GaryWang

I award a ten to any film which is extremely good at what it does, and Rowan Atkinson's comedic brilliance succeeds here on every level. The wry dark humor of Black Adder and even his more broad efforts in the BBC series The Thin Blue Line have been reigned in, and what we have left is something which will please every generation of moviegoer, young and old alike. One sketch leads to another and yet there is a real story here comprising a beginning, middle and one of those old-fashioned endings in which the whole happy cast sings while looking into the camera lens. Atkinson is better than Chaplin at character improvisations--what an amazingly funny, expressive face from this Oxford-educated structural engineer, of all things! The film is brilliantly cast and his two principal co-stars are both headed for bigger things: Emma de Caunes is wholesomely sexy with one of the loveliest new faces to grace the screen in a long time, while Bean's foil, the boy on the train, is played to great effect by Preston Nyman, a young stand-up comic who is conspicuously at ease before the lens. This was my introduction to the Mr. Bean franchise, and I'm delighted with what I know lies in store for me.

Any film about WWII made during WWII by a British production company has no latter-day peer in my opinion, respectfully. The confluence of so many things near and dear to my heart are in At Dawn We Dive: as a descendant of Admiral Horatio Nelson and student of all aspects of World War Two and particularly naval warfare, I favor depictions of subs and action in the North Atlantic and especially those which include the German side of things. For those unacquainted with target priorities, an attack on an enemy warship is the greatest event that a submarine can hope to encounter and such a rare opportunity would develop surprisingly similarly to what we see here. The pacing is deliberate and typical of the works coming out of the Ealing, Rank and British-Gaumont studios back in the day: frankly I prefer its quieter, more cerebral approach for its humanity and realism that engages far better than any over-produced Hollywood movie ever could. This reminds me of Powell and Pressburger's The 49th Parallel thanks to the powerfully persuasive Eric Portman, a favorite of mine. John Mills receives second billing and a smaller font in the titles, so this is clearly meant to be Mr. Portman's film but the whole cast shines. As for the title sequence, am I the only one who is utterly charmed by Gainsborough Production's lovely pre-CGI Gainsborough Girl?

At the risk of seeming antagonistic--and I am here, but that is not a bad thing---my nod for most overrated film goes to THE PHILADELPHIA STORY. The reason is simply that it seems like such a conspicuous showcase for the star. I like Ms.Hepburn very much and was marveling at her beauty in ALICE ADAMS only a few weeks ago, while BRINGING UP BABY is one of my top-ten favorite films (does my guilt show??) but she bought the property for herself (admittedly a wise thing to do, fiscally and career-wise) and for me, the self-aggrandizing screenplay renders the movie a net loss. I just can't buy into all the fuss over what to me is not a real agreeable or affable character until we're eight or ten reels into the story and by then she's lost me.

It's fun reading the reviews of this gem from James Whale at IMDb. Clearly almost all are based on the truncated version which was the ONLY print in commercial release for many decades. The original running time was closer to 90 minutes--when the master print was trimmed by nearly a third, the result was significant and the element of menace changed considerably. I loved it in it's briefer version of approximately 65 minutes but in its entirety, this truly is a very frightening movie: an awful lot happens in the additional 25 minutes and if big brother Saul Femm doesn't freak you out the same way he does his siblings Rebecca and Horace, then you are made of sterner stuff than me and these Femms. And once again, a well-meaning Boris winds up as merely misunderstood, and someone we don't loathe or fear quite so much by the time the credits roll. A Good Cast Is Worth Repeating, and so is this movie in one sitting in order to catch everything the director has intended for the viewer. An unequivocal classic that many have yet to fully enjoy.

Jane Wyman was one of the cutest actresses ever to grace the silver screen and she proves here that she still had IT in abundance in this anachronistic 1951 romp in which she portrays a stewardess adapting to the heady life and unique romantic opportunities that the flight attendant profession once represented for smart career-minded women a long, long time ago. American Airlines would have paid a hefty product placement fee in 2005 for all the great promotion they receive in this film, parts of which were shot aboard a real DC-3 (The Spirit of Washington) as it cruises the skies. The sunny natural cabin lighting does not do Van Johnson any favors inasmuch as the nasty scar across his forehead which MGM's make-up people always managed to conceal so adroitly is prominent to the point of distraction. I found his sardonic graduate-level researcher character to be a bit of an imperious drip. Sullivan is rarely anything more than a plot device: he never seems to be seriously in the running for her hand while Pilot Howard Keel is at his handsomest and he and Miss Wyman seem to share a real chemistry, so I was kept pleasantly off-balance throughout. There are some exciting scenes of downtown Chicago from the air (look for the River winding along Wacker Drive past the Merchandise Mart) and they have a camera fixed beneath the DC-3's fuselage which provides some stunning footage of actual landings. The uniforms are fun, and it effectively shows us the world of air travel that existed just prior to the dawn of the jet age. It's a memorable little trip for commercial aviation buffs, made only five months before Wyman's ex went back to the altar with Nancy Davis and turned her into the second Mrs. Ronald Reagan.

Last week I watched Joel McCrea turn in an absolutely stunning performance in Merian Cooper and Earnest Schoedsack's brilliant 1932 thriller, "THE MOST DANGEROUS GAME" and again he reminds me here of just what an underrated actor he was during the Golden Age of Hollywood. His natural blond good looks (he pioneered surfing during the sport's early days in Los Angeles) and extremely competent acting on the heels of his residency at the nearby Pasadena Playhouse stand out in stark contrast to other leading men in an era when Billy Haines, George Arliss and Ramon Navarro were still representing America's young marrieds getting into jams as they get on their feet in the early days of The Great Depression. Dorothy Mackaill has the tricky job of playing a spoiled brat who is also in many ways by 2004 standards a modern woman whose doting industrialist father isn't making her emancipation any easier--but she pulls it off, and we wind up liking her! Sounding a little at first like one of the most outlandish stars of the day, Paramount's Mae West knock-off Peggy Hopkins Joyce, Mackaill proceeds to give a spot-on performance that represents some of the most natural acting I have seen out of anyone from the early talkies era; her knows-what-she-wants character Dot is effected flawlessly. I forgot that I was watching an actress perform, so finely tuned is her sense of timing. An Ex-Follies girl who came to the US from England at the age of 18, she is at ease before the camera, apparently aware of the fine line she is walking in a part which few other performers from that shaky time in the industry would have been able to master with such seamless grace. I am surprised and disappointed that her film career was in its twilight and that soon thereafter she would be serving full-time as a caregiver to her disabled mother. The writing and direction are both deserving of praise here, as well. The intelligent dialogue (including the contemporary slang, which I find fascinating whenever I can find it) stands the test of time remarkably well: it is real, never banal or contrived despite the familiar conflicted Depression-era highbrow-working class storyline aspect. When Dot asks her father to pay her new husband $50,000 a year, the kindly industrialist explains that he cannot comply, reasoning quite correctly that "it would hurt the organization"--having served a hitch in B-school, I liked that wise old man and contemporary manager right off the bat! Motherhood receives a tender treatment and ever so effectively. The lighting has a definite early Warners'-First National look to it. Sound recording, almost always a liability in those days, is accomplished neatly, as is the makeup: lips appear to be real rather than painted on and during the proposal scene McCrea's wholesome tan face appears not only untouched but luminescent. Rarely have the actors of 1931 looked quite so good. Helpful Trivia: At the time of production, Miss Mackaill was 28; cowpuncher McCrea, 25.

Early in the movie, Cagney's Johnny Cave character tells his gumshoes in the Office of Weights and Measures that in the previous year, unscrupulous shop owners had cheated the American consumer out of more money than the aggregate National War Debt! Then he goes out and tickets a particularly greasy green grocer for short-selling him a bag of sugar that is four ounces off (oh, the horrors!!) and one skinny chicken that his butcher's scale has rather generously proclaimed to be six lbs., after which the fur--or in this case feathers--flies. Er, fly. When a racketeer in politician's clothing attempts to derail an investigation into the paltry poultry purveyor's practices, our hero becomes a lone wolf waging the war of the weights on behalf of housewives across America. After all, four cents here and a quarter there add up and before we know it we have anarchy! Word of his intransigence soon reaches both the Mayor and the Governor's offices, and Cagney becomes a marked man. If it sounds silly, it's not--the dishonest retailing practices are only a plot tool (or as Hitchcock would say, the McGuffin) and while unfamiliar, it works every bit as well here as any Treasury Agent or G-man anthology in which the fight is taken to shady crooks who are operating outside the interests of the country's common good. The production standards are decidedly Grade-B, but it is Cagney who makes this movie the delight that it is: this was his first film away from Warner Brothers after seeking release in court from his unreasonable contract, and he seems to be at ease and enjoying himself tremendously--the performance turned in here is intelligent and crackles with his unique energy and surefire charisma. Mae Clarke's presence lends a definite Warner's feel to the overall production. The supporting players turn in solid performances and the story moves along smartly after a rocky introduction that seems to begin three or four reels into the story--but sit back and enjoy it for the Cagney showcase and engaging Depression-era time capsule that it is.

Ugh! Where to begin ... first, Campbell Scott's non-stop angst becomes a real turn-off after awhile (a very short while) as he internalizes his mounting anguish, curiosity and anger. Only we don't care! These characters as presented by the writer and director are wholly unlikable, and therein lies the key. They haven't given us anything to make us care if they are adulterous and whether or not they are still in love with one another. When Scott quietly tells his wife, "I could kill you" before their three daughters at the dinner table, after the shock of his selfishly poor timing wore off I almost wished that he had--and then done the same thing to the smug, wisecracking apparition of Denis Leary before being hauled off the the looney bin. An utter waste of time and perhaps--only perhaps--resources.

For anyone who enjoys British class distinctions and the upstairs-downstairs culture of life among the manor born, this stylish tale of a Hollywood actress who is preparing to marry into a quirky aristocratic family is sumptuously designed and a great deal of fun. Julie Andrews shines, as does Jeanne Triplehorn and Stephen Fry as the butler who is impeccably correct amid the chaos which ensues when things inevitably begin to go awry. It is a farce that absolutely works. The 1950s era is captured with elegant attention to detail and the characters, for all their foibles, are likable and thoroughly engaging. Great entertainment for anyone who is lucky enough to happen upon it!

Buster Keaton's talents sadly are not put to very good use here. He appears to be sufficiently alert, however the producer and writers have given him nothing to work with and there is clearly no opportunity for his trademark expertise at improvisation. Sad-eyed Buster's excessively shrill nemesis is a stage mother from Hell who steals all of their scenes together through sheer brute force by overacting, rendering Mr. Keaton's character pathetic and perpetually downtrodden. Then again, the viewer is also subjected to Robert Montgomery crooning so there really is plenty of blame to go around here from a production standpoint. Nevertheless, this is an important movie that features unique and valuable insights into Hollywood soon after the industry's changeover to sound. Billy Haines appears in a cameo as himself and he says a few words before wending his way down to the reserved seating section far forward in the Grauman's Chinese Theater--and the camera follows him! The POV includes panoramic scenes of the interior, as well as a close-up look at the Red Carpet outside of the theater as the glamorous stars of the day drove up, alighted from their magnificent cars and had a few words to say into the microphone before heading inside, framed by shots of the crowd that has gathered outside to witness the spectacle. Jackie Coogan is featured here as himself, and the story soon shifts to the MGM Studio where we are afforded further behind-the-scenes eyefuls of a sound stage with all the trappings, outbuildings, gated entrances and eavesdropping on the likes of Fred Niblo and Cecil B. DeMille as they candidly discuss Garbo, Crawford and Shearer! I have always prized MGM's The Jean Harlow Story, starring Jean Harlow--er, make that BOMBSHELL for the unique and rare glimpses that it provides of the Metro-Golden-Mayer studio circa 1933, but this movie was made three years earlier and the storyline is set at the studio. It is therefore particularly instructive for anyone who is similarly intrigued by sustained peeks at real, undesigning people and authentic settings of historical significance in Hollywood from some of the earliest days of its glorious Golden Age. There is some vintage lightning in a bottle here in this Keaton clunker, for anyone who cares to a take a look.