tentender

I am so psyched to write the first user review of this great film -- soon to be widely recognized as such, I imagine. (See New Yorker, NY Times, Variety etc. reviews -- they're ahead of me.)

"Digging for Fire" looks wonderful -- magical, even. Joe Swanberg, as natural a filmmaker as Samuel Fuller (the all-time greatest of the naturals), here has (for the first time?) chosen to shoot on 35mm Eastman color film in Cinemascope ratio. And the results are stunning -- particularly the beautiful night shooting.

As the narrative subject matter of the film involves (a) a couple in a conflicted moment and (b) the chance discovery of buried human remains, I was reminded of Rossellini's "Viaggio in Italia" -- and, surprisingly, Richard Brody (in The New Yorker) references Rossellini in his enthusiastic review. The Rossellini film -- though difficult and annoying -- is also mysteriously compelling. While Swanberg's film is far more viewer-congenial (oh alright -- "audience friendly"), a similar spiritual transformation of the characters takes place in both films. But, paradoxically, more satisfyingly in Swanberg's less explicitly and far less portentously "spiritual" film.

The acting -- from the wonderful Jake Johnson to Chris Messina in his tiny role to Judith Light and Sam Elliott as Johnson's in-laws and little Jake Swanberg as an adorable 3-year old (type-casting at its best) -- is superb -- an ensemble equal to the great assemblages Robert Altman used to gather year after year.

It seems Swanberg may have quite a nice future, for which let us be grateful.

(Side note: Interesting "Digging for Fire" is released the same weekend as Peter Bogdanovich's first film in 13 years, "She's Funny That Way" -- each opening in New York on one screen only -- try that one, too -- it's much better than the reviews would have you believe.)

This film is a pleasant surprise from cinema's greatest liar, Edgar G. Ulmer. (His claims for his career in interviews seem now to be regarded as largely preposterous -- many flat out lies, much inflation of his contributions...) But this is a nice, competent little comedy built from crime story elements, and quite enjoyable. Part of the surprise is the far-better-than-just-decent cast: Dick Haymes (ok -- none too great -- in the title role), Nina Foch, excellent as The Girl in The Story; Lionel Stander, as always both lively and believable, and Roland Young, looking sadly worn out. Below the title, there is Oscar Karlweis, a most appealing Viennese actor (and important on Broadway as Jacobowsky in the original production of "Jacobowsky and the Colonel," in the role Danny Kaye played in the film), Jean Casto (her only film role; she originated the role in "Pal Joey" (1940) that made Elaine Stritch a star in the 1952 revival -- which co-starred Lionel Stander!). Uncredited: Dort Clark (of "Bells Are Ringing") and John Lupton (of "Battle Cry"), both in small speaking roles. Lastly, Freddie Bartholomew appears in his final film role -- and, sadly, appears to have completely lost his talent. The role is terrible, and he's awful in it. Smart man to leave the business at this point.

As to the relation of this film to Ulmer's oeuvre -- well, don't make me laugh! But I will say that the absence of Ulmer's musical "genius," that fellow Erdody, is extremely welcome. As always with Ulmer, there is too much score, but this one is not as insufferable as the ones Erdody cranked out.

A sweet, entertaining film.

Very gratifying to see that this very well-made film has gotten such excellent reviews on this site. Preminger himself, when interviewed, rarely tried to make a case for his films that were considered minor or unimportant, nor did he encourage looking back. Consequently, if foolishly, critics have tended to dismiss such films, and especially the few he made before "Laura." What a delight, then, to find that "Danger, Love at Work" is an especially effervescent and sophisticated screwball comedy. And it is a very legitimate example, based on the essential "crazy family" format. It completely ignores the social consciousness aspect of the classic screwball ("You Can't Take It With You" and "My Man Godfrey" are otherwise close relatives), and benefits perhaps from this narrow focus on plot and character. And what characters! Mary Boland, who can sometimes annoy, fits in here very nicely as Ann Sothern's mother; diminutive Etienne Girardot -- a fascinating and lively little actor (his nervous performance here, as in "Twentieth Century" is priceless) as her father (and has a charming counterpart -- equally diminutive -- in "Uncle Goliath," a "back-to-nature" type); brother John Carradine (as a "post-Surrealist" painter); Walter Catlett as a philatelist uncle -- all delightful. Miss Sothern herself is every bit as charming as Carole Lombard (and has a rather less annoying role than Lombard's) in "Godfrey," and, besides, has a lovely vocal duet with Jack Haley on the title song. She really can sing! And here we have Haley two years before "The Wizard of Oz" -- nicely done, though no Cary Grant of course. Edward Everett Horton is, as always, superb, though his straight-man adversarial role here doesn't point up his own best strengths. Even Benny Bartlett as an 11-year-old Princeton graduate, scores nicely. As is typical of Preminger, there is not a single bad performance ("My Man Godfrey," on the other hand, has its Gail Patrick - - ghastly). (In bit parts, we even have Franklin Pangborn and Elisha Cook, Jr.) So here we have, in this man's opinion, a screwball comedy truly worthy of entering The Canon (if such there be).

Hard to believe that Lindsay Anderson will have been gone 20 years in August of this year. I was unaware of the existence of this brief Valentine to life, movies, theater and actresses Jill Bennett and Rachel Roberts -- but thank you youtube! Very sweet film, initially following Lindsay (one becomes very familiar with him in this sequence) through his morning: waking up, listening to the BBC news, looking at the telly, sparring with his nephew, receiving visitors from his world of theater and film (David Sherwin sequence especially nice, and a pleasure to see Alan Price and hear him sing and play). A pleasant way to spend an hour, this last Anderson film (following on the wonderful "Whales of August").

Unfortunately, the film-going public was seeing the great Tallulah on screen for the first time with this charming comedy-drama -- and didn't take to her. Had they known what was to come ("The Cheat," "My Sin," "The Devil and the Deep") they would have realized that this was as good as it was going to get. And it's not bad at all. More significantly, Tallulah herself is MUCH better in this than in either "The Cheat" or "Devil," in both of which she looks most ill-suited to her profession, with bad posture and overdone expression. Here, though, she has great charm and, at times, intensity that seems quite genuine. George Cukor was responsible for this one, and his talent for film direction is immediately evident in this, his first solo flight after three assignments as co-director. An added attraction for me (though many are allergic to him) is Clive Brook, best known as Dietrich's "Shanghai Express" co-star. As in that film, Brook is extremely reserved, but, to my eye, quite appealingly so. A very likable film.

"Zaza" is one of the most rarely shown of Cukor's films. Fortunately, the Film Society of Lincoln Center has managed a truly complete retrospective (December 2013), with two showings of "Zaza." Like the Leoncavallo opera also based on the same play (and no doubt the play itself) the fact that the play ends tragically is belied by an almost manically cheerful first hour. Claudette Colbert is a luminous presence, and her sparkling costumes support her luminosity with sparkles and spangles. She seems rather too much! Bert Lahr, not in his usual element, proves himself capable of restraint and suggests the great actor who was to have his ultimate breakthrough into the thespian pantheon in the '50s with his performance in the Broadway production of "Waiting for Godot." Excellent support from Constance Collier, Helen Westley, Genevieve Tobin, and Ernest Cossart. Not entirely satisfying, but why "Zaza" is so little-seen is still a mystery. There are worse films in the Cukor canon ("Keeper of the Flame," "Let's Make Love"), more often seen.

Saw this tonight at what may have been the world premiere showing at the Tribeca Film Festival in New York (Friday, April 19, 2013). At the Q&A with the filmmaker afterward, a young woman got up and said that she was a great aficionado of the documentary film, and that this was, she thought, maybe the best documentary ever made. For Stritch's fans -- who were out in force tonight -- it was certainly a love fest. One thought that there could be little more to reveal about this lovable, irascible personality after her great one woman show, "At Liberty" and the HBO documentary on the "making of" that show and its TV edition. But Stritch is, it seems, a person of unlimited depth: peel back the layers of the onion, there's always more, and it's always even more interesting. For those of us who know and love her -- well, at least for me -- the film is a wonderful send-off (Stritch is retiring and moving to Michigan -- or so she threatens) to a woman who has been part of the definition of classy New York for more than half a century. Great love for her is shown throughout the film in interviews with the likes of Alec Baldwin, Tina Fey, Nathan Lane, and, most touchingly, her accompanist (and devoted friend) of the last 13 glorious years of a stupendous career, Rob Bowman -- who himself must be some kind of a saint. If you're already a Stritch fan, you will be deeply moved. If you haven't met her yet, you will be fascinated. If you are among the rare, sad folk who can't stand her, maybe this will change your mind. Side note: Stritch was present at the screening, and after being introduced to a cheering crowd, was asked what she had to say and -- surprise -- "Yes. Where's the bathroom? In 50 years I've never had to ask that, but I need to know NOW." She was escorted out (to general amusement) and the filmmaker and Rob Bowman answered a few questions (Bowman saying how much of a privilege and a joy it has been to work with her). When Elaine returned, she made a brief but very touching statement to the audience, telling us how wonderful we'd been, that we'd laughed and applauded, but not JUST laughed and applauded. She was asked how she liked the film, and she recalled that she had told the filmmaker "I like the film. It's very good. But I wouldn't want to be in it!" A paradox, like the lady herself: tough as nails, yet without a bit of useless armor. One of the great class acts of all time.

Having seen "La Habanera" a few years ago, I had relegated it in my mind to the second ranks of Sirk pictures. But a re-viewing tonight was a surprise. The melodrama plot is, perhaps, just a touch too sketchy, but the handling of it is magnificent. This is a film of extremely subtle montage, aided by a flawless sense of framing, angle and composition. Sirk's visual imagination is seemingly inexhaustible, and he is aided by first-rate art direction. It should be no surprise, really, that his last film in Germany should be a masterpiece. One is prepared for it, certainly, after seeing the wonderful "Hofkonzert," a delicious rococo bon bon, or the excellent melodrama "Zu neuen Ufern." But in "La Habanera" the easy flow of genre to genre (adventure film to comedy of the Hawksian type -- some very fine work from Boris Alekin as Dr. Gomez -- to musical to melodrama) makes for something very special. A near-contemporary comparison is Stahl's "Letter of Introduction" - - which similarly moves effortlessly from genre to genre without disconcerting its audience. No mean feat!

I note the many laudatory reviews here and the general tone of those on amazon is similar. I'm sorry, but don't make me laugh! This is a stinker from the word go, that is unless you want to overlook the two most basic elements of film story-telling, to wit: (1) a coherent and preferably imaginatively dialogued script and (2) competent acting. As a follow-up to the brilliant "Lola" and the virtually undisputed masterpiece "The Umbrellas of Cherbourg" -- in the sense that all three films have characters in common -- this is shocking. I think perhaps it will suffice to say that Jacques Demy (who is not only director but co-writer) was not quite comfortable with the English language at the time he made this, his only American film. The same can obviously said of Anouk Aimee, giving a perfectly ludicrous performance (the "model shop" scene, especially, where she gets into supposedly alluring poses for her client's camera must be seen to be believed). Alexandra Hay, however, has no such excuse. She is simply dreadful. As George Cukor unflinchingly said of co-star Aimee, "The lady simply can't act." But I have given this film two stars, and there are two reasons. One: co-star Gary Lockwood (really the top star, though second billed; there is not a frame of the film in which he does not appear), though not a very skilled actor, tries his best, and watching his stuff flop around in his tight jeans (no underwear, as is made clear when he puts his pants on in the first scene) is at least something to concentrate on. He also has a very, very cute butt and looks damn good with his shirt off as well (two scenes). If that is enough for you, then you may enjoy this film. The other reason is that an excellent late 60's rock band, Spirit, not only wrote the soundtrack (supplemented by a number of Classical selections), but appear in the film in one brief scene. They can't act, either, but it's a nice documentary moment, catching them just as they were making their mark. It's rather endearing. My final complaint: Sony's insulting packaging -- super ugly, too.

As a great admirer of Marlene Dietrich, I had to (finally) watch this very, very dull picture. It is Miss Dietrich's first color film, and the world's most beautiful blond is a redhead! Bad start. The story is a tremendous bore, involving a subject which itself bores bores me stiff: religious guilt. (Who needs it???) Suffice it to say, perhaps, that of all Dietrich's films (and I have seen most, including "Pittsburgh") this is the only one where even her performance is barely worth watching. The color photography is OK (this is a very early Technicolor release), but to no purpose. Ridiculous casting: C. Aubrey Smith, Basil Rathbone (enough said?). The only thing of any interest at all is John Carradine's outlandish caricature of a performance as "The Sand Diviner," who foretells all that will happen. The supposed "happy ending" is one of the most depressing ever conceived. Yet another example of David O. Selznick's highly inflated reputation (did he ever make a really good film? -- other than That One?) And, for one final annoyance, the soundtrack of the MGM DVD is a mess, with volume levels seemingly randomized. Highly unrecommended.

In this, only his second film, Mann is working with a slight, but naively amusing and very well-constructed script, made almost purely out of nearly abstract conflict. A baseball player (Allan Jones) also happens to sing well -- but only when he has a cold! Having been suspended from his team (the "Blue Sox"!) he is offered a job singing when a show packager (the always excellent William Frawley) chances to hear him sing in a restaurant over the kitchen loudspeaker. Reluctant to take the job (and not managing to warn Frawley that his voice is only good when he has a cold), when he learns that the gig is in Havana he jumps at the chance: it's a free trip to his team's spring training. While there is no real interest in the story, there is constant conflict, which, between the many mediocre but pretty musical numbers keeps things moving at a furious pace, much helped by a relentlessly elliptical narrative strategy. So, though he has little to work with in the way of budget, talent (Jane Frazee, a kind of wartime Tovah Feldshuh, is not much) or distinguished writing (the songs are unfailingly forgettable save for the Kurt Weill-flavored title song), Mann manages to make a rambunctious and lively entertainment. Among the film's incidental pleasures are a teenage tap sextet (this was wartime, so much of the talent was either 4F or below draft age), a comic dance duo of shocking violence (she repeatedly bops his head with her elbow, accompanied by an excruciating "crack" on the soundtrack), and two brief appearances by Jack Norton, playing (marvelously as always) the same drunk he played over and over for Preston Sturges. Norton's on screen partner, however, a supposed "comic," is totally lacking in anything resembling humor. He's the one real minus of this film -- unless you are allergic to Allan Jones, which I thought I was. But he plays this with an easy charm that is most ingratiating. Too bad Warner Archives did not release this very amusing film rather than the very dull "The Bamboo Blonde." But that's how it seems to go...

With only two comments on IMDb (and only one external review) I feel duty bound to chime in with a third to say that this is one of the perpetually delightful gems of cinema. A unique film: playful, fascinating, extravagant, hilarious, touching. Guitry is written off time and again as a mere purveyor of filmed theater, and it's true that he made many films -- about half of his output -- from stage plays, often long after their original stage productions. But once he got the cinema bug (he resisted for a very long time, only starting make films in middle age) he found that he was given a wonderful new toy, and continued to play with it for the rest of his days. The enormous cast, the huge number of extravagant sets, the lavish costumes, and the vivacious imagination with which all these are employed make of this charming film something to be treasured. I've seen it now four times -- I try to save it for moments when I really want something wonderful to savor. And let me not forget the beautiful and equally lavish musical score of Jean Francaix. The DVD is quite good, but you will of course have to have a region-free player -- and if you don't, why not? Available at this time only as one of the eight discs in a magnificent box set (with many extras) from Gaumont France, "Sacha Guitry: L'age d'or 1936-1938." It's well worth the price.

The legendary Edgar G. Ulmer has much to answer for -- certainly his willingness to make pictures on a shoestring resulted in some bloody awful pictures -- but he nevertheless has a talent that shines through even in some of his flimsiest pictures. On the other hand, even with fairly strong material (as here) the unevenness is always evident. Among Roman/Biblical epics, though, this, for all its messiness and its generally miserable acting, is not one of the dullest. (For me those are the almost-impossible-to-sit-through "El Cid" and "The Fall of the Roman Empire," pictures with much higher budgets and fancier casts, and made by a far superior director, Anthony Mann. But they are truly tedious.) Why? First of all, the story of Hannibal's campaigns is genuinely interesting from military and historical standpoints, and Ulmer brought them to life in a number of really superb battle scenes, beautifully edited. (Yes, yes, there are obviously cheap things -- the fake blood is terrible and the mix of studio and outdoor scenes is very poorly matched, but the effect of these scenes is generally excellent.) The novelty of seeing elephants climbing over the Alps, too, is refreshing. On the other hand, much of the acting, and, especially, the dubbing and sound mixing, is frankly at an amateur level. Rarely, in fact, have I heard such a poor soundtrack, with characters voice levels not matching camera distance, ludicrous crowd ad libs, etc. The score, too, though rather stirring, frequently seems wildly inappropriate (a common problem in Ulmer films, which is ironic, since Ulmer considered himself something of a musician). So it's interesting to see, to put it bluntly, how working in the lower depths corrupted a basically talented director into accepting standards way below par, even on what was, apparently, a film with a more or less "normal" budget. Kudos, though, to Victor Mature, that oft-misused and underrated actor ("My Darling Clementine" and Anthony Mann's "The Last Frontier" give strong evidence of actual talent). He makes a strong, sober Hannibal, not without a sense of humor. "Hannibal" is, despite fully justifiable criticism, a pretty entertaining picture. We've all sat through much worse.

In "Désiré," Guitry gives himself a quite out-of-the-ordinary vehicle. Frankly, I had become rather tired of his usual pater familias-type character, and it is refreshing to see him in the role of a servant -- a wise, extremely sophisticated valet de chambre, but a servant nonetheless. Oddly, this film somewhat calls to mind Genet's "The Maids," in plot and even, strangely enough, a bit in tone (though it's very funny, funnier even than the usual Guitry comedy). Altogether a very unusual Guitry! Jacqueline Delubac is her usual charming self, Pauline Carton (the French Thelma Ritter, one could say) is as always excellent, and Arletty is seen in her only principal role in a Guitry film (though she is also seen in cameos -- one very wild! -- in two other Guitrys). Also excellent in a small but difficult role is Saturnin Fabre. One is hardly conscious that this is "filmed theater." Yes, there is a lot of talk, but the film-making is swift, sophisticated and inventive. Very enjoyable.

Seen at Museum of Broadcasting (10/10/09) in New York. Probably a very routine item for the period. Ordinary camera work, sets, writing. Its primary points of interest are (1) Steve Allen's standard song, "This Could Be the Start of Something," (2) Carol Haney choreography, particularly the excellent ballet which she dances with Peter Gennaro and another Broadway dancer (whose name escapes me at the moment) -- very Fosse influenced, and, for a three-person ballet, pretty spectacular, (3) a rare appearance in a musical by Jayne Mansfield (who has a very demeaning role and doesn't sing very well, and (4) a dynamic performance by Julie Wilson, who looks, and especially sounds, great. Renzo Cesano (billed as "Renzo Cesano The Continental") does a very decent Walter Chiari type burlesque Italian. Strangely, though music and lyrics are credited to Steve Allen, there is an additional m&l credit to Ervin Drake, designating specifically his three-song contribution. And they are three of the worst songs I've ever heard (though I'm not a Drake basher: I think much of his long-maligned score for "What Makes Sammy Run?" is pretty attractive). All in all, pretty much a trial to sit through. Fortunately, it was followed by the Tab Hunter special, "Hans Brinker," which was another kettle of fish altogether (see my comment).

I had the pleasure of seeing this in what was touted as its first showing in 51 years (hard to prove that) at the Museum of Broadcasting in New York today (10 October 2009). The credits are impressive -- no expense was spared, evidently, in hiring top professionals from the theater and movies: the "Meet Me in St. Louis" team of Hugh Martin and Sally Benson as writers, conductor Franz ("My Fair Lady") Allers, orchestrator Irwin Kostal (between gigs on "West Side Story" and "Fiorello!"), choreographer John Butler, and director Sidney Lumet. Seeing it the same day as a near-contemporary TV musical effort, "The Bachelor," it was clear that the level of imagination and skill on this project was something quite special. Instead of flat-on "TV" type camera work, "Hans Brinker" camera is elaborately choreographed, including dolly and crane shots, making the most of some pretty spectacular ice choreography. Tab Hunter, as always, is a pleasure to look at (has anyone ever had a more perfect set of features?) and, despite his still-lingering critical reputation, proves himself here (as elsewhere, in "Battle Cry," for example) quite an ardent and affecting actor, not to mention a better than decent singer and -- biggest surprise, perhaps -- an excellent ice skater. Peggy King sings her numbers beautifully, Carmen Mathews (veteran of many a Broadway flop) is a convincing and lively grandmother, and Jarmila Novotna sings like an angel her little lullaby "Trinka Brinker" -- which, I know, sounds hokey, but is one of Martin's classically beautiful, highly chromatic melodies. Of course the only relic of the visual production is a kinescope (interspersed with charmingly dated Hallmark Valentine's Day card ads) -- in black and white. (Apparently kinescopes were made solely for copyright purposes, since no one seems to have ever considered that making color films of color shows might be worth the trouble for future viewers. It was expected there wouldn't be any -- and of course that's very nearly true.) This is worth seeking out. It would be nice to have it on DVD, but of course I'm dreaming. (A cast album was released -- it's pretty rare now, and has never been released on CD, to my knowledge -- by Dot Records, then heart-throb singing star Hunter's label.)

This will be barely a stub, but I've just seen this film at the NY Film Festival, and found myself quite startled by its powerful effect on my mind and emotions. Dumont is a bit of an enigma in that his stories deal with events and issues that seem to be inflammatory (child rape in "L'Humanite", Islamic fundamentalist terror in this film) and yet manages to cloak these issues in such enigmatic human behavior that one's own opinions (or prejudices) are put aside, at least while viewing and thinking about the films. In "L'Humanite," for instance, the identity of the rapist/murderer is completely obscured. One character (who seems very possibly a likely suspect) confesses to the crime, at which point the inspector (the film's leading character and a very odd bird he is) leaves the room -- and in the final image it is he, not the man who confessed, who is seen in handcuffs. Very startling indeed! And it has confused me for a long time. But watching "Hadewijch" tonight, it occurred to me that this ending is meant to convey that both characters are responsible: Joseph (the confessed rapist) may have committed the crime (or was it really Pharaon -- the inspector -- and Joseph has confessed out of love for him? -- they have a very intimate almost sexual moment after the confession) but Pharaon assumes, as Joseph's friend, the responsibility. In reading Dumont's published script, it is clear that he intends Joseph to be the guilty party -- but of course that is just a script -- "L'Humanite" is a film. Similarly, in "Hadewijch" we get close enough to all the characters to feel that their obsessions come out of their basic human needs (however distorted) and thus we are slow to judge them. Dumont revealed, when asked at a post-showing discussion, that he does not believe in God, but that he does believe in man's spiritual life, that the spiritual is found IN life. Somehow, I found this very much in tune with my own perception of his intentions. It is a very beautiful, humanistic cinema that Dumont is creating, but I wonder how many viewers feel comfortable with this level of ambiguity (including, perhaps, me!).

This is a very difficult film to write about, and I have hesitated to do so for some time. But I've now seen it for the fifth (maybe sixth) time, and feel obliged to sing its praises, for it has entertained, even fascinated me each time. It seems, on first viewing, to be a Western like many others: neither the main theme (the beginning of the range wars, brought on by the enclosure of grazing land) nor the main characters (a compendium of Western types), nor the romantic conflict or the younger man mentoring the older man theme are unique. But the interweaving of these themes with the deeply conflicted title character is so seamless and subtle that each one seems to reflect light on the others in a very satisfying way. What is most evident on first viewing is the extreme physical vitality of the playing. Kirk Douglas, for my money, has never been more appealing -- not, in fact, the first word that comes to mind with this very intense actor -- and intense he is here, but also richly comic. In fact, with his intensity, the comedy is often almost nearly that of a burlesque comic (NOT an insult, in my book! -- think of Bert Lahr or Phil Silvers, for two of the best examples). His reaction, for example, on seeing young cowpoke William Campbell "duded up" for the first time, or his dipping his comb in a goldfish bowl to dude up for Jeanne Crain. Nor is Douglas the only wildly vital player. Claire Trevor (in a rather small role, though third billed above the title) is magnificently stagy and yet thoroughly inhabiting her role as a good-hearted madam; Jay C. Flippen really excellent as a ranch foreman, particularly good in a deadpan scene with Douglas, eating dinner while outside, unseen, Campbell and Sheb Wooley are kicking the bejesus out of one another; and, most importantly, Campbell himself (first-featured, but in what is close to a co-starring role with Douglas), very believably callow and quite endearing. On later viewings, what is most remarkable is the fluidity of the characterization of Dempsey (Douglas), who is strongly opposed to barbed wire (i.e. the enclosing of the common herding land), but, faced with Crain's ruthless grabbing of the land (with 30,000 head!) realizes that there is no other way to stop this robber baron. In the end, he has been helpful enough to the small ranchers that they offer him his own herd, and land on which to graze it. His reaction to this is poignant and true to himself: "I just don't like barbed wire." And off he goes, further north, from Wyoming, maybe, who knows?, as far as Canada. For a long time, I was not convinced by Jeanne Crain as, essentially, the film's villain. She is lovely in nice girl roles ("A Letter to Three Wives," "Centennial Summer," "Leave Her to Heaven," being three of her most charming parts), but in this she is meant to be hard and cold -- a real stretch for her. But Vidor has her play the part in a very stylized way, and ultimately I find that her stiff slinkiness is just about right for this part: she is meant to be the embodiment not of evil but, less judgmentally, of someone in mortal conflict with the welfare of the world and society that surrounds her. Interestingly, once Douglas has realized what she is (after she has bedded him simply to get what she wants), she disappears completely from the film. She doesn't even get killed -- she's just gone. A terribly interesting film, and one that bears easily many viewings. I'm glad to read that TMC is showing it with some frequency. I saw it first in Paris (several times during a short revival run) and have been lucky enough to acquire the French DVD. It's very curious that Universal has not seen fit to release this in the U.S. Certainly it's one of their best pictures, and Douglas is certainly a big enough star. But apparently no executive there has developed the necessary enthusiasm to get it released. Too bad. Once again, Europe is ahead of the U.S. in appreciation of our own cultural heritage. May I also put in a vote for another great Vidor picture, "Beyond the Forest," the Bette Davis picture that ended her years at Warner's. Oddly enough, Vidor in interviews has little respect for either of these pictures, but I find him at his very best in these "little" pictures (others being "Stella Dallas" and "The Champ"), where his "big themes" come to the fore from a distance, rather than being foregrounded (as in "The Fountainhead" or "Ruby Gentry").

I am really a great fan of the stage musical "Bye Bye Birdie," having seen it in high school, loved the album, the fantastic orchestrations, the very up-to-the-minute sets, the Gower Champion direction, Chita Rivera, the wonderful "Happy Face" number -- etc. And I remember so well my disappointment on seeing the film musical when it came out (OK, I'm dating myself). George Sidney has ruined more great musicals than anyone in movie history: "Annie Get Your Gun," "Kiss Me, Kate," "Pal Joey" among them -- that is quite a list. "Birdie" may have been a minor hit by comparison (though it was a very solid hit), but it got treatment no less infuriating. What's most annoying is the incredibly clumsy re-working of the story (the opening dialogue scenes are not only boring but also incomprehensible). I just re-viewed it for the first time since 1963, and my reaction was horror. Why???? Why the dreadful (may he rest in peace) Jesse Pearson (from the road company), when Dick Gautier (from the Broadway cast) was no doubt available -- and a year younger? Why move "Happy Face" from the first act to near the end of the movie? Why hire Onna White to do the choreography? Why turn a swell group celebration number like "A Lot of Livin' to Do" into a conflict number??? Why cut "Baby, Talk to Me," the show's best ballad? Why direct one of our better actresses, Maureen Stapleton, to gave a completely ridiculous (NOT funny) performance)? Ann-Margaret, of course, as everyone seems to agree, has a lot of appeal, and Paul Lynde's performance (from the Broadway cast) still has a lot of luster. But Dick Van Dyke's role has been completely emasculated and Janet Leigh, good an actress as she is, is rather a poor substitute for spitfire Chita Rivera (why didn't they -- at least -- give this one to Rita Moreno??) It's just sad, sad, sad. Well, at least I don't have to watch it again. Ever.

"Holy Matrimony" existed for me only as legend for the longest time. My father's friend Bill Gitt (renowned projectionist and elder brother of film preservationist Bob) was a great fan of this and often spoke of it, though I can't recall ever seeing it as a young lad. But I searched long and hard and finally tracked down a DVD of it (not a bad print at all), and it is truly enchanting. Marvelous, marvelous performance by Monty Woolley, in a very understated mood -- those who know him only from "The Man Who Came to Dinner" will, I think, be quite pleasantly surprised by his work here and, from Gracie Fields, a miraculous one. The first time I watched it I thought, well, she doesn't do much. But then I wanted to see it again almost immediately. And it's true, she doesn't do much, but the little things she does are simply exquisite. A great, really subtle performance, not at all played for laughs, but funny all the same. Her delivery of the simple line, "That's it," is a lesson in charming simplicity. John M. Stahl, that strange, almost mythical director, has a marvelous effect on actors (see, for example, Adolphe Menjou in "Letter of Introduction," where he really plays sincerity... well, sincerely): without fancy photography, he seems able to give them an almost mystical radiance. And he has an amazing cast of character actors to work with here: Eric Blore, Una O'Connor, Alan Mowbray, George Zucco, Laird Cregar, Melville Cooper, Ethel Griffies. A superb Nunnally Johnson script (his best?) and an excellent score (Cyril Mockridge) -- typical of Fox films of the 40s and early 50s. A film worth seeking out, one you will want to watch time and again.

One of the more watchable filmed operas -- even if one is not terribly fond of the opera. Of course it's not a "gustatory" work (in Brecht's terms) -- meant not for enjoyment but edification. This fits well with the Straub-Huillet aesthetic -- their films are, if nothing else, difficult, so it's a good match between text and director(s). I am somehow (perhaps it is pure snobbishness!) fond of their work. Certainly the earlier short films, "Not Reconciled" and "Machorka Muff" affected me deeply when I saw them in the early 70s. (Their cut-up narratives are appealing to the puzzle-solver in me; their strong ethical stances to the priest in me.) And while the austerity of the Moses/Aron/People scenes is very stark, there is also plenty of vitality in the Golden Calf/orgy scenes. The sacrifice of the virgins, in fact, made me think of Pasolini: visually beautiful yet morally chilling.

Even Rossellini's principal apologist, Tag Gallagher, doesn't make great claims for this film, characterizing it as a talkfest featuring a rather sullen main character. True enough, I suppose. It is also, however, about a subject that could be of particular interest today: how to rule without losing one's conscience and ideals. The scene is post World War II Italy, the country in shambles and political parties unable to form a workable coalition. The film follows the struggle of the Christian Democrats to rule, constantly menaced by, above all, the Communists, who make democratic rule difficult. Christian Democrat leader De Gasperi is the protagonist, and, while he does appear glum (not unlike Rossellini's "Blaise Pascal") he is also superbly eloquent and when he talks (which is a great deal of the time) it is worth listening. As to the specifically filmic side of things: Rossellini's famous long takes (aided strongly by his superb dolly and zoom lens techniques) are much in evidence. The art direction is (apparently) flawless: one doesn't doubt for a moment that one is in postwar Italy. The greater achievement in that the film dates from 1974, when everything on American screens (from The Great Gatsby to The Way We Were) looked like 1974! Consequently, this film has not dated at all. Nor, of course, has it been much seen. (I am shocked that this is the third Rossellini film for which I am the first IMDb reviewer.) It is available (very cheaply) in a Region 2 two-sided DVD in a beautiful print. (The other side is a rather awful print of "11 Fioretti di San Francesco".) French subtitles only (and there are a million of them). If you read French (or speak Italian -- Italian s.t. only) and have a Region 2 player, this is well worth a look.

Possibly the most beautiful of Rossellini's "history" films, now available on DVD, and most welcome. The subject matter might seem more likely for Bresson -- the religious and intellectual trials of a 17th century Jansenist -- and indeed this film feels quite Bressonian. With the enormous and unexpected success of "La prise de pouvoir par Louis XIV," Rossellini seems to have discovered a way to make historical films that are at once sober and informative yet at the same time intriguing as dramas of internal conflict and growth. "Blaise Pascal" is probably his most austere film (though visually sumptuous), its external conflict consisting of little more than the vain efforts of Pascal's family to keep him from overwork. And yet one becomes deeply involved in Pascal's conflicts. I saw this wonderful picture shortly after it came out (at the MOMA in New York) and it made a profound impression. I am happy to say that my evergreen memory was not in the least tarnished by a re-viewing.

I didn't expect much of this -- I was wrong. Wellman rates pretty low on the Andrew Sarris "auteur" scale, and, frankly, most of his movies are pretty dull fare (ever watch "Blood Alley" or, despite its reputation, "Nothing Sacred"?). But this is a first-rate war film, as gripping as Walsh's "Battle Cry" or "Objective: Burma," or Dwan's "Sands of Iwo Jima." The cast could not be bettered, with outstanding work from Van Johnson, James Whitmore, John Hodiak, Marshall Thompson, Jerome Courtland, Ricardo Montalban, Douglas Fowley. It doesn't have the breadth of the three above-mentioned films -- there are no away-from-the-battlefield scenes that give the characters more dimension -- some might say "dilute the intensity" -- but "Battleground" is very intense and involving. Astonishing that it was made entirely on an MGM sound stage.

(Written after my second viewing of this picture: first viewing, Museum of Modern Art, NYC, some years ago; today's viewing at Film Forum, NYC) I went to see this film today with some excitement, but also some trepidation. It had made an impact on first viewing, but, apart from memories jogged by stills seen in the interim, little had stuck with me -- perhaps just a vague recollection of a balls-out James Mason performance. (In that I was not disappointed.) This film has long been a keystone in Nicholas Ray's reputation, being viewed as a bold tale told with the full resources of Technicolor and CinemaScope. Well, it's in Technicolor (actually DeLuxe Color) and Cinemascope. But it's not much of a tale, and it's not told very well. Ray's cinema, it's true, has some impressive moments, often in color and 'scope. Certainly "Johnny Guitar" is a near-masterpiece, "Rebel" is filled with great things (and some very obvious Freudian mumbo-jumbo), "Party Girl" (my favorite Ray)'s unsuppressed violence spills over into its visual world with a fabulous abandon, "King of Kings" is by far the best of the (generally miserable) late 50's/early 60's epics, and, in black and white, "In a Lonely Place" is a complex, beautiful film. But Ray has serious weaknesses as well, and they are abundantly clear in "Bigger Than Life." As a piece of story-telling, first of all, it is clumsy, and, surprisingly, in its first 45 minutes, even stodgy (even though the script is reputed to have been "entirely reworked" by Ray and Gavin Lambert). And very stodgily staged (the scenes with the three doctors are fairly excruciating), like some of Sirk's drearier moments. There is a real lack of feeling for how people actually move and speak. It's true that, once Mason is in high-gear on cortisone, the temperature of the film rises considerably, but the reactions to him are scripted in unbelievable fashion. One finds oneself feeling superior to the characters in a way that can't have been intended: they are acting stupidly when we are supposed to believe they are doing the best they can (or at least normally). Barbara Rush (as Mason's wife) looks very pretty, but has no life of her own. Obviously this female submission is intended as a 'critique of contemporary mores', but the film has not created a world of its own wide enough to sustain such a wide-ranging critique. All in all (I really can't bear to go on) this feels like a "social problem" film gone wildly astray. Ray was clearly (and, let me add, commendably) interested in and committed to worthy (liberal) causes, but neglected his obviously real gifts as a film artist. (Whether he had great gifts as a film storyteller is another matter, perhaps.) But I think to compare him to Otto Preminger, among others, and find Preminger wanting is the height of folly. Sure, Preminger made some bad pictures, but almost all of them are in the post-1966 post-studio period, when NOBODY seemed to be able to make a good picture. Ray had made his last film by then, having made a mess of "55 Days at Peking" (which turned out fairly well anyway, though finished by others) and become unhirable (drug and alcohol abuse being the culprits). It's sad, but it's time to look at the pictures themselves. "Bigger Than Life," "Wind Across the Everglades" (disastrous in almost every respect), "Hot Blood" (weak, though enjoyable) are not great pictures, despite their "Nick Ray" branding. And that thing that Win Wenders made is hard to forgive...

Incidental notes: Gus Schilling, who had played the druggist in "The Magnificent Ambersons" some fifteen years previously, plays a similar role here. And the milkman here is the same actor (Richard Collier) as the milkman in "The Girl Can't Help It" and a dead ringer for the milkman in "Imitation of Life" (David Tomack)!