Uzak - Film Impression

directed by Niri Bilge Ceylan, 2002




Uzak, set in cold and wintry Istanbul in the early parts of the last decade, was lauded with numerous awards upon its international release. It wasn’t the director’s first acclaimed film, either, but the response to Uzak was quite a different story, and though it hasn’t exactly gained anything near mainstream appeal among film goers (like In the Mood for Love, Diving Bell and the Butterfly, or what have you), its success is assured, as is its status as a modern masterpiece. The first time I saw it, it left me embarassingly clueless. On second viewing, I think I have a better grasp of what it is. Of course, its basic story is a simple one. A youth named Yusuf, having lost his village job due to the recession, comes to Istanbul to find work, and live with his older cousin Mahmut, who has a seemingly secure job as a photographer. Not a whole lot happens in the film...we see Yusuf looking for a job, we watch Mahmut as he watches TV (which is most of what he does), or take care of his ailing mother at the hospital. At one point, Yusuf and Mahmut have a fight over a missing watch. Eventually, Yusuf leaves. The end.

Many of the film’s detractors; who have often compared the film unfavorably to Antonioni and Tarkovsky, have criticized it for being an overly simple and empty film. Such criticisms aren’t entirely unjustified, because Tarkovsky is even mentioned thrice; once by name, and twice when Mahmut watches Mirror and Stalker on his television. Furthermore, Uzak isn’t exactly audience friendly, and is perhaps even less ‘eventful’ than anything by either director. There’s no dialogue in the film for the first ten minutes, and very little human contact (direct or indirect)...the first words heard are that of Mahmut’s mother on the phone, an answering machine, with him listening to it dispassionately.

That said, its an unfair criticism, and very much untrue. In my opinion, its kind of annoying to have Tarkovsky or Antonioni thrown around every time someone makes a slow movie, and I can’t help but wonder if those critics even began to understand this film; much less the work of the directors they compare it to. Neither Tarkovsky or Antonioni (to my knowledge) used such a naturally drained color palette for their films; primary colors show up only sparingly, and its even rarer to see much besides snow and city; people standing out amid the harsh white environs, when the film ventures outside the apartment...though there are fleeting vistas to be seen at times. The film is also, despite its slow manner, neither poetic or metaphorical like those other guys, and lacks their rigor. Though events are depicted sparsely in the film, what the film does show speaks volumes about modern life; Mahmut’s in particular, and the bleak wintry scenery of Istanbul is a perfectly dreary backdrop. And the film’s title, which means “distant” in Turkish, obviously refers to the distance between individuals, and it’s the primary theme of this film.

Mahmut is consistently presented as an inert individual...complaining about the lack of good programming on television, yet constantly watching it, his exploits in Tarkovskyland often interrupted with boredom, and more often than not he’s watching pornography on that tube than art films. His relationships with people are just as unfulfilling as his relationships with television, and though he’s not a complete introvert, its easy to see why he is divorced to his wife, and he is rarely friendly to others around him. The film seems to revolve around the plight of his soul; his inertia, his faded humanity and failure as a man. For film goers especially, an observation of this man’s behavior is very revealing...watching him switch the channels vacuously from Stalker to pornography; while not something I’ve indulged in, its impossible to not think of our own movie watching habits. That Ceylan uses Tarkovsky; a director he is notably an admirer of, to show this is beyond admirable.

And the arrival of Yusuf; by far a more ‘alive’ individual, causes a rupture in his enclosed life. When Yusuf isn’t out and about looking for work (the film takes great pains to capture not only his search for work, but the interim, as he observes the world around him; ironically more aware of things than his photographer uncle), his presence disrupts the usual mechanical procedures that makes up Mahmut’s life. Mahmut is frustrated by him, of course, but I also think he’s shamed to jealousy by his presence; the presence of someone so much more alive than him. One of the pivotal moments in the movie is when he, having lost his silver watch, initially blames Yussef...but when he finds the watch, he keeps that a secret, as a sort of emotional blackmail. Numerous such private moments make up the bulk of this movie.

The film observes both men quietly, capturing a sense of their everyday lives and personalities, but the film has an incredible natural sense to it; something missing from the Antonioni or Tarkovsky, and at times it feels more akin to another great modern film maker, Abbas Kiarostami...though comparisons fail to capture what makes this film, in my opinion, a truly great work. Its realism; not just considering the way the film observes the passage of time but the way the actors perform; subtlety to the Nth degree all around. I was particularly taken by Muzaffer Özdemir, who plays Mahmut...he absolutely embodies the character, right down to his facial gestures. The result is a brilliantly ambiguous film; right up to its quiet and perfect ending, which places Mahmut’s fate in his own hands; much like the end of Gopalakrishnan’s The Rat Trap, though this film has taken an approach that requires even more of the viewer. I look forward to seeing more of Ceylan’s films; especially since almost all of them differ from this one.

94 / 100

A DVD of this film had been available in the states, courtesy of New Yorker Video. The company is defunct, however, and this film is out of print until further notice. I own the Artificial Eye DVD from the UK, and though its not exactly a perfect transfer, it looks pretty darn good. There are some nice extras on this little disc, as well...an English language interview with the director, the director’s first film (a short entitled Koza; a surreal film where both Tarkovsky’s influence and Ceylan’s occupation as a photographer are far more noticable), and some behind-the-scenes footage. I hope that somebody is able to produce a higher quality edition of the film in the states; preferably Blu-ray and preferably Criterion, but for now the Artificial Eye disc is more than a worthy purchase, and can be had quite cheaply. Do it.

Ballad of Cable Hogue - Film Review

directed by Sam Peckinpah, 1970

Considering what one usually thinks of in being associated with Sam Peckinpah, Cable Hogue is perhaps the oddest film of his career. A director primarily known for violence; and with The Wild Bunch still fresh on audience’s minds at the time, this film represents almost a complete 180 in tone from almost every other film he’s made, aiming for (to paraphrase that Monty Python sketch) the calmer, more lyrical waters of folklore...though with the ruggedness of the world and the mind remaining ever present. Just look at the way in which Peckinpah shows Hogue’s mind wandering between Hildy’s breasts and the business at hand; a moment of lust treated with such affection on their first encounter. It’s a far different use of Peckinpah’s signature montage than in prior films. Of course, Hildy is a prostitute, and equally “of course”, she is probably the strongest female character in the Peckinpah canon, probably the best lady performance in them, and just maybe the ladiest damn lady ever.

This is among many of the film’s great contrasts. Peckinpah’s films are loaded with ideas and characters whose components and attitudes; and audience expectations thereof, clash. This one is no different, but the result of Cable Hogue’s twists is a kind of alternative folktale; albeit a lighthearted one, which is really what makes the film so unique for Peckinpah. The film has the air of a tall tale to it, but the way so many of its characters wind up contradicting first impressions; and indeed grow, is special, and of course it’s the kind of folk tale meant for adults. It’s a western film for sure, but few of the usual ‘action’ pleasures we asociate with the genre are indulged in.

The film’s ability to see Cable, Hildy and Joshua so fully, and love them regardless of their more obvious shortcomings (perhaps best expressed in each of their theme songs; songs which I feel perfectly capture their individual spirits and give the film a quality that is both dated yet ageless) that makes it such a strong film even to this day, despite ‘indulging’ in a lot of things that are particular to late 60s and early 70s popular films. Its a film of far greater passion and light pathos than most of its contemporaries, especially Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, a film I’ve always found grating. Your mileage may vary, of course, but I think its wonderful that the film gives such unconditional affection to Joshua, our itinerant rascal preacher, even as he seduces a grieving woman (Peckinpah probably never loved a psychotic rascal more than Joshua).

And of course how it so lovingly hangs onto his lengthy and beautifully honest sermon at the end of the film. Its that honesty that really does it. There’s no glitz or glamour at all to the film, and the characters are constantly dirty and smelly, covered in dust, glugging down the same ochre liquor, sleeping in stained mattresses, watering their mules and eating rattlesnakes and jackrabbits; all of which is photographed with dirty splendor. The theme songs used for eah of the three characters; anachronistic as they are, perfectly . Hogue’s theme is first given over a wonderful four-split screen opening credits; and its nakedly, optimistic. , Joshua actually sings his tune at one point; a perfectly whistful ballad for the wanderer. Hogue joins Hildy in singing hers. All of them are so much made of elemental things...time, butterflies, sunflowers, and the sunrise. Frankly, Butterfly Mornings and Wildflower Afternoons is my favorite...it makes me think of pancakes.

The film’s performances certainly help this honesty...Jason Robards, in particular, embodies the desert sage of the film’s title so perfectly, that its hard to imagine him as anything else. David Warner’s performance as the Reverend Joshua Sloane is remarkable. One review mentioned this, and I can’t help but repeat it, but his Bible quoting love machine character relishes every spoken word of the good book like a Shakespearean actor. To say nothing of the rest of the cast. And then there’s Stellla Stevens...who I’ve already said a word or two about. The supporting cast is equally blessed...Slim Pickens is underused if anything; some of the film’s great belly laughs come from his various exchanges with passengers and Cable Hogue. And, of course, L..Q. Jones and Strother Martin as Hogue’s nemeses are wonderful and rich. Peckinpah obviously had a way with actors all his own.

Like everything else in the film, its primary themes are handled so lightly that its hard to feel the weight of them...and its one of the few things that really seem to drag the film down a bit for me; only just a bit. I guess that the film’s primary theme would indeed be the encroachment of technology...though, if you’re so caught up in enjoying the film’s numerous pleasures, the introduction of this theme (nigh at the end) and the narrative disruption it offers, will likely catch you by surprise. To be completely honest, I still don’t know what I feel about this ending, though its implications are pretty obvious. And still, leave it to this film to have one of its most memorable and resonant moments in such a confounding, perhaps convoluted conclusion.

Flaws aside (frankly, its hard to find any, and I can only say that I don’t consider it a masterpiece because I feel bad about tossing the term around), I have to say that this is, for me, that rarest of things: a wholly American fable that that dispenses sentimentality in favor of genuine sentiment (something nearly impossible to find after the 40s, let alone the early 70s), moralizing and “religion” in favor of genuine amity and, well, a more human kind of faith. It’s a wonderful ballad of saints, sinners, rascals and ladies, a film whose strengths more than make up for its discrepancies. I wouldn’t say this is one of Peckinpah’s masterpieces, but it’s the kind of movie you might love a little anyway. It was Peckinpah’s personal favorite.

88 / 100

Like Ride the High Country, this film is available individually, or as part of Warner’s Peckinpag Legendary Westerns collection. A fine transfer, and extras, though I haven’t bitten into them for ages.

The Citadel - Film Impressions

directed by King Vidor, 1938

This is probably not the best place to start with King Vidor; but start here I did. Vidor is, hands down, recognized most as the director of two of the American silent screen’s most enduring classics: The Big Parade and The Crowd, among a host of other silent and talking films, including an adaptation of War and Peace, an adaptation of Ayn Rand, and numerous Depression dramas. The Citadel isn’t one of his most obscure films, but it is far from one of his most recognizable masterworks. Nevertheless, if its any indication of his talents, I believe I can dig him.

I’m going to say one thing before I continue: Rosalind Russell looks so much like Setsuko Hara in this film. Its absolutely uncanny, and it took me a little while to get a grip on myself and get over this. That said, as for the film itself. The Citadel is a very straight British dramatic film, detailing the exploits of an idealistic young doctor named Andrew Manson as he, constantly battling prejudices, superstition, apathy and his own human shortcomings, as he moves from the coal minds of Wales, to London. Narratively speaking, its nothing one hasn’t seen before, is perfectly predictable, and for the most part well within the expectations one has of classic Hollywood.

But the film excels, nonetheless, most assuredly due to two or three things: first of all, the production values are sterling. Though one usually thinks of MGM-produced films (which this is) in terms of glitz and glamor, whatever money was spent on the sets of The Citadel obviously went to making it look very convincing and authentic, and the production never calls attention to itself in either the direction of artifice or blandness. This extends beyond the sets; especially for a 1930s film, its extras, wardrobe and use of location work perfectly. Granted, for high level British productions of the time, this may well be the norm, but I have little experience with those. Anyway, the integrity of the film’s milieu is beyond question, and it never quite looks or feels ‘Hollywood’ the way, say, Keys to the Kingdom did; and that film was mostly set outdoors, while this one is set indoors.

A good deal of that unique look must be attributed to Vidor, and the film’s single minded certainty reflects such a strong hand. No matter how predictable its plot, the story always rings true, and the performances are sublimely, suitably understated. One scene in particular had a very palpable weight to it: the scene where the good doctor, refusing to give up on the apparent failure of his first attempt at delivering a baby, returns to the assumed dead child and resuscitates it. It’s a harrowing, even grueling moment...probably the least ‘Hollywood’ shot in the film is a particularly unnerving (and frankly photographed) shot of the still child itself.

This level of dramatic weight is upheld throughout the entire film, and a natural authenticity underlines its drama, which is exceedingly important if you’re telling a story that deals with issues that are very real. The Citadel attacks the nature of corruption in the medical profession, and ardently argues the importance of personal responsibility, altruism, and friendship in terms of great clarity and, unlike similar films (mainly Kurosawa’s Red Board; a film I still admire), never drags or resorts to senationalism. Its that rare thing for a film of the 1930s...a serious drama about serious things that never shifts to melodrama even in its darkest hours. Its an utterly, profoundly solid and unpretentious film, and like I said earlier, if this film is reflective of the rest of Vidor’s filmography, then I can’t see more of them soon enough.

87 / 100

This is yet another film in Warners’ Archive series, unfortunately. I believe the transfer is progressive on this disc, and the print is in very good shape.

Three Comrades - Film Impressions

directed by Frank Borzage, 1938

I absolutely adore the four silent films of Frank Borzage’s that I’ve seen: Lazybones, Seventh Heaven, Street Angel, and especially Lucky Star. Though I’m obviously missing *several* key films (Lonesome, The Wind, Greed, anything by Vidor or von Sternberg...so on), to me they represent a zenith of American silent film, and apart from that, the latter three are perhaps the greatest romantic ‘trilogy’ in film. I’ve only seen four, but I’ve been none too keen on Borzage’s sound films...Bad Girl and After Tomorrow were interesting, but no masterpieces. I’ve said my piece on They Had to See Paris in my Ruggles of Red Gap review, and Song O’ My Heart was even worse. So I had to say I entered this film with some trepidation. Ultimately, to be rewarded, though this film is not quite on their level still.

Three Comrades is a melodrama that takes place after the first World War, and in Germany...and though there are hints of it, this Germany is far from the romanticized countries of Italy or France presented in Street Angel and Seventh Heaven, respectively. And the three comrades in question are German war vets; bosom buddies through and through, and bosom buddies seem to be a requirement for surviving with sanity before the rise of the Nazis. But the film doesn’t seem to be so much about these three buddies, as it does the burgeoning love between Erich (played by Robert Taylor) and Pat (Margaret Sullivan, in her second of three Borzage films)...both of which are the best thing to happen to the other. But can one really find happiness in the ruins of postwar Germany?

The film is legendary for being one of the only screen credits of F. Scott Fitzgerald, and its also known that producer Joseph L. Mankiewicz tampered with the film...and while I can’t say much about Fitzgerald or Mankiewicz’s talents (being unfamiliar with them, personally), its obvious to me that the film definitely suffers from a sort of schizophrenia. For one, Robert Taylor doesn’t really seem to work...in fact, of the three comrades, only Franchot Tone has any real chemistry with the story and Sullivan’s character; and he unfortunately isn’t the leading man. The film’s story constantly switches between its three comrades and the romantic element, and in the end I don’t feel the film was very successful in coalescing these strands into a proper story.

And to be fair, sometimes through its convoluted and unrequited themes, there is more than a semblance of their weight. The film is set in the early 1920s, but being released in 1938, the audience knew very clearly what awaited Germany in most of the next two decades, and the film only needs to briefly allude to the shadows of the future for poignant effect; and when its more than allusion, its at least obvious what the audience should be feeling. So, unlike Major Dundee, its at least coherant in this regard. It just doesn't quite follow through as much as it should.

What makes this film ultimately so rewarding is the pairing of Borzage and Sullivan. Borzage excelled at elevating earthly love to divine heights, and the scenes between Taylor and Sullivan have much of that same “stuff” that made the sequences shared by Gaynor and Farrell in their trilogy so exquisite. As with those other films, there’s a deeply romantic, almost violent tenderness that punctuates the ups and downs of this star-crossed duo, and thankfully much of this passionate interplay between the two lovers bleeds into the film’s later scenes and neatly covers up many of the film’s more glaring flaws. And then there’s Sullivan...of all of the people we see on screen, she’s the one who shines. It’s a peculiar kind of radiance; one could compare it to that of the cold light of a dying star if one felt poetic. If one wants to be less poetic, one could say she more than makes up for anybody’s lack of chemistry with her.

So, in conclusion, Three Comrades could be said to be a failure...but it’s the kind of failure that, in its own way, succeeds, and almost entirely due to the preoccupations of its director, and its leading lady’s strength. A very worthy film; never exactly unbearable, beyond watchable in its worst moments, and ravishing in its best. I give the film an 83 / 100

Ruggles of Red Gap - Film Impression

directed by Leo McCarrey, 1935

The premise of this film is thus: an English Duke, during a drunken game of poker, bet the services of his tireless butler to the Americans, whom he was entertaining, while in Paris. He loses, and consequently, Marmaduke Ruggles (played by Charles Laughton) finds himself with what must be the two most obnoxious and confusing people he’s ever met, and the stuffy British butler is completely helpless in the services of his new master. Very much to my chagrin, it reminded me right away of They Had to See Paris: two Americans by the name of Floud (Floud!); an inept, shrill gold digger trying to get into “society”, and her well-to-do husband a layabout American hick with no fashion sense and poor manners, both of whom are vacationing in Paris, and later take him into their home back in rural Washington. I absolutely loathe the Borzage film; it was the most puerile piece of pro-working class guff you can imagine, with Will Rogers’ schtick paradoxically both propelling the film above pure mediocrity and making it even more unbearable (magically, John Ford would use the same actor to craft two of his best early sound films). Thankfully, this film either completely avoids or utterly transends all the pitfalls that made that film such a disaster.

Now, Ruggles of Red Gap is a classic comedy; one which scarcely fits into what one normally thinks of in the screwball genre which dominated the era, and is much more in line with Capra’s films like Mr. Deeds Goes to Town and You Can’t Take It With You. The differences, though, are obvious in so many levels. First of all, whereas Capra films tend to be more charming and warm than funny...Ruggles of Red Gap is funny, indeed, as comic creations go, it’s a masterpiece. The dialogue absolutely sparkles not just with ‘lines’ and ‘quips’, and there are numerous wonderful bits of that, but whole conversations sparkle. And so much of the film’s pleasure, especially in the initial scenes (but all throughout the film) is watching the always bewildered and confused Laughton (in a role, I might add, that is different from anything else I’d seen him in) reacting, ever so subtly but definitely, to his new masters, and later his reactions to their hometown...and their reaction to him. Most of these scenes would actually be rather funny even without Ruggles’s reactions; its not just one man’s show, but so much of the film’s humor is brought to life by his unmistakenly British presence.

I can almost guarantee that you’ll burst into laughter on at least one or two occasions. Still, most film makers would be content to play the comedy out; that of a stuffy British butler lost in a rural community of Washington, and just tack on a life affirming ending. I’m not sure how much of this is true of the original novel’s subtext, but McCarey and crew begin the tale as an amusing dialectic comedy of culture clash, and keep the focus therein. Marmaduke Ruggles is well aware of his heritage as a member of the service class in Britain; he extolls and cherishes it, but the sudden influx of the American values of freedom and equality being thrust upon him by the (perhaps idealized; though not as cloyingly as in most Capra films) jolly hicks of Red Gap, begin to rub off on him something fierce.

The miracle of this film is just how subtly ‘America’ dawns on Ruggles, and how Laughton and McCarey observe this otherwise radical shift in the tone of his character without ever breaking it. Of course, the most famous scene in the film; and justly so, is the scene in which Ruggles, much to the surprise of the tenants at the bar he is currently occupying (who, upon being prompted to do so, all failed), recites the entirety of Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg address. In retrospect, it shows the marked change in his character as he has come to love the country; as his initial reaction to the idea of being brought to America was a fear of horseback gunslinging cowboys. On its own, it’s a magnificent and transforming scene that could easily be hokum; and I’m sure many would accuse it of such, but it has the same crippling effect as Chaplin’s speech at the end of The Great Dictator, or Stewart’s at the end of Mr. Smith Goes to Washington.

The film may lack the perfect grace of The Awful Truth; another great McCarey film (and the one which established Cary Grant); indeed this is a very silly film...but it more than makes up for it with its sheer warmth, breadth of character, and sincerity, and the fact that its truly very funny. The movie is too positive; its sentiments too genuine, for me to dislike. I think I love it, myself. Jean Renoir once said that Leo McCarey understood people more than any other person in Hollywood. Maybe he was talking about Make Way For Tomorrow instead; film critics and scholars and the like tend to refer to it as *the* McCarey film, but I’m sure he had this film on his mind too. Indeed, there were numerous tiny moments that make me think of Renoir in the film; it definitely approaches him at a few points, as the humanity of the film isn’t just limited to Ruggles, and most of its cast is given ample opportunity to shine alongside him (especially Roland Young, who plays the exceedingly dry Earl of Burnstead). Having compared this film to Renoir...if that isn’t high praise for a Hollywood comedy, then I don’t know what is. This could become my favorite comedy of the era.

I give this film a very healthy 93 / 100

This is another film in Universal’s “archive” series; a barebones disc and, unlike Remember the Night, a DVD-R. It looks good, though...not the worst transfer ever, and the print definitely looks restored. Between Warner and Universal, I wonder how many of their greatest owned properties are being dumped into these archives.

Gentleman Jim - Film Impressions

directed by Raoul Walsh, 1942

Raoul Walsh’s career is that of one diverse and prolific mofo...he made, like William Wellman and Henry King among others, films in virtually every genre of film, often times more than one film a year. And as with any Hollywood ‘auteur’, the more I see of Raoul Walsh’s work, the more I begin to notice and realize certain trends; but its not just one approach, its several. In most of his major films, the character you identify with is a male; and usually quite a masculine one. His heroes tend to be either tragic ones (Roaring Twenties, Uncertain Glory which I haven’t actually seen), romantic ones (The World In His Arms, Captain Horatio Hornblower, Thief of Bagdad), or an amalgamation or complete subversion of the two (They Died With Their Boots On, White Heat, in different ways), and that’s not considering films that defy this trend, like Sadie Thompson, or the freakish Band of Angels (both of which have female protaganists). Of course, this realization may change, but that's the way I see it now.

That observation made, Gentleman Jim falls clearly into the second category if in any...Jim Corbett is an historical figure; a man who revolutionized the sport of boxing in the United States during the late 19th and early 20th centuries, and this film is essentially a biopic of his entry into the sport up until his taking of World Heavyweight Champion away from John L. Sullivan; and I’m absolutely sure most of it is baloney. Gentleman Jim Corbett is here portrayed by Errol Flynn, and he’s the signature Raoul Walsh hero: a braggart of a man with infinite pluck, who lives to fight and has balls of iron, yet he’s an infectuously lively and handsome devil; a regular Jim Dandy. It’s a perfect kind of role for Flynn; anyone whose seen The Adventures of Robin Hood knows that he excelled at playing roles like that, and getting the audience to like him. Not just his personality; his very physicality works. Flynn notedly trained hard in the fine art of boxing for this film’s making, and it shows. Its really a perfect match, and if anything, the film’s contribution to cinema should at least consist of Flynn

One of Walsh’s greatest strengths is his ability to make time and place feel real. I am not a historian, so I cannot comment on the veracity thereof in this picture, but Walsh again imbues the late 19th century (this time, Sam Francisco) with an incredible *sense* of authenticity. Part of this, I’m sure, is due to the studio. Warner was no slouch, after all, and the movie’s production values are excellent wherever Corbett’s adventures take us; and Walsh furthermore takes every effort to show off these sets and the numerous extras; certainly reflecting his silent film origins. But what really makes the film feel real is Walsh’s handling of characters. I have to disagree somewhat with a point that Tag Gallagher (whom I otherwise feel like a mental midget by comparison) made regarding Walsh; or at least make an addendum Gallagher states that “there are few communities in his movies” and that “the men who follow the hero are rarely individuated”. One of the things which makes Walsh’s films so great, even though they are essentially about that main character, is just how much subtle nuance of character is given here, and how his ever forward-thrusting films nevertheless allow for them to breathe. All of the characters feel relatively real and three dimensional; even Jack Carson’s character; Corbett’s best friend and loyal minion, is given tiny stabs at depth that mean more to me than a lot of the “character” you’d see in some of Ford’s films (and I do love Ford). Walsh’s minor characters make small, almost missable gestures that nevertheless belong only to their characters. Of course, every single one of them loves to watch a good fight, even the preacher.

The film is wickedly entertaining; just like The Strawberry Blonde, with alost every single scene sporting something that is worth a hearty chuckle. But this is a boxing movie, too, and Walsh’s skill as an action director is plain and clear...and considering he’d probably learn how to edit from Griffith himself in the mid teens (Walsh rather famously played John Wilkes Booth in you-know-what), he’d had as much training in the fine art of cutting to build tension as anyone. Not to mention the way he captures the peculiarities of 1890s boxing traditions. I’d say that, for pure entertainment value, this film has at least two of the meatiest and most genuinely exciting boxing sequences in the movies. My only real complaint is that the third, with John L. Sullivan himself (the fight the whole movie is about), seems very one sided in Corbett’s favor, and otherwise broken by an admittedly very good “press montage” as news of the fight circles the country by radio. But every single one is exciting and, despite taking up much screen time, never slow the movie down. Flynn’s character has a definite personality in the ring.

The film has a lot of strong personalities besides Corbett, but among the strongest is perhaps John L. Sullivan, played by the great character actor Ward Bond, who doesn’t get quite as much screen time as you might hope. He, too, is a swaggering buffoon, but if Flynn doesn’t quite look like a heavyweight, Bond’s Sullivan fits the bill perfectly. The two have an amazing chemistry together; even if it is (in and out of the ring) always Flynn in favor. Sullivan is a great big blowhard; indeed its rather amusing to see how he parallels with Corbett in their brashness and swagger (though Sullivan is easily the more ‘vulgar’. The film has a tight rope to walk here...there’s a scene after the fight where Bond interrupts the celebration of Corbett’s win, and the two share a heartfelt moment; a good loser and a good winner respectively. But this moment, perhaps excessively sappy is effectively so, is utterly redeemed in a further aftermath, where Corbett monologues to Victoria his feelings on the former champ. Its one of those rare scenes which expresses something implied, yet its put so eloquently that the movie is all the richer for it. I’ll be damned if this doesn’t somehow manage to be both the manliest and the genuinely sweetest boxing movie ever made.

But perhaps even more important than that is the chemistry between Flynn and his lead actress, Alexis Smith, herself a decent actress (if a far cry from Rita Hayworth and whose character, as with all of Walsh’s ladies, is treated with extraordinary dignity. In a way she’s a love interest, but Walsh has a difficult task ahead of him...its inevitable that the guy gets the girl, but he meets her early on and doesn’t get her till the end. Its handled masterfully; a subtly developed romance over the course of the entire film, that has its ups and downs (mostly downs; its more fun that way after all), and actually keeps the audience in a little bit of suspense as to whether or not they will be together in the end. Characteristically, and perhaps unrealistically (but still just a bit more fun), the arrogant Corbett wins the girl over by just being his annoying self.

So what we have with this film is a remarkable example of how to make a movie. Gentleman Jim woudln’t win any awards for being particularly deep, or meaningful, or for being true to life. But just place it next to most of the other “B.S.” biopics being made in Hollywood, from Henry King’s Alexander’s Ragtime Band (a fictional character, mind you, so more B.S. than usual), Dieterle’s The Life of Emile Zola, and Anthony Mann’s The Glenn Miller Story, and you’re contrasting a competent and decent biographical film with a brilliantly entertaining piece of movie making that’s just as fun today as it was then; a movie that unashamedly and exquisitely gives the audience a damn good time. Chances are, if you can think of a better biopic of the era, its They Died With Their Boots On, Young Mr. Lincoln or My Darling Clementine, anyway, and they’re just as guilty of being bunk as this film is. One of those films is by Walsh, and the other two by Ford. I figure that’s good company. On this, my second viewing, I give this film a much better than solid 86.

Available on DVD as part of Warner Bros.’ second Errol Flynn Signature Collection. It sports a fine transfer, and some supplements which are really unrelated to the feature, as part of Warners’ Night at the Movies. Bare as it is, I'm very glad to own it for myself, and the more I see of Walsh's films over the years, the more I think I'm in love with them.

The Flame of New Orleans - Film Impression

directed by Rene Clair, 1941



I’ve never really been able to quite put a finger on what makes Marlene Dietrich so great...though in Blonde Venus and Touch of Evil; and especially The Scarlet Empress and The Devil Is a Woman, I can at least see that its there, and in those films there's not a moment where she's less than marvelous. Whatever it is that makes Dietrich such a fascinating star, isn’t really present in this film...nor, considering its director, is the craftsmanship that made Rene Clair’s films of the early 30s (in addition to later films, including some Hollywood films I understand) so vibrant. Both fantastic names, yet they really seem to be doing very little in this one, except for going through the motions.

The Flame of New Orleans does posess a tiny handful of charms, the first of which is its fourth-wall breaking intro. But even that scene’s charms, in themselves, promise little more than a shallow and droll romantic comedy with a drop of fancy, and what’s what we get. Set in Louisianna, the film’s most commendable features are its production designs, and at times the film is actually kind of pleasant to look at, and reflect the scenery of New Orleans a good deal. Everything else is, at best, merely competent, and Andy Devine gets far too little screen time, which is unfortunate as he’s always one of the best things about any film he has a strong presence in. He’s just background, here, like most everything else in the film.

The film's story is pretty much stock romantic drama: a gold digging woman manages to ensnare a very wealthy man, but she is quickly tangled up with feelings for another man; a sailor, and throughout the film she tries to throw the latter off for the former, but she inevitably winds up with her sailor boy in the end. Its quite uninspired all the way through, though worse love stories have certainly tainted the films of Laurel and Hardy or the Marx Bros, and there is little real chemistry between Dietrich's character and any of the other characters. This isn’t just the case of a film being ‘not for me’, its just a rather plain and flat film barely disguised by the presence of talents. My score - 60

Available as part of Universal’s Marlene Dietrich Glamour Collection, the final film on the double sided first disc and penultimate film in the whole set, and it possesses a rather luminous transfer. I think I'm going to take a little break from her and Bela Lugosi, and finish up the last films of these sets at a later date.

Major Dundee - Film Impressions

Directed by Sam Peckinpah, 1965

The opening scenes of this, Peckinpah’s second major film, depict the aftermath of a bloody battle; a far cry from the almost gentle restraint we saw in the bloodiest moments of Ride the High Country, and making this bloodsoaked massacre even worse is the spirited struggles of the young boys being carted off by the Apache who done it, leaving the ignorant (me) to wonder what fate awaits them. It’s a promising start; promising all sorts of things as the film’s opening sequences go on. Heston’s character; the titular major of the Union, exudes a ferocity and menace; he has guts to spare, and his ambition and ego match that. Richard Harris, who plays his former friend (now a Confederate of high rank, and his prisoner), has his own menacing strength, whose hatred for his old friend is matched only by the love for his country and adherance to military standards. The relationship between both mn is one seething with a sense of betrayal and ideological conflict. There are scores of other characters; many of them introduced with careful attention to their characterizations, making for a promising ragtag group of scoundrels.

That’s part of the problem with this film. I am far from the first to say this, but what’s so bothersome about this movie is how little of what makes the opening scenes so fantastic; the ambiguity of characterizations, the sheer number of them, and the many many promises of a truly epic exploration of their morality and the consequences of their behavior is actually, in the end, never really reconciled. To be perfectly honest, the film constantly seems to trail off into other directions than what you would think it has intended. Is it a war epic? Is it a grizzly film of anti-heroics? A character study of two great, flawed men who are constantly at battle with one another? A treatise on the folly of the Civil War? The film tries to make room for so much; tries to be all of these things, but never really lives up to it...characters go undeveloped, themes get forgotten, and in the end, the thing it most wholly is...would probably be an action movie, and its nowhere near as brilliantly crafted as The Wild Bunch, or as a nasty, grimy portrayal of the American civil war that predates and surpasses that of Leone’s in The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, or virtually any other movie about the Civil War for that matter.

As far as the performances of the actors go, they are almost irresponsibly magnificent. I say “irresponsibly” because performances of this caliber almost don’t belong in such a messy movie; messy movies like this are used to having great actors terribly miscast. I don’t really think this is quite the case...even Charleton Heston shines; I’d have to agree that this is probably his best performance, and the only false moments are the scenes which don’t really amount to much in the first place. My biggest complaint is probably Richard Harris. He’s a fantastic actor, and his performance a powerful and impressive piece of work...he just doesn’t seem like a Confederate soldier, which is important, because that is his lot. The supporting cast is without parallel...Ben Johnson, Warren Oates (of course; he has one of the film’s finest moments), Slim Pickens, L.Q. Jones and more...its an absolutely fantastic assembly, and at times they really do shine.

Its difficult to say much about this film; especially when you’re more used to films that don’t set the bar high for themselves...this is a case of a film setting itself to be great, and just fails miserably, and has only a few fragments of what could have been a great movie. And I think I can be counted among those who think the film fails. Its redeeming values are too few, too far between, and without consummation. What good scenes it has makes it worth watching several times, and the film has moments where it is absolutely elecric in its power and passion, and you can’t help think just how good the film could have been if Peckinpah had all his ducks in a row. As it is, it’s a highly schizophrenic film...one that swaggers from incredible assurance and competence, to an incoherant, doddering stumble. I still think its very interesting, though, and I hope that a second viewing will shed light on anything I missed. I have to give this film a 75.

If the film dissapointed me immensely; because I really had high hopes for it, the DVD doesn’t. The transfer is quite beyond criticism, and while the commentary isn’t very good marketting for the film, the usual Peckinpah roundtable discussion of Nick Redman, Paul Seydor, Garner Simmons and David Weddle is highly informative. We also get a segment from Mike Siegel’s documentary on Peckinpah, entitled Passion and Poetry: The Ballad of Sam Peckinpah, focusing exclusively on this film abd featuring interviews with cast and crew members. To summarize, an informative disc with excellent presentation that is well worth dipping into even if you’re not keen on the film.

Wichita - Film Impression

Directed by Jacques Tourneur, 1955

Wichita’s opening credits feature a spoiler-ridden song sung by Tex Ritter, and anyone could be fooled by this in thinking that this is an average Western potboiler. It certainly has the makings of one, and when you break it down in pure plot points and give it only a cursory look, that’s what you’ll get....the story of how Wyatt Earp comes to Wichita, Kansas, cleans up some rough-housing cowboys, and leaves with a new wife. But somehow, the film is anything but an average western. One of the first scenes in the film shows Earp (who we’ll soon see is played by Joel McCrea) riding in deep long shot in the cinemascope frame, and its one of the eeriest long shots I’ve ever seen. He seems to be coming out of nowhere.

And once he gets up close, he’s no less strange. The color of his clothes, the way the light falls on him, his comparatively wooden behavior, the almost ethereal way in which he defeats his two opponents...its all so subtly played, and yet once you see it and absorb it, you can’t unsee it. Wyatt Earp heads into town; Wichita a veritable hustle-and-bustle as the locals prepare for the coming of the cowboys (with whom Earp briefly clashes in the first scene), and even in the genial scenes where he gets to know the townspeople, McCrea’s purposefully wooden performance sets him far apart. His Wyatt Earp is a stubborn gentleman, cleanly and plainly stating his business and getting things done, the idiosyncracies of his behavior apparently beyond the comprehension of the other people.


This is, if you haven’t realized it, a very strange film. There is hardly a scene in the film that feels anywhere near normal; even the ones without Earp seem haunted by the fact that he’s influenced them, and the social ramifications of the appearance of this angel of light begin to take form. Townspeople want him out, the businessmen try to kill him, a woman falls in love with him...and he seems more and more haunted; though he never falters, by his fate, which is inevitably to kill. Its almost like a metaphysical answer to the question of what happens when an umovable object meets an unstoppable force (or vice versa?), as he refuses to budge on his decisions, and the other mortals struggle to make sense of it. It also makes for an interesting comment on capitalism and guns; as Earp’s decision to disarm all the townspeople except lawmen naturally spoils their fun and makes the powers that be very upset.

And in the film’s rigid simplicity, it also brings up the question of the complex nature of law enforcement (Earp’s simple answers aren’t entirely satisfactory, and even their successful implementation brings tragedy), and of good and evil. One of the most unusual scenes in the film is when two gunmen, with bad attitudes, invade the privacy of the saloon, seemingly hired to take on Wyatt Earp...and its only at the last minute that we, and the people in the saloon, realize that these black-clad men are Earp’s brothers. Very unnerving. The way the film is lit and shot only further serves the effective eeriness...Tourneur makes magnificent use of the wide cinemascope frame, capturing very few close-ups, instead showing us a magnificently full image in which McCrea typically dominates, despite usually being such a small part of it, and the film’s lush backgrounds seem to illuminate each scene. Anyway, long before we’re able to make full sense of this film’s strangeness, we have a happy ending with McCrea riding off into the unset with his bride; and by this time, even this image (itself beautifully composed) reeks of some otherworld. Somehow, it seems fitting that this strange film should conclude with such a normal looking ending. Its unnerving in itself.

To be honest, this isn’t the first Tourneur film I’ve seen...Out of the Past, his Lewton films, and Curse/Night of the Demon I’ve also viewed, but alas, this was when I was too young and inexperienced with films; not thoughtful enough. But this feels like the first time a film of his clicked with me, though...and I plan to use this and see more of his films; and backtrack to old ones. And I really hope to see this one again some day, of course. For now, I think this film is a magnificent, weird, and wonderful work of art...a lot of people might disagree; they might not see anything in its weirdness except lazy film making and a bland performance by McCrea. I say bite me. I give this film a 92.

As with The Strawberry Blonde, Wichita is available on Warner’s Archive series, in an absolutely pristine print, and it would look amazing on a pressed DVD or - god willing - Blu-ray. Its a gorgeous film, and definitely deserves it. Unfortunately, the transfer is far less stable than Strawberry Blonde’s, and at times the fluctuations in the picture are very noticable.

The Invisible Ray: Film Impression

Directed by Lambert Hillyer, 1936

With the exception of The Black Cat; which is a masterpiece, I have had rather fair to middling reactions to the Bela Lugosi films I’ve seen. Sure, they’re all good fun...but something about them always seem a little half baked. So The Invisible Ray was an almost instant surprise, as it differs so greatly from those other films. It begins briskly enough; all of the other films moved at breakneck speed, and the atmosphere in the opening scenes even possess a haunting gothic atmosphere. Honestly? It’s a rather impressive set. But the film isn’t content to reflect the earlier films, and it quickly separates itself from them in several ways.

For one; and this is something we quickly realize, the two stars (Lugosi and Karloff) quickly stray from their usual roles as horror characters. Karloff’s character, a brilliant and utterly devoted scientist named Janos Ruhk, isn’t the least bit frightening, even when he glows from super radiation poisoning, nor is he meant to be particularly scary, because that’s not quite the point. And Lugosi? Well, his Dr. Benet is another scientist, and much unlike The Raven, Dracula or Rue Morgue his character here is very much a good guy. It’s a testament to these two actors that they play their respective roles seamlessly, and the film’s greater emphasis on plot allows both performers to strut their acting talents in ways they’d rarely get to do again, while the film also moves at a pleasantly faster pace. The second thing we quickly notice is that this is not really a horror film, but a science fiction film in the tradition of films that...well, weren’t to come for many years, and much of it is well ahead of its time and still fascinating today.

The film’s tone changes as its scenery changes...moving from Ruhk’s semi-gothic laboratory to the Nigerian veldt, in which the intrepid scientists hope to discover the radioactive element which Ruhk had found by harnessing the light of cosmic rays, briefly becoming an adventure film. What really makes the film stand apart from the other Universal horror films is the depth of Ruhk’s character, and the time it spends on setting his tragic figure up. As he discovers the element, which he calls Radium X, he realizes that the powerful element has poisoned him, and that without medication, he will not only die, but kill those he touches. What follows then is a descent into madness, as he takes his comrades’ independant research into the element he discovered to be a betrayal, and seeks his revenge, with surprisingly grim results.

In the end, I have to admit...this is a surprisingly good movie. It’s a junky bit of science fiction, but its imaginative and fun, well performed and spritely paced, with special effects that could pass for a sci-fi effort of the 50s, and very amusing in certain parts (such as how the male love interest; in Universal tradition, proves to be a rather useless figure). I was particularly enamored with the way the titular laser weapon melted a huge stone (though unfortunately we never see it melt anything else, we only hear about it melting some statues). Its only real flaws would be that, aside from Ruhk and Benet, we don’t really wind up caring too much about the characters, even though it sets us up to invest some degree of emotional interest in Frances Drake’s character (still, better than previous films). Also, once you get past how unusually well crafted it is, there isn’t much point to it besides a mature sci-fi potboiler. But it holds up great, and sci fi geeks should run and not walk. On a 100 scale, I would give this film an 82.

The DVD I have is part of Universal’s Bela Lugosi collection, alongside Murders in the Rue Morgue, The Black Cat, The Raven and Black Friday. As with all films in the set thus far, it is in pristine shape and has a crisp transfer. With only one more film to go; Black Friday, I still say that this set is a glorified special edition of The Black Cat; a masterpiece of gothic American cinema, but I think this film is likely the second best in the set, and well worth seeing.

Remember the Night: Film Impressions

Directed by Mitchell Leisen, 1940

I’m not too terribly familiar with director Mitchell Leisen...I’ve seen two of his most renowned films; Easy Living and Midnight, but I do know one or two things about his legacy. Today, he is simply largely forgotten, despite being a director of *international* renown in the 30s and 40s, directing some of the top stars of the day, and essentially being responsible for the careers of Preston Sturges and Billy Wilder, as they wrote many of his films. Therein lies part of the problem; Sturges and Wilder got to the cineastes first, and they hated Leisen notoriously, calling him “a stupid fairy” and “an interior decorator” irrespectively, loathing what he did to their scripts. Mark Rappaport said it best in his lengthy essay on Leisen, but I want to at least offer my defense of this film. Remember The Night here is my third Leisen film, and with the other two woefully in need of a second viewing, I’ll treat this as a first examination.

The film is Barbara Stanwyck and Fred Macmurray’s first pairing; eventually leading them to Double Indemnity (indeed, by Billy Wilder), and since its release it has been relatively forgotten. The film begins simply enough, briskly and musically showing Stanwyck’s character, Lee Leander, lifting a bracelet from a jewelry store and getting caught quickly. One rather amusing court session later, her case has been put on hold until after Christmas, and a misunderstanding (resulting in him paying for her bond) has put her in the care of John Sargent, Macmurray’s character, for the holidays, even though he was her prosecutor.

From this misunderstanding, we can all guess what happens...love will flower between these two. If this film is any indication of Leisen’s talent, I can already tell the difference between his approach and Wilder’s or Sturges’s. Both of these directors, to put it bluntly, had a sharpness and an edginess to their films, and its present in all of their work. Both talented and classy writers, with peculiarly low brow tastes and big cajones (though Sturges was a strict comic; all of his films are comedies and outright works of screwball). Leisen’s approach, with this script by Sturges, contrasts sharply in that he imbues the characters with a deep understanding and sympathy that I rarely see in the work of the other two.

Like so many romantic comedies, Remember the Night charts the course of a transformation of the characters. While neither character is as hard boiled as in Double Indemnity, they’re both tough cookies, and one initially could think it would turn into a ‘battle of the sexes’. But it doesn’t...as Sargent; with Macmurray providing a typically gentlemanly approach, and Stanwyck (with her usual charms, of course) quickly bond in the close quarters of Sargent’s car, as he makes his way to his family for a Christmas homecoming. Not only are these two treated with such understanding, though...when they make a stop to visit Leander’s mother; with whom he expects her to stay, she is given a very chilly reception by the morally stern old woman. We quickly realize that Leander suffered a childhood of very little love. And yet even this old bat is given the tiniest notes of sympathy...its made clear she’s a desperately unhappy person, and there’s a brief moment where we glance her; as Leander and Sargent talk, briefly and almost regretfully glancing out the window at them, before slinking into darkness. Its rare to see such humanity; even if its only a tiny hopeless twinkling of it, in a film like this, and the subtlety of the scene is remarkable, and its an eays moment to miss. The whole scene is treated with a stillness and quiet befitting such a moment.

The tone of the film shifts effortlessly; as does much of it, when we arrive at Sargent’s home...switching from one of neglect, to one of incredible familial warmth. If her familial upbringing was one of an emotional have-not, then John Sargent’s is definitely a have; with Capraesque loving smalltown bungling, though I’d argue it feels so much more truthful here, making a great deal out of little moments, and filling even the minor characters with surprising depth and humanity. The scene could have been a disaster, but in my opinion, its better than even Capra could manage. Its here that Leander seems to begin to understand Sargent, and in no time at all she realizes how much she loves him. Their attraction grows (one which is both emotional *and* physical for both of them; a healthy lust shines beautifully in Stanwyck’s eyes in particular).

Finally, of course, comes the crisis of the film, but its different from the crisis we might expect. In, say, a Capra film, something would happen (and I thought it would for a moment) which would cause one character would lose faith in the other, and the final struggle would involve Syanwyk’s Leander trying to win his trust. But the struggle is not like that at all; its quite the opposite...their crisis is one of selflessness. Macmurray is the prosecutor for this girl, and a darn good prosecutor he is. For him to lose the case would compromise his future. This leads us to a court scene, of course..the results of which I won’t spoil. But the conflicted emotions, the selflessness of both characters, and a wonderful elusion make it, in the end, help to make it one of the most satisfying romantic films of the classic era, and one of the most satisfying in general. It deserves to be enshrined as one of the holiday classics. I give this film a score of 91. I expect it to grow.

Universal, like Warner Bros., has woefully made the decision to start an “archive”, in which they put some of their catalog classics up for sale as burn-on-demand DVD-R’s, in order to satisfy the demand for more of these titles. Remember The Night, though still available only in a few venues, is thankfully *not* A DVD-R, and is indeed a pressed disc with a handful of supplements (not terribly revealing, but not exactly worthless), and a luminous transfer. Its kind of sad when when a disc like this; a good but not spectacular disc, is almost a cause for celebration, considering what it could have been.

Ride the High Country - Film Impressions

Directed by Sam Peckinpah, 1962

I had seen this film about a week ago, but I'm re-posting my review here for posterity's sake, and so my blog feels more complete. Starting with this film; and excluding The Wild Bunch until the end, I will be watching eight films by Sam Peckinpah (two of them for the first time).

Ride the High Country, it seems to me, as a moral mosaic for Peckinpah as a film maker, and seeing it again today (I believe it is my third viewing) I’m amazed at how effortlessly and modestly he put so much of his own person into the film. It’s a film about growing old in a changing world; the world here the old west, and growing old are two of our four protaganists, Steve Judd and Gil Wetsrum (played respectively by Joel McCrea and Randolph Scott; Scott in his final and most well known role, not too long after finishing the Ranown cycle which I feel terrible about not reviewing)...two old law men who today must take on odd jobs to pay their way.

From the film’s start, Peckinpah separates these characters into seemingly simple types. Judd is a proud, sturdy old man; who doesn’t want the two old bankers (who are giving him his job) to see him pull out his reading glasses, but is nonetheless a very sharp guy who can tell a lot about a man. Gil, on the other hand, is introduced wearing fake facial fur and cheating people out of their money at a carnival game, and strikes us as none too strong a person. The other two protaganists are given similarly simple-seeming roles: Heck Longtree is the typical young rascal, eager to start a fight and prove his prowess (much to our amusement), and to strive for the affections of our fourth protaganist. She is Elsie, a rebellious young girl desperate to get away from her over-religious father (a complicated character burdening under a confused religious fervor, another Peckinpah theme) and marry her beloved in the town of Coarse Gold.

What Peckinpah does with these characters, however, is to defeat such initial reactions against them as the story develops, and so effortlessly that his icoloclastic approach can be barly noticeable. The two old men are, no matter their strengths, imbued with a distinguished frailty (and, of course, mortality)...Judd’s glasses, of course, and the moment that most struck me of all in prior viewings, Gil Westrum’s proclamation that he “don’t sleep so good anymore” (among other telling signs that our two heroes are old men, and regard themselves as such). Heck Longtree, who is Gil’s current partner, is given a surprising amount of moral depth and potential; a sense that seems to take flower (it seems to have already been in root, somehow, just never properly watered) in Judd’s presence. This results in a truly remarkable rift between he and Gil; his partner and ‘teacher’, as he begins to realize how ineffectual Gil is by comparison; not to mention ethically unsatisfactory and less compassionate by comparison (‘compassion’ towards wayward youths is something Boetticher’s films suggested, ironically with Randolph Scott as the advocate).

Elsie’s character, who tags along to Coarse Gold to marry Billy Hammond, is the catalyst of one of Peckinpah’s strongest trademarks (in addition to what becomes the film's central struggle of battle): the trashy baddies, embodied here by the Hammonds. Its all here; the baddies of Straw Dogs, Alfredo Garcia, and then even some of the good guys of The Wild Bunch and Cable Hogue, all hark back to the Hammonds, whose portrayals are among the most viscerally authentic and individually realized in the film, as well as its darkest and most entertaining figures. The entire town of Coarse Gold is a visceral kind of moral purgatory, where the younger characters get a strong taste of where their future lies if they choose the wrong path. The film giving us a good, hard look at the dregs of the west; a look which Robert Altman would surpass in McCabe and Mrs. Miller almost a decade later (also in the cold snow!), and which truly stands out for its evocative, Gomorrah-ish nastiness, considering that John Ford’s The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance would come out the same year.

While its story may follow a predictable trajectory, its characters do not, and its in them that its heart lies. Peckinpah’s treatment of violence is also surprisingly subdued, considering it is sadly what he’s most well known for. But the heart and soul of his famous exploration of violence is here; epitomized perhaps by the slow death of one of the Hammonds’ pitiful deaths. What is then striking about the film is, amid the moral ambiguity and complexity of most of its characters (even Billy Hammond chides his older brother for trying to take on Judd and Westrum while their guard is down, indicating he has a sense of family honor that could be besmirched), is the absolute grace and moral clarity of Judd, who truly drives the film, both narratively and thematically, and could readily be called McCrea’s best performance. It’s a stunningly no-nonsense character, played to utter perfection. Thinking back, in addition to being a western, and an “old man film” in tradition of Ikiru and Wild Strawberries, the film could readily be called a morality play of sorts. Ride the High Country is so many things, and yet its so compacted within the film’s classical narrative structure; itself flawlessly and economically constructed, played and executed, that its easy to miss its depth on just the first and second viewings. I never much liked the film before this viewing, but it almost feels like a first viewing, because it suddenly just seemed to open up to me. A truly great film. On a 100 scale, I would give this film a 90.

I have the DVD from Warner Bros. in the states, with a few special features, including a commentary, and a fine but not remarkable transfer. Its available separately, or as part of a DVD boxed set with Ballad of Cable Hogue, The Wild Bunch and Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid.

The Strawberry Blonde - Film Impression

Directed by Raoul Walsh, 1941



This film had such a spell over me from the first few minutes, and I was at pains to figure out what it was. The first thing that struck me about it was just how crisply the period (late 19th century) was rendered, in a way that made Meet Me In St. Louis almost seem tacky and anachronistic (a film I like; and funnily enough, some young girls sing that very song early in the film). Walsh directed a lot of ‘period’ films, but none of the ones I’ve seen are as rich in detail as this one. The little things which show up; the clothing, a handlebar moustache, coy winks of innuendo, the curious exploration of a new dish from Italy (spaghetti!), or the film’s delicate use of period music...I’m not an expert in the nineties, but they feel so alive in this film; all the more enlivened by the film’s breezy tone. Come to think of it, what the film really seems to capture so well about that time or place is the sense of social mores and behavior...implicit in the reaction of Biff Grimes (played by James Cagney) when Amy (played by Olivia de Havilland) reveals her socially liberal thoughts, and the similar shock in her reaction when an upset Cagney tries to live up to them, among other things. Maybe the ‘period detail’ is all in my mind. But something else struck me, very shortly into the movie, and I can’t quite put my finger on it...but I was so utterly moved within the first five minutes. I was laughing out loud too; it’s a wonderfully funny movie, but I felt I might as well be choking up too.

I think ‘charm’ is a key word that could be used to describe this film. But its not the kind of charm that calls attention to itself, yet it’s the kind that’s alive and well in every frame of the film, to the extent that you could swear an old gentleman was telling you the story through a shanty-sounding old song; a song full of brutishness and ‘dirty humor’ but so full of tenderness and pain. Its an incredibly relaxed and gentle film, visually lush and delicate, playful and naughty; quick to suggest a fist fight (and the fact that Biff Grimes always loses), but beautifully eliding each one until the end and having some of the most whole-heartedly sweet scenes of romance put to film. This breeziness and lightness that permeates the film naturally charges many of its jokes and humorous gestures; little bits of business that would be laughable in most other films, and yet in this film they work, and feels just right. There isn’t a ‘joke’ in the film which falls flat. There’s never a dull moment in the film, and its endless stream of humor (I caught myself laughing outloud many times) comes so smoothly that you’d think it was improvised on the spot by the characters (in other words, comic perfection).

The film’s comedy is both gentle and full of bluster. Each and every one of the characters in the movie feels incredibly vibrant and alive, that its easy to forget that you’re watching a movie. Biff Grimes is portrayed in such an utterly memorable fashion. Cagney has always exuded a roguish charm, but people are used to seeing him as a gangster due to The Roaring Twenties, Public Enemy and White Heat...and then there’s Yankee Doodle Dandy, which most people see as an aberration (I don’t like it, myself, but that’s another story). In this film, its almost hard to see why...he captures the scruffiness, harshness, and eventually the tenderness of Biff Grimes with such magnetic Irish guff and vitality that you actually forget you’re watching a performance; Cagney seems so utterly at home in the role. Rita Hayworth and Olivia de Havilland (who, by the way, is still alive, o em gee), too, are are utterly graceful to watch, and their characterizations equally real, and astoundingly deep.


Walsh knew how to photograph his performers; actresses especially, and I don’t think he did a better job than here in this film, nor perhaps did cameraman James Wong Howe (who also had a very impressive career, dating from the silent era, and up to the late 60s). Every shot with de Havilland and Hayworth; both of whom play women any man would want, is bathed with such a genuinely loving light...combined with their rich characterizations, the result is a portrayal of women that is both deeply respectful and wholly admiring. And Walsh knew how to edit; almost every time Cagney and either of the two women speak or look at eachother, its a story told in complicitly quiet montage. The visual interplay between Cagney’s and de Havvilland’s faces in each of their meetings is piercing and astoundingly so, putting us right in the room; right in their gaze. Indeed, as Tag Gallagher notes in his Senses of Cinema essay on Walsh (an essay I’m beginning to understand more and more), the effect is something like Ozu.

This is especially true in their reunion scene; perhaps the most moving ‘lovers’ reunion’ I’ve yet seen. But few of the reviews I’ve come upon (none of which were terribly indepth, except in way of plot synopsis) mentioned those lovely scenes in which the characters go courting at night in the park; scenes which are lit in a way that the darkness almost forms an iris...can’t get much more 1890s than that. Of course, what makes Walsh a true master is that these techniques are invisible, and always at the service to the story...a romantic comedy that flows seamlessly from tough-guy antics, to romantic comedy, to polically tinged tragedy (the social implications of which Walsh never gives thought to, thankfully) and back again, and yet every moment of it is a sensual love story. Its easy; in this film more than almost any other I’ve seen, to get caught up in what is happening; what is on screen, and glance away from the screen, and be surprised for a split second that you aren’t in that world.


This is classic Hollywood at its absolute best; at its most sublime and loving. It’s a film about a song, or a feeling, or a memory of a girl once known in a time and place you remember vividly and yet so vaguely. In the movie itself, the song is And the Band Played On (something you’ll never forget after seeing it), the time and place is New York at the turn iof the century, and the girl is...well, you’ll be surprised. But it suggests something more universal than just that song, and just that girl, and that time and place. Its not so much a sentimental and nostalgic movie, as much a movie about sentiment and nostalgia, and for all the right things. I can’t help but think this is Walsh’s most personal film...perhaps part love letter to his parents, as he was born in the late 1880s when the film takes place, and I’m sure his childhood memories have fragments of the time and place. Its almost certainly his best film. Expect me to re-watch a few of Walsh’s films; as well as seeing new ones, in the future.


On a scale of 100, I give The Strawberry Blonde a 99. To me, a near incomparable masterpiece, that seems to do with great subtlety what Wong Kar Wai's films make explicit (and vice versa).


Available as part of Warner’s Archive series, which are DVD-R's. It looks okay; the print certainly looks good, and it’s a shame this wonderful masterpiece can’t get a real DVD. You can rent it from Classicflix; that's where I got mine.

An Introduction

Before I begin this blog, I guess I should introduce myself. You may just call me Amok. I am, at this time, twenty seven and one half years old, and for the past eight years I have been watching movies. That isn't to say I only started doing so then! I'd watched movies since I was very little, and there are still several from my childhood that I still love to this day. But the beginning of the year 2002 is when I truly began to fall in love with cinema, and it grew from being a hobby to replace my recently (at the time) loss of interest in video games; a need to fill a vacuum in other words, to a love and an obsession that knows few boundaries and whose limits I am constantly stretching and breaking. In this blog; this journal of mine, I will be posting my thoughts...quite often...on the movies I watch, usually in the form of reviews.

I have a high school education only; with a mostly forgotten and rather unpleasant first year of college, so there should be no question of my reviews being of professional quality. Jonathan Rosenbaum I ain't. But I can guarantee a few things, in so far as quality...firstly, that the films I see do not follow many patterns. Sometimes, I will go through a period of watching a certain actor (usually in the case of comedians, like Will Hay or Bela Lugosi) or director's work, but I try to space this out over several weeks, rather than watch all of these films in a row, to give me time to reflect, or just watch something else. Secondly, I'm almost always watching something different, so feel free to be surprised if I watch Venom and Eternity, The Golden Earrings, and Oh, Mr. Porter! in the same week. Seeing how I live in the sticks in the United States, a good theater is far away, and there are even fewer opportunities to see the movies that interest me on large screens...so, alas, most of my movie watching activities are done at home, on DVD and, as of May of this year, Blu-ray. In my reviews, I will also comment briefly on the quality of the video edition I am watching.

I also try to put a degree of thought into my reviews, though I can definitely ramble, and I am partial to having emotional reactions to movies and struggling to express those feelings satisfactorily. Also, and this is perhaps the most unfortunate thing (but something I'm not about to dispose of), I have a system of scoring; one which is (for now) on a 100 scale...with a score of 100 being about the highest I will give; and films of 97 and up being very nearly that level of perfection. Don't expect many of those. Films in the range of 91 to 96 are what I would call 'masterpieces' to various degrees, with films of 86 to 90 being 'truly great films', 81 to 85 being 'very good', and 75 to 80 being 'good'. When it gets below 75, its varying degrees of above average, average and bad, and my scores will be in increments of 10, because its kind of dull to do much thinking about a score for a film about which you don't have much positive to say.

One particular quirk of mine is that I have trouble watching movies when I'm not watching them alone; so if I mention that I saw Julie and Julia with my mother, and noted that it was a very good movie, don't be too disappointed. And, of course, if I feel absolutely wretched, I may just skip reviewing a film entirely. With that said, I hope you enjoy reading my journal.