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4.11.2011
4.10.2011
vital-graph: the devil and daniel webster
this is part of an ongoing series in which i discuss the films that matter most to me. the only criterion they share is that i find them indispensable, my desert island selections. some are established classics, some are definitely not, some occupy the grey space in between...
this one was tailor-made for me, what with its marriage of early americana, mephistophelean folklore and a lineage going back to german expressionist cinema. that whiff of brimstone you detect is william dieterle's magnificent the devil and daniel webster (1941).
dieterle's adaptation of a stephen vincent benét - who also collaborated on the screenplay - short story tells the story of jabez stone and the faustian bargain that threatens to be his undoing. he is a farmer in cross corners, new hampshire, struggling to keep his head above water. the farm he runs with the help of his wife, mary, and his mother yields just enough to keep them hungry and one instance of bad luck begets another. pushed to his breaking point, he frustratedly exclaims that he would sell his soul for two cents. hey, jabez, check your pocket.
interesting note: these actually appear to be canadian cents, unusable in new hampshire. i don't know if that was a clever bit on dieterle's part to suggest the futility of the bargain about to be struck or if they just found the coins aesthetically pleasing. intentional or not, a nice bit of subtext. at any rate, you go around making statements like that and it's not long before someone comes knocking to get that signature on the dotted line. walter huston is scratch, a role every bit as compelling and career-defining as howard in the treasure of the sierra madre (1948), and he appears amidst a haze of sulfurous smoke to make a deal. he offers jabez seven years of good luck and prosperity - money and all that money can buy - in exchange for his soul. with a prick of the finger, it is done and jabez's corruption is underway. he sets himself up as moneylender to the other downtrodden farmers in the region, eventually charging usurious rates. scratch installs a handmaiden in the stone household as a hedge against the righteous influence of mary and ma and jabez's downfall is all but guaranteed. mary, knowing her husband better than he knows himself, appeals to the famed orator, and godfather to their son, daniel webster for help putting jabez back on the right track. webster eventually ends up wrangling a trial for jabez's soul and argues in front of a jury of the damned for a reprieve for jabez, his own soul now at risk at part of the bargain. his legendary oratorical skills win the day and the devil is left to make due taking the hindmost, though the size of scratch's black book suggests he has no shortage of business and the final frames indicate that you and i might very well find our names on those pages.
this belongs to a school of rough-hewn americana that i hold near and dear to my heart, shouldering its way in between the supernatural pastorals of washington irving and the square-shouldered vigor and optimism of carl sandburg. it takes the highminded desires for infinite knowledge and worldly pleasures of its german antecedent, the scholar faust, and recasts them in a way that americans of every generation can relate to, from its philosophy to its landscape. from the restored opening shot of scratch walking up the road, consulting his book, we are never far from a waving wheat field, its breadth suggestive of expansion and growth, its fecundity suggestive - once in a beautiful dissolve to pregnant mary - of the generations to come whose security depends on the administration of the land, both agricultural and ideological. ma represents the indomitable spirit without which america could not have come to be. as jabez whines about his misfortune, she reminds him "as for what you're calling hard luck? well, we made new england out of it. that and codfish." her hands are never idle, the devil's playthings they are not. she is a constant source of strength and industry. jabez is, of course, weak. the devil doesn't pick fights he can't typically win. jabez is the hindmost in this group, to be sure, but even as corruptible as he is, he represents a particularly rural, american strand of corruptibility when compared to faust. in an early episode in which he talks about the sanctity of a simple seed, it is clear that his desires are rooted in the soil, in labor, not in metaphysical or academic pursuits. mary occupies the pragmatic and loving middle ground between the two. with her love of family and stoic willingness to do what needs to be done, she is the embodiment of the most basic american virtues. all that said, it's not as patriotic as it might seem on the surface.
the savior of the piece, daniel webster, while portrayed as a magnificent orator and friend to every farmer, is obviously not without his flaws. on more than one occasion we are made aware of his fondness for strong drink, which he refers to at one point as "the breath of the promised land". in fact, before the climax, in an illuminating bit of dialogue he tells us that he has "never left a jug or a case half finished" in his life. in this one sentence he makes clear that his love of alcohol and justice are on pretty even footing. you get the notion from this and a previous episode where scratch slips him a tankard at a town gathering that the door to his temptation is far from shut tight. this is the great hope of the republic? this man, drowsing in the town square, adrift in drunken reverie while jabez is forced to speak on his behalf, is the next president? hardly a paragon of virtue, it would seem. america's more sordid episodes are not forgotten either. when accused of being a foreign prince, scratch takes umbrage with webster's assessment and chides him, reminding him that "when the first wrong was done to the first indian, i was there. when the first slaver put out for the congo, i stood on the deck. am i not still spoken of in every church in new england? it's true the north claims me for a southerner and the south for a northerner, but i'm neither. tell the truth, mr. webster - though i don't like to boast of it - my name is older in the country than yours."
ZING! he also does not hesitate to remind us that the jury of that damned that sits in judgment of jabez - a rogues gallery of historic murderers, thieves and, worst of all, traitors - are "americans all". to his credit, webster addresses them as such. his argument for jabez's redemption has no legal basis, it is strictly an appeal to emotion. he finds the last shred of humanity remaining in these men and simply asks them to remember themselves before they made the same mistake he did, and that it is "the eternal right of every man to raise his fist against his fate". it's a surprisingly secular argument, being that this was made in the forties and the property in question is someone's mortal soul, and that thread runs throughout the film. it's a morality tale, yes, but the conflict is never presented as the infernal versus the divine. the struggle is never that old world. what we have instead is a microcosm of a troubled young nation where self-determinism is the coin of the realm, where a man is free to make his way employing honesty and toil and where redemption can be found when we practice compassion and reason in equal measure. no matter how old or complicated our nation becomes, these are things we would do well to remember. someone should write this down.
as a piece of craftsmanship, the film is dazzling. originally released as all that money can buy during RKO's creative peak, it boasts an impressive roster of talent, both in front of and behind the camera. william dieterle brought the angular darkness of german expressionist cinema - where he once performed in f.w. murnau's faust (1926), coincidentally - and combined it seamlessly with a lushness gleaned from working in the hollywood system to strike the perfect tone for this surreal folk tale. shot after shot, dieterle lures us deeper into the story with well-placed key lights and judiciously used special effects until we find ourselves immersed in a haunted world of shadows, fire and smoke.
it really is something to behold. it's a shame that this came out just in the wake of orson welles' citizen kane (1941) because i think if it hadn't, it would receive the recognition it richly deserves for its undeniable skill and style. editor robert wise and vitagraph's favorite film composer bernard herrman both brought their immense talents to bear on this film immediately after kane and their work is here is easily on par with that, herrmann's perhaps even surpassing it. his attention to detail and dedication to finding the right sounds for this film resulted in his only academy award. for the demonic fiddle piece at the harvest dance, he recorded the same musician layering multiple takes of the tune on top of one another, each version more frantic and discordant than the last. it resulted in a piece that sounds like one impossibly skilled player, rather than the sound of a quartet that you would get from recording a group of musicians playing the lines together. in an inspired bit of innovation, for scratch's appearances he recorded the sound of humming telephone wires to be incorporated into the score. the sound design works brilliantly with the score, as well. the way in which things go deadly silent the moment jabez offer his soul up in frustration, the punctuative thunder strike when jabez signs his soul away, the muted, murky voices (more accurately, voice, as they seem to speak as one) emanating from the ghostly party attendees and the jury of the damned - all of it thoroughly, chillingly effective. everyone behind the camera seemed to be operating at the height of their powers. in front of the camera, they hit the jackpot as well.
this is especially true when it comes to scratch and his emissary, belle. huston plays scratch with such malevolent glee that you frequently find yourself nodding in agreement with him. you can't help it. as a raconteur, he is without equal, playing the world's oldest salesman as if he had been around that long himself. one raised eyebrow is worth a thousand words. there is but one false note in the whole performance and if it didn't occur at such a pivotal moment i might not have noticed it. when the jury turns to deliberate what scratch thought was a foregone conclusion, he exhibits surprise. disappointment? sure. indignation? i could understand that, but someone who has been dealing with human beings as long as he presumably has should have enough wisdom and experience to never be surprised by any single thing they do. it's a small quibble, though, easily overcome. in every other frame, he is perfect. the physical aspects of the performance are notable, as well. with every motion, he inches closer, insinuating himself, touching you, resulting in a rancid, queasy intimacy. it's a technique that simone simon excels at as well, though in her case you don't mind so much. from the first second belle appears on screen, she feels like she is slithering around under your skin. she is even more unnerving than scratch as she encroaches the same way on a helpless infant, singing it diabolical lullabies. she is utterly beguiling, easily slipping past the defenses of new england farmers and hollywood censors with equal aplomb.
it is the handling of the relationship between jabez and belle that is easily the most subversive element of the film. scratch's seduction is moral - the powerful argument that bad luck is simply unnecessary - but it is only half of the equation. belle's seduction is decidedly physical, sealing the deal. she is the instrument with which scratch makes certain that jabez's every desire is satisfied. but how to portray that in 1941? cleverly, that's how. on the evening of his son's birth, jabez finds himself chasing belle around the barn as fiddles careen out of control, asking "shall we...dance, belle?" that pause is not mine, by the way. it is delivered just that way and you could drive a haywagon through it. the doctor has barely cut the cord and here he is trying out his best pick up lines. as his degradation continues, he leaves his marital bed one evening to escape the crying of his newborn son and finds himself at what is presumably belle's bedroom door. at that instant, scratch pops in the window, "what's the matter, neighbor stone? your conscience bothering you? ha! we take care of that. give me your hand" and leads jabez directly into temptation. she replaces mary everywhere else in the stone household almost as quickly as the bedroom and people begin to talk. nothing is ever explicit, mind you, but if this movie was equipped with a neon sign it would read "HEY! YOUR PROTAGONIST IS HAVING REALLLLLY HOT ADULTEROUS SEX WITH A LITERAL DEMON WHILE HIS WIFE AND NEWBORN BABY SLEEP NOT THIRTY FEET AWAY!" but this was 1941. so it doesn't. instead, it is depicted so clearly but cleverly that joe breen and his blue-pencil pushers could only throw their hands up in frustration.
i love it for all these reasons and many others. it has charms that are appropriately duplicitous and incendiary, when you look past the first layer or two, and it's about damned time it got its due. do what you have to to see it. go to great lengths, if you must. after all, "what's a little pain to a lucky man?"
this one was tailor-made for me, what with its marriage of early americana, mephistophelean folklore and a lineage going back to german expressionist cinema. that whiff of brimstone you detect is william dieterle's magnificent the devil and daniel webster (1941).
dieterle's adaptation of a stephen vincent benét - who also collaborated on the screenplay - short story tells the story of jabez stone and the faustian bargain that threatens to be his undoing. he is a farmer in cross corners, new hampshire, struggling to keep his head above water. the farm he runs with the help of his wife, mary, and his mother yields just enough to keep them hungry and one instance of bad luck begets another. pushed to his breaking point, he frustratedly exclaims that he would sell his soul for two cents. hey, jabez, check your pocket.
interesting note: these actually appear to be canadian cents, unusable in new hampshire. i don't know if that was a clever bit on dieterle's part to suggest the futility of the bargain about to be struck or if they just found the coins aesthetically pleasing. intentional or not, a nice bit of subtext. at any rate, you go around making statements like that and it's not long before someone comes knocking to get that signature on the dotted line. walter huston is scratch, a role every bit as compelling and career-defining as howard in the treasure of the sierra madre (1948), and he appears amidst a haze of sulfurous smoke to make a deal. he offers jabez seven years of good luck and prosperity - money and all that money can buy - in exchange for his soul. with a prick of the finger, it is done and jabez's corruption is underway. he sets himself up as moneylender to the other downtrodden farmers in the region, eventually charging usurious rates. scratch installs a handmaiden in the stone household as a hedge against the righteous influence of mary and ma and jabez's downfall is all but guaranteed. mary, knowing her husband better than he knows himself, appeals to the famed orator, and godfather to their son, daniel webster for help putting jabez back on the right track. webster eventually ends up wrangling a trial for jabez's soul and argues in front of a jury of the damned for a reprieve for jabez, his own soul now at risk at part of the bargain. his legendary oratorical skills win the day and the devil is left to make due taking the hindmost, though the size of scratch's black book suggests he has no shortage of business and the final frames indicate that you and i might very well find our names on those pages.
this belongs to a school of rough-hewn americana that i hold near and dear to my heart, shouldering its way in between the supernatural pastorals of washington irving and the square-shouldered vigor and optimism of carl sandburg. it takes the highminded desires for infinite knowledge and worldly pleasures of its german antecedent, the scholar faust, and recasts them in a way that americans of every generation can relate to, from its philosophy to its landscape. from the restored opening shot of scratch walking up the road, consulting his book, we are never far from a waving wheat field, its breadth suggestive of expansion and growth, its fecundity suggestive - once in a beautiful dissolve to pregnant mary - of the generations to come whose security depends on the administration of the land, both agricultural and ideological. ma represents the indomitable spirit without which america could not have come to be. as jabez whines about his misfortune, she reminds him "as for what you're calling hard luck? well, we made new england out of it. that and codfish." her hands are never idle, the devil's playthings they are not. she is a constant source of strength and industry. jabez is, of course, weak. the devil doesn't pick fights he can't typically win. jabez is the hindmost in this group, to be sure, but even as corruptible as he is, he represents a particularly rural, american strand of corruptibility when compared to faust. in an early episode in which he talks about the sanctity of a simple seed, it is clear that his desires are rooted in the soil, in labor, not in metaphysical or academic pursuits. mary occupies the pragmatic and loving middle ground between the two. with her love of family and stoic willingness to do what needs to be done, she is the embodiment of the most basic american virtues. all that said, it's not as patriotic as it might seem on the surface.
the savior of the piece, daniel webster, while portrayed as a magnificent orator and friend to every farmer, is obviously not without his flaws. on more than one occasion we are made aware of his fondness for strong drink, which he refers to at one point as "the breath of the promised land". in fact, before the climax, in an illuminating bit of dialogue he tells us that he has "never left a jug or a case half finished" in his life. in this one sentence he makes clear that his love of alcohol and justice are on pretty even footing. you get the notion from this and a previous episode where scratch slips him a tankard at a town gathering that the door to his temptation is far from shut tight. this is the great hope of the republic? this man, drowsing in the town square, adrift in drunken reverie while jabez is forced to speak on his behalf, is the next president? hardly a paragon of virtue, it would seem. america's more sordid episodes are not forgotten either. when accused of being a foreign prince, scratch takes umbrage with webster's assessment and chides him, reminding him that "when the first wrong was done to the first indian, i was there. when the first slaver put out for the congo, i stood on the deck. am i not still spoken of in every church in new england? it's true the north claims me for a southerner and the south for a northerner, but i'm neither. tell the truth, mr. webster - though i don't like to boast of it - my name is older in the country than yours."
ZING! he also does not hesitate to remind us that the jury of that damned that sits in judgment of jabez - a rogues gallery of historic murderers, thieves and, worst of all, traitors - are "americans all". to his credit, webster addresses them as such. his argument for jabez's redemption has no legal basis, it is strictly an appeal to emotion. he finds the last shred of humanity remaining in these men and simply asks them to remember themselves before they made the same mistake he did, and that it is "the eternal right of every man to raise his fist against his fate". it's a surprisingly secular argument, being that this was made in the forties and the property in question is someone's mortal soul, and that thread runs throughout the film. it's a morality tale, yes, but the conflict is never presented as the infernal versus the divine. the struggle is never that old world. what we have instead is a microcosm of a troubled young nation where self-determinism is the coin of the realm, where a man is free to make his way employing honesty and toil and where redemption can be found when we practice compassion and reason in equal measure. no matter how old or complicated our nation becomes, these are things we would do well to remember. someone should write this down.
as a piece of craftsmanship, the film is dazzling. originally released as all that money can buy during RKO's creative peak, it boasts an impressive roster of talent, both in front of and behind the camera. william dieterle brought the angular darkness of german expressionist cinema - where he once performed in f.w. murnau's faust (1926), coincidentally - and combined it seamlessly with a lushness gleaned from working in the hollywood system to strike the perfect tone for this surreal folk tale. shot after shot, dieterle lures us deeper into the story with well-placed key lights and judiciously used special effects until we find ourselves immersed in a haunted world of shadows, fire and smoke.
it really is something to behold. it's a shame that this came out just in the wake of orson welles' citizen kane (1941) because i think if it hadn't, it would receive the recognition it richly deserves for its undeniable skill and style. editor robert wise and vitagraph's favorite film composer bernard herrman both brought their immense talents to bear on this film immediately after kane and their work is here is easily on par with that, herrmann's perhaps even surpassing it. his attention to detail and dedication to finding the right sounds for this film resulted in his only academy award. for the demonic fiddle piece at the harvest dance, he recorded the same musician layering multiple takes of the tune on top of one another, each version more frantic and discordant than the last. it resulted in a piece that sounds like one impossibly skilled player, rather than the sound of a quartet that you would get from recording a group of musicians playing the lines together. in an inspired bit of innovation, for scratch's appearances he recorded the sound of humming telephone wires to be incorporated into the score. the sound design works brilliantly with the score, as well. the way in which things go deadly silent the moment jabez offer his soul up in frustration, the punctuative thunder strike when jabez signs his soul away, the muted, murky voices (more accurately, voice, as they seem to speak as one) emanating from the ghostly party attendees and the jury of the damned - all of it thoroughly, chillingly effective. everyone behind the camera seemed to be operating at the height of their powers. in front of the camera, they hit the jackpot as well.
this is especially true when it comes to scratch and his emissary, belle. huston plays scratch with such malevolent glee that you frequently find yourself nodding in agreement with him. you can't help it. as a raconteur, he is without equal, playing the world's oldest salesman as if he had been around that long himself. one raised eyebrow is worth a thousand words. there is but one false note in the whole performance and if it didn't occur at such a pivotal moment i might not have noticed it. when the jury turns to deliberate what scratch thought was a foregone conclusion, he exhibits surprise. disappointment? sure. indignation? i could understand that, but someone who has been dealing with human beings as long as he presumably has should have enough wisdom and experience to never be surprised by any single thing they do. it's a small quibble, though, easily overcome. in every other frame, he is perfect. the physical aspects of the performance are notable, as well. with every motion, he inches closer, insinuating himself, touching you, resulting in a rancid, queasy intimacy. it's a technique that simone simon excels at as well, though in her case you don't mind so much. from the first second belle appears on screen, she feels like she is slithering around under your skin. she is even more unnerving than scratch as she encroaches the same way on a helpless infant, singing it diabolical lullabies. she is utterly beguiling, easily slipping past the defenses of new england farmers and hollywood censors with equal aplomb.
it is the handling of the relationship between jabez and belle that is easily the most subversive element of the film. scratch's seduction is moral - the powerful argument that bad luck is simply unnecessary - but it is only half of the equation. belle's seduction is decidedly physical, sealing the deal. she is the instrument with which scratch makes certain that jabez's every desire is satisfied. but how to portray that in 1941? cleverly, that's how. on the evening of his son's birth, jabez finds himself chasing belle around the barn as fiddles careen out of control, asking "shall we...dance, belle?" that pause is not mine, by the way. it is delivered just that way and you could drive a haywagon through it. the doctor has barely cut the cord and here he is trying out his best pick up lines. as his degradation continues, he leaves his marital bed one evening to escape the crying of his newborn son and finds himself at what is presumably belle's bedroom door. at that instant, scratch pops in the window, "what's the matter, neighbor stone? your conscience bothering you? ha! we take care of that. give me your hand" and leads jabez directly into temptation. she replaces mary everywhere else in the stone household almost as quickly as the bedroom and people begin to talk. nothing is ever explicit, mind you, but if this movie was equipped with a neon sign it would read "HEY! YOUR PROTAGONIST IS HAVING REALLLLLY HOT ADULTEROUS SEX WITH A LITERAL DEMON WHILE HIS WIFE AND NEWBORN BABY SLEEP NOT THIRTY FEET AWAY!" but this was 1941. so it doesn't. instead, it is depicted so clearly but cleverly that joe breen and his blue-pencil pushers could only throw their hands up in frustration.
i love it for all these reasons and many others. it has charms that are appropriately duplicitous and incendiary, when you look past the first layer or two, and it's about damned time it got its due. do what you have to to see it. go to great lengths, if you must. after all, "what's a little pain to a lucky man?"4.09.2011
one year in
we're a year old today and ava gardner is here with cake!
it was a year ago today that i embarked on this enterprise and it has turned out to be more than i could have reasonably hoped for. the past year has seen the establishment of our starlite cinema series and the unstoppable juggernaut that is queue de grâce. i have forged some great relationships out of all this, most especially with the fine folks at the paramount theater and bryce, who runs the show over at things that don't suck. i managed to attend five festivals. i took in a couple hundred movies in the past year, including some incredible new discoveries. i regret that our criterion podcast has been on the back burner for so long, but after my computer was stolen that had all our work stored on it i admit it took the wind out of my sails. i promise everyone, especially bobby, that it is not forgotten. otherwise, i couldn't be more pleased with how things are working out.
to celebrate this first anniversary i have just launched an accompanying tumblr blog called vitagraph hall. its main function will be to serve as a repository for images and other miscellany that serve no practical purpose over here. if you're on tumblr, feel free to follow us or pass it along to friends who might enjoy it. there's always the facebook page as well, if you are interested in our events and more immediate and interactive vitagraph action. in an effort to expand the scope of our mission to encourage cinematic discovery, there are also one or two other ideas i am working on for the near future and i will keep you posted as to how those are going as soon as i can. in the meantime, thank you for reading and participating here. i sincerely appreciate everyone for coming along for the last year and i look forward to what's next with you folks. now, let's have cake.
it was a year ago today that i embarked on this enterprise and it has turned out to be more than i could have reasonably hoped for. the past year has seen the establishment of our starlite cinema series and the unstoppable juggernaut that is queue de grâce. i have forged some great relationships out of all this, most especially with the fine folks at the paramount theater and bryce, who runs the show over at things that don't suck. i managed to attend five festivals. i took in a couple hundred movies in the past year, including some incredible new discoveries. i regret that our criterion podcast has been on the back burner for so long, but after my computer was stolen that had all our work stored on it i admit it took the wind out of my sails. i promise everyone, especially bobby, that it is not forgotten. otherwise, i couldn't be more pleased with how things are working out.to celebrate this first anniversary i have just launched an accompanying tumblr blog called vitagraph hall. its main function will be to serve as a repository for images and other miscellany that serve no practical purpose over here. if you're on tumblr, feel free to follow us or pass it along to friends who might enjoy it. there's always the facebook page as well, if you are interested in our events and more immediate and interactive vitagraph action. in an effort to expand the scope of our mission to encourage cinematic discovery, there are also one or two other ideas i am working on for the near future and i will keep you posted as to how those are going as soon as i can. in the meantime, thank you for reading and participating here. i sincerely appreciate everyone for coming along for the last year and i look forward to what's next with you folks. now, let's have cake.
4.06.2011
rooms of gloom
i am an avowed fan of artist/illustrator edward gorey, his black humor and his macabre, victorian sensibilities. his wordless mystery, the west wing, is probably my favorite of his works. it's a bit of an odd choice, as i typically enjoy his devotion to old dark dictionaries as much as old dark houses, but what moves this one to the top of the list is the peculiar atmosphere it maintains throughout. what makes it so beguiling is the fact that every action depicted is never truly the point. each frame is perplexing not directly because of what's in it, but because what's in it points to a much greater mystery that has either just happened or is about to happen. here's a brief slide show so you can get a sense of what i mean.
it is rife with odd tension and the constant implication, if not the outright presence, of horror. the anticipation, the unknown, the lack of understanding or control - these are the things that leave us with the most dread in our hearts. one of the most valuable lessons i have ever gleaned from cinema comes from the pope of greenwich village (1984). it was something that mickey rourke told eric roberts just before they took his thumb - nothing ever hurts like you think it will. the west wing rides that sick feeling in the pit of your stomach to the end of the line. there is nothing to do except ponder what cruel fates and unwelcome visitations might be taking place in its drafty rooms. we are never afforded an explanation. as a result, our imaginations are allowed to run rampant, which everyone knows is far more frightening than anything he could have put on the page. some of the most effective entries in the canon of horror/thriller cinema prey on our imaginations in exactly the same way. the shower scene in psycho (1960) is probably the most well known example. every time i see it, i am taken by surprise at how much of it is simply suggestion. the most graphic parts of the scene live in my head. the fear lives in my head. even that scene, though, is much less subtle than what i came here to talk about today. effective as it is at planting the vividness of marion's destruction in our heads, it is still a sudden, violent burst. what i find most chilling is simply the void. an empty room is the scariest room. a loud noise is here and gone quickly but the menace of a quiet room sits with you, waits, will always outlast your nerve. i know the anticipation is killing you, so here are some of my favorite moments in film that give your imagination room to do its job, a cinematic west wing.
we do hope you have enjoyed your stay.
we do hope you have enjoyed your stay.my favorite frames
there may be no other scene in cinema that makes me feel as cold in my bones as this one.
4.05.2011
trailer tuesday
this week's entry is for william keighley's george washington slept here (1942), my favorite jack benny vehicle. it is a crying shame that this is not available on dvd. percy kilbride nearly walks away with this whole film, no mean feat when you are dealing with someone whose timing is as keen as jack benny's.
4.03.2011
queue de grâce is coming
the third installment of queue de grâce is on its way. just thinking about it gives me the creeps. ladies and gentlemen, keep your button eyes peeled for...
for the uninitiated, here are the rules for our little experiment: for one solid week i turn over complete control of my streaming netflix queue to one of you fine folks. during that week (excluding visits to actual theaters) i will only watch content curated by them and report back daily, detailing my viewing experience and letting you know what to do with my remains should i not survive.
our next guest programmer is caroline ruggles. here she is assembling the floral arrangements for my cinematic funeral.
look at the diabolical glee in those eyes. i have it on good authority that she is going above and beyond to assemble my list. not simply satisfied with the offerings available on netflix, she is culling additional fiendish delights from her personal collection. the festivities begin on 4.18.11 and run through 4.24.11. stop in and see what she has in store for me. it should be a grand time.
for the uninitiated, here are the rules for our little experiment: for one solid week i turn over complete control of my streaming netflix queue to one of you fine folks. during that week (excluding visits to actual theaters) i will only watch content curated by them and report back daily, detailing my viewing experience and letting you know what to do with my remains should i not survive.our next guest programmer is caroline ruggles. here she is assembling the floral arrangements for my cinematic funeral.
look at the diabolical glee in those eyes. i have it on good authority that she is going above and beyond to assemble my list. not simply satisfied with the offerings available on netflix, she is culling additional fiendish delights from her personal collection. the festivities begin on 4.18.11 and run through 4.24.11. stop in and see what she has in store for me. it should be a grand time.
4.01.2011
this will go down on your permanent record
the fifth annual white elephant blogathon is taking place today over at silly hats only!
and i am participating for the first time. the rules, as they state them, look simple:
number three was a tall order, considering i was saddled with phil joanou's three o'clock high (1987).
as the opening titles roll, we are introduced to jerry mitchell, a likable nebbish who is about to endure the long, dark school day of the soul. setting the tone for his day, the clock is his nemesis. his alarm has betrayed him and he is late for his opening duties at the student store. with sister and girlfriend in tow, he races to school, narrowly avoiding a disastrous wreck because he is staring at the new girl driving in the opposite lane. when they arrive, the school is buzzing over another new arrival, buddy revell, who apparently occupies the neanderthal spot on the evolutionary chart that begins with pliopithecus and ends with michael hutchence. according to the stories making the rounds, buddy is a "touch freak" who is fond of brass knuckles and has left a trail of intimidated administrators and brutalized students in his wake. the school paper decides it would be a good idea to welcome/exploit buddy and sends jerry to interview him for a "new student" feature. he awkwardly advances the idea to buddy at the urinal and ends up good-naturedly touching buddy's arm. this minor infraction puts him at the top of buddy's enemies list and earns him a date with an ass-whipping in the parking lot come three o'clock. from there, jerry sweats his way through the rest of the day, one increasingly desperate hour at a time. the clock strikes three and the entire school pours into the parking lot for the bloodletting. things are almost over before they begin, as the principal steps in to announce that there will be no fight today. buddy, however, has been spoiling for this fight all day and no pesky adults are going to keep him from it. he lays the principal and the security officer out as cold as mackerels and the fight is on. buddy goes to his trademark brass knuckles but loses them in a scramble with jerry's best friend. jerry's sister manages to pass them to jerry who promptly dispatches buddy with them. the bully is vanquished, order is restored, the legend of jerry is already reverberating through the hallways. all is right with the world. right?
nope. this thing is a mess. it's trying to be too many things at once. an update of high noon (1952) for the john hughes set? it's about as far from that as you can get. the only thing they have in common is the inevitable showdown. gary cooper was everything casey siemaszko is not in this film. even with a cold fear in the pit of his belly, cooper moved stoically forward, never faltering, providing the cowardly townsfolk with a hero they didn't deserve. siemaszko's character maintains his dignity for all of a period and a half. he attempts to reason with the bully, he even protests when he catches his best friend in the act of planting a switchblade in buddy's locker to get him kicked out of school and arrested. when the chips are down, though, honor goes out the window. first, he runs. at least, he tries to. when he gets to his car he finds the switchblade in his steering wheel with a note that makes it clear there will be no escape. reinforcing this is the fact that buddy cut all of the wires under the hood. flight no longer an option, he attempts to hire someone to do his fighting for him, paying for this ersatz hitman with $450 he steals from the student store. buddy makes short work of his hired goon, leaving him with a broken finger, nose and teeth for his trouble. that plan shot, jerry attempts to get thrown in detention with a book report that walks on the wild side, seducing a prim schoolmarm in the process. he doesn't get detention but he does get those digits. he returns to algebra class in time for a pop quiz. he is seated next to buddy who indicates he had best share his answers. they are caught cheating and sent to the principal's office whereupon buddy actually proves his mathematical proficiency, leaving jerry to take the heat for the cheating episode. jerry sees this as a chance to bond with buddy and appeals to him one last time to call off the fight. when that doesn't work he offers, somewhat pathetically, to buy buddy off with the $350 refund he got from his fight surrogate. buddy takes it, but not before he makes sure that jerry knows, in no uncertain terms, how spineless he is. "you didn't even try. how does that feel?"
well, it must feel pretty bad because self-loathing finally pushes him to accomplish what a sense of honor or righteousness could not and they come to blows. gary cooper, he definitely isn't. anyone who tries to tell you that this movie is about honor and courage in the face of adversity must have skipped the huge section where our "hero" runs, lies, cheats and steals to avoid a potential beating, responding only when his pathetic pride is wounded. man, if nothing else, just take a dive. it can't be any more embarrassing than these elaborate and pitiable machinations. even with all this, i could have taken it had the film not rewarded him. if it had ended with him getting popped for the student store robbery, fine. instead, the student body comes to his rescue, buying sheets of paper for a dollar apiece, allowing him to replace the money he so cravenly absconded with to save his ass. and did i mention he doesn't just get the girl, he gets three girls. well, two girls and one grown woman. these townsfolk - hell, the 80s in their entirety - get exactly the hero they deserve. if you think this has anything to do with high noon, then there is some confusion.
i know, gary. i don't get it either.
the most interesting character was buddy, without a doubt. he was obviously far more than your average 80s teen bully, but what exactly? the movie is unclear about what it's trying to say here, as well. he is obviously articulate. he is his own man, operating without the usual support group of frosted-tipped hangers-on and junior college linebackers that typically surrounds 80s high school bullies. he is a menace, yes, but what must have happened to him so long ago to make him react so violently to uninvited physical contact? it could be that he is just the classic misunderstood monster. all he asks for is to be left alone. if people could manage that then there would be no trouble. but just when you are ready to give him the benefit of the doubt, the movie throws an episode at you like the algebra quiz. he was obviously quite capable of doing well enough on his own. why, then, the need to press jerry for answers? he's toying with him, it's pure cruelty. ok, fine, so he's a sociopath. why, then, let him off the hook for money? $350 is nothing to sneeze at and he's apparently not so much a sociopath that his bloodlust overrules his pragmatism. the exchange, and the contempt with which he views jerry's weaseling, also gives a small glimpse of the fact that he operates by a definite code. it's a code that incorporates an unhealthy amount of violence, but a code nonetheless. that's far more than you can say about our protagonist, whose moral compass might as well be a spinning wheel. things swing back toward malevolent brute when the brass knuckles are introduced but when all is said and done he returns the money that jerry tried to buy him off with. he was paid not to fight, he fought, he didn't hold up his end of that deal, so he gave the money back. he was bested in a (somewhat) fair fight so he gave him a measure of respect as well. it's a morass of mixed messages, none of them particularly convincing.
for a teen comedy it doesn't really succeed at being funny either. most of the time the vibe is desperation, not comedy. the tone is bleak with looks to match. it's as if they need to replace some burned out light bulbs in almost every room they are shooting in and the color scheme seems a relentless green and gray. it does boast some inventive flourishes here and there but it pales in comparison to, say, savage steve holland. the one thing i can say i actually enjoyed about it is that the relationship between jerry and his sister was not the cliched adversarial nonsense that usually comes with the territory. otherwise, not much of redeeming value is going on here. better luck next time, i guess. to all those out there who are continually banging the drum for this "lost 80s classic", claiming that it deserves to be considered with the more prominent john hughes movies and the like, you're right. those movies are terrible, too, when not filtered through the haze of silly nostalgia. the 80s almost invariably leave me with a bad taste in my mouth. i saw them firsthand and they weren't really all that great, contrary to what vh-1 tells you. occasionally, though, their absurdity was almost transcendent and i take some small consolation in the fact that, right now, someone is laboring over the madness that is unmasking the idol (1988) at my behest.
i'm looking forward to reading all the other posts today. many thanks to silly hats only for having me along. now click on over and see who else the joke is on.
and i am participating for the first time. the rules, as they state them, look simple:1. submit the title of a movie you want to see someone else review
2. review the movie you are assigned and post it on 4.1.11
3. have fun!
2. review the movie you are assigned and post it on 4.1.11
3. have fun!
number three was a tall order, considering i was saddled with phil joanou's three o'clock high (1987).
as the opening titles roll, we are introduced to jerry mitchell, a likable nebbish who is about to endure the long, dark school day of the soul. setting the tone for his day, the clock is his nemesis. his alarm has betrayed him and he is late for his opening duties at the student store. with sister and girlfriend in tow, he races to school, narrowly avoiding a disastrous wreck because he is staring at the new girl driving in the opposite lane. when they arrive, the school is buzzing over another new arrival, buddy revell, who apparently occupies the neanderthal spot on the evolutionary chart that begins with pliopithecus and ends with michael hutchence. according to the stories making the rounds, buddy is a "touch freak" who is fond of brass knuckles and has left a trail of intimidated administrators and brutalized students in his wake. the school paper decides it would be a good idea to welcome/exploit buddy and sends jerry to interview him for a "new student" feature. he awkwardly advances the idea to buddy at the urinal and ends up good-naturedly touching buddy's arm. this minor infraction puts him at the top of buddy's enemies list and earns him a date with an ass-whipping in the parking lot come three o'clock. from there, jerry sweats his way through the rest of the day, one increasingly desperate hour at a time. the clock strikes three and the entire school pours into the parking lot for the bloodletting. things are almost over before they begin, as the principal steps in to announce that there will be no fight today. buddy, however, has been spoiling for this fight all day and no pesky adults are going to keep him from it. he lays the principal and the security officer out as cold as mackerels and the fight is on. buddy goes to his trademark brass knuckles but loses them in a scramble with jerry's best friend. jerry's sister manages to pass them to jerry who promptly dispatches buddy with them. the bully is vanquished, order is restored, the legend of jerry is already reverberating through the hallways. all is right with the world. right?
nope. this thing is a mess. it's trying to be too many things at once. an update of high noon (1952) for the john hughes set? it's about as far from that as you can get. the only thing they have in common is the inevitable showdown. gary cooper was everything casey siemaszko is not in this film. even with a cold fear in the pit of his belly, cooper moved stoically forward, never faltering, providing the cowardly townsfolk with a hero they didn't deserve. siemaszko's character maintains his dignity for all of a period and a half. he attempts to reason with the bully, he even protests when he catches his best friend in the act of planting a switchblade in buddy's locker to get him kicked out of school and arrested. when the chips are down, though, honor goes out the window. first, he runs. at least, he tries to. when he gets to his car he finds the switchblade in his steering wheel with a note that makes it clear there will be no escape. reinforcing this is the fact that buddy cut all of the wires under the hood. flight no longer an option, he attempts to hire someone to do his fighting for him, paying for this ersatz hitman with $450 he steals from the student store. buddy makes short work of his hired goon, leaving him with a broken finger, nose and teeth for his trouble. that plan shot, jerry attempts to get thrown in detention with a book report that walks on the wild side, seducing a prim schoolmarm in the process. he doesn't get detention but he does get those digits. he returns to algebra class in time for a pop quiz. he is seated next to buddy who indicates he had best share his answers. they are caught cheating and sent to the principal's office whereupon buddy actually proves his mathematical proficiency, leaving jerry to take the heat for the cheating episode. jerry sees this as a chance to bond with buddy and appeals to him one last time to call off the fight. when that doesn't work he offers, somewhat pathetically, to buy buddy off with the $350 refund he got from his fight surrogate. buddy takes it, but not before he makes sure that jerry knows, in no uncertain terms, how spineless he is. "you didn't even try. how does that feel?"
well, it must feel pretty bad because self-loathing finally pushes him to accomplish what a sense of honor or righteousness could not and they come to blows. gary cooper, he definitely isn't. anyone who tries to tell you that this movie is about honor and courage in the face of adversity must have skipped the huge section where our "hero" runs, lies, cheats and steals to avoid a potential beating, responding only when his pathetic pride is wounded. man, if nothing else, just take a dive. it can't be any more embarrassing than these elaborate and pitiable machinations. even with all this, i could have taken it had the film not rewarded him. if it had ended with him getting popped for the student store robbery, fine. instead, the student body comes to his rescue, buying sheets of paper for a dollar apiece, allowing him to replace the money he so cravenly absconded with to save his ass. and did i mention he doesn't just get the girl, he gets three girls. well, two girls and one grown woman. these townsfolk - hell, the 80s in their entirety - get exactly the hero they deserve. if you think this has anything to do with high noon, then there is some confusion.
i know, gary. i don't get it either.the most interesting character was buddy, without a doubt. he was obviously far more than your average 80s teen bully, but what exactly? the movie is unclear about what it's trying to say here, as well. he is obviously articulate. he is his own man, operating without the usual support group of frosted-tipped hangers-on and junior college linebackers that typically surrounds 80s high school bullies. he is a menace, yes, but what must have happened to him so long ago to make him react so violently to uninvited physical contact? it could be that he is just the classic misunderstood monster. all he asks for is to be left alone. if people could manage that then there would be no trouble. but just when you are ready to give him the benefit of the doubt, the movie throws an episode at you like the algebra quiz. he was obviously quite capable of doing well enough on his own. why, then, the need to press jerry for answers? he's toying with him, it's pure cruelty. ok, fine, so he's a sociopath. why, then, let him off the hook for money? $350 is nothing to sneeze at and he's apparently not so much a sociopath that his bloodlust overrules his pragmatism. the exchange, and the contempt with which he views jerry's weaseling, also gives a small glimpse of the fact that he operates by a definite code. it's a code that incorporates an unhealthy amount of violence, but a code nonetheless. that's far more than you can say about our protagonist, whose moral compass might as well be a spinning wheel. things swing back toward malevolent brute when the brass knuckles are introduced but when all is said and done he returns the money that jerry tried to buy him off with. he was paid not to fight, he fought, he didn't hold up his end of that deal, so he gave the money back. he was bested in a (somewhat) fair fight so he gave him a measure of respect as well. it's a morass of mixed messages, none of them particularly convincing.
for a teen comedy it doesn't really succeed at being funny either. most of the time the vibe is desperation, not comedy. the tone is bleak with looks to match. it's as if they need to replace some burned out light bulbs in almost every room they are shooting in and the color scheme seems a relentless green and gray. it does boast some inventive flourishes here and there but it pales in comparison to, say, savage steve holland. the one thing i can say i actually enjoyed about it is that the relationship between jerry and his sister was not the cliched adversarial nonsense that usually comes with the territory. otherwise, not much of redeeming value is going on here. better luck next time, i guess. to all those out there who are continually banging the drum for this "lost 80s classic", claiming that it deserves to be considered with the more prominent john hughes movies and the like, you're right. those movies are terrible, too, when not filtered through the haze of silly nostalgia. the 80s almost invariably leave me with a bad taste in my mouth. i saw them firsthand and they weren't really all that great, contrary to what vh-1 tells you. occasionally, though, their absurdity was almost transcendent and i take some small consolation in the fact that, right now, someone is laboring over the madness that is unmasking the idol (1988) at my behest.
i'm looking forward to reading all the other posts today. many thanks to silly hats only for having me along. now click on over and see who else the joke is on.
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