(note: this is a ye olde review from 1 year ago that I forgot to post)
Mood whiplash double feature. First, a fluffy silent comedy about marital difficulties, followed by a piece of ozploitation.
Why Change Your Wife
Gloria Swanson (the wife), Thomas Meighan (the husband) and Bebe Daniels (the gold-digger who steals said husband) were utterly charming. So was the movie for that matter, what with all those silly fashions of 1920: patterned stocking and knee-length swimsuits and wrap around strapless negligees with fur trimmings.
It's similar in plot to director Cecil B. DeMille's previous Don't Change Your Husband (1919), another comedy of remarriage, and has the same basic outline, but gender flipped: married protagonist is unhappy with spouse, leaves spouse for another, seemingly more "romantic" alternative, turns out spouse #2 sucks, so protagonist returns to spouse #1, who in the meantime has loosened and glammed up, and they remarry happily.
In this one, the wife transforms from prim prude to saucy minx. The movie itself is a bit condescending towards women, not surprising considering the time period. Meighan is consistently presented as being a square guy practically pushed into the arms of Daniels by uptight Swanson's killjoying ways. But because this is a comedy, one overheard piece of gossip is enough for the newly divorced Swanson to completely overthrow her puritan ways and put on the plums.
But I couldn't dislike this movie. The plot itself is so simplified, the mood so lighthearted, and the sets and costumes so lovely, that I found it immensely enjoyable. DeMille movies, especially his silents, can have wonderful bits of understated humor - not much of the banana slipping variety (though we do get a banana peel here played for comedy and tragedy), but more humor created out of the facial expressions as they eye roll, smell perfume, and get put in inconvenient or awkward. A comedy of the senses, where everything works out and sorts out, with even the gold digger getting a new man.
Mad Dog Morgan
A lot of fake beards in this movie. Enough to make ZZ Top jealous.
Can't say that I'm in the proper position to make any sort of judgement, as the copy I saw was an obviously censored and scratched up pan-and-scan. Dennis Hooper was quite a.....presence, what with his 3 fake beards and Irish brogue. The film is disjointed, consisting of barely tied together ultra short vignettes. Morgan is humanized compared to the mean and sadistic trackers, though I guess it's to the filmmaker's credit that they don't glam him up too much, showing him to be a crook way over his head but too bullish to back down. (I wonder if anyone has done a comparison between American, English, and Australian outlaws of the 18th-19th century, and how they are portrayed, culturally and historically, in their respective countries.)
I'm undecided wether Mad Dog Morgan's frequent use of jump cuts made it avant-garde, or if was just sloppily put together. The result felt simultaneously sleazy and pretentious, but either way I ended up rather bored.
Wednesday, March 16, 2016
Monday, March 14, 2016
Riot in Cell Block 11 (1954)
Prison movies lend themselves really well to black and white cinematography. It must be all the concrete walls, metal bars, drab uniforms and bleak situations.
This one's filmed in the very real Flosom State Prison, and directed by one of my favs, Don Siegal. How can you lose with the same guy who did Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956) and his other on-location prison film, Escape from Alcatraz (1979)?
No big stars here; the only recognizable name to me was character actor and figure of authority extraordinaire Whit Bissell (seems like he was in every other TV show or movie from the 50s or 60s).
The rest of the actors were compelling, and not a single matinee idol among 'em, which added to the realism. We don't really have a protagonist, more like major players: the warden and three inmates, who run the gamut from good, bad, and sorta in between.
The leader of the riot (Neville Brand) is the latter. He's curio-leading character for the studio-era, because despite organizing the uprising to draw attention to the disciple conditions in prison, it's explicitly stated that he's homicidal and needs psychiatric treatment. As head honcho he does some pretty rotten things to get the governor to give in to the prisoners demands for improved living conditions. The worst is saved for the climax, when he places ties captured guards and a protesting prisoner right in front of a wall due to be detonated by the unknowing and desperate state police.
The unfortunate prisoner who just narrowly misses getting killed (Robert Osterloh) is the "good" con. You always have to include at least one of them in a prison film: the straight guy who once went wrong, but is otherwise upstanding. He's the voice of reason, and is ultimately rewarded for his morals (and not being a 3 time loser) by getting paroled. It helps that he isn't an instigator of the riot, but later assists his fellow inmates not through violence, but through words, drafting their demands in acceptable language.
On the opposite end of the morality spectrum is the Big Bad prisoner (Leo Gordon), a rotter who's most excited about killing the guards held hostage. He's there to make the other two guys look good in comparison.
And what does it say about ye olde Hollywood cinema that this, a prison movie, contains the most integrated cast I've yet seen from a 1950s movie? And does a good job not specifically antagonizing either the guards, the warden or the inmates?
However, it is one of those 1950s message movies. Speechy and preachy, but at least it has the decency of being exciting, intercutting assorted monologues about prison reform with more rioting or other acts of violence. Doesn't hurt that prison reform is still a pressing issue, and the prisoners demands (overcrowding, job training, abuse, etc.) are still relevant.
No women were seen until the last five minutes, and those were the guards wives; before that all we heard were their voices. Their primary purpose is to be worried about their husbands.
The ending is refreshing, neither nihilist (Brute Force), or overly happy in an "everything is gonna be alright" sort of way.The riot doesn't lead to direct or major changes in the system, but it does draw attention to the issue through media. If there's any hissable villain, it's those sons-of-bitches that won't cough up the money for prison reform.
Surprisingly Mature might be my take on the material, what with its onscreen toilets, awareness of the power of journalistic representation, and it's insistence on being an expose. Also surprising is the movie's reference (very very implied) to prison rape (though considering how only one inmate is singled out as a perpetrator, and this being the 50s, it could just be referring to the threat of the "predatory gay" to prim, proper, and paranoid 50s morals).
Other good stuff:
Nice black and white cinematography, with exciting framing.
Less a fan of:
Music is a bit overblown, but that's to be expected from a low-buget IMPORTANT prison film.
This one's filmed in the very real Flosom State Prison, and directed by one of my favs, Don Siegal. How can you lose with the same guy who did Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956) and his other on-location prison film, Escape from Alcatraz (1979)?
No big stars here; the only recognizable name to me was character actor and figure of authority extraordinaire Whit Bissell (seems like he was in every other TV show or movie from the 50s or 60s).
The rest of the actors were compelling, and not a single matinee idol among 'em, which added to the realism. We don't really have a protagonist, more like major players: the warden and three inmates, who run the gamut from good, bad, and sorta in between.
The leader of the riot (Neville Brand) is the latter. He's curio-leading character for the studio-era, because despite organizing the uprising to draw attention to the disciple conditions in prison, it's explicitly stated that he's homicidal and needs psychiatric treatment. As head honcho he does some pretty rotten things to get the governor to give in to the prisoners demands for improved living conditions. The worst is saved for the climax, when he places ties captured guards and a protesting prisoner right in front of a wall due to be detonated by the unknowing and desperate state police.
The unfortunate prisoner who just narrowly misses getting killed (Robert Osterloh) is the "good" con. You always have to include at least one of them in a prison film: the straight guy who once went wrong, but is otherwise upstanding. He's the voice of reason, and is ultimately rewarded for his morals (and not being a 3 time loser) by getting paroled. It helps that he isn't an instigator of the riot, but later assists his fellow inmates not through violence, but through words, drafting their demands in acceptable language.
On the opposite end of the morality spectrum is the Big Bad prisoner (Leo Gordon), a rotter who's most excited about killing the guards held hostage. He's there to make the other two guys look good in comparison.
And what does it say about ye olde Hollywood cinema that this, a prison movie, contains the most integrated cast I've yet seen from a 1950s movie? And does a good job not specifically antagonizing either the guards, the warden or the inmates?
However, it is one of those 1950s message movies. Speechy and preachy, but at least it has the decency of being exciting, intercutting assorted monologues about prison reform with more rioting or other acts of violence. Doesn't hurt that prison reform is still a pressing issue, and the prisoners demands (overcrowding, job training, abuse, etc.) are still relevant.
No women were seen until the last five minutes, and those were the guards wives; before that all we heard were their voices. Their primary purpose is to be worried about their husbands.
The ending is refreshing, neither nihilist (Brute Force), or overly happy in an "everything is gonna be alright" sort of way.The riot doesn't lead to direct or major changes in the system, but it does draw attention to the issue through media. If there's any hissable villain, it's those sons-of-bitches that won't cough up the money for prison reform.
Surprisingly Mature might be my take on the material, what with its onscreen toilets, awareness of the power of journalistic representation, and it's insistence on being an expose. Also surprising is the movie's reference (very very implied) to prison rape (though considering how only one inmate is singled out as a perpetrator, and this being the 50s, it could just be referring to the threat of the "predatory gay" to prim, proper, and paranoid 50s morals).
Other good stuff:
Nice black and white cinematography, with exciting framing.
Less a fan of:
Music is a bit overblown, but that's to be expected from a low-buget IMPORTANT prison film.
Roberta (1935)
Absence makes the heart grow stronger. A lesson well-learned while watching Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers' third film together, as the dynamic duo play second fiddle to Irene Dunne and Randolph Scott's soggy romance.
No one goes to a Astaire/Rogers movie for the plot, so in brief: Americans Astaire and Scott are in Paris; Scott fall for Russian princess Dunne (barely attempting an accent), while Astaire chills with old flame turned fake Countess turned successful singer Rogers. Shenanigans ensue around the titular Roberta fashion house, interspersed with songs by Jerome Kern and Otto Harbach.
Compared to Dunne's glass-shattering operetta, Astaire's melo crooning and Rogers' wisecracking are welcome respites. Together, they are a joy; the "antagonism turning into love" arc that populates so many of their movies is nowhere to be seen, and they begin and end as pals, kidding around, even when they're dancing.
And what dancing! My God, all their numbers here are classics. Astaire gets two lighthearted solos, "Let's Begin" and "I Won't Dance," and 3 duets with Rogers: The fun "I'll be Hard to Handle,"
the divine "Lovely to Look at" that follows Dunne's trilling,
and the knock-out, boisterous finale that closes the movie.
It's a tribute to the silver-screen sparkle Astaire and Rogers could create together that the movie is watchable. Without them, it would have been a forgotten triffle. With them, it's a minor classic with moments of magic.
Monday, March 7, 2016
Hamlet (1996)
I appreciate Kenneth Branagh's Hamlet (1996). I like it existing, standing out as the sole unabridged cinematic adaptation of Shakespeare tragedy about The Dane Who Couldn't Make Up His Mind. How I like it as a movie is another matter.
In my mind's eye, the movie stands as a testament as to why Hamlet benefits from being edited. Similar to how Gus Van Saint's Psycho (1998) is useful demonstrating that a great script and wonderful cinematography doesn't necessarily make a great movie. I'm not saying that Branagh's Hamlet is an atrocity like Van Saint's experiment, far from it; it's a fine film, chock full of great performances and lovely production design.
But it does drag. Not surprising, since it is a 4 hour movie. But a really good Shakespeare adaptation should remind me why I love the Bard, not make me emphasize with those who consider him dull and impenetrable.
I could lay the blame on a few factors. Of course, there's the decision to capture every single bloomin' line and minor character in Shakespeare's longest play. Which did result in a lot of nice poetry, but it did also mean a lot of focus on Fortinbras and Norwegian diplomacy, elements which I never found to be among the more interesting aspects of the play. And tons of reiteration and retellings of things already seen and spoken of.
One of the benefits of shorter (and by shorter, I mean the 2 1/2 to 3 hour iterations) productions is that redundancies can be removed, and somewhere along the viewing, I found a new appreciation for all those directors who manager to trim enough to keep Hamlet compelling and comprehensible.
Maybe I just had a short attention span the evening I watched Branagh's Hamlet in one sitting. But with the odd explosion of ham that is to be expected with any Shakespeare adaptation, this was an especially soothing version. There were dynamic moments, including a finale that involved a falling chandelier. And it did have lots of long tracking takes, though these were less of the thrilling Hitchcock or Welles variety and more reminiscent of the somber, slow-moving moves of Tarkovsky. So we get plenty of walking and talking, and very little alternating camera angles to spice things up.
Again, I like this movie; there are far worse Hamlets than this one. And I’m glad that there is one complete Hamlet movie out there. But due to its prioritizing textual fidelity over cinematic storytelling, it misses being an enthralling movie.
In my mind's eye, the movie stands as a testament as to why Hamlet benefits from being edited. Similar to how Gus Van Saint's Psycho (1998) is useful demonstrating that a great script and wonderful cinematography doesn't necessarily make a great movie. I'm not saying that Branagh's Hamlet is an atrocity like Van Saint's experiment, far from it; it's a fine film, chock full of great performances and lovely production design.
But it does drag. Not surprising, since it is a 4 hour movie. But a really good Shakespeare adaptation should remind me why I love the Bard, not make me emphasize with those who consider him dull and impenetrable.
I could lay the blame on a few factors. Of course, there's the decision to capture every single bloomin' line and minor character in Shakespeare's longest play. Which did result in a lot of nice poetry, but it did also mean a lot of focus on Fortinbras and Norwegian diplomacy, elements which I never found to be among the more interesting aspects of the play. And tons of reiteration and retellings of things already seen and spoken of.
One of the benefits of shorter (and by shorter, I mean the 2 1/2 to 3 hour iterations) productions is that redundancies can be removed, and somewhere along the viewing, I found a new appreciation for all those directors who manager to trim enough to keep Hamlet compelling and comprehensible.
Maybe I just had a short attention span the evening I watched Branagh's Hamlet in one sitting. But with the odd explosion of ham that is to be expected with any Shakespeare adaptation, this was an especially soothing version. There were dynamic moments, including a finale that involved a falling chandelier. And it did have lots of long tracking takes, though these were less of the thrilling Hitchcock or Welles variety and more reminiscent of the somber, slow-moving moves of Tarkovsky. So we get plenty of walking and talking, and very little alternating camera angles to spice things up.
Again, I like this movie; there are far worse Hamlets than this one. And I’m glad that there is one complete Hamlet movie out there. But due to its prioritizing textual fidelity over cinematic storytelling, it misses being an enthralling movie.
Saturday, February 27, 2016
The World of Suzie Wong (1960)
How rare it is for a movie to acknowledge large age differences between actors cast as love interests. That's where The World of Suzie Wong stands out; when William Holden tries to detour Nancy Kwan from pursuing a relationship with him, he tells her "You're not even 20, I'm pushing 40." Now, Holden was 42 when the film was released, and Kwan 21, and while this is the only acknowledgment of their 2 decade age gap, it still counts for something.
It's one of the reasons, including the charming performances and nice chemistry between the leads, why I kinda liked this movie, in spite of my better judgement, since it does contains the exoticization so common in white guy/asian girl pairings, the slut-shaming found in tart-with-heart romances, and death accompanying an interracial romance.
It's one of the reasons, including the charming performances and nice chemistry between the leads, why I kinda liked this movie, in spite of my better judgement, since it does contains the exoticization so common in white guy/asian girl pairings, the slut-shaming found in tart-with-heart romances, and death accompanying an interracial romance.
Thursday, February 25, 2016
Black God, White Devil (1964)
I learned so much from this movie, a Buñuel-like concoction curtesy of director Glauber Rocha and Cinema Novo, the Brazilian New Wave. Not from actually watching it, but because its references to historical Brazilian figures forced me to pause and make a bee-line to Wikipedia in order to figure out just who Antônio Conselheiro and Lampião were. Turns out they were a wandering mystic and an outlaw, which helps to clarify the movie's bizarre yet energetic turns as it followed a poor farmer (Geraldo Del Rey) attempting to find meaning in his life; first becoming the devout member of violent catholic cult, then later joining a small roving band of bandits.
Wednesday, February 24, 2016
Blue is the Warmest Colour (2013)
I have a sneaking suspicion that Blue is the Warmest Colour wouldn't have gotten so much attention and adoration from the American press if it wasn't French. Because as a 3 hour saga of two girls meeting, falling in love, and breaking up, it's a total bore.
I admit, when it comes to serious love stories, I prefer the melodramatic shirt-tearing kind, where emotions range from simmering, suppressed passion to explosive declarations of adoration to (if it's foreign) an inevitable, yet tragic end.
And Blue is not that kind of movie. It wants to be a naturalistic and contemporary commentary of the irreconcilability of the working and intellectual classes. Though it's hard to take it's message seriously when it consistently films its heroines (Adèle Exarchopoulos and Léa Seydoux), dressed and undressed, in such an openly licentious and male-gazey way.
Ultimately, I didn't find either woman, together or apart, compelling enough to hold my interest for 2 hours, let alone 3. The movie only really came alive near the end, when the two, long since broken up, have an awkward meet-up dinner. There's clutching, kissing, and tears, and it reaches this sublime emotional apex that's both quite silly and a little moving. But it's a lot more investing than anything that came before.
I admit, when it comes to serious love stories, I prefer the melodramatic shirt-tearing kind, where emotions range from simmering, suppressed passion to explosive declarations of adoration to (if it's foreign) an inevitable, yet tragic end.
And Blue is not that kind of movie. It wants to be a naturalistic and contemporary commentary of the irreconcilability of the working and intellectual classes. Though it's hard to take it's message seriously when it consistently films its heroines (Adèle Exarchopoulos and Léa Seydoux), dressed and undressed, in such an openly licentious and male-gazey way.
Ultimately, I didn't find either woman, together or apart, compelling enough to hold my interest for 2 hours, let alone 3. The movie only really came alive near the end, when the two, long since broken up, have an awkward meet-up dinner. There's clutching, kissing, and tears, and it reaches this sublime emotional apex that's both quite silly and a little moving. But it's a lot more investing than anything that came before.
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