Thursday, September 28, 2006
Arrowsmith is a cross between a Western, Sci-Fi, Horror, maybe a little bit of Gangster, and has some Noir elements, too. Outside of a few fast-panning and soft-focus shots, perhaps precursors to the intro shot of John Wayne in Stagecoach (1939), and, of course, the credit sequence, you would have no idea the film was directed by John Ford. Meaning, it has none of that John Ford grit. No characters are dirty or angry, or have an attitude problem that goes beyond superficial. Some scenes of dialogue are funny, but most don't mean to be. The film is limp. And that is sad, especially for us Ford fans.
But I'm going to let this one slide. Let's look at the facts: it's 1931 when this film was made, that's just the start of Ford's career; he's still learning his trade, and he has not met John Wayne either. If you ask me, it's Wayne who consistently makes Ford's films as notable as they are, though he is certainly not the only factor. Ford's exquisite technique and his intrigue with the history and mythology of the American frontier are primary considerations for his many perfect films as well.
Arrowsmith is based on a Sinclair Lewis novel, was adapted for the screen by Sidney Howard, who was later nominated for Best Screenplay at the 1932 Oscar's. There were three other nominations, as well, Ray June for Cinematography, Richard Day for Art Direction, and overall for Best Picture. The film ended up walking away from the awards empty handed, but it was clearly popular at the time.
The story follows Martin Arrowsmith (Ronald Coleman), a young-blood doctor and chemist who spends equal amounts of time studying and creating vaccinations for diseased cattle, and falling in love with his girlfriend, and later wife, Leora (Helen Hayes). A anecdotal observation: she looks a lot like Claudette Colbert, and he similar to Clark Gable--those two teamed up for Frank Capra's It Happened One Night (1934), a fantastic movie in contrast. This resemblance was the second thing I noticed about the film. The first was the credit sequence, which takes place in a laboratory with bottles and test tubes filled with bubbling liquids. Credit names disappear in a mimic of the liquids reducing in the beakers. It has a sterile comic mood to it, and seemed, for instance, more appropriate for a film like Hawks' Monkey Business (1952) (that's actually what popped into my head as I was watching).
Ensuing comes the mesh of elements from the above mentioned genres: there's a panorama of an outdoor landscape, a horse-drawn carriage rips across the road (Western iconography); and there is the name “Arrowsmith” itself, a name that draws up images of the West and dusty battles of cowboys and Indians. There are city street scenes: a car squeals to the side of the road, kids are hanging on the street (Gangster icons); then there is the garland of beakers and test tubes in a lab where the sleepless scientist puts in inhuman hours of research (elements of Sci-Fi); and the strangest part yet is the horror element. As the story progresses, Arrowsmith earns credibility as a scientist and doctor, and he is called to the West Indies to curb an outbreak of the Bubonic plague. (Really? The Black Death in 1931?) He and his team of scientists tear through the contaminated village tearing down and burning structures, a mob scene that bears resemblance to those of King Kong (1931); the people scatter as if a monster is waiting to attack beyond the walls of their village, the plague being the monster in this case, illustrated by rats shone with an overexposed white light (or is it the negative of the film stock?). Then there are scenes decorated with a hint of Noir. Shadows of Venetian blinds strike against the wall, and a very sultry Myrna Loy clad in dark eye shadow and a slinky dress waltzes through the jungle as the femme fatale.
In an early part of the film Ward Bond is spotted, a John Ford regular in later films like Fort Apache (1948), The Searchers (1956) and others. He is not listed in the credits, but you can clearly see him in a scene playing a police officer; he stands outside a door where a baby is being born, he smiles big when he hears it cry; his hair is much less gray than later films recall.
Next up on the Ford screening list: Drums Along the Mohawk (1939), with Claudette Colbert, and another Ford-acting regular, Henry Fonda. My expectations are high. I don’t expect to be disappointed.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Monday, September 25, 2006
After Hours - 1985 - DVD
Friday, September 22, 2006
After Hours is Scorsese on cocaine. It moves fast, it's a delirium, but is one of Martin Scorsese's finest. According to the commentary track the film wasn't supposed to be. The Last Temptation of Christ (1988) was in production and suddenly halted. Why? Not sure. But the script by Joe Minion was given to him by Amy Robinson, who also appeared in one of Scorsese's earlier films, Mean Streets (1973), and with the feeling that his directing career was crumbling before his eyes, he gave After Hours a shot. There was urgency to this piece of work because Scorsese had to prove to himself (and the studios) that he could produce good film amidst the disaster that Last Temptation was turning out to be. He had to prove he was a Director.
The film is edginess in the dark, and was shot entirely at night including interior scenes. Griffin Dunne who plays Paul Hackett, the sleepless lead character who is unwillingly sucked into the black hole of the SoHo after hours, says that the film would begin shooting as the sun went down, and for the next 6 or so weeks he and the crew slept in the day and awoke to the world at permanent midnight. The opening shot takes place in an office lined with cubicles and filled with what appears to be sunlight, but that light is artificial, too. The camera sweeps across the room to Paul, and in the moment we meet him there is tension in the room that pounds its way into the next sequence, completed with Scorsese's signature seamlessness, but faster. He measures our breaths with the camera's punching movements, and in Paul's sudden and awkward circumstances you exhale in a puff of laughter. How could he manage to lose the keys to his apartment to the owner of a bar who is married to the woman who just committed suicide after her failed date with he himself? It happens quickly before your eyes as if it were one long shot, full of exhaustion, and full of grace.
After Hours is Scorsese on cocaine. It moves fast, it's a delirium, but is one of Martin Scorsese's finest. According to the commentary track the film wasn't supposed to be. The Last Temptation of Christ (1988) was in production and suddenly halted. Why? Not sure. But the script by Joe Minion was given to him by Amy Robinson, who also appeared in one of Scorsese's earlier films, Mean Streets (1973), and with the feeling that his directing career was crumbling before his eyes, he gave After Hours a shot. There was urgency to this piece of work because Scorsese had to prove to himself (and the studios) that he could produce good film amidst the disaster that Last Temptation was turning out to be. He had to prove he was a Director.
The film is edginess in the dark, and was shot entirely at night including interior scenes. Griffin Dunne who plays Paul Hackett, the sleepless lead character who is unwillingly sucked into the black hole of the SoHo after hours, says that the film would begin shooting as the sun went down, and for the next 6 or so weeks he and the crew slept in the day and awoke to the world at permanent midnight. The opening shot takes place in an office lined with cubicles and filled with what appears to be sunlight, but that light is artificial, too. The camera sweeps across the room to Paul, and in the moment we meet him there is tension in the room that pounds its way into the next sequence, completed with Scorsese's signature seamlessness, but faster. He measures our breaths with the camera's punching movements, and in Paul's sudden and awkward circumstances you exhale in a puff of laughter. How could he manage to lose the keys to his apartment to the owner of a bar who is married to the woman who just committed suicide after her failed date with he himself? It happens quickly before your eyes as if it were one long shot, full of exhaustion, and full of grace.
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Monday, September 11, 2006
Nine to Five - 1980 - TV Broadcast (AMC)
Monday, September 11, 2006
Okay, I didn't actually watch the whole movie; I only saw about 30 minutes' worth of Nine to Five before the digital cable went out, but I have to say it was the most fantastic half-hour in recent days. (Imagine what comic ecstasy the full, two-hour screening will yield.)
A Few Things:
-Dolly Parton is one of the cutest and funniest women around. (She threatens her evil pig-headed boss with the gun in her trunk: "I'll change you from a rooster to a hen in one shot!")
-Lily Tomlin's brutal "fantasy" of torturing and murdering the boss, Mr. Hart (Dabney Coleman) the "cute" way, complete with cartoon animals and a Snow White costume is comic genius.
-Dabney Coleman plays a combo of cruelty and comedy with such ease that you'd think they were the same thing.
-A quote so funny that its gotta hold rank with that of any random line from Ghostbusters (1984), a name for the boss: a "sexist, egotistical, lying, hypocritical bigot," spewed with fire from the three demeaned women workers' mouths.
-Note to Self: Watch whole movie soon.
Okay, I didn't actually watch the whole movie; I only saw about 30 minutes' worth of Nine to Five before the digital cable went out, but I have to say it was the most fantastic half-hour in recent days. (Imagine what comic ecstasy the full, two-hour screening will yield.)
A Few Things:
-Dolly Parton is one of the cutest and funniest women around. (She threatens her evil pig-headed boss with the gun in her trunk: "I'll change you from a rooster to a hen in one shot!")
-Lily Tomlin's brutal "fantasy" of torturing and murdering the boss, Mr. Hart (Dabney Coleman) the "cute" way, complete with cartoon animals and a Snow White costume is comic genius.
-Dabney Coleman plays a combo of cruelty and comedy with such ease that you'd think they were the same thing.
-A quote so funny that its gotta hold rank with that of any random line from Ghostbusters (1984), a name for the boss: a "sexist, egotistical, lying, hypocritical bigot," spewed with fire from the three demeaned women workers' mouths.
-Note to Self: Watch whole movie soon.
Fort Apache - 1948 - DVD
Sunday, September 10, 2006
Today is the one-year anniversary of my best friend Emily's wedding--congrats, Emmy!
To commemorate, I've watched a fantastic movie, John Ford's Fort Apache, the second in my Ford Movie Marathon. I'm running the race slow, somewhere around 1-2 movies a week. I anticipate a gross finish time of a few months, a net finish of a couple weeks, when we take into account the mail delays from Netflix.
First thing up for note is the credit sequence. Fantastic. I've mentioned it before, the opening credit reels of Ford films are a phenomenon in and of themselves. In Fort Apache the titles fade in and out against the black and white stock, the "directed by" credit inches up in anticipation; then, it is upon us: we read "directed by" as it fades into sight but without a name attached below; we wait, and then "John Ford" appears. The title of the credit fades, Ford's name remains for an extra second, and he is superimposed over the landscape of the opening establishing shot.
This is my second time watching Fort Apache, and I love the distinction between the clean edges of Henry Fonda's character and the scruff of John Wayne's. Fonda is Lt. Col. Owen Thursday, a by-the-book leader who is fresh to the untamed West; Wayne is Capt. Kirby York, he is casual and frank, his uniform is loose, and he even talks back to the colonel. Col. Thursday is structured, always clothed in a fresh uniform; he strictly follows regulations, and is not accustomed to the unpredictable nature of the western environment; Thursday tries to keep order in an atmosphere that cannot be tamed.
The Colonel's daughter is Miss Philadelphia Thursday (Shirley Temple), a great name if there ever was one. But the finest thing about this film is the power Ford holds over these major name actors. We recognize each of the players, Wayne, Fonda and Temple immediately, but they don't feel like stars so much as subordinates to the ascetic direction of Ford. The characteristics Ford imposes upon them are slight, subtle; it is a severity or mean curl to their tone, they seem insecure, as if their bold words teased out of them. I think particularly of Henry Fonda's character in this respect. Wayne is a different beast. He might be the most straightforward in his actions.
More complete thoughts on Ford and his players in the weeks to come. It's a work in progress, people!
(And congrats again to Emily!)
Today is the one-year anniversary of my best friend Emily's wedding--congrats, Emmy!
To commemorate, I've watched a fantastic movie, John Ford's Fort Apache, the second in my Ford Movie Marathon. I'm running the race slow, somewhere around 1-2 movies a week. I anticipate a gross finish time of a few months, a net finish of a couple weeks, when we take into account the mail delays from Netflix.
First thing up for note is the credit sequence. Fantastic. I've mentioned it before, the opening credit reels of Ford films are a phenomenon in and of themselves. In Fort Apache the titles fade in and out against the black and white stock, the "directed by" credit inches up in anticipation; then, it is upon us: we read "directed by" as it fades into sight but without a name attached below; we wait, and then "John Ford" appears. The title of the credit fades, Ford's name remains for an extra second, and he is superimposed over the landscape of the opening establishing shot.
This is my second time watching Fort Apache, and I love the distinction between the clean edges of Henry Fonda's character and the scruff of John Wayne's. Fonda is Lt. Col. Owen Thursday, a by-the-book leader who is fresh to the untamed West; Wayne is Capt. Kirby York, he is casual and frank, his uniform is loose, and he even talks back to the colonel. Col. Thursday is structured, always clothed in a fresh uniform; he strictly follows regulations, and is not accustomed to the unpredictable nature of the western environment; Thursday tries to keep order in an atmosphere that cannot be tamed.
The Colonel's daughter is Miss Philadelphia Thursday (Shirley Temple), a great name if there ever was one. But the finest thing about this film is the power Ford holds over these major name actors. We recognize each of the players, Wayne, Fonda and Temple immediately, but they don't feel like stars so much as subordinates to the ascetic direction of Ford. The characteristics Ford imposes upon them are slight, subtle; it is a severity or mean curl to their tone, they seem insecure, as if their bold words teased out of them. I think particularly of Henry Fonda's character in this respect. Wayne is a different beast. He might be the most straightforward in his actions.
More complete thoughts on Ford and his players in the weeks to come. It's a work in progress, people!
(And congrats again to Emily!)
Stagecoach - 1939 - DVD
Friday, September 8, 2006
It's John Ford time, folks! I've rustled up a good mess of flicks for a Ford Marathon, and what better way to begin than with Stagecoach, one of the most influential and entertaining American films of all time?
The film began like all of his movies do, with a sweeping credits sequence that's crowned at the end with his name, "John Ford." In big blocked, western-style writing his name stands alone, large, and for a few seconds longer than the names before it--like any "director" credit does, yet I can't think of any other director's name that stands out so blatantly on film; his credit shot is its own part of the narrative, big and bold; it is a phenomenon in itself.
The credit sequence might be my favorite part of any Ford film, but in the case of Stagecoach it has to be the introductory shot of The Ringo Kid, that is, John Wayne. Like an inhaled breath sucking us closer to him, the camera swifts from long-shot to close-up of Wayne's mug, like he has his own gravitational pull. I knew this shot was coming, I've seen the movie plenty of times already, but fans, I urge you to watch again, to be overwhelmed by this cinematic grace that borders on the sublime. It never gets old.
It's John Ford time, folks! I've rustled up a good mess of flicks for a Ford Marathon, and what better way to begin than with Stagecoach, one of the most influential and entertaining American films of all time?
The film began like all of his movies do, with a sweeping credits sequence that's crowned at the end with his name, "John Ford." In big blocked, western-style writing his name stands alone, large, and for a few seconds longer than the names before it--like any "director" credit does, yet I can't think of any other director's name that stands out so blatantly on film; his credit shot is its own part of the narrative, big and bold; it is a phenomenon in itself.
The credit sequence might be my favorite part of any Ford film, but in the case of Stagecoach it has to be the introductory shot of The Ringo Kid, that is, John Wayne. Like an inhaled breath sucking us closer to him, the camera swifts from long-shot to close-up of Wayne's mug, like he has his own gravitational pull. I knew this shot was coming, I've seen the movie plenty of times already, but fans, I urge you to watch again, to be overwhelmed by this cinematic grace that borders on the sublime. It never gets old.
Once Upon a Time in the West - 1969 - DVD
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
I watched the opening sequence of Once Upon a Time in the West and fell in love, then I fell asleep. Let me explain. Due to poor scheduling on my behalf, I started the movie too late in the evening after an afternoon soccer game and was plain wiped-out. I was out like a light after an hour.
It's on the short-term agenda to begin this masterpiece (Yes, I am already claiming it as such even if I haven't officially seen it. Try and fight me on this one, I dare you.) again, and after I'm through I promise a substantial, un-insulting-to-this-movie's-greatness response.
I watched the opening sequence of Once Upon a Time in the West and fell in love, then I fell asleep. Let me explain. Due to poor scheduling on my behalf, I started the movie too late in the evening after an afternoon soccer game and was plain wiped-out. I was out like a light after an hour.
It's on the short-term agenda to begin this masterpiece (Yes, I am already claiming it as such even if I haven't officially seen it. Try and fight me on this one, I dare you.) again, and after I'm through I promise a substantial, un-insulting-to-this-movie's-greatness response.
Grosse Pointe Blank - 1997 - DVD
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Grosse Pointe Blank was released in 1997, the year I graduated high school. Currently only months away from my own ten-year reunion, I gleefully embrace Martin Q. Blank (John Cusack), an embittered hit man forced to return to his hometown to complete a job. As a result he's reluctantly required to attend his old high school to observe what Marcella (Joan Cusack) his secretary says is the crux of her reunion: "It was just as if everyone had swelled."
I never saw Grosse Pointe Blank when it was released in 1997. It was serendipitous that I found it as I raided my companion's DVD rack one night. I've had friends who've raved about it for years, but somehow I never got around to watching it, that is until my recent discovery. Broadly speaking, the movie is not spectacular. It's technically (i.e. camera, editing) predictable, and rarely stimulating in its formulaic mode. Rather, it's the script's attitude problem that inspires the movie. Take the explicit action of the lead character, Martin, who's motivated to return to his school to murder not mingle, a perfect picture of sentimentality smashed.
The unsentimental story is highlighted with characters like Martin's best friend from high school, Paul, played by Jeremy Piven. His is a delightfully disillusioned role of self-loathing in a suit. Now he's a real estate broker, an unconvincing house salesman whose youth is over. Even better is Martin's rehashed relationship with high school sweetheart Debi (Minnie Driver), whose life seems to have left off ten years ago in 1987. She lives at home in her old room. Martin recognizes the layout of her furniture and belongings, "it's all the same," he exclaims. Martin left without a trace on the night of their senior prom, so for him life is just how he left it in the '80s. His ego tells him he's better than these people because he's not the same guy he was ten years ago. The sweetest and blackest part yet, he's right; his girlfriend really waited for him all these years after he moved on.
The movie's greatest plus may be the casting of the star himself. John Cusack is from the "brat pack" era where high school life and the teen-age never looked glamorous, rather uncomfortable, and hardly a period of life one would willfully choose to revisit. He had a small part in the angsty Sixteen Candles (1984), and starred in the darker Better Off Dead (1985), and later in the bleakness of The Grifters (1990), so he is not a stranger to detached character roles. Though, by the end of Grosse Pointe Blank I’d say his grudge against those years of his life is insincere, after all he does finally get engaged to his high school sweetheart. In retrospect, high school was easy, stress-free, fun. That’s how I remember it, too. On that note, I am still not pining for my ten year reunion.
Grosse Pointe Blank was released in 1997, the year I graduated high school. Currently only months away from my own ten-year reunion, I gleefully embrace Martin Q. Blank (John Cusack), an embittered hit man forced to return to his hometown to complete a job. As a result he's reluctantly required to attend his old high school to observe what Marcella (Joan Cusack) his secretary says is the crux of her reunion: "It was just as if everyone had swelled."
I never saw Grosse Pointe Blank when it was released in 1997. It was serendipitous that I found it as I raided my companion's DVD rack one night. I've had friends who've raved about it for years, but somehow I never got around to watching it, that is until my recent discovery. Broadly speaking, the movie is not spectacular. It's technically (i.e. camera, editing) predictable, and rarely stimulating in its formulaic mode. Rather, it's the script's attitude problem that inspires the movie. Take the explicit action of the lead character, Martin, who's motivated to return to his school to murder not mingle, a perfect picture of sentimentality smashed.
The unsentimental story is highlighted with characters like Martin's best friend from high school, Paul, played by Jeremy Piven. His is a delightfully disillusioned role of self-loathing in a suit. Now he's a real estate broker, an unconvincing house salesman whose youth is over. Even better is Martin's rehashed relationship with high school sweetheart Debi (Minnie Driver), whose life seems to have left off ten years ago in 1987. She lives at home in her old room. Martin recognizes the layout of her furniture and belongings, "it's all the same," he exclaims. Martin left without a trace on the night of their senior prom, so for him life is just how he left it in the '80s. His ego tells him he's better than these people because he's not the same guy he was ten years ago. The sweetest and blackest part yet, he's right; his girlfriend really waited for him all these years after he moved on.
The movie's greatest plus may be the casting of the star himself. John Cusack is from the "brat pack" era where high school life and the teen-age never looked glamorous, rather uncomfortable, and hardly a period of life one would willfully choose to revisit. He had a small part in the angsty Sixteen Candles (1984), and starred in the darker Better Off Dead (1985), and later in the bleakness of The Grifters (1990), so he is not a stranger to detached character roles. Though, by the end of Grosse Pointe Blank I’d say his grudge against those years of his life is insincere, after all he does finally get engaged to his high school sweetheart. In retrospect, high school was easy, stress-free, fun. That’s how I remember it, too. On that note, I am still not pining for my ten year reunion.
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