They Live By Night: Nicholas Ray

They Live By Night demonstrates the brilliance of a new director desperate to prove himself. His first film, Nicholas Ray was given complete creative control of this adaption of Edward Anderson's novel Thieves Like Us. The film follows the story of "Bowie" Bowers (Farley Granger) and "Keechie" Mobley (Cathy O'Donnell), two young lovers on the run from the law. At the beginning, Bowie escapes from prison along with two bank robbers named Chicamaw and T-Dub. They find shelter with a gas station owner. The owner's daughter, Keechie, quickly falls in love with Bowie. They elope and run off to start a new life. However, Chicamaw and T-Dub find them and force Bowie to help them with one last score...The film was one of the first examples of the "couple on the run" genre that would later be perfected in such films as Bonnie and Clyde (1967) and Badlands (1973). Interestingly, Ray goes to great lengths to reassure the audience of Bowie and Keechie's innocence of most criminal activity. Bowie was initially imprisoned for a crime he didn't commit. Despite the fact that the two don't kill anybody, they are quickly blamed for several murders due to their notoriety. Even this early in his career, Ray demonstrates a marked distrust and disgust of authority figures. The tragic story of They Live By Night is accentuated by Ray's visual flair. For example, the opening scene was filmed from a helicopter. Until They Live By Night, helicopters were never used to film action scenes. Though generally overshadowed by his later work, They Live By Night is still a vital part of Ray's filmography as one of America's greatest cinematic iconoclasts.

7/10

The Last of the Mohicans: Maurice Tourneur, Clarence Brown

Maurice Tourneur and Clarence Brown's The Last of the Mohicans occupies a fascinating era of transition in American cinema. The film, an adaption of James Fenimore Cooper's classic novel, demonstrates an evolution in both cinematic language and on-screen performances. Much of the film is comprised of carefully constructed static tableaux that perfectly frame the actors and their actions. But during scenes of great energy and action, like the destruction of the English fort, suddenly the camera becomes mobile. The film indulges in tracking shots, swift edits between multiple scenes of action, and more dynamic shot compositions. Much of the acting still retains over-dramatic theatrical flairs. But Barbara Bedford's performance as Cora Munro displays a much more internalized method of acting. She demonstrates much more restraint than other heroines of her day. However, this damages early scenes where she is so restrained that she seems to be in a daze or coma. But once the actual action of the film gets under way, she seems to "wake up." I was personally amazed by how engaged I was with The Last of the Mohicans. Thinking back, I find that I prefer this version of the film to Michael Mann's 1992 adaptation. Despite its age, Tourneur and Brown's film seems more timeless and provocative.

9/10

Racket Girls: Robert C. Dertano

Something occurred to me while watching Robert C. Dertano's Racket Girls: the great films about boxing and wrestling use their fight footage as an extension of the story. In Raging Bull (1980), Jake LaMotta's fights were like an exploration of his psyche and inner demons. Stoker Thompson's fight scenes in The Set-Up (1949) carried the weight of a man who literally had nothing left to lose trying to prove that he was worth something. The wrestling scenes in Racket Girls are completely devoid of narrative significance. They are, quite literally, poorly shot sequences of women "wrestling" with all of the tension and excitement of watching paint dry. Too bad that such scenes make up at least one-third of the film. The rest of the film? Boring, sleazy, and exploitative footage of scantily clad women "training" and a weak sub-plot about money laundering and the mafia. I suppose that the criminal shenanigans are technically the central narrative, but I still choose to refer to them as the "sub-plot" because the women are the only reason why anybody would watch this film. I feel sorry for the poor saps who paid money to see this film. They must have been expecting something sexy and provocative. Instead, they got a barely coherent film rife with terrible wrestling footage and a plot that makes no sense. Make no mistake: Racket Girls is a dull, ugly, and unpleasant film.

2/10

The House with Laughing Windows: Pupi Avati

Let it be known that Pupi Avati's The House with Laughing Windows was one of the only films that I have seen that contained a plot twist that I legitimately didn't see coming. Even more impressively, I didn't feel cheated or insulted by the twist. Of course, I don't want to spoil the film for anyone who hasn't seen it yet. But suffice to say that it comes out of nowhere and makes you completely re-evaluate the film. It begins with Stefano, a professional art restorer, arriving in a rural Italian village to restore a fresco of Saint Sebastian's death in a decrepit church. As he restores the massive painting, he is shocked by the unusual brutality and violence portrayed. He gradually learns that the artist had been insane and had enlisted the aid of his two sisters to kidnap, torture, and murder villagers for inspiration. So imagine his horror when during his stay villagers start to disappear again...The House with Laughing Windows focuses less on graphic violence and more on creating a suffocating atmosphere. It reminds me of Robin Hardy's The Wicker Man (1973) where every villager seems to be in on a secret, sinister plot. The few scenes that actually do feature violence are legitimately disturbing, especially the flashbacks concerning the sisters. And then, of course, there is the twist ending. But I'll leave that for you all to discover.

7/10

The Brain that Wouldn’t Die: Joseph Green

Somewhere out there, an academic is frantically typing a paper examining how Jan Compton in Joseph Green's The Brain that Wouldn't Die is emblematic of women in 1950s sci-fi. After all, she is literally just there to get in the way and validate the efforts of her scientist lover. But one thing that this academic won't discuss is whether or not The Brain that Wouldn't Die is a good film. That's where I come in. Despite its infamy, The Brain that Wouldn't Die isn't very good. It centers on Dr. Bill Cortner, a brilliant yet somewhat amoral scientist. His goal in life is to discover how to keep severed limbs and body parts alive so they can be transplanted from human to human. However, when Jan, his fiancée, is decapitated in a terrible car accident, he uses his techniques to keep her severed head alive in a pan. Cortner then frantically tries to find "specimens" that he can reconstruct Jan's body with. What he didn't count on was the fact that Jan has somehow developed telepathy and is using it to control a hideous monster, the results of earlier failed attempts at body transplants which Cortner keeps in a locked room adjacent to his lab. Apparently, Jan is none too enthusiastic concerning her new lot in life. Who could have guessed? In all seriousness, my favorite part of this film has to do with a strange philosophical quandary that many horror films about bringing the dead back to life struggle with: do the dead want to come back to life? Unfortunately, this fascinating question is trapped in a dull and boring film. It's enough to give you a head-ache (pun definitely intended).

4/10

Rodan: Ishirō Honda

Chances are that the original Japanese release of Radon, Giant Monster of the Sky was a decent film as far as kaijueiga go. The story of a race of giant dragonflies and two Pteranodon-esque survivors from million of years ago, the film seems like the spiritual successor of director Ishirō Honda's earlier masterpiece Godzilla (1954). Both films revolve around giant monsters disturbed by nuclear tests which then go on destructive rampages throughout Japan. However, the American version of the film is absolutely atrocious. Overbearing narration drowns the entire film. It was almost as if the American censors were worried that audiences wouldn't be able to accept the spectacle of murderous, giant monsters. Pointless plot cul-de-sacs about different characters proliferate the narrative, grinding it to a screeching halt. This was Toho Studios first kaijueiga shot in color and the special effects suffer for it. Godzilla benefited from the dark, black-and-white photography which obscured the costume effects for the eponymous monster. In Rodan, the use of color makes the monsters look cheap and plastic, an unfortunate trait that kaijueiga wouldn't shake for decades. Watching Rodan is a frustrating experience. You want the story to get moving, but it keeps tripping over its own shoelaces.

5/10

Dry Summer: Metin Erksan

Film, despite its wide proliferation throughout the world, is a tragically delicate medium. Unless it is gently cared for and preserved, film negatives will deteriorate in a matter of decades. Film enthusiasts and scholars mourn the cold statistics which pronounce that only 10 to 15 percent of silent cinema has survived until today. Therefore, the rediscovery and restoration of lost films is a cause for celebration. But silent films from the cinema’s infancy are not the only ones at risk. Many more recent films have fallen victim to political repression and destruction. One such cinematic treasure was Metin Erksan’s Dry Summer. Despite its enthusiastic reception in the West (even winning the 14th Berlin International Film Festival’s Golden Bear for Best Film), it was swiftly suppressed by the Turkish government for giving the “wrong” image of Turkey. Never mind the fact that in Erksan’s film evil is punished and justice prevails. The hammer fell and Dry Summer was locked away and forgotten about for 45 years. And yet, like Lazarus, Dry Summer has emerged from its tomb thanks to a rigorous restoration by the Cineteca del Comune di Bologna. Now, once again, the world can witness this masterpiece of Turkish cinema.

It all begins with two brothers. The eldest, Osman, decides quite suddenly one day that he will dam up the spring that forms on their property, thereby choking all of the other villagers downstream. The decision comes as quite a shock to the younger brother, Hassan. After all, Hassan explains, water is the earth’s lifeblood. You can’t own water. But Osman doesn’t care. The water may belong to everyone, but the spring is on their property, ergo anything it produces belongs to them. Unable to dissuade his older brother, Hassan and his beautiful wife Bahar are forced to help build the dam.

Naturally, this invites the wrath of their neighbors. Without the water, their tobacco crops will die. The villagers appeal to the court system who quickly agree that Osman’s actions are illegal. The dams are destroyed and the water flows freely once more. But literally within days Osman appeals to an even higher court who supports his claim of ownership over the spring.

Meanwhile, Osman lusts for Bahar, spying on her via a peephole while she undresses and makes love. Erksan and his cinematographer Kriton İlyadis frequently highlight Osman’s desire by cleverly framing him so that he is never far away from Bahar. If she is in the bottom foreground, Osman is in the high background. Part of the pleasure in watching Dry Summer is reveling in the geometric variations that such shots provide within the frame’s diegetic space.

It isn’t long before Osman seizes on a chance to get Hassan out of the way so he can have Bahar all to himself. When a small group of villagers attack Osman’s dam one night, he manages to shoot and kill one of their number. When the police arrive, Osman manages to convince Hassan to take the blame because “they’ll give a younger man a lesser sentence.” So Hassan is sentenced to eight years in prison. Unbeknownst to Bahar, Osman destroys all of Hassan’s letters. Osman swoops down on Bahar in her grief, trying even more explicitly to seduce her. His passions reach their highest point during an astonishingly erotic scene where Bahar is bitten by a snake and Osman sucks the poison from her wound with extreme gusto.

When word gets out that someone with Hassan’s surname was murdered in prison, Osman tells Bahar that her husband is dead. After torturing Bahar emotionally and psychologically for so long she gives to Osman’s advances. I won’t reveal the ending for two reasons. First, most of you have probably already figured out the twist. Second, I don’t want to rob anyone of the pleasure of the final few scenes. It’s rare to see a film with such a violent climax that doesn’t seem forced or unnecessary. The final denouement and confrontation are arise organically.

This may be cloying sentimentalism bordering on hyperbole, but I truly believe Osman to be one of the best antagonists of European cinema. He isn’t a villain that audiences love to hate like Hannibal Lector or Darth Vader. He doesn’t have a grand scheme or plan. He has no reason for hoarding his water. The summer may be dry, but at no point is it indicated that there will not be enough water for everyone. Osman builds the dam for one reason: because he can. Whenever he is confronted, he gives the same excuse that it is his water and he can do whatever he wants with it. There are several moments when Hassan and Bahar rebel and tear down the dam. But Osman has an almost preternatural ability to suddenly appear whenever they do so he can put the dam back up. During one sequence Osman is attacked by several armed villagers. It appears that the unarmed Osman is doomed. But then the scene shifts and we see a battered but otherwise confident Osman re-appear at his house. How did he survive the attack? It’s never explained. Don’t misunderstand me: there is no mystical or supernatural element to Dry Summer. The film instead invokes the techniques and tones of Neo-realism. Osman just has an uncanny (and unfortunate) knack for being in the right place at the right time.

But Osman is not the only reason why Dry Summer stands as one of Turkey’s greatest cinematic triumphs. Take, for instance, the spell-binding black-and-white cinematography. I’ve always believed that black-and-white photography can be more inherently colorful then even the brightest Technicolor when put in the hands of a master. The Turkish countryside in Dry Summer is brought to vivid life in Erksan and İlyadis’ hands. Rarely has water seemed so beautiful and refreshing. Let us not be like Osman and hoard Dry Summer to ourselves. This is a film that needs to be seen, to be respected, to be cherished.

9/10

Lisa and the Devil: Mario Bava

I didn't initially think I would enjoy Mario Bava's Lisa and the Devil. I much prefer his earlier, black-and-white work. But I decided to give Lisa and the Devil a try after all. Depending on which version of the film you watch, Lisa and the Devil is about one of two things. If you watch the horribly butchered US release, the film is a rip-off of The Exorcist (1973). But if you watch the original Italian version, the plot is completely different. Lisa Rainer is a tourist who gets lost in Toledo, Spain and takes refuge in a decrepit mansion owned by a blind Countess. Once there, she finds herself caught in a web of murder, necrophilia, and mysterious false identities. The film moves much slower than other Italian horror films of the era. Lisa drifts throughout the mansion in a kind of trance as she makes horrific discoveries. And yet, the film isn't very graphically violent. Even during scenes of great horror and gore, Bava maintains a rhythmic lilt that lulls the viewer into a stupor. I found myself strangely entranced by Lisa and the Devil. Most Italian horror films use style and atmosphere as a place-setting to underscore different acts of violence and debauchery. In Lisa and the Devil, the violence is almost secondary. I admire that. As I mentioned before, I didn't originally think that I would like this film. I'm glad that Bava proved me wrong.

7/10

The Love God?: Nat Hiken

It's an idea almost too good to be true: Don Knotts as a Hugh Hefner-esque playboy. I mean...it's Don Knotts! Barney Fife! Ralph Furley! Don Knotts doesn't have sex! Right? I mean, he has two kids...but I guess we always assumed that they were literally delivered by a stork. And yet, director Nat Hiken managed to do the impossible in his amazing film The Love God? Knotts plays Abner Peacock, a foppish young man who overseas a bird-watcher's magazine entitled The Peacock.  However, the money is quickly running out for Abner's beloved magazine. In a desperate bid to save it, he takes on a new partner named Osborn Tremain. However, Tremain has no interest in birds. Tremain actually manipulated Abner to give him control of his magazine so he could turn it into a sexy "gentleman's" magazine. Tremain had been convicted of sending obscene content through the mail system too many times. Transforming The Peacock into a nudie mag provides him with a loophole. Of course, Abner remains completely oblivious...at least until he is arrested. Suddenly Abner is in the middle of a First Amendment battle of mythic proportions. But all Abner wants to do is redeem his name. Too bad that his lawyers convince him to play the part of a sex god in order to help them in their case for the "good of the First Amendment." I could go on, but much of the fun of The Love God? is watching Abner's troubles multiply and evolve in shocking and absurd ways. The Love God? is a comedic and satirical tour de force. This is Don Knotts at the top of his game. Who knew Knotts could make such a great (and unwilling) swinger?

9/10

Rollercoaster: James Goldstone

James Goldstone's Rollercoaster is a kind of cinematic relic from the moment in Hollywood history when blockbusters started to become big business and the number one priority for movie studios. It tells the story of Harry Calder, a ride inspector, who finds himself in the middle of a serial amusement park bomber case. The mysterious bomber, having already struck twice before, is holding several prominent amusement park owners ransom for $1 million in order to stop the carnage. Calder is one of the only people who can identify the bomber's handiwork. As a result, the bomber chooses Calder as the man who will deliver the ransom money to him. However, after the police arrogantly ignore the bomber's instructions and mark the ransom money, he informs Calder that he will have to "punish" him. And so begins a race against time to figure out his next target and save it from his evil machinations. Rollercoaster was originally shown in "Sensurround," a system designed for Earthquake (1974) which used low-frequency sounds to make the audience "feel" on-screen vibrations. As a result, Rollercoaster is rife with extended footage of people riding theme park rides. Apparently, the "Sensurround" made audiences feel like they were really on the rides. But watching Rollercoaster without "Sensurround" is still a very rewarding experience. In a serendipitous accident, the extended theme park footage increases the suspense. The first 15 minutes of Rollercoaster is one of the most nail-biting and expertly crafted suspense sequences of the 70s. It's a shame that Rollercoaster had to be released in 1977, the same year that George Lucas' Star Wars first hit an unsuspecting populace. If it had been released a year earlier, Rollercoaster would probably still be considered a classic.

8/10

Mr. Vampire: Ricky Lau

When I was growing up, one of my favorite television shows was Jackie Chan Adventures. It was a delightful mash-up of Eastern mythology, magic, and martial arts. Having now seen Ricky Lau's Mr. Vampire, I believe I have found the show's inspiration. Mr. Vampire follows a Taoist priest named Kau who performs funerary services along with his two well-meaning but incompetent apprentices Man-choi and Chau-sang. After a reburial goes wrong, they have to fight against a geung si, or a Chinese "hopping" vampire. But while they try and stop the undead creature, a female ghost seduces Chau-sang and attempts to steal his soul. All of these plot threads are tied together with lightning fast stunts and physical humor. I find it fascinating how everybody in Mr. Vampire assumes that geung si and the supernatural are real. In Western horror, there's always an element of doubt and/or skepticism. Nobody actually believes that Count Dracula is a vampire until it is almost too late. Even after the monster is defeated in Western horror, many times the question of whether or not it was real lingers. But in Mr. Vampire, there is no doubt. Geung si are a fact of life. This helps keep the mad-cap action and special effects grounded. Sounds counter-intuitive, doesn't it? In any case, Mr. Vampire is a wonderfully entertaining piece of cinema. I wonder if geung si could work in a Hollywood film? Nah. They would probably get laughed off the set by even the most jaded monster hunters. Oh well...that's Hollywood's loss.

7/10

Night of the Blood Beast: Bernard L. Kowalski

Don't let the fact that Night of the Blood Beast was directed by Bernard L. Kowalski fool you. This is a Roger Corman film through and through. The film was written in six weeks, shot in seven days, and blatantly ripped off another popular film. In this case, the film was Howard Hawks' The Thing from Another World (1951). See if you can see the similarities in Night of the Blood Beast: an alien comes to earth via a crashed spaceship, infects people, and goes on a killing spree. But unlike The Thing from Another World, Night of the Blood Beast isn't very good. It's one of those creature features made up primarily of unusually attractive and photogenic scientists talking to each other about things that we don't actually see. The actual monster only has about 4 minutes of screen-time in the entire film. And then there's the absurd portrayal of NASA as an agency that only has half a dozen employees working their rocket programs. There's no pacing, no smooth storytelling, and an annoying reliance on expository dialogue to help the story along. And so, as I said, this is clearly a Roger Corman film. He may have just produced it (along with his brother Gene Corman), but you can see his fingerprints on it everywhere.

3/10

Rebel Without a Cause: Nicholas Ray

The following is a re-print of a short essay I wrote for a Nicholas Ray class at NYU - Tisch.

The first time that I saw Nicholas Ray’s Rebel Without a Cause, I was largely unimpressed. Of course, this was around eight years ago before I seriously got involved in cinema studies. At the time, I was incapable of appreciating Ray’s phenomenal direction, Ernest Haller’s stunning cinematography, and James Dean’s haunting performance. But now that I am older and wiser I am able to recognize Rebel Without a Cause for the classic film that it is. And yet, when I re-watched it, the thing that impressed me the most wasn’t the acting or direction. Instead, it was the manner in which Ray blocked his actors and framed his shots. It’s easy to miss if you don’t know what to look for. It’s said that classical Hollywood film-makers tried to use “invisible editing” so that the audiences wouldn’t notice scene changes. To most, it would appear that Ray used “invisible mise en scène.” But closer study reveals otherwise. Consider the very first scene inside the police station where the audience first meets Jim Stark (Dean), Plato (Sal Mineo), and Judy (Natalie Wood).  Before we are even introduced to Plato and Judy, we see them in the foreground and background of several shots. After we meet them, Ray spends the rest of the police station scene constructing shots where two or more of them are visible. But even then the characters are largely isolated from each other by walls of glass. These scenes are in a way repeated at the end of the film when Jim, Plato, and Judy pretend that they are a family living in an abandoned mansion. Although this time, Ray uses his shots to isolate individual members of the trio from each other. Frequently Ray will frame Jim and Judy in the same shot then cut to Plato by himself. However, Ray adds another element by repeatedly blocking Plato so he is underneath or below Jim and Judy. Even in their close circle, he remains an outsider. 

9/10

Escape 2000: Enzo G. Castellari

One of these days I intend to do an in-depth analysis of Italy's fascination with New York City. I can't even begin to count all of the no-budget Italian flicks that are set in "New York." I understand that many of the movies that they're ripping off were set in New York, but it seems like it would be more economical to set them in Italy instead of another country. But I digress. Enzo G. Castellari's Escape 2000 is a sequel to the grimace-inducingly titled 1990: The Bronx Warriors. In this film, the Bronx's population is being liquified by the General Construction Corporation who wants to tear everything down and replace it with "the city of the future." Of course, they do this by deporting the population to...uh...somewhere...and killing all of the squatters. A cynical biker named Trash leads the resistance to stop the General Construction Corporation and expose their crimes to the rest of the world. It's all fairly average stuff as far as dystopian futures are concerned. Good innocent people are oppressed by suit-wearing bureaucrats and street urchins fight for liberation. The footage is grainy, poorly shot, the acting is campy and wooden, and the special effects are cringe-worthy. So now I return to my original question: why did this film have to be set in the Bronx? I guess the phrase "Clear the Bronx" sounds more threatening then, say, "Clear the Plaza!"

4/10

The Incredible Melting Man: William Sachs

Here's a tip for wannabe filmmakers and producers: if you shoot a film as a comedy, don't change your mind in the middle of shooting and make the rest of the footage serious. You should NEVER genre-swap in post-production, either. Such was the case in William Sachs' The Incredible Melting Man, a film about an astronaut who is horribly disfigured by a blast of radiation while exploring Saturn. Somehow, he gets back to Earth in one piece. However, while in a hospital, he literally begins to melt into an unholy abomination of liquid flesh and guts. And, of course, this somehow makes him stronger. It also has the unpleasant side-effect of making him a homicidal maniac. If this all sounds implausible and stupid, it's because it was supposed to seem that way. The Incredible Melting Man was originally supposed to be a parody of horror films. However, mid-way through production the producers decided that it would be more profitable to cut the comedy and make it a traditional horror film. This explains the horrendous plot holes, uneven characterizations, and the over-the-top special effects. However, even if Sachs had gotten his way and made a horror parody, the resulting film would have probably still been terrible. The man couldn't light a scene to save his life. Numerous shots are swallowed by opaque darkness in all of the wrong places. Even the serious moments have bad acting. What happened to The Incredible Melting Man is a shame. But I have a feeling that either way the film was destined for IMDB's Bottom 100 list.

3/10

The Inspector General: Henry Koster

Henry Koster's The Inspector General left me feeling very, very angry. As soon as the end credits began to roll, I started to furiously ask questions: Why hadn't I ever heard of this film? Why isn't Danny Kaye remembered as one of the great musical talents of American cinema? And why isn't The Inspector General praised as one of the very finest musicals of the 1940s? The film, a musical adaption of Nikolai Gogol's play of the same name, follows a down-on-his-luck gypsy named Georgi who is mistaken by the corrupt officials of the small town of Brodny for an inspector general from the First French Empire. Terrified that their rampant corruption will result in their execution, the politicians give the starving Georgi the star treatment. At first merely happy that he finally has something to eat, Georgi continues the charade and milks it for all it's worth. However, as time goes by, he begins to realize how crooked the officials are. He decides to earnestly adopt his label as inspector general and proceeds to clean up the town...at least until the real inspector general arrives. Danny Kaye's performance as Georgi is nothing short of legendary. He dances, sings, and performs with all of the gusto, talent, and timing of Charlie Chaplin and Fred Astaire. The music (which thankfully won a Golden Globe for Best Motion Picture Score) is memorable and captivating. And so, we return to my anger: I shouldn't just be hearing about The Inspector General for the first time in my life now, when I'm 23. I should have heard of it a long, long time ago.

8/10

Champion: Mark Robson

You want a review for Mark Robson's Champion (1949)? Here it is: its mediocre. There. That's all I have to say. If you really want to watch a great classic boxing movie, go watch Body and Soul (1947) or the criminally under-rated The Set-Up (1949). But, of course, I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if I didn't write more than just a few lines. I guess I should try and summarize the plot, but that's hard to do because it's so generic! Midge Kelly and his brother travel to California to help operate a restaurant that they bought. However, they discover that the seller was a con-man who ripped them off. So, desperate to find work, Midge starts boxing. If you've seen any other boxing films, you can guess where this is headed: he finds a grizzled old coach who trains him, he becomes the champion, his ego swells, and he isolates himself from everyone who loved and supported him when he was a nobody. The really frustrating thing about Champion is that I can't dismiss it as a bad movie. There are decent aspects of it. Kirk Douglas does a fine job as Midge and some of the boxing sequences are engaging. But everything else about it is simply tedious. Is it a good movie? No. Is it a bad movie? No. It's somewhere in between.

5/10

The Diary of a Chambermaid: Jean Renoir

Jean Renoir's The Diary of a Chambermaid is a film stuck between two different cultures and two very different film industries. Based on the play of the same name by Octave Mirbeau, The Diary of a Chambermaid follows Celestine, the new chambermaid of the Lanlaires family. After being jilted from one position to another for years, Celestine has decided that she has had enough of life as a servant. So she has made up her mind to try and seduce a rich man so she will never have to work again. Renoir's narrative wanders as she moves between three possible suitors: the Lanlaire's hedonistic neighbor Mauger, the Lanlaire's sinister valet Joseph, and the young Georges Lanlaire. Renoir takes pleasure in depicting all three of these characters and their different class statuses.
But the film is thematically and tonally uneven. The film is largely a light-hearted farce until the last thirty minutes or so when it transforms into a dour drama. As a result, it feels like Renoir spliced together two different films. I guess that the sheer spectacle of Renoir, one of the cinema's greatest humanists, veer into cynicism is worth the price of admission alone for cineastes. But I left The Diary of a Chambermaid with an odd feeling of emptiness. It isn't focused enough to work as a Hollywood film. Clearly, while filming The Diary of a Chambermaid, Renoir had his thoughts and ambitions elsewhere...perhaps back in his native France.

6/10

Carmen Miranda: Bananas is My Business: Helena Solberg

Even though many might not know her name, the image of Carmen Miranda and her head full of fruit has been engrained into our cultural unconscious. A Portuguese-born Brazilian samba singer, Miranda became a pop cultural phenomenon when she arrived in the United States. During the 1940s and 1950s, Miranda was one of the most famous (and profitable) female stars alive. And yet, as Helena Solberg shows in her documentary Carmen Miranda: Bananas is My Business, her life was far from perfect. An abusive husband, an impossible work schedule, and a small army of cultural critics wore Miranda down to the bone behind the scenes. Incredibly, it seems that one of the biggest contributions to her exhaustion, nervous breakdown, and early death was not her adopted home of America. Instead, it was journalists and critics in her native Brazil who accused her of selling out. Solberg does her duty as a documentary filmmaker and paints a vivid portrait of Miranda's life through archival footage and interviews. And yet, the best moments of Carmen Miranda: Bananas is My Business are the scenes where she hires an actress to re-enact moments of Miranda's life. The best one involves "Carmen" waking up in a glass case in a museum. In these instances, the film becomes as much a study of Solberg as it is of Miranda. I actually wish that she could have included more of these intimate moments. They transform documentaries into something more powerful: a personal testimonial.

7/10

Sabrina: Billy Wilder

For a movie that was supposedly an Audrey Hepburn vehicle, I will always remember Billy Wilder's Sabrina for one of Humphrey Bogart's best performances. The most fascinating part of his performance is that he isn't a very important character until the last third of the film. The first two-thirds follow Sabrina Fairchild (Hepburn), the daughter of a lowly chauffeur for the rich and powerful Larrabee family. Sabrina is deeply in love with David, the womanizing, lazy heir to the Larrabee estate. However, despite her best efforts, Sabrina cannot get his attention. But this changes once she attends a culinary school in Paris and returns as a transformed woman. David is quickly attracted to this new Sabrina. But as soon as their relationship begins to take root, his workaholic brother Linus (Bogart) falls in love with Sabrina. Linus had never been interested in romance or anything other than his work, for that matter. But something about Sabrina causes his heart to melt. The last third of the film watches as Linus and Sabrina begin to fall for each other. But Linus knows that it would be wrong to break his brother's heart. So Linus orchestrates a plot to remove Sabrina from his life despite their love...I must admit that this level of melodrama usually turns me off from a film. But for some reason I was absolutely transfixed during the last third of Sabrina. I blame Bogie and his sad, sad eyes...

8/10

The American Friend: Wim Wenders

In a ratty apartment in Germany, an elderly painter mutters to himself as he stares at his latest creation. Surrounded by disheveled newspapers and dirty brushes, he inspects the painting, first covering his right eye, then his left. A knock is heard. “Who is it?” “It’s Ripley.” He pauses. “The door’s open.” A man in a dark suit walks in and tips a cowboy hat resting on his brow. The man hands the painter a wad of bills. “I sold one painting and ready to sell another one.” “How much?” “That’s 2,000 dollars for you.” The man in the cowboy hat walks around the painter’s apartment. “Now this...I think I can get even more for this one. I could use two of these in six months.” “In six months I can paint five. Try to sell five.” “Two. Don’t be too busy for a dead painter.” The painter looks at the other man, points, and chuckles. “Do you wear that hat in Hamburg?” The other man takes off the hat, briefly looks at it, and smiles. “What’s wrong with a cowboy in Hamburg?”

What, indeed, is wrong with a cowboy in Hamburg? Particularly when the cowboy in question is Tom Ripley, a wealthy American criminal who helps run an art forgery ring. A suave spectre of the European art world, Ripley has refined his criminal activities to a fine science. He attends art auctions where he bids on forged paintings done by the German, driving the price sky-high. He pockets the extra money and repeats the process all over again. It is a perfect system. Even Jesse James would be impressed.

In fact, the impetus of Wim Wenders’ The American Friend isn’t a failing of Ripley’s system, but a personal slight. During one auction, Ripley is introduced to Jonathan Zimmermann, a picture framer suffering from a rare blood disease. Ripley extends his hand, but Jonathan rejects it with a curt “I’ve heard of you” and walks away. Ripley’s hand shrivels at Jonathan’s insult. “You mustn’t take that seriously,” an auctioneer quickly chimes, “Zimmermann’s under a lot of pressure...he’s ill. A blood disease. Little hope of recovery.” But Zimmermann’s fate is sealed. In a matter of days he will be embroiled in a terrible murder plot, pursued by gangsters. And it started, not with a crime, but with an empty handshake.

Perhaps it seems odd that such a small moment would ignite an entire film. It happens so fast that it is easy to miss. But The American Friend is a film of manners and style, knowing glances and seemingly empty faces. It is a love letter and subliminal condemnation of American culture. For Wenders, the style becomes the substance.

For those familiar with Tom Ripley, the main character of Patricia Highsmith’s “Ripliad,” a pentalogy of crime novels about a refined yet amoral criminal, what happens next to Zimmermann is shocking, but not unexpected. A French criminal named Raoul Minot asks Ripley if he could assassinate a rival gangster. Ripley refuses, but suggests an alternative. He orchestrates a plot wherein Zimmermann is convinced that his blood condition has worsened and that he only has a short amount of time left. Once Zimmermann is completely horrified of his “impending” death, Minot swoops in and offers him a massive sum of money in exchange for carrying out the assassination. Desperate to provide his wife and son with some money to survive on, Zimmermann agrees and murders the gangster in a subway station.

However, things are complicated when Minot reveals to Ripley that he was so pleased with Zimmermann’s work that he plans on using him again. Only this time, the murder will take place on a train with a garrote. Ripley is horrified at this development. See, Ripley had visited Zimmermann’s shop before and after the first murder in order to get a picture framed. An unlikely friendship grew between the two, all the while with Zimmermann completely unaware of Ripley’s machinations. So Ripley interrupts the second murder and dispatches the target himself. Afterwards Ripley reveals the truth to Zimmermann, leading to one of the film’s best scenes. Zimmermann offers Ripley the money for the hit. Ripley refuses and states, “I would like to be your friend, but friendship isn’t possible.” But their reconciliation is cut short when more gangsters arrive to kill them both for Ripley’s intervention.

On the surface it might seem like The American Friend is merely a hollow adaption of Highsmith’s novel, especially when compared to the critical darling Ripley’s Game (2002), also based on the same novel. The 2002 film by Liliana Cavani focused more on the character of Ripley, portrayed by John Malkovich in a career-defining performance, than on his relationship with Zimmermann. Malkovich played Ripley as a sterile sociopath akin to Hannibal Lector without the sense of humor and cannibalistic craving for human flesh. But I find Dennis Hopper’s performance in The American Friend more intriguing. I still don’t quite understand Malkovich Ripley’s motivation for saving Zimmermann. But I can easily accept and sympathize with Hopper Ripley’s change of heart. He is a man so used to respect that Zimmermann’s insult seemed emasculating. I think it was no coincidence that Wenders framed Ripley’s rejected handshake as a deflating phallus.

This emasculation is further driven home when one examines Wenders’ thematic inspirations. Heavily inspired by American cinema, Wenders’ Ripley-Zimmermann relationship evokes hard-boiled film noir and 50s melodrama where masculinity was closely guarded and defended in the face of social and familial pressures. Malkovich Ripley saved Zimmermann because that’s what the story needed to continue. Hopper Ripley saved Zimmermann because he realized it was the right thing to do. So what, indeed, is wrong with a cowboy in Hamburg? One thing’s for sure: there’s more to it than Ripley’s hat.

8/10

The Girl in Lovers’ Lane: Charles R. Rondeau

If you only go by the poster, Charles R. Rondeau's The Girl in Lovers’ Lane would appear to be a gripping thriller about rape and murder in small town America. But those unfortunate few who have actually seen the film know otherwise. The film actually follows two drifters who arrive in a small town. The first is Danny, a rich young man who ran away from home. The second is Bix, his mentor on how to survive as a drifter. Danny is young, naive, and foolish. Bix repeatedly has to bail him out of trouble. But things begin to change when they arrive in a nondescript small town. Bix falls in love with a local waitress named Carrie. Soon he begins to dream of giving up his "career" as a drifter.
But when Carrie's body is discovered in the woods, Bix finds himself pursued by a lynch mob convinced that he raped and killed her. Of course, this all takes place in about the last 20 or so minutes of the film. Most of the film follows Danny and Bix as they stagger from one poorly lit building to another. This is a film completely devoid of energy and suspense. The poster was right when it said that I will never forget The Girl in Lovers' Lane. I will never forget how it wasted 78 minutes of my life.

4/10

House of Usher: Roger Corman

They say that even a broken clock is right twice a day. Considering that Roger Corman's career in film has expanded through several decades, it would only stand to reason that every now and then in the midst of B-movie purgatory he would direct something truly special. He wouldn't direct a good film...but a great one. House of Usher is one such film. The first of Corman's Poe cycle, 8 films based on the works of Edgar Allan Poe, the film is based on the short story entitled "The Fall of the House of Usher." The story concerns a young man named Philip Winthrop who arrives at a decrepit castle in the middle of a swamp to meet his fiancée Madeline Usher. However, he finds opposition in the form of Madeline's brother Roderick. Roderick, played by the legendary Vincent Price, tries to explain to Philip that the Usher bloodline is cursed and its descendants destined for madness. Philip dismisses his claim as superstitious nonsense. But something about the house seems strange...even malevolent...It would be easy to summarize House of Usher as merely an atmospheric film. Corman worked wonders in bringing the fateful mansion and its environs to life. But the film did something that most other horror films are incapable of achieving: it actually scared me. And by that, I don't mean that it managed to shock or surprise me. House of Usher made me feel afraid to turn off the lights in my room once it finished. One dream sequence, in particular, unnerved me more than I would care to admit. Not bad for a guy who once directed such films as Attack of the Crab Monsters (1957).

9/10

The Decameron: Pier Paolo Pasolini

Pier Paolo Pasolini's The Decameron may be a faithful adaptation of parts of the original Giovanni Boccaccio medieval allegory, but it fails as an actual film. Boccaccio's The Decameron was a collection of 100 tales from 14th century Italy told via a frame story of ten youths exchanging stories in order to pass the time while taking refugee from the Black Death. In Pasolini's adaption, he removes the frame story and presents nine tales in a wandering, disjointed narrative. We see a young man from Perugia get swindled twice in Naples before becoming incredibly wealthy. A laborer poses as a deaf-mute and seduces an entire abbey. An evil man tricks a town into venerating him as a saint after he dies. A young girl gets caught sleeping with her boyfriend on the roof of their house by her parents who force them to get married. All of these tales and more are presented by Pasolini with liberal doses of sex, nudity, and an irreverence towards the Church. The problem is that by removing the frame story, Pasolini has robbed audiences unfamiliar with the original text of context. Those who are familiar with The Decameron will appreciate these tales for how they skewer social conventions. But for everybody else, Pasolini's film will seem to be a random assortment of bizarre stories with ultimately no purpose. Pasolini's The Decameron is merely the skeleton of a film. Some might argue that when Pasolini made the film, he intended it to be only for people who would understand what he was trying to do. Personally, I find that unfair and even reprehensible.

6/10

The Rise and Fall of Legs Diamond: Budd Boetticher

Budd Boetticher's Jack "Legs" Diamond is one of the most fascinating and despicable cinematic gangsters that I have ever encountered. You wouldn't think it, at first. When we first meet the anti-hero of Boetticher's The Rise and Fall of Legs Diamond, he is nothing more than a small-time thief in the 1920s. But by the end, he has a paranoid choke-hold on New York City's organized crime  families. The transformation is absolutely astonishing. Here is a man who will literally betray his own brother to advance his goals. He manipulates, cheats, steals, and destroys everyone around him in his quest for power. But what makes Legs Diamond so fascinating isn't just how he gets power, but how he protects it. Apparently taking a page from the real life Legs Diamond, Boetticher's character has an uncanny ability to survive any assassination attempt thrown at him. After surviving multiple attempts, he begins to literally believe that he cannot be killed. So he personally goes around killing and capturing mob bosses. Diamond's sheer audacity is horrifying enough, but Ray Danton's inspired performance transforms him into an unforgettable specter of pride and greed. I've watched many, many gangster films. But The Rise and Fall of Legs Diamond is one of the very few that I've seen that has stayed with me long after it ended. This is one for the history books.

9/10

21 Jump Street: Phil Lord, Chris Miller

Over the past few weeks, I have watched Phil Lord and Chris Miller's 21 Jump Street three times. It's rare for a modern comedy to so completely knock me for a loop. Too many rely on profanity and shock humor. That's not to say that profanity and shock humor are bad, per say. They're comedic tools. If used in the right situations, they can work magnificently. Such is the case in 21 Jump Street. The film is a comedic "reboot" of the original 1987 television show about an undercover unit of cops who investigated high schools and youth hangouts. Lord and Miller wisely decided against giving the franchise a gritty reboot. Instead, the film is both a parody of cop dramas and a (quasi)serious drama about two best friends. Morton Schmidt (Jonah Hill) and Greg Jenko (Channing Tatum) are two young officers who are assigned to the 21 Jump Street division after botching their first arrest by not reading the suspect his Miranda Rights. Once undercover, they have to enroll at a local high school and discover the supply of a dangerous new drug called "HFS" before it spreads throughout the state. Morton is an intelligent geek who was ridiculed throughout his teenage years. Greg, on the other hand, was a brainless jock. So, of course, on their first day in "high school" they get their profiles mixed up and find themselves in the wrong classrooms. From there it is a standard police procedural. But where 21 Jump Street shines is that we grow to truly care about the characters. There are many moments where the screenwriters could have made Morton and Greg take cheap shots at each other for the sake of a laugh. But instead Lord and Miller allow them to develop a genuine bond and relationship. As an audience member who has sat through multitudes of terrible, juvenile comedies, 21 Jump Street seemed like it respected me. Is it vulgar? Incredibly. But the focus is on Morton and Greg. I can't believe I'm saying this...but I'm looking forward to the sequel.

8/10