I care a lot: what the actual fuck is this movie?

 

SPOILER ALERT 📢 

Netflix: Are you serious? You can't be serious with this movie! I knew when this movie laden with oscar winners and nominees was released in February, a month that's considered a graveyard of studio stepchildren, that I was in for some shit. But little did I know that I was actually going to feel harrassed and deeply offended by a movie starring some of my favorite actors! I'm not even done watching this movie and I had to stop and express how much I hate it! Maybe it will all come together in the end, you say? Nope. It done fucked up so badly that there is little hope for them to fix this tone-deaf mess.

If you haven't heard of it. Good. Don't watch it. It will seriously piss you off. You will be pissed off during a pandemic about a movie. I shit you not. 

This is what happens. Rosamund Pike subtracts all of the sociopathic satisfaction she aroused in Gone Girl and replaces it with irritating cockiness in her role as Marla Grayson, a con artist who cons old people out of their life savings by convincing a very stupid judge to appoint her as the elder's legal guardian. Her and her network of  illegitimate medical and legal consultants proceed to liquidate the victim's assets and bilk them for all their worth until they die. Ew, right? It's not fun to watch someone do something so icky, I don't care how many off-the-rack designer pant suits they wear. Anyway, Marla learns about a "cherry" from her corrupt doctor partner which propels the events of the film. A "cherry" is 1) a term they use to define an elder who is wealthy with no living dependents or relatives and 2) a gross word to use to refer to an old person, or anyone for that matter. 

This "cherry" is Jennifer Peterson played by freaking treasure Dianne Wiest. With altered records from the doctor, Marla and her associate Fran easily gain a court order to make Marla Jennifer's legal guardian. They steal her house, sell all of her stuff and remand Jennifer to an assisted living facility. The scene where they take her to the facility, shut her in a room and deny her cell phone usage is so frustrating and rage inducing that you'll seriously want to punch Rosamund Pike in those skeletonal cheek bones. But considering how extremely fucked the situation is, we still wait patiently until some kind of justice is done. Well, 2 hours in, I'm still waiting. 

I get it. How can I like Scorsese and not enjoy an anti-hero criminal at the top of their field doing what they do  best and getting away with it? Well, that's because Scorsese films follow a satisfying and well executed story arc. This is not what we have here. We do not have a good storyarc. Why? Because this movie is poorly written, poorly acted, badly directed and clearly suffering from some kind of identity crisis. To make it even worse the movie seems to be angling for some kind of female empowerment message which is laughably unfufilled. 

The beginning of the movie signals a problematic message and  general bull. The film opens with a disheveled man appearing to try to break into a nursing home. The man looks unhinged and we suspect there is something wrong with him. In the court room we learn that Marla is trying to keep the man from seeing his mother, who is one of Marla's charges. Marla with Rosamund Pike's fantastic bob and high fashion looks easily convinces the judge that she is the best possible choice to care for the woman. We would probably be convinced too, but the film employs a running narration of Marla which makes it pretty clear that being good is just something she's not interested in. Actually the narration is kind of fucking irriating too. Marla addresses the audience directly and is all like "you think you're a good person, but you're not. Good is just something normal people do to hide within their weaknesses" or something like that. And you're like, okay, that's annoying af, but you assume its going to connect with something meaninful and intelligent later. I mean, obviously the voice, Marla, is an asshole, but that can't be strictly all she is, right? Well, unload those expectations right now, my friend. Pike's Marla is one dimensional, period. In fact, most of the characters are cartoonish in either their exaggerated ignornance or their exaggerated, unexplained evil. 

Marla, who's identifyer is smart, beautiful lesbian and her partner, who can also be identified with 3 words, beautiful tough...Okay, I can't think of anything else actually, get away with the rouse for a good part of the movie until they learn that Jennifer actually has some powerful friends who begin to threaten Marla to get Jennifer out of the facility. But Marla, who is a stone-faced psycho is never once, not ever, bothered by any threat of physical violence to her person and infact will in any and all situations react with nothing but venom laced quips and a stoic cockiness to these threats. And worse, instead of meeting her challenge, all of the dangerous people she meets falter at her every raised eyebrow.  I guess they just can't handle her because she's a lioness! (she says this several times throughout the movie. It is never not cringy.) She's a lioness, a winner and she never loses. That is why she can get away with all of the unfiltered evil she's been serving. Why is she this way? How did she get into this business? What problems has she surmounted in her life to give her this upfront confidence? These questions that are never answered or addressed even once. 

At one point Marla is tied to a chair in a secluded location in the middle of the night and is threatened by the film's "baddie" Roman played by Peter Dinklage.  Roman is apparently high in the leadership of the Russian Mafia and Jennifer is his mother. We really think that this confrontation will drag some vulnerability out of Pike, you know like normal human reactions to this situation, but no, instead we get quips. You want to murder her mother? "Go ahead. I hate that fucking sociopath." That is about all we get of Marla's backstory and it's pretty unfilling information at explains nothing. 

Given that Marla is in this situation and is only answering the very reasonable calls to simply release Jennifer with endless jokes and hubris, you expect her to die. Unfortunately, she does not. That is Roman's intention, but even though she is put in a pretty much guaranteed die situation, she manages to survive. As irritating as that is, the actual scene is fucking infuriating. Marla is made unconscious, put in a running vehicle with a bottle of vodka between her legs then sent off a cliff. The scene is almost a shot for shot remake of a similar scene in the 1992 melodrama "Death Becomes Her." All it was missing was Bruce Willis and Goldie Hawn kissing triumphantly behind the car as it careens towards the edge. Why would this movie, which is trying to be a smart, biopic thriller, sample a scene from a famous trash comedy? This is a prime example of this movie's entirely confusing tone. Peter Dinklage does angry, violent boss guy so over the top in some scenes that you're not thinking of Tyrion Lannister, you're thinking about the character Dinklage played in the movie Elf. That's how little range he exhibits here. Continuing with this cartoony, Tim Burton movie merged with a scorsese film we have Danny from The Mindy Project who isJennifer and Roman's legal represenative. His acting is OK in this, but the fact that he literally dresses like Colonel Sanders and is described as "dressing expensive" makes me want to laugh during all of his scenes. Am I supposed to laugh? I dunno. I prefer it to the frustration and rage I feel throughout the rest of the film. 

And then we have Dianne Wiest. One of my favorite actresses. She, in this shit cyclone, is the calm center of the film. Her performance in this jumped up Lifetime movie, is good and believable. Her confusion and drugged frustation all appear to be genuine and it's unfortunate that she's in this movie at all or that the director didn't point at her when the other actors asked for guidance. Instead, he told Rosamund Pike to "do Gone Girl without the writing or complexity", Told Peter Dinklage "do Sunny Corleone without the range" and told the writers to "Write the kind of movie where they say the title a lot, unironically."  

At the end of the movie she gets shot by the random due who we met in the beginning. It's supposed to make us feel better and drive home an ulitmate morality message. Instead the last minute comeuppance is insulting and the movie is all the worse for it. If you're going to let your herione be this top notch infallible bitch at least drive home the message to the end. Don't water it down with some half-assssed attempt at justice. Fuck this movie. 

Malcom and Marie: I don't like this movie

       I don't like this movie. It is painful to watch, but probably not in the piercing introspective way that the filmmakers want. Instead it's painful in the exhaustively irritating way that a fly buzzes in your home from an unknown spot, keeping itself cleverly hidden so you don't know where to squash it. The buzzing is interminable and unyielding, with a predictable rhythm that you have a strong instinct to end as soon as possible. It starts out as something you think you can live with and ignore, move past to focus on the things that really matter in life. However, as the buzzing becomes stronger, louder, demanding more and more of your attention, you realize that the monotony of it and it's loud obnoxious insistence on itself cannot be bared. But enough with this metaphor. This is why Malcolm & Marie sends me in search of my fly swatter.

First of all, shut up. Just shut up. Second of all, fuck already. Just fuck already. Or actually don't because he's way too old and you are way too young. It's upsetting. But let's put some details in this shit.

Malcolm & Marie is about a couple who are really wealthy, but apparently have a lot of problems. They may look like a beautiful It couple living lavishly in probably the Hollywood Hills, but actually, they are a fractured, co-dependent sado-masichistic man and woman with exceptional diction and lung capacity. After credits in a style that signal that this is an "art film," we dive in. We learn that following director Malcolm's successful film premiere, former actress/model Marie is mad and the high on life Malcolm doesn't know why. Actually for a good portion of the beginning, he doesn't even notice her attitude. This, for us, the viewers who can feel and see her silent anger, sets Malcolm up as the self-centered asshole who doesn't recognize his beautiful arm candy's feelings. But Marie's feelings don't go unrecognized for long. In the first of one of the films many eloquently delivered, impassioned soliloquies, Marie expresses her disappointment that Malcolm didn't thank her at the premiere. He should have thanked her because she is the former drug addict that Malcolm based his film on. She is the woman "Emony" the damaged protagonist of his masterpiece. And he didn't thank her. So she's mad. 

Marie lets all of this out and we're thanking "you're right, he should have thanked you." Then Malcolm volleys back with "I apologized for not thanking you. You said it was fine at the time." And she's like "I changed my mind." And I'm thinking, you know what, that's fine, you can change your mind and be angry and pick an argument about something that is long past been relevant. The problem I have with the film isn't Marie's insistence that Malcolm doesn't value her and her artisitc and personal contribution to this film and his personal success. This is a problem in many relationships and kudos to the film for examining it. My problem is the relentless way the film keeps hammering home this point over and over again. The film begins a pattern of fight, conclude, attempt carnal reconciliation, and repeat. The pattern becomes so predictable that all of the relevations that are dug out from these interactions become powerless and unfulfilled. The filmmakers, possibly do this intentionally to mimic and reflect the frustrating waltz of "fight, fuck, repeat" that couples fall into sometimes (although no couple, anywhere, fights this eloqently outside of a Shakespeare play), but since the film is so hell bent on showing this elevated, exceptionalized couple fighting and that it's artistic and special, that I get annoyed and it becomes one-note really. 

The power of the performances, the writing which are exceptional. They are, weakens and flattens until you find yourself searching for that fly swatter, as exhausted as the characters must be and in search of your fly swatter to end it. I think after the 3rd of 4th round, we really do want Malcolm or Marie to end the relationship, not for their benefit, but for ours. Release us from this interminable pattern! Only when the film breaks this pattern and shows a fight that does not include "heartbreaking relevations" does it attain any true merit. Malcolm's enraged frustration leveled at the "white lady from LA times" who criticizes his film includes some delightful vitrole directed at "Woke" filmmaking and includes an education in classic film that this reviewer can't help but enjoy. However, just when we think the film is done playing that note, it returns and strangles it until that neck bone chokes to dust. The ending speech by Zendaya is too long. It loses it's affect and is just annoying. I don't feel anything from it. And judging by the way Michael David Whatever struggles to eek out a tear in the face of it, he doesn't either. It's highly indulgent emotional filmmaking and really pretty pretentious in how you just know the filmmaker expects us to eat all of this up and revel in all of the brilliance. I'm sorry, but I don't think this film is brilliant. I think it desperately wants to be and in that relentless search for it, loses any and all hope for it.

 Despite the strong performance by marvel Zendaya. But she's a problem too. She's all of 22 years old. And looks it. How long has she known Malcolm? How could she have known him so long as to have so much history with him? He's 35, and she's 22. When did he meet her, help her through her overdose, write a film with her influence, spend years trying to get it filmed and finally live through that acheivement together. If this relationship is as old and weathered as the fights would have you believe, where is the evidence of that in Zendaya's casting? It felt like the words of someone older, but in a younger package. Which is so Hollywood. But that's another problem. This movie feels like it was conceived, written and made in a Hollywood vaccum. The characters, the setting, their voices are those of an elite group who view their problems, their fights as the stuff of art and you can tell that these are fights that people in the film industry write to elevate and glorify how they are better people because of their passion and how it erupts as eloquent solioquies, not the ignorant stutterings of the masses. But that's what a real fight is. It isn't polished and currated, it's visceral and ineloquent and more interesting than these arguments by far. Just look at a film that this film is obviously referencing "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf" in that film the protagonists played by Burton and Taylor are smart, witty and cutting, but there words are also random and unfiltered. That's what makes the film a gut punch: there's restraint and authenticity. Even though the word authenticity is repeated an annoying amount throughout this movie, it has very little. 

This film is highly filtered and it's from SnapChat. And it appears not to even realize the ways that it is contributing to the kind of troupes it attacks. There's this whole part where Marie attacks Malcolm's male-gaze film making...while she wears nothing but a tight wife beater and panties! Malcolm comments on this so we're not supposed to notice that low hanging fruit, but it's still true! She's practically naked or sexualized throughout the whole movie. And she's 22, not 32 which would be more realistic. It just doesn't work. I will admit, I wasn't excited to see this movie. I didn't recognize the actors and the style didn't excite me. But that's why I was so excited to be proven wrong. In some ways i was, the performances are stellar and some of the writing too, but the cliches and general lack of restaint in the filmaking, really kills it. It doesn't make it a horrible movie, but it doesn't make it approach good either. Bare with me for a moment with another metaphor: it's like a tennis match that everyone's excited for, and in the beginning it is good. The masterful players are lobbing one shot after another at each other. But then they keep doing it. And keep answering each volley with another slam, and keep going and going and going. The match becomes monotonous. I am no longer excited, I just want to leave. It goes on like this until, when the last spike (i don't know tennis) goes down in the pavement, the player may cheer but we're just like, I don't even care, I'm ready to go. That's Malcolm & Marie.

Movies That Quarantine Makes Better...Kind of: EAT, PRAY, LOVE

So, like all of you, I have time on my hands. Instead of eating and slowly disappearing into my couch I have decided to revive my movie review blog. Because what the hell else are you supposed to do when a virus is streaking outside besides stay inside and watch movies? Discussing movies with my boyfriend is not as satisfying as I want it to be. So, I will come on here and discuss them with all of you possibly infected people. Which movie did it? Which aroused me to the point where I had to shake the dust off this mumblecore post grad soap box? It was Eat, Pray, Love and the fading charm of Julia Roberts.

 I will save the suspense: Eat, Pray, Love is not a good film. People have known this for 10 years. The movie has been out for 10 years. But I watched it again on IMDB TV and I did not think it was as bad as I initially thought. Granted, when I first saw this movie I was just out of college, the ink on my English degree not even dry yet. My job for four years had been to think critically about every piece of art put in front of me and to lampoon it viciously if it did not soak with meaning and verve. Things are different now. I am different. In my organelles, I am different. If my mind were those posters that showed the different parts of a cow, the difference between my mind then and my mind now would be vast. My mind then was leaner, more fertile. There was space to grow. Now, my brain is fatter, its grown bigger with more experience than knowledge. Facing Eat, Pray, Love with this brain, it is better. But in that I realize that my original conclusion was the correct one.

What is wrong with this movie? How can so much add up to so little? I think the issue is this: In the pages of the book, I am sure the journey to find self-love and satisfaction that Liss goes on feels personal and important. But the stretching and stuffing process of filmmaking did not do the story any favors at all. The director, Ryan Murphy, is also the creator of Glee and American Horror Story. Those shows are great, but he got too ambitious with this movie. The pair of them, Roberts and Murphy turned a sweeping journey into a fluffy feel good film with ersatz spirituality whose best moments do not hold a candle to Nora Ephron in her most phoned in screenplays. If the movie had scaled back a bit and settled for just entertaining, it may have been good. But since it wanted to change your life along with Julia Roberts, it falls flat.

 The beginning moments are unbearable. Julia Roberts is beautiful, white, successful, and unhappy, a familiar character that even in 2010 we were kind of done with, right? The reason for her unhappiness is even less clear than the usual reasons given this kind of character. She is gifted in every way, but she just cannot “see herself in the life she’s built,” whatever that means.  She divorces Billy Crudup (who seems to have had layer after layer of talent striped from him every year since Almost Famous. He’s a skinless onion now. a hollow wooden boy puppet man. Did you ever see Stage Beauty? What the fuck happened to Billy Crudup after Stage Beauty?!) and then dives into the bed of the pseudo spiritual James Franco, who is not that bad in the film. I expected him to be a Smith Jerrod type, but he dropped some lines in the right spot so kudos to him. It is one of the only things I’ve seen him in where I haven’t thought he was parodying himself somehow.

So why did I enjoy the film? Well, watching the movie in the comfort of your home, dressed in a giant hoodie after eating an enchilada can make Dude, Where’s My Car look like a masterpiece. But there is more: I appreciate the good parts more than I hate the bad parts now. I can tell the book was well-written because there are several good lines in the film. There are unexpectedly deep words shared between Roberts and Franco. And everyone in the film is trying hard to shade in an extra dimension to their character. At times they even trick you into thinking they are more than just Shutter Stock figures from a “friendly foreign person” search. But only few succeed in doing this. Sadly, not even wearing fuzzy socks everyday all day can change the fact that Eat, Pray, Love wastes all its hype and great actors. Julia Roberts unfortunately, the anchor of the film, is the least multidimensional of all. Behind all her tears and hysterical breakdowns, there does not feel like there is much there. In a movie with a lot of rich food on display, she is as thin and wispy as a wafer. The other actors barely achieve more than Hall Mark Movie character depth with the notable exception of Richard Jenkins as that one-character Roberts meets at an Ashram in India. This phrase is bandied about too often, but Jenkins’ performance deserved a better movie. It is a shame that his warmth and heartbreaking monologue were buried under the Smoltz and predictability of this movie. Javier Bardem was super-hot at that time. It was honestly nice to see his big tearful face again. It was a little annoying though how he, and too many other characters in the film, used sex to describe things that really didn’t need sex as an analogy (“A pluot if is a plum made love to an orange”….really?) All that being said, the best thing that can be said about Eat, Pray, Love is that its shiny beautiful emptiness creates a nice fluffy hole to sink into during quarantine.

"Hot Saturday": Early Cary Grant is Heaven

         

Cary Grant and Nancy Carroll in the film's poster

        In  1932's "Hot Saturday," a rumor rips through a small town and damages an innocent girl's reputation. The film sports a cast of familiar names from pre-code films including Nancy Carroll, Randolph Scott, Jane Darfield and a young Cary Grant looking better than you've probably ever seen him at 28. The movie moves quickly and perhaps a little unevenly through its plot, excelling in some scenes with an easy evocative grace (usually those featuring Grant and Carroll together) and bobbing clumsily through others. 'Saturday' makes up for less refined moments with an ending that stands as a delicious example of the kind of subversion of mores that make Pre-Code films so satisfying to watch.

              The film stars Nancy Carroll as Ruth Brock, a pretty young bank clerk living in a small middle-class town. Romer Sheffield (Cary Grant), a millionaire playboy living on the outskirts of town, plays the field with glamazon socialites, but has his heart set on simple Ruth. There's chemistry between the two, but Romer's reputation makes him a untenable choice for virtuous Ruth.

           In a completely innocent scenario, Ruth hides out at Romer's home one night after a disastrous date with beau Conny (Edward Woods). Conny and one of Ruth's frenemies witness Ruth leaving and waste no time spreading the news. From there, her life begins unraveling very quickly.  The bank fires her and she is relieved from her post at the local woman's club.

            With no one to turn to and the entire town whispering about her, Ruth runs to the arms of Bill Fadden, a hunky geologist and childhood friend who breezes into town one day completely oblivious to the rumors swirling around about his former crush. Made desperate by her current situation, Ruth quickly accepts Bill's proposal of marriage and from then on lives in a perpetual state of anxiety for fear that Bill will find out about the Romer rumor (fun bit of alliteration there). Meanwhile Romer makes his intentions clear to a distressed Ruth: "Would it interest you to know that I've wanted you ever since I saw you in the bank?" The tension of the film rises as Ruth tries to keep Bill uninformed while dodging vindictive friends with cruel intentions and sorting out her feelings for Romer.

       Like the 50s drama "Peyton Place," our movie tells the story of the destructiveness of lies and rumors. However, "Hot Saturday" is not a hard hitting drama bent on social reform. It is a work of camp and melodrama more apt to delight than to edify.  Even scenes featuring the town's injustice towards Ruth carry only a lightweight sort of  wrong compared to the maltreatment of Lana Turner in PP. This is not a disparagement. The movie's blatant 'B movie-ness' is part of its charm.

        The script is mostly mediocre, but moments between Nancy Carroll and Cary Grant are at times worthy of a better movie. Their scenes together follow the usual romantic arc from banter-y pals to wistful lovers towards the end. Carroll gives Ruth an impressive depth and her charm is palpable in this film. Grant secures his place as a future leading male powerhouse with a sincerity in look and speech that provides weight to light words. He even outshines established male lead Randolph Scott whose aw-shucks boy-next-door performance feels underdeveloped.

Grant, Carroll and Edward Woods who played Conny

Spoiler Alert!!

          Besides witnessing Grant's sterling potential as a leading man, the film's denouement is another reason to watch this film. After Bill proves inflexible, our heroine "sullies her good name" by shacking up with Romer and then running off with him to New York in the final act. The idea of marriage is brought up between the two but is not seriously regarded. Instead the real union is between Ruth and the possibilities of a new life without limitations. Though she technically becomes a "fallen woman," instead of regarding this as tragic, the film emphasizes the joy in Ruth discovering that after everything, the real punishment was denying her real feelings for Romer for the sake of morality. Once she lets go of self-judgement, she is able to truly live her life. The solution is not marriage and social inclusion, but venturing into the unknown and believing in one's self. This is a daring message for its time and a testament to film's ability to guide the direction of the social compass. If only Tess of the Durbervilles ended this way....sigh.

Each Dawn I Die

Whatever happened to the prison film? Have I missed them? Are they underground now? And I mean a good one, not that Adam Sandler bullshit "The Longest Yard" or the overdone action thrillers where the prisoners are solid blocks of muscle with manic eyes. I mean a prison movie where we go behind the bars and learn about the individuals that make up this fascinating society. A good prison film, like "The Shawshank Redemption", can teach us about ourselves and give us a deeper gratitude for life. In the 1930s audiences could not get enough of quality prison films that sympathized with the plight of the common man.

"Each Dawn I Die," a film released by Warner Brothers (who else?) in 1939, is a fast-paced, fast-talking film that includes familiar elements of the prison genre and important pieces that defined future film styles. The movie boasts two of the most engaging faces of the era, James Cagney and George Raft, in leading roles as well as a really fine group of lesser known actors from the period. The film entertains from beginning to end with action and engaging word play. Cagney brings his regular Cagney schick (stiff walk, fast talk, deadly accurate punches), but he also shows some raw emotion that raises the movie from a B-picture to a film that earns its place as one of the best genre films released in Hollywood's best year, 1939.

Cagney stars as Frank Ross, a hard-hitting newspaper man who is framed for a drunk driving rap by a corrupt politician. District attorney Hanley and his "equally disgraceful assistant Grayce" view Cagney's investigative journalism as a major threat to their dirty dealings. Pulling strings that you hope are only so effective in movies, the men have Ross tried, sentenced and incarcerated within the first 10 minutes of the film. On the prison bus, Ross meets and quickly engages in rat-a-tat 30s dialogue with George Raft's character, 'Hood' Stacey, a died-in-the-wool gangster sporting the kind of flippant attitude towards crime that really grinds Ross's gears. The two alpha males naturally start out as adversaries, but soon become allies as they face deadlier enemies than each other inside and out of the prison's walls. For Stacey, he becomes the target of a former lackey from his crew, Limpy Julien (Joe Downing) who vows to make Stacey pay for giving him the limp of his namesake. With his case hopelessly tangled in red tape by the evil lawmakers, Ross's enemies are those keeping him in prison to prevent him from spreading the truth. On the outside his newspaper team, his mother and his girl Joyce, (played little know actress Jane Bryan), are pounding the pavement daily to get Ross help.

After a prisoner is murdered, Stacey reasons that if Ross fingers him as the murderer, it would get Ross a pardon and put Stacey in the right position to escape. For George Raft the plan goes off without a hitch, but Cagney isn't so lucky. The warden and nasty guard believe that he helped Stacey to escape, a suspicion that leads Ross to 6 months in the hole. His time there produces a real change in the character who up until that point still believed that justice would be done. "I'll get out if I hafta kill every screw in the joint!" This exclamation marks the beginning of his  literal and figurative descent into darkness. While in the hole, he becomes the most difficult prisoner in the place, and seriously jeopardizes any possibility for parole. Meanwhile, Stacey and Joyce  on the outside devise a plan to help Ross get out. But whether Ross will maintain his sanity by then, remains to be seen. The final moments of the film are of an explosive prison riot that brings the film's angsty Marxist undertones their most startling visual representation.  

The acting here is really superb. As I mentioned before, Cagney's deeper emotional moments are highly gratifying to watch. When he begs the parole board to release him, head hung low in humble dejection, voice cracked with desperation, your hearts breaks at his sincerity. Together, he and Raft are the perfect duo. Cagney's intense and sharp, Raft is aloof but penetrating. 

As great as the chemistry is between Raft and Stacey, scenes that include one or more of the colorful inmates that make up the film's cast are a pleasure to watch. Although some of the characters can be described with just one adjective such as dumb guy or angry guard, the actors are so good that they make the best of the little screen time they share with Cagney or Raft. 

The best of them is played by Stanley Ridges. His character is Mueller, the guy that has gone stir crazy and can't take much more time behind bars. Prison films always have this person, the one who goes off on rants and tangents, but Ridges makes the character his own by delivering some of the best lines in the film. The way he describes prison life is deeply moving: "I'd sooner be dead than livin' in this madhouse. Break your back workin' all day, sit in your cell til next morning with nothing to do but stare at the wall, Screws goin' by snoopin,' rats like Limpy. Next thing you know you're stir nuts. Just bidin' your time until you can kill the next creep that comes your way." He speaks these words in a strained, desperate voice that rises in intensity with each phrase. His words slowly grip you and somehow make you a little more grateful that you can turn the knob of your door and exit your room as you please.

But an appreciation of freedom is not what the film is about. Though Ross becomes a free man by the end of the picture, many of the film's lovable characters meet their end in the deadly prison raid. The way the camera stays trained on the faces of the fallen inmates, and all but dehumanizes the throng of intruding guards makes it clear where our sympathies are directed. The movie makes the point that the system simply isn't fair. The scales of justice are weighted.  "Each Dawn I Die" is really a precursor to Film Noir, that great genre that made pessimism and the inevitability of perpetual disappointment look damn good. Noir did not really become an identifiable style until the mid 1940s, but our film showcases its most classic features. It's scrutinizing look at society and its failings is one of them. As a character from one of my favorite noir films Detour once said "no matter where you turn fate always sticks a foot out to trip ya." Characters like stacey, Ridges and even Limpy Julian come from the wrong side of the tracks and thus can never climb the ladder to success without rigging it first. Movies like this, where the villains are those in power, turn an accusing spotlight on culture and ask "what are you doing to cause this?"   

 

The Children's Hour: A Poignant Film, A Pivotal Moment in Women's History

               "Like, I don't want to be a traitor to my generation and all" (Cher Horowitz anyone?), but the 60s were just better. I'm sorry 2000s, but you're just not daring enough for me. Sure, you'll go there when it comes to portraying sex or violence on screen, but you're not prepared to plumb the emotional depths of stuff that is real. It's not only that the world cared more, said more and did more in the sixties, it's that they were unafraid to investigate with real openness topics that were taboo. One need only look at the innovation and heartrending reality displayed in films like 'Easy Rider' and 'Bonnie and Clyde." These late 60s films were as concerned with sharing a message about the state of affairs in America and openly criticizing the hypocrisy of the status quo as they were with ticket sales and box office.

          Even in the early 60s, a time when America still struggled to free itself from the lingering grasp of 1950s hyper-conservativism, films introduced groundbreaking material in movies that forced a long overdue psychological growth in American audiences. One of those films was the much heralded "The Children's Hour" from 1962. Still a product of the previous generation, this film is all smooth lines, clean language and promotion of conventional mores (in certain respects), but it puts the topic of lesbianism front and center, an extremely controversial subject for its time (and now). This film is beautifully done yes, but the cleanness of its setting, a small girls school in conservative upper-class town, and the beauty of its stars, the incomparable Audrey Hepburn and the always engaging Shirley McClaine, are all there to showcase the ugly destructiveness of bigotry in our lives. That is the overarching message; lesbianism is simply the vehicle with which to bring this intention about.

Before you get all excited that there's a lesbian film with Audrey Hepburn and Shirley McClaine, you should hold your horses. This isn't "Blue is the Warmest Color." They're not lesbians. Their characters are just as glib on the topic as the community in which they live. They are friends, best friends. They've known each other since college and live together as
the co-owners of the Wright-Dobie school, a prominent institution in their small, upper-class community. Neither is married, but Karen, Audrey's character, does have a doctor fiance that is excited to finally walk down the aisle with her at long last. He's played by James Garner who, to be honest, I've never had much to do with, but he looks nice and gives an aghast expression at the right moments so I guess he does well here.

Martha, McClaine's character, is alone, but doesn't seem to be sweating that fact as much as her over-the-hill aunt does. Miriam Hopkins plays Aunt Mortar, the school's drama coach and resident ding-bat. She's adequate as a Norma Desmond drama queen with shades of Annie's Miss Hannigan. One expects a moth to fly out of her flea-bitten fox stole any minute. Everyone is happy with their situation until an ugly (I'm sorry, but this little actress is very ugly) little girl spreads a rumor about Ms. Dobie and Ms. Wright that threatens not only the women's livelihood, but also the sanctity of their very lives. The rumor spreads quickly (some might say unrealistically so) through the town and causes undue destruction to their reputations. The women fight against this happening in court and in their personal lives, the resulting impact brings the women and the entire town to an unexpected place.

The film is a remake of an earlier film adaption of a famed stage play by the indomitable Lillian Hellman. The play, written and performed in the twenties, dealt even more openly with the subject of lesbianism than does this film which isn't surprising. Though the restlessness of the 60s demanded new ideas be presented to the public in media, the anxiousness of the 50s prevented this film from addressing it in a straightforward way. 

William Wyler, the director of this and the 1930s film version
, chooses to soften the controversy of its subject  by casting flawless actresses and shooting the film as a classic high-level drama. Emotions run high, but hairs do not come out of place. Her mind may be disturbed, but there is never a wrinkle on Audrey's gown. And of course the word 'lesbian' is never uttered. Whenever its left to the actors to describe the alleged activity between Ms. Dobie and Ms. Wright, euphemisms so innocuous are used that at times it feels like parents explaining sex to an 11-year-old. The only time that what they are accused of is spelled out is when, tired of the diverting language, Garner's character forces Karen to tell him what everyone is so upset over. She looks up at him, doe eyes wide with almost child-like amazement, and says "They think that Martha and I are lovers." This line provides the characters as well as the audience with a much needed release. Wyler designed it so that all of the tension gathers from the moment the little girl speaks to her grandmother, until now. The tension builds again from this moment until the most lauded scene of the movie when Martha confesses.

In the climax, Martha confesses to Karen in a long, breathless stammering soliloquy that is at once heart breaking and cathartic. "I have loved you the way they said!" These words leave her with a rush of energy like that of water bursting from a fireman's hose. Deep, heartfelt and violently honest, In this scene she embodies the tortuous responsibility we all have to admit to ourselves the terrible truth of who we are.

Besides Barbara Stanwyck, there is no actress that I adore more than Audrey Hepburn. Her many graces, talents and virtues have been discussed at length for decades so I won't extol them here. She impresses me in this film not only with the stoic gravity of her performance, but with her ability to consciously take a step back and give McClaine the center of attention. Recognizing that the demands as an actress for Shirley are far greater than what is asked of her, she gives McClaine the room that she needs to climb to the emotional heights required of her role.

The venerable Fay Bainter plays the little girl's grandmother, the one who initially believes the rumor and spreads it through town. Old, stodgy and feigning virtues that she doesn't really have, The grandmother represents American society of the time. Sheltered by a lack of curiosity and a culturally cultivated fear of difference, she describes the two as "unnatural" and dramatically treats them as outcasts under the guise of protecting the young. Once events come to pass, she shows her humility by admitting that she was wrong. This is how America would like to think it would be; Understanding and apologetic.

But Wyler does not let her get away with her ignorance. The final scene, with Karen walking away from the town and even her fiance is a telling moment in cinema history. In the past there would be only one of two ways for this story to end for Audrey's character: death or assimilation. Karen would have to either trip and fall dead or marry James Garner and get over it. Walking away from the town, alone and strong,visually legitimized a whole new choice for women in film and in society. It's not as though this is the first time this has happened in film (The Third Man shows a similar ending), but arguably it is the first time in American cinema that such an iconic actress is used to make such a subversive point. I don't have to accept the way things are, she seems to say, I can go it alone and create a new reality. And that's what women did during the 60s and the 70s. Created new paths by refusing to accept the old ones.

In January of 2011 a theater revival of The Children's Hour staring Keira Knightley and Elizabeth Moss came on the Comedy Theater of London to excellent reviews. It's a testament to the far reaching impact of this story that artists are still choosing to tell it. This film no doubt holds back much more than this modern interpretation does, but  in either respect the message is clear: love is a dynamite, but hatred is the flame that lights it
.

The Bad Seed: Rhoda is the Blonde BADShell!!

Why do killers kill? If that's the topic of any day time talk show, you better believe that we are all tuning in! Well if you want a crash course from a cinematic source, check out 1956's "The Bad Seed."This black and white horror/suspense film makes heavy use of Freudian psychosis theory to explain the exploits of a murderous little 8-year-old girl. Not quite Hitchcockian, but still highly watchable and unique, the film delivers a fun, engaging study into the beginnings of a serial killer!

Rhoda, the bad seed of the title, appears as a sweet, pretty and exceedingly feminine young lady who has practically everyone in the small duplex she lives in with her mother at her feet. The mother, Christine, is the perfect 1950s housewife, full with beauty, civility and a moneyed background. The trouble starts when Rhoda loses a penmanship award at school.  A few days later, after a school picnic, a boy in Rhoda's class is found dead in the water next to the lake that the students played beside. It was considered an accident, but an accident doesn't explain the bruises around the boy's face, neck and fingers.

Rhoda, looking crazy evil

It also doesn't explain the absence of the penmanship pen that was seen on the boy's person before the picnic. Once Christine is questioned about Rhoda's connection to the boy's death she begins looking at her darling daughter in an entirely different light.  Christine's father  introduces another piece of information that calls Christine's own origins into question and sends her spiraling into full-blown paranoia and panic. The methods that Christine resorts to to suppress  the homicidal urges of her offspring leads the film down a far darker path than expected and leads to a surprising outcome.

Movies about killer kids are always fun, but this was the original film that set the niche genre off right. Watching Rhoda carry out her devious plans with school girl glee is a guilty pleasure that just won't quit. The film is hardly feminist, but women do occupy the most interesting roles. Eileen Heckart was nominated for an Oscar for her performance as Hortense Daigle, the dead boy's drunken hysterical mother.

Eileen Heckart. TOASTED

 Her every slurring, boozing appearance in the film rightfully demands our utmost attention as she delivers a performance drenched in convincing sentiment and stinking only a little in melancholic melodrama. While Heckart's acting reaches the broad dimensions re
quired of her role, other actors color far outside the lines, creating caricatures where portraits should be.

 The greatest offender would have to be Harry Jones in the role of Leroy, the house's handy man. Lusty, deceitful and lazy, Leroy is a disturbing combination of Lenny from 'Of Mice and Men' and the racist crows from "Dumbo." Jones chooses to play him with an overabundance of slack-jawed charm that pulls his portrayal to cartoonish proportions. The bizarre choice to have Leroy speak to himself as though he's speaking to the audience, no doubt an unfortunate left-over from the play on which the film is based, makes him seem all the more ludicrous and out of plan in this streamlined, high caliber film.


Nancy Kelly as Christine

Patty McCormick as little Rhoda, was also nominated that year and rightfully so. Her understanding of the nuances required of her character was scary for an actress that young (she was nine at the time of filming). Her performance is the earliest example of the actress's natural talent and gift for role immersion. I'd say that actress Nancy Kelly also delivers a spot on performance if it were not for the screechy quality her voice takes on as the film climbs towards its climax. Seeming to equate showing terror with raising your voice to an even higher pitch, Christine seems to be communicating with owls by the end of the picture.

 Director Mervyn Leroy clearly wanted a sophisticated tone for his thriller and he succeeded in creating this with a slow dramatic pace. You'll see none of that drive-in movie gore here. Indeed of the 3 murders that occur within the film, only one of them happen in real time. The other two are described and talked about. The one that does appear on screen is not fully seen by the audience. We only have screams, some high intensity music and a few shots of running to build an image. The lack of graphic is the one choice of Mervyn Leroy's that I don't like. The movie was adapted from a play where I'm sure much of the action happened off stage. When transferring to a visual medium, it makes sense to use, well, visuals. I understand how withholding sight can sometimes be more terrifying, but the film is interested in being too refined and holds back too much to make it a legitimate horror entry. Psychological thriller maybe.

The film itself, excepting a few acting flaws, is a solid Academy quality film, but the 'horror' element seems to have eluded Leroy a little bit. Still, the direction provides a solid base on which to pile the film's many captivating moments and at time comedic miscalculations.