. Deeds waves goodbye to Mandrake Falls and heads to his uncle's home in New York. During his stay he is tricked,manipulated, and deceived by nearly everyone around him for a piece of the money. The most notable backstabber is reporter Louise "Babe" Bennett (Jean Arthur) who seduces Deeds into caring for her only to make him out to be a complete fool on the front page, branding him "The Cinderella Man." Upon realizing Bennett's betrayal, Deeds decides to head back to Vermont. On his way out the door, Deeds is confronted by a farmer who is down on his luck. Seeing this, Deeds decides to give his entire inheritance to a group of local farmers. Of course, once the lawyers of New York hear this, Deeds has his sanity put up on trial. Literally.

Another one of Capra's odes to the common man, Deeds holds up well today because of Cooper's incisive acting and Capra's uncanny ability to pierce the human heart. Not outrageous enough to fit into the category of screwball comedy, and not sentimental enough to be melodrama, Capra is able to find the perfect balance that keeps this material interesting, pleasant, and even fairly suspenseful.

Now, I'm going to be completely honest here. I am of the mind that Capra's It's a Wonderful Life is in the upper echelon of the greatest achievements in world cinema. I'm not going to get into it here, but I will say that no film, with the exception of Vertigo, has the power to effect me as much on repeated viewings as that film. Mr. Deeds is nowhere near as good as that film, but it is still an essential experience., mainly because it's here that Capra plants the seeds that would grow to full bloom in Wonderful Life. The two films are very similar, especially in their lead characters. They are both very nice, genuine, and humble men who find themselves near the end of their rope, trapped in what seems to be an impossible situation. The difference between the two is that Longfellow Deeds isn't afraid to raise some hell when he needs to. It's quite often that you see him in fist fights defending his honor. It's this element that makes Deeds a bit more human that George Bailey. He's a nice guy alright, and maybe even more than a bit naive, but he isn't above putting others in their place, and Gary Cooper lets all that register on his face. From bewilderment to anger to subtle surprise, Cooper has no problem with the range of emotions that Capra throws at him. It's a surprisingly deep performance.

In the end, however, this is Capra's film. This type of material takes a master to steer it home, and Capra is more than up for the challenge. Often overlooked by many snobs because his films lack the style of many of his contemporaries, Capra was nonetheless a true visionary. I believe He had both the courage and the foresight to see the potential impact that his films could have on future audiences. He was willing to be sentimental when many "serious" filmmakers were not, and because of that, he will never be forgotten. His films have a lasting quality because, like Deeds and Bailey, they too are simple. They aren't out to shake us or attack our senses or shove a message down our throats. Capra's films are there to remind us that people can still be good. "He's got goodness," says Babe Bennett when talking about Longfellow Deeds. The same could easily be said of Frank Capra, and his genius was that he believed the same could be said for everyone else.

Grave of the Fireflies (1988)

Written & Directed by: Isao Takahata

Animated, 93 Minutes


Grade: A+



For decades, animation has been one of the most revolutionary tools in cinema. Why is it that so few directors have ever utilized it to the fullest potential? I mean, sure, there are many animated films that can be called great in one way or another, but there is rarely any sort of middle ground. We get all sorts of Disney cuteness (Bambi, Dumbo) that caters to kiddies, we even get post-apocalyptic, sci-fi, cyberpunk thrillers (Akira, Wicked City) for adults, but we rarely ever get any sort of balance between the two. Now, before you start throwing examples from the Shrek movies or the latest Pixar film at me, save it. Sure, they have quick-witted dialogue and even some sly double entendres, but they really aren't challenging to audiences. This is precisely why the films of Studio Ghibli stand far above any other animated films ever made. The Japanese studio is home to two great filmmakers, Hayao Miyazaki and Isao Takahata. Miyazaki is quite possibly one of the most consistent filmmakers the world has ever seen. From My Neighbor Totoro to Princess Mononoke to the more recent Howl's Moving Castle, Miyazaki has churned out masterpiece on top of masterpiece. Isao Takahata, however, may be his equal in many ways, but his films are not as well known in America. Grave of the Fireflies is my first experience with Takahata, and if it's the only film of his that I ever see, I will still consider him one of the greats.

Toward the end of World War II, Japan is being firebombed by American forces. After their mother dies in one of the air raids, teenage boy Seita and his younger sister Setsuko are doing their best to survive. With their father serving in the Imperial Navy, the two siblings find refuge with their aunt. Because of food shortages, they are reduced to selling their mother's kimonos to buy rice. After a while, the children's aunt becomes overbearing, yelling at Seita because he doesn't attend school or have a job. Of course, the schools have all been destroyed, and besides the military or government, there are very few options for employment. Eventually the children have enough, and head out to fend for themselves. They turn an old bomb shelter into a living quarters, and they do what they can for food. They eat dried frogs, steal vegetables from local gardens, and even resort to looting other houses during air raids. All of this builds the story to a heartbreaking conclusion that will affect everyone who watches it.

Five minutes into this film, I totally forgot it was animated. The characters of Seita and Setsuko are so well-written, and so richly detailed that you perceive them as real people. You feel for them every step of the way. Like all of Studio Ghibli's films, the animation is extremely well done, but it is the content of this story that is surprising. Working from a semi-autobiographical novel by Akiyuki Nosaka, Takahata gives us images of wartime terror and scenes so harrowing that they can easily rival any live action film. I won't spoil it for those who haven't seen it, but this film is incredibly emotional, and it's one of the most honest representations of a relationship between siblings that I've ever witnessed, calling to mind the father and son relationship at the center of DeSica's Bicycle Thieves. Not only does it transcend animation, but in terms of emotion it transcends nearly every anti-war film ever made, standing alongside films such as The Deer Hunter, and even Schindler's List.

So, why take such a shattering story and make it animated? Simply because a live action version would be too much for audiences to bear. In fact, there was a live action version made for Japanese television a couple years ago, but the word is that the story was told from the aunt's perspective. Big mistake. The children are the key. Being told from the perspective from two children, the film avoids politics. Not once does any character make any mention of America. We see the planes overhead, burning villages to the ground, but children don't concern themselves with patriotism. They are looking only for safety, and this is what makes the film so great. Fingers are never pointed, blame is never placed, because in war it doesn't matter who started it, it doesn't matter who finishes it, it only matters that it's over.

When it debuted in Japanese theaters, Grave of the Fireflies was the second film in a double feature with Miyazaki's My Neighbor Totoro. The two films couldn't be any more different. Totoro is endlessly delightful, where Fireflies is completely devastating. This terrible marketing strategy may have turned off most audience members in 1988, but seeing as how Totoro is my favorite animated film, I would have loved to have been there. That's a double feature that would put Grindhouse to shame.

Upon seeing Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, the legendary Russian director Sergei Eisenstein (Battleship Potemkin) called it the greatest film ever made. One can only imagine what kind of praise he would have given this film had he lived to see it. I like to imagine that he would have had the same reaction as I did - silently sitting there, heartbroken, with tears in his eyes. This is an extremely powerful film, and it is not to be missed. Young children may be traumatized by it, but older, more mature children will get the message. Either way, I would recommend that parents view the film first. It is available on DVD, and if you haven't seen it then this should be the next film you watch. There are few films that I would recommend higher than this one.