The Grapes of Wrath (1940) **1/2

You don’t get more of a Depression-era film than director John Ford’s The Grapes of Wrath (1940). Based on John Steinbeck’s Pulitzer Prize winning novel of the same name, the story follows the displaced Joad family from the Dust Bowl of Oklahoma to the sunny orchards of California.  Darryl Zanuck took a chance when he bought the film rights for 20th Century Fox, but in the end it paid off with seven Oscar nominations—two of which earned Oscars for Best Director John Ford and Best Supporting Actress Jane Darwell.  While it isn’t surprising that the film was nominated for Best Picture; it is a tad shocking that renowned cinematographer Gregg Toland’s striking images were overlooked by the Academy. You see, the story is gripping and the acting is mesmerizing, but the visuals are what make this film a treasure. 

When I read Steinbeck’s 600+ page novel in college I found myself admiring preacher Casy (John Carradine) and rooting for poor Rose-of-Sharon (Dorris Bowden).  I also didn’t really like Tom Joad (Henry Fonda) and I could have done without the intercalary chapters. Thankfully, the intercalary sections were left out of the film and what remains is a story that rips your heart out, chops it up, and then feeds it to the pigs.  Here you have a poor Oklahoma family thrown off the land their family has worked for generations by both mechanization and the banks.  No one seems to care that they have nothing but an old rickety truck loaded to the brim with a few pieces of furniture and articles of clothing.  They search out a new life in California, only to find that they are not needed or wanted.  Along the way they meet mostly scorn and mistreatment (mostly by land owners and law enforcement), but they do meet a few compassionate people.  The most memorable being the diner waitress who sells two peppermint sticks to the children for a penny, when they really cost a dime. 

While red-baiting was taking a coffee break in 1940 America, it was still risky to include Steinbeck’s rather socialistic themes. In one memorable scene Tom asks, “What is these 'Reds' anyway? Every time ya turn around, somebody callin' somebody else a Red. What is these 'Reds' anyway?” Steinbeck, and even Ford to a degree, are making the point that anyone who asks to be treated like a human being and be paid a fair wage is viewed as a “red” agitator. 

Henry Fonda does a good job of conveying Tom Joad’s underlying seething rage. Rewarded with a Best Actor nomination by the Academy, Fonda plays the embittered Tom as a man who could (and often does) explode at any moment. You can see the resentment Tom feels in the way Fonda moves, looks, and delivers his lines. 

In addition to Fonda’s fine acting, Jane Darwell delivers the performance of her life as Ma Joad.  It is the simple and quiet way that she goes about building her character into the backbone of the Joad family that I think most people admire. It would have been easy to play up the stereotypical hysterical hillbilly matriarch that some actresses went for, but Darwell is calm, resigned, and resilient in her role. 

The other standout performance is John Carradine’s (one of Ford’s favorite character actors) as Casy.  He adds an almost spiritual element to the film—and not because his character is a fallen preacher, either. He just seems to have a very reverent screen presence, and he delivers his lines in a prayer-like fashion.  Casy was my favorite character in the book, and while he doesn’t get as much screen time as one might like, I think Carradine uses what time he gets to make his Casy one of the most memorable things about the film.

While Carradine’s Casy is memorable, it is Gregg Toland’s cinematography that steals the entire production. Employing  the purity of black and white film, Toland used wide-angle lenses to capture the parched desolation of the Oklahoma plains and the deserted isolation of the desert.  How small is man compared to such images? When dealing with capturing the human element, Toland used deep focus so savagely that you feel uncomfortable looking at the ragged and malnourished people he sets his sights on.  He also uses shadows in a very clever way to literally illustrate when someone has something hanging over their head or breathing down their neck.  His images are stark, realistic, and uncomfortable—just what the film and the book were trying to convey about the plight of the Joads and thousands others like them. 

Now, some might be disappointed that I haven’t discussed the biblical references in the film. It’s there—Casy’s murder is like the crucifixion of Christ and the whole trip is like Exodus—but I find this element severally lacking from that of the book (much was cut), so I don’t find it to be that important.  What I think makes The Grapes of Wrath an enduring picture is the stunning photography and the nuanced presentation of one of the best examples of Americana during the Great Depression.

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A Night at the Opera (1935) **

(This is my contribution to the CMBA’s Comedy Classics Blogathon. Please visit http://clamba.blogspot.com/ for more great comedy classic articles.)

Imagine if you will a world in which a nation finds itself weighed down by hard economic times—a world where a select few have much and the majority of people struggle to make ends meet. In this type of world the masses need something or someone to make things seem less dark and hopeless.  In 1935 the world was a dark place for many Americans.  The Great Depression saw unemployment and homelessness ascend and people’s spirits and dreams descend into despair.  Most people didn’t go to the movies to be reminded that their lives were filled with worry and uncertainty. No, they went to films to escape—at least for a few short hours—from the unpleasant times in which they lived.  Just that one simple act of sitting side-by-side in a darkened theater with people just like themselves and laughing at the absurdity of it all—the jokes, the actors, and the world itself—what a release it must have been!  That is what the Marx Brothers brought to the American people—comic relief from a very unfunny world.

The Marx Brothers made thirteen films (really fourteen, but Humor Risk [1921] doesn’t count, as it was never released); A Night at the Opera (1935) was their sixth film and their first for MGM.  They, like the American people, had suffered some setbacks.  Their previous film, Duck Soup (1933), had not fared well at the box office or with the critics; thus, effectively ending their working relationship with Paramount.  While the world might have seemed insane to most people, they didn’t want to go to movies where nothing made sense. Irving Thalberg knew this, and so when he took the brothers on at MGM he proposed that they remain as insane as they already were but that there be an actual plot that ran the insane asylum. What emerged was what most critics consider to be the Marx Brothers best film.

While they no longer carried the keys to the asylum, the Marx Brothers still got Thalberg to allow them to choose their writers, George S. Kaufman and Morrie Ryskind, and to showcase their individual talents.  Groucho still got to deliver his quick one-liners. Chico still played the wily ethnic, as well as the piano. And, Harpo was still a silent, childlike figure who could play the harp like an angel and leer at women like a pervert.  Yes, Zeppo was gone, but while his good looks would sorely me missed, the brothers no longer needed him to play the straight man as they now had the ultimate straight man—an actual story plot! 

By all accounts, the Marx Brothers were viewed as over-the-top, absurd characters.  Well, what better world to place them in than the world of opera?  And, not just any opera, but Verdi’s Il Travatore—one of the most ridiculous (and revered) operas ever.  In the words of NPR, “opera has always been easy fodder for jokes. Even the greatest of operas often seem to teeter on some weird edge between the profound and the preposterous.”  What a perfect setting for a group of men who took great pride in being profanely outrageous.  That is what A Night at the Opera is.

There are three things that are profanely outrageous about this film: 1) People are starving to death in America, but Mrs. Claypool (Margaret Dumont) is willing to pay $200,000 to the New York Opera Company if it gets her name into society. 2) The reputation and arrogance of tenor Rodolpho (Walter Wolf King) is more respected than the talent and industriousness of tenor Riccardo (Allan Jones). 3) And, everything else. That’s right, everything else. 

While the story is held together by the love story of tenor Rodolpho and soprano Rosa (Kitty Carlisle), the film is really nothing more than a cornucopia of Marx Brothers’ gags wrapped in the guise of a romantic musical comedy.  The plot, which they somewhat abide by, is what allows them to do what they do best—run anarchically amok.  Three things stand out in this regard.

First, you have the famous stateroom scene where Groucho’s character, Otis P. Driftwood, finds himself sardined into  a very small room with three stowaways: Riccardo, Tomasso (Harpo), and Fiorello (Chico).  The plot says that the stowaways are in the tight space because they can’t afford tickets and because Riccardo can’t be separated from Rosa.  The reality is that the Marx Brothers (with the help of Buster Keaton) saw an opportunity to pack as many people as humanly possible into that small space under the pretext that all fifteen people who eventually end up in it are there for a perfectly reasonable reason. 

The second example is the bed-switching skit in Groucho’s hotel.  Again, Groucho finds himself playing host to the three stowaways, but now they are illegal immigrants wanted by the police.  When Detective Henderson (Robert Emmet O’Connor) comes looking for them and sees three cots in Groucho’s hotel he knows something isn’t right.  What ensues is a ridiculous ruse in which Henderson is used as a human carousel to seamlessly transfer an entire bedroom to another room without him knowing. By the end of the ruse the poor detective is thoroughly convinced that he is in an entirely separate room.

The last example, of course, is the final sequence, where Harpo and Chico find themselves in the most unlikely situations: playing catch in the orchestra; playing gypsies in the chorus; and, finally as (for Harpo at least) rope pullers and set changers for the scene backdrops.  The fact that the show would go on when so much chaos is so obviously taking place before the audience’s own eyes is beyond profanely outrageous.

I have always thought of the finale as a reflection on America’s upper class citizens in the 1930s—the whole world is obviously on fire, yet they sit passively by and don’t even attempt to throw a glass of water on it! Perhaps I’m a bit subversive in this thinking, but I wouldn’t put it past the Marx Brothers. Maybe this was their small glass of water to an American public thirsting for a bright and hopeful future.

 

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Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (1936) **1/2

I know I am supposed to say Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (1936) is a screwball comedy, but I just can’t do it!  Yes, it has many funny moments in it and the main character is a tad screwy, but I can’t put it in the same category as Bringing Up Baby (1938), The Lady Eve (1941), or The Awful Truth (1937). Plus, being a Frank Capra directed film it has a bit of a dark underside to it—and I don’t mean dark humor. I would actually categorize it as a dramedy, as the first half of the film is mostly comedy and the second half mostly drama (with a few choice comical moments pixielated in).  Whatever you label it, Mr. Deeds is a film anchored by understated, good acting and a strong story about the value of honesty and goodness in a corrupt world. 

A standard theme in Capra films, the idea of the simple everyman exposing the falseness of overindulged city slickers, is a crucial element in this film. Gary Cooper plays Longfellow Deeds, a country gentleman from Mandrake Falls, Vermont, who inherits $20 million from an overindulgent uncle from New York City.  Deeds is a poet who loves nature and plays the tuba, and is often mistaken for a country yokel because of his naiveté and plainspoken ways.  He looks like an easy mark to one of his uncle’s shady lawyers, Mr. Cedar (Douglas Dumbrille), but Deeds knows (and says) that working for nothing isn’t natural and so he instantly doesn’t trust Cedar.  Transplanted to New York City, Deeds finds himself surrounded by many people he doesn’t trust—or worse, who think they are better than him because they are cosmopolitan.  His best friends turn out to be his valet, Walter (Raymond Walburn), and his fixer, Corny Cobb (Lionel Stander)—both of which happen to be working class stiffs.

An idealist in every sense, Deeds finds himself instantly attracted to a woman who faints outside his mansion one rainy night. Thinking he has rescued a damsel in distress, Deeds believes he has found his dream woman in stenographer Mary Dawson (Jean Arthur).  What he doesn’t know is Mary isn’t a stenographer, but a Pulitzer Prize winning reporter for The Morning Mail named Babe Bennett.  She labels him the Cinderella Man and opens him up to the ridicule of the entire city.  Eventually Babe falls in love with her “assignment” and starts to regret what she has done, but before she can come clean with Deeds the truth comes out.  At this point the film’s mood totally changes, and I don’t know that I agree with how abrupt the shift is.

If you have seen the film then you remember the gun-wielding, displaced farmer (John Wray), who convinces Deeds he should give away his $20 million to those who need it.  Up until this point there hasn’t been any meaningful reference to the Depression or the downtrodden (except for the fainting Mary). So, when a man bursts into Deed’s mansion and aims a gun at him and goes off on a tirade about feeding doughnuts to horses and having lavish parties, it is completely jarring.  Yes, I know it was a plot device to move the story along to the whole insanity hearing part of the film, but I think some earlier ground-laying of this theme would have been useful.  If I have one nit-pick with the movie it is this…oh, and that hideous Robin Hood feather in her cap hat that Arthur wears in one scene—Samuel Lange, you had a short career for a reason!

Both Cooper and Arthur give understated performances in Mr. Deeds. Cooper (nominated for a Best Actor Oscar) always played the geez, smarter than you think country bumpkin well, and his Deeds is no exception.  His slack-jawed line delivery and easy-going physical mannerisms play well for Deed’s personality.  Some might say that Cooper lacked acting range, but they would also have to admit that he owned his own style and it worked (none better than in his role as Clint Maroon in Saratoga Trunk [1945]). Arthur, for her part, is not, as she is often described, the “quintessential comedic leading lady.” She’s not that funny in this film because this isn’t a screwball comedy!  As a matter of fact, besides a few good one liners and a couple of comical sideway looks, her role mostly consists of her being depressed by her bad behavior or being anxious over the possibility of Deeds being institutionalized.  Am I the only one who notices this?  Still, I always like Arthur—she is just so likable, even when she’s playing a liar.

Overall, Mr. Deed Goes to Town is an enjoyable dramedy.  Nominated for a Best Picture Oscar, this is a typical Frank Capra Depression-Era vehicle. I don’t subscribe to the school of film critics who refer to this period of his work as Capra-corn. Instead, like many others, I believe people went to films like Mr. Deeds because they were inspirational and uplifting.  In the end, that is exactly what this movie turns out to be.

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The King’s Speech (2010) ****

One of the best films I’ve seen in years.  Everything is stellar about this 2010 Academy Award winner for Best Picture, Best Actor, Best Director, and Best Original Screenplay.  The acting is courageously superb; the costumes are spot-on; and, the story is inspiring.  There was nothing I didn’t like about this film (sans the fact that Helena Bonham Carter wasn’t in it more).  Watching director Tom Hooper’s masterpiece was a highly enjoyable experience—something that is sorely missing in most movies today.

Director Tom Hooper tells the true story of how an Australian commoner helped King George VI (Oscar-winner Colin Firth) of England manage his stammer.  From the start of the film we see how truly debilitating this stammer is, as the then Duke of York, Prince Albert (AKA Bertie), struggles through a speech at Wembley Stadium.  Overcome with feelings of helplessness for her husband, the Duchess of York, Elizabeth (Helena Bonham Carter), locates highly recommended speech therapist Lionel Logue (Geoffrey Rush) and asks him to treat the prince.  What ensues is an unlikely story of friendship and courage. 

I suppose what I liked most about the movie is that it wasn’t about some miracle cure that freed the king of his ailment.  Instead, it was a story about why the king stammered and how he learned to manage it.  Through his dealings with his overbearing father, King George V (Michael Gambon), and his selfish brother, King Edward VIII (Guy Pearce), we see why Bertie stammered.  Bullied and made fun of by his own royal family (and even mistreated by a nanny!) because of his stammer, Bertie had issues of self-confidence, which only intensified the stammering.  The idea of having to give a speech or a radio address terrified him.  That is why he put up with Lionel’s total disregard for royal etiquette and protocol.  I think Firth does an excellent job not only with the stammering vocalizations the role calls for, but also with exhibiting the inner turmoil and frustration that the king has.  There is a truly terrified look in his eyes at times.  The facial constraint alone must have been exhausting. 

Both Helena Bonham Carter and Geoffrey Rush earned Best Supporting Acting nominations for their roles.  Carter is a subdued but plucky Duchess of York.  I usually enjoy her in just about everything, so I was not surprised to hear her very precise English diction or to see her refined regal posture. Oh, and the look she gives to Wallis Simpson (Eve Best) upon their meeting at Balmoral Castle is priceless. Much like Carter does, Rush makes his performance seem effortless, though it is anything but that.  His Lionel can be confident and irreverent one minute and in the next be timid and respectful.  I think he and Firth play very well off one another, and the friendship that develops between the two men seems palpable.

While the entire film is stellar, there is one scene that is better than the rest.  Since the film is called The King’s Speech it should come as no surprise that the pinnacle of the film is when the king gives his September 3, 1939, speech asking the British people to stand united with him against Nazism. Showing any sign of weakness is not an option when a nation is at war, and so the king must appear strong and steady.  The staging of the delivery of the speech is masterfully done.  Set to the second movement of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 7, Lionel comes off as the conductor and the king as the instrument of the British people.  Watching the king use the techniques he has learned from Lionel while giving the speech of a lifetime is inspiring and a little hair-raising as well. 

Now, as a historian I must caution that there are some historical inaccuracies, but nothing that was so egregious that I couldn’t enjoy the film.  Still, please know that they portray Churchill in a much more positive light than he deserves, and even the king was not without fault when it came to dealing with the Nazis.  Consult your history books for a more accurate representation of this period. 

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I Know Where I’m Going (1945) **

The Archers, Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, collaborated on eighteen films over a thirty year period (1939-72).  While their first true “Archer” production (where they share writing, directing and producing credit) didn’t come until 1943 with The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp, they had previously worked on four films together.  Usually, it was Powell who did the bulk of the directing and Pressburger who came up with the story ideas and handled most of the production chores (especially when it came to editing and music incorporation). Some of their endeavors are quite memorable, like Black Narcissus (1947) and The Red Shoes (1948), while others are easily forgotten, such as The Battle of the River Plate (1956) and Ill Met By Moonlight (1957).  Somewhere in-between their masterpieces and their flops is located I Know Where I’m Going! (1945), which stars Wendy Hiller as a young woman who’d rather marry for money than love.

Manchesterian Joan Webster (Hiller) is supposed to marry wealthy industrialist Sir Robert Bellinger (Norman Shelley’s voice—he’s never seen) on the Isle of Kiloran, but the weather (or fate) in the Scottish Hebrides has other plans.  For some reason I’ve never really liked Hiller. I don’t know exactly why, but I think it’s her voice—it just rubs me the wrong way. Still, she was a decent actress who was nominated for three Oscars (she won one for Separate Tables [1958]) and she worked in the industry for nearly sixty years.  In I Know Where I’m Going! she does a nice job of portraying her character’s steely determination to not be sabotaged by love (and an island full of eccentric Scots).  However, I like her much more in the beginning of the film when she is calling her bank managing father “Darling” (George Carney) than I do when she is risking poor Kenny’s (Murdo Morrison) life to get across to Kiloran. 

Roger Livesey (an Archer veteran) gives his usual steady performance as Torquil MacNeil (what a name!). A kilt-wearing naval officer, Torquil is the broke Laird of Kiloran (FYI a laird is one step below a baron) and the owner of the Isle of Kiloran.  He sees in Joan a woman he would like to tame, but unlike Petruchio, he attempts to do it with kindness and patience. Too bad his childhood friend Catriona (Pamela Brown) is married, because she is much prettier and, more importantly, way more interesting than Joan.  It just grates on my nerves when the supporting actress is more enjoyable than the lead actress (see Kristen Scott Thomas and Andie MacDowell in Four Weddings and a Funeral [1994]).  In addition to Livesey and Brown’s nice acting turns, Captain C.W.R. Knight is a hoot as Colonel Barnstaple, a falconer with a delightful sense of style.

What I think sets this movie apart from a number of others during this period is it’s cinematography. This was most probably cinematographer Erwin Hillier’s best work over his thirty year career.  It is said the he didn’t use a light meter at all, which must have made his task more difficult than usual, especially when you consider the weather conditions.  There are many long distance shots that capture the overall majesty of the Scottish shoreline.  As someone who has spent time in the Scottish towns of Carnoustie and Killin it was a reminder of just how beautiful the land of Scots can be.  Hillier also used a hand-held camera to capture some of the close-up shots—most notably the ones of the boat struggling against the Corryvreckan whirlpool.  Interestingly enough, what most people don’t know is that Livesey never once set foot in Scotland for any of the location shots because he was doing a play in London at the time they were shot. 

Overall, I Know Where I’m Going! is a somewhat enjoyable light romantic comedy.  Other than some very fine photography, there is not much else that stands out.  Still, it was nice to learn a little bit about Scottish customs, and the bagpipes weren’t played so much that I  wanted to hit mute too often, either.

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True Grit (2010) **

True disappointment is more like it!  Three great actors and two Coen brothers would seem like a recipe for success, but something went wrong with True Grit (2010).  I suppose I am in the minority here, as I read many critics’ reviews that praised this Coen venture.  In addition, it garnered ten Academy Award nominations (at least it didn’t win any!). Now, it’s not like I am one of those rabid John Wayne fans who thought there was no way the 2010 version could compare to the 1969 one, because I didn’t think that was that good, either (though Wayne does give a fine performance).  No, I just found it an average, run-of-the-mill Hollywood picture—without the aliens and huge explosions.  That’s not to say there is anything wrong with average—I tell my students average is fine, as most people are “C” students—but with all the hype surrounding this film I expected more but got less.

An adaptation of the 1968 Charles Porter novel of the same name, the film is about one girl’s unyielding need for retribution for her father’s murder.  More mature than any fourteen year old I ever met, Mattie Ross (Hailee Steinfeld) wants to hunt down Tom Chaney (Josh Brolin) and bring him to justice for killing his boss and her father.  She may be matter-of-fact and businesslike, but she lacks the necessary skills to venture into Indian Territory (this film is set way before the PC age) and apprehend him herself.  So, she hires a Deputy U.S. Marshall known for a shoot-first mentality and, well, true grit.  Marshall Rooster Cogburn (Jeff Bridges) might have true grit, but he’s also a drunk and unpleasant person.  Along the way they team up with (and occasionally break off from) Texas Ranger LaBoeuf (Matt Damon), who is after Chaney for killing a Texas state senator.  What follows is a drawn out (literally) search of a half-witted, pseudo-psychopath, with a few side encounters with odd characters and reprehensible reprobates. 

The acting is passable to good. As usual, Brolin gives a strong performance in his very limited screen time.  In addition, this is one of Damon’s best roles in years.  The young Hailee Steinfeld was nominated for Best Supporting Actress, which I don’t understand, as she is clearly the focal point and star of this film.  It is difficult to believe that this was her first feature film, as she stood up well against three highly respected male stars. As for Bridges, who was nominated for Best Actor, I thought he hammed it up too much and made Rooster into a caricature.  Without a doubt, John Wayne’s Rooster is the more superior of the two.  The nuances that won Bridges the Oscar for his portrayal of Bad Blake in Crazy Heart (2009) are MIA—perhaps he had to top his award winning turn or was afraid that his career would end once people saw Tron: Legacy (2010).  Who knows? I just wasn’t into it.

I’m usually a fan of the Coen Brothers’ work, but they have a habit of making really good films (No Country for Old Men [2007], O Brother , Where Art Thou? [2001], and Fargo [1996]) and then making really average (and sometimes crappy) ones (Burn After Reading [2008] and The Ladykillers [2004]).  True Grit falls somewhere in between the good ones and the crappy ones.  It may have been their choice to have the characters speak in an exaggerated manner that irked me the most.  No one, not even back in the 1800s, spoke like that unless they were on the stage.  And, these characters are most certainly not on the stage—no matter how resolute their personal agendas. 

The one thing I truly enjoyed about the film were the scenes between Mattie and Colonel Stonehill (veteran television actor Dakin Matthews).  The true exasperation that the poor Colonel encounters at his business dealings with Mattie are funny and entertaining.  When he says, “I do not entertain hypotheticals. The world itself is vexing enough,” I couldn’t help but laugh.  Had the rest of the film been a bit more like these scenes I might have liked it better. 

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The Bank Dick (1940) **

 

W.C. Fields isn’t as timeless as one would like.  Overall, vaudeville humor hasn’t aged well, either.  Still, Fields was a devilishly delicious deadpan comic who knew how to keep a gag running. He was greatly aided in this endeavor by his own clever writing.  Who better to convincingly deliver funny lines than the person who wrote them—I’m sure Woody Allen would attest to this.  The Bank Dick (1940) is a product of Fields’ comedic wit (director Edward F. Cline was just along for the ride). Oh, pay no attention to the name listed in the writing credit either, Mahatma Kane Jeeves--it was one of Fields’ many pseudonyms (evidently Gandhi was on his mind).  The story follows the Fields’ blueprint: an easy-going, imbibing man just wants to be left alone but finds himself hampered by domestic disturbances and inconvenient chance meetings.  What follows is a 74-minute study in Fields’ own unique brand of comedy.

Usually the best parts of Fields’ films deal with his character being mistreated by his ungrateful family—which is mostly filled with women: wife, daughters and an occasional cranky mother-in-law.  However, this theme isn’t really the crux of The Bank Dick. Yes, his aptly named character, Egbert Sousè, has a nagging wife (Cora Witherspoon as Agatha), an unpleasant mother-in-law (Jessie Ralph as Mrs. Brunch), and two daughters, one being a terror (Evelyn Del Rio as Elsie Mae) and one being stupid (Una Merkel as Myrtle).  Yet, unlike some of his other films, the family doesn’t figure heavily in the story.  They are used intermittently to show how unappreciated Mr. Sousè is, but otherwise they don’t really bring much to the table.  I personally would have liked to have seen more of Jessie Ralph’s belittling mother-in-law. She had some of the best lines in the entire film.  Here are two of my favorites:

Myrtle: I'll bet that's Og!
Mrs.Bruch: Mmm, he's got her bettin' now. She never gambled 'fore she met him.

Myrtle:What's a six-letter word meaning "embezzlement"?
Mrs.Brunch: Prison.

I definitely think they should have used her acerbic tongue more and less of Una Merkel'’s Myrtle, who is engaged to Og Oggilby (Grady Sutton), one of her father’s unfortunate co-workers and co-conspirators. Still, stupid characters often play the much needed role of straight man (or woman, let’s be PC!), so I suppose she serves her purpose.

There are a few random gags in the film, another trait of a Fields’ production, that I could have done without.  His stumbling into the role of film director after the actual director goes on a bender wasn’t very funny to me.  Perhaps he was trying to make a inside dig at someone (perhaps himself, LOL!), but I just found it completely useless to the story.  Another thing I could have missed was a few of his sojourns into the local watering hole.  Yet, I must admit that the name of the establishment, the Black Pussy Cat Café, is pure Fields gold.  Who else in 1940s Hollywood would have dreamed up such a name and got away with it?

All of the best things about this movie revolve around his work as an unqualified bank dick. What security guard in his right mind would tackle a small child holding a toy gun?  Sousè does, though I doubt he was in his right mind, and the result is laugh-out-loud funny.  When he asks the child’s mother if the gun is loaded, she replies, “No, but I think you are!” Who would think it was a good idea to buy $500 in bonds from a slickster (who says: “I want to show you I'm honest in the worst way”) he met at the Black Pussy and then convince his soon-to-be son-in-law to “borrow” money from the bank to buy them?  Sousè would—and he’d do it with a big grin on his face and rye on his breath.  Who would try to postpone the bank’s books from being examined by the wonderfully named J. Pinkerton Snoopington (Franklin Pangborn) by using food (or, in this case, liquid) poisoning?  Sousè would, and then he’d have another drink! 

What most people remember about this film is the extended road chase scene at the end of the film, where Sousè has to drive the getaway car for a bank robber.  The scene is reminiscent of the old silent chase scenes from the likes of the Keystone Cops. I’m not a big fan of slapstick chase scenes, but Fields gets off some great lines as the car slowly falls apart. A particular favorite barb is: “The resale value of this car is going to be nil after this trip.” I also got a hearty chuckle out of him handing the wheel to the robber when he was told to let the robber have the wheel.  It’s silly humor, but it’s smart silly humor.

While this isn’t my favorite Fields’ film (I prefer It's a Gift (1934), The Bank Dick has many enjoyable moments in it.  It is also a showcase for Fields’ comedic genius. 

 

 

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A Very Long Engagement (Un Long Dimanche de Fiançailles) (2004) ***

This visually stunning 2004 French film from director Jean-Pierre Jeunet is a beautiful and touching testament to all that is good about French cinema.  Only in le cinéma Français could you depict the horror of World War I and its trench warfare with a wryly comedic touch, while at the same time tell both a love story and a revenge story without engaging in oversentimentality or malice. The acting, particularly that of the females, is nuanced and stellar. However, it is Bruno Delbonnel’s extraordinary (and Academy Award nominated) cinematography that makes this such a striking piece of art.

The always beautiful and spunky Audrey Tautou plays Mathilde, a polio-crippled woman who refuses to believe that her fiancee Manech (Gaspard Ulliel) was killed alongside five other men at the ridiculously named Bingo Crepuscule trench.  All five men had been convicted of self-mutilation and thrown out into No Man’s Land between the French and German trenches to bring an end to a stalemate.  Conflicting stories as to whether any of the five men survived sends Mathilde all over France looking for answers. Along her journey she meets a unique and colorful assortment of men and women who fill in the missing parts of the story. What’s great about these characters is that none of them are useless—they all have an important role to play in moving the story along.  However, it can be difficult to keep everyone straight, so a second viewing might be necessary, especially if you watch the film subtitled.  Still, I think the pacing of the story is told in such a way that most non-French speakers can keep up with the unfolding stories.

What I like about Tautou’s Mathilde is that she is a woman not above using her disability to get what she wants.  I know that sounds politically incorrect here in America, but in France it’s quite comical to let a perceived weak person use their plight to get what they want.  In France, the weak are to be revered, so when Mathilde uses this to her advantage it’s just funny.  What makes this flawed character trait even more wickedly amusing is that she is the strongest character in the entire film.  Whether she’s dealing with doubtful family members and quirky questionable people,  or making small deals with herself (such as: if the dog comes in the room before dinner she will continue to look for Manech), Mathilde is someone for whom you feel compelled to root.  The scene that stands out most for me is when she attempts to beat Manech’s car to the bend in the road—another deal which would ensure that he makes it home alive.  Watching her constricted body attempt this feat is heart-pounding and uplifting. The body control that Tautou had to exhibit here is mind-blowing.  It’s just something you have to behold for yourself to fully appreciate how powerful a performance she delivers throughout.

It is a given that Tautou is the star of the show, but both Jodie Foster and especially Marion Cotillard give standout performances here. Foster plays Eloide Gordes,  the wife of one of the men believed killed alongside Manech.  She and her husband Benjamin (Jean-Pierre Darroussin) have five children (none of which he fathered) and if they have a sixth he would be discharged.  So he asks her to sleep with his best friend Bastoche (Jerome Kircher).  What ensues is a story of jealousy and heartbreak—and the eventual self-mutilation of both men and then Bingo Crepuscule. You wouldn’t know that French wasn’t Foster’s mother tongue, as she speaks it with ease.  Here she delivers a haunting performance of a woman who lost both her husband and lover to the cruelty of warfare. 

I wouldn’t be doing service to this film without commenting on how riveting Marion Cotillard is as Tina Lombardi.  She obviously channeled Jean Moreau’s performance in The Bride Wore Black (1968) as she played a prostitute hell bent on meting out punishment to the men she believes killed her Corsican lover Angel (Dominique Bettenfeld)—another of the five men at Bingo Crepuscule. Tina is a stone-cold ninja in how she executes a handful of French officers.  Her outfits alone are marvelous (what French woman wouldn’t come dressed for the occasion!), but the way she uses them to kill is even better. My particular favorite execution is when she kills the man who lazily neglects to pass along a pardon for the five men.  After tying the man to the bed and allowing him to think something kinky is about to happen she proceeds to shoot the mirror above the bed and shards of glass fall down on his naked body.  How ingenious can you be!  Cotillard won a César for Best Supporting Actress for this role and she deserved it. Now, if she would only return to France and stop making American films that don’t exhibit her talents to the fullest (an aside, she was the best thing, other than the visuals, about Inception)!

Finally, what makes this film so beautiful is the expert cinematography of Bruno Delbonnel.  His lens poignantly captures the horrific grimness of the battle scenes at Bingo Crepuscule. Stark and appropriately captured in gray and brown tones, these scenes are powerfully displayed and are spectacular to watch.  Besides his expertly depicted battle scenes, he presents the Brittany countryside in wide, lush, sweeping shots that make you want to go there on your next vacation.  My two favorite sequences come at the Picardy war cemetery and the military archives.  The cemetery shot just overwhelms you with the angle positioning of the camera and the broadness of the shot—all those white crosses with Mathilde in the middle of it—notice how small she truly looks.  The military archives sequence uses complex shots, with above-head perspective and low-angle shots the look upward toward the immensity of the situation and place. It is Delbonnel’s camerawork that makes this such an enjoyable film to watch.

 

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My Man Godfrey (1936) ****

There are few films from the 1930s that I like better than My Man Godfrey (1936).  Screwball comedies are a particular favorite of mine, and this is one of the best ever made.  It is a film filled with memorable characters and lines.  In addition, it has a bit of a serious side, touching on the plight of the Forgotten Man during the Depression.  When you combine all of these ingredients you come up with a deliciously entertaining movie.

If you went to see this in 1936 you would have seen William Powell and Carole Lombard’s names on the marquee, but while both give fine performances, they are greatly aided by the stellar supporting performances of Alice Brady, Gail Patrick, Eugene Pallette, and Mischa Auer.  It is the supporting characters that carry this film along its crazy path. 

Powell plays Godfrey Smith/Park, a privileged Bostonian who chucks it all after a woman does him wrong. He ends up living in New York City Dump 32 until Cornelia (Patrick) and Irene Bullock (Lombard) find him there while looking for a Forgotten Man as part of a scavenger hunt.  He soon ends up being their 5th Avenue butler.

Both sisters are spoiled and narcissistic, but they are different in that Cornelia has a malicious side and Irene is compassionate incarnate.  I suppose this is what makes Patrick’s character the more interesting of the two.  Cornelia is intelligent and jaded, while Irene is flighty and naïve. I often think director Gregory La Cava and screenwriters Eric Hatch and Morrie Ryskind used Cornelia as their focal point in developing their social satire.  Here is a woman who has everything: beauty, class, money, and intelligence. Yet, she seethes with resentment and discontent. A lot of people think Godfrey should have ended up with Cornelia in the end (the whole Taming of the Shrew thing), but what most people forget is Cornelia was the sort of woman Godfrey left back in Boston. For me, Patrick’s is the standout performance.

Eugene Pallette and Alice Brady also do memorable turns as Alexander and Angelica Bullock, the parents of Cornelia and Irene. Pallette, in particular, does a fine job of presenting his character’s astonishment at the complete insanity of his family.  Perhaps it’s his voice, but he conveys both irritation and apathy extremely well.  Brady’s pixie-seeing Angelica is the epitome of oblivious mothering.  Here is a woman who has a protégé (really her paramour, but the Hays Code was around) in would-be musician Carlo (Auer); drinks too much (hence the pixies); and, supports her daughters’ eccentric behavior.  She is no role model, but her daughters are a lot like her—especially Irene, who decides to make Godfrey her protégé. 

Now, I’m not saying that Powell and Lombard don’t give fine  performances, because both are very good.  Powell plays the calm caretaker of the insane asylum that the Bullocks call home well.  He is both bemused and detached in his role as Godfrey.  It is quite comical to watch him thwart off Irene’s advances--especially since Powell and Lombard had been previously married. It is said that she was too animated for him; plus, he was sixteen years older.  So, when Godfrey makes the comment in the film that Irene should find someone her own age and class it was a bit like art imitating life.  Lombard, for her part, plays Irene as a theatrical little girl who doesn’t know how to get what she wants without faux fainting or crying.  The “laugh” is what I find most hysterical about Irene.  Anytime she doesn’t understand what is happening, or when she is unsure of herself, she falls back on that childish laugh. 

Besides fine acting, the writing is superb.  The dialogue is rapid-fire and sharp as an axe.  Each character has their own memorable lines, but I’ve always thought that Angelica Bullock got the best ones—or maybe Alice Brady just delivered hers better than the rest.  My favorite exchange comes between Angelica and Godfrey:

Angelica: My ancestors came over on the boat. Oh, not the Mayflower, but the boat after that. What did your ancestors come over on, Godfrey?
Godfrey: As far as I know, they've always been here.
Angelica: They weren't Indians, I hope.
Godfrey: One can never be sure of one's ancestors.
Angelica: You know, you have rather high cheek bones.

 

And from that point on there is a running gag about Godfrey being of Indian descent.  Overall, it’s just a pleasure to listen to such clever dialogue (especially if you compare it to some of the dialogue in modern film).  Smart witticisms never age and that’s one of the reasons My Man Godfrey seems timeless.

Finally, what most people forget about My Man Godfrey is that it is a slight social commentary about the difference between the rich and poor during the Depression.  The Forgotten Man, men who served in WWI or lost everything in the Crash, found themselves unemployed and displaced living in places like City Dump 32, while the Bullocks lived the high life on 5th Avenue.  The only time the Bullocks of the world notice the Forgotten Man is when they need him to win a silly game for them.  At one point in the film Godfrey says: “The only difference between a derelict and a man is a job.” Of course, more could have been done with this theme.  If I have one complaint with the film it would be that Godfrey shouldn’t have been pretending to be down on his luck but actually have been down and out.  Still, it is a nice twist when you learn the reason he can handle the Bullocks so well is that he was once afflicted with their disease as well.

One interesting aside about My Man Godfrey is that it was the first film to receive nominations in all four acting categories: Best Actor (Powell), Best Actress (Lombard), Best Supporting Actor (Mischa Auer) and Best Supporting Actress (Alice Brady). While none of the actors won the coveted statue, they should have taken solace in the fact that La Cava was passed over as Best Director and Hatch and Ryskind didn’t win Best Screenplay either.  However, the strangest thing about the whole Oscar situation is this: My Man Godfrey wasn't even nominated for Best Picture. Somehow the math just doesn’t seem right there.  Oh, well…

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