The 1950s List: Discussion and Suggestions (Decade Project Vol. 4)

An ongoing project to survey the best films of individual decades, genres, and filmmakers.
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domino harvey
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Re: The 1950s List: Discussion and Suggestions

#151 Post by domino harvey » Thu Dec 19, 2019 3:47 pm

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the Brothers Karamazov (Richard Brooks 1958)
I have not read the novel as there aren’t enough hours in a lifetime, but I gather it did not hinge on Yul Brynner’s character finding romantic bliss with the chaste (?!) town slut and redeeming himself for his past transgressions in a happy ending. I don’t think this was any more doomed for failure than anything else Hollywood adapted in the period, and Brooks would soon after this adapt and improve a great book, Sinclair Lewis’ Elmer Gantry, so perhaps this had a chance in theory. But theory is all we can leave it with. While the lineup of titular brothers is not exactly a murderer’s row of talent (Brynner, Richard Basehart, and William Shatner), Lee J Cobb received an Oscar nomination for doing his usual Lee J Cobb thing in raccoon makeup as the father, but since I like Cobb being Cobb, I’m okay with it. The film is consciously lit to replicate contemporary Russian color film stock, which is fine and some minor points are awarded for effort, but this still looks backlot-y as hell and not particularly visually dynamic otherwise. That said, for Hollywood hokum, you could do a whole lot worse. [P]

the Next Voice You Hear… (William A Wellman 1950)

James Whitmore reteams with William A Wellman following Battleground (which amusingly makes a cameo appearance in the background of a movie theatre Whitmore visits) in this surprising and unexpected drama. The film presents a rather radical idea: a voice alleging to be God interrupts all radio broadcasts for a number of days (I’ll let those of you who’ve heard of the Bible guess how many) to give a rather simplistic series of sermons on being better to each other. The message here isn’t important, though, as the impact of the film is found in the impact of the scenario: in its fashion, I found this a surprisingly realistic portrait of how average middle class folks would receive communication from God. This isn’t a witnessing tool, and reactions run the gamut. but once people come to accept the voice really is God’s, nearly everyone we meet at least once cycles through a response of fear. It’s one thing to believe and have faith, but the film shows us that there’s something obtrusive in God breaking His silence that on some level feels like a violation and the family and other peripheral characters in this film frequently behave in a way that equates God communicating to his flock as a threat. Obviously, this being Hollywood, people come around to God’s love, but I still found the journey moving. Recommended.

Subida al cielo (Luis Bunuel 1952)
A good son travels on a rickety bus to see a lawyer in order to write his dying mother’s will in this collection of disparate parts in search of a satisfying whole. That hasn’t stopped some rather intrepid reachers from reading this hot mess as something more by virtue of its director— auteurism strikes again! As is, this movie is fitfully entertaining in spells but nothing that happens ends up mattering, the people we meet aren’t all that interesting, allegedly important actions have seemingly no consequences or narrative stakes, and so we’re just left with nothing (well, nothing plus a second-hand embarrassing dream sequence). To put it mildly, this sure ain’t no Mr Thank You. My least favorite Bunuel so far.

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Re: The 1950s List: Discussion and Suggestions

#152 Post by therewillbeblus » Thu Dec 19, 2019 5:23 pm

Continuing on a musical run, Merry Andrew was fun mostly thanks to Danny Kaye, who is a burst of energy, whether engaging in slapstick gags or dancing so frantically that it almost seems messy. He’s on point with the choreography but it’s his hairdo flopping around and his tendency to carry himself like a relaxed joe shmoe rather than a dancer, even during the complicated numbers, that make this stand out as a more relatable musical, making me believe I could just move into song and dance at any moment. The Girl Next Door is like a rush of kindness across the screen. Dan Dailey and Dennis Day as his son evoke a homely warmth that is both exciting and calming. June Haver is lovely and brings a lot of color into the romance. The songs are great, and June’s stage numbers especially are creative and unique. The entire film feels good and has the same consistency of smoothness as the best of musicals, which is impressive to say the least.

Give a Girl a Break was worth waiting for. As soon as I laid eyes on Kurt Kasznar this movie started in on the light touch of humor, and the plot of not just stardom but the details on the gears of the dream machine that goes into its process is on display with intrigue and care. The Fosse choreography is lovely and the camera is busy - I don’t think I’ve seen such a talent that risks teetering on the edge of sloppiness to break rules of framing the action, yet sticks the landing every time. There is a casual vibe woven through this meticulously crafted ball of positive energy, allowing the film to lose the anchor of perceived pretension that can come with musicals, and rise to accessible and effortlessly impressive space.

My Blue Heaven is not the Steve Martin film I saw as a kid, but actually a pretty cute and playful little piece. Everyone, from adults to children, all beam with gusto, and even though there’s precious little to make this stand out amongst the crowd, the devotion to craft is there with passion. The Pajama Game is a colorful and exuberant ensemble, and one that I admire more than love, but I do like it a lot. What’s missing is a connection to the characters and plot for this viewer, but there’s a range of emotion in the songs and the design is so eclectic and diverse that I can’t help but fall in love with all the aesthetic around the half-empty core.

Calamity Jane has always been fascinating beyond any musical specifics because of Doris Day’s animated performance, but this latest watch opened up a new viewpoint as to why. It’s the kind of role that is defined by its stereotypical masculinity but can only be played by a woman with enough control on her femininity to allow it to break through the character at exactly the right times, and the wrong kind of performance or a lack of control in this space would ruin the film. Day supports the film that rests on her shoulders, so well in fact that her skill becomes invisible to its particular functions in service to the rest of the terrific attributes of the film. The camera work and staging of action is nothing short of spectacular, and the script and its direction find humor in crevices one might not expect. The playing with gender makes light of deep identity issues that are more complex than the surface shows, with the ambiance clothing such thematic strength and delivering a layered work like some of my favorite musicals do (My Sister Eileen and Lili are the two clear standouts). I don’t love this as much as those but it’s a unique and strange film and one that bests most musicals in these respects.

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Michael Kerpan
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Re: The 1950s List: Discussion and Suggestions

#153 Post by Michael Kerpan » Thu Dec 19, 2019 8:18 pm

I must say I loved Bunuel's Illusion Travels by Streetcar while only liking bits and pieces of Ascent to Heaven/Mexican Bus Ride. I have yet to see Streetcar in subbed form -- but have no reason to think I'd like it less if I understood all of the dialog (rather than just some).

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Re: The 1950s List: Discussion and Suggestions

#154 Post by therewillbeblus » Fri Dec 20, 2019 12:11 am

domino harvey wrote:
Thu Dec 19, 2019 3:47 pm

the Next Voice You Hear… (William A Wellman 1950)

I found this a surprisingly realistic portrait of how average middle class folks would receive communication from God. This isn’t a witnessing tool, and reactions run the gamut. but once people come to accept the voice really is God’s, nearly everyone we meet at least once cycles through a response of fear. It’s one thing to believe and have faith, but the film shows us that there’s something obtrusive in God breaking His silence that on some level feels like a violation and the family and other peripheral characters in this film frequently behave in a way that equates God communicating to his flock as a threat. Obviously, this being Hollywood, people come around to God’s love, but I still found the journey moving.
Sounds like exactly my kind of film. I’m actually thrilled for this, thanks for putting it on my radar

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domino harvey
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Re: The 1950s List: Discussion and Suggestions

#155 Post by domino harvey » Fri Dec 20, 2019 2:59 pm

One of my favorite parts of the movie that I didn’t mention is how the film presents quite believably the steps taken to confirm the unbelievable— in some ways it’s even a procedural detective film of sorts, all seen and playing out in the background while we focus on the impact the voice has on this one family. If God ever had appeared on the radio in 1950, I have no doubt it would have unfolded just like this

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Re: The 1950s List: Discussion and Suggestions

#156 Post by therewillbeblus » Sat Dec 21, 2019 3:18 am

The Next Voice You Hear...
Of course I liked this, but aside from what’s already been said by domino regarding the authenticity of this fantasy and the psychological distress of the actuality of contact from the spiritual as tangible, this film worked because the family dynamics are masterfully depicted from the start. I fell in love with every member of the family and the idiosyncratic details of their relationships from the moment the husband and wife share a piece of toast. The roles and dynamics aren’t fixed like many stereotypical nuclear families of this period, but there’s a lot of humor in their flexibility built around playfulness and transparency. Even beyond the time taken to flesh out these characters and the family systems that provide each with their singular and collective identities, the movie is just plain funny. The insertion of the mystical presence shakes things up in just the right ways and there’s a lot of creativity and serious thought put into how and why not only people as representative of humans would react as they do but this family in particular to their own developed traits, individualizing and universalizing the process at once, which winds up being a rather fascinating approach because of how much we care for the family. The film would have been interesting without this setup but its greatness comes from the investment on a deeply empathetic level in addition to the theoretical level we expect. This is what makes the overused It’s a Wonderful Life message of the ‘real miracles’ being closest to you work best here, even though we know it’s coming, because the didactic theme has earned our acceptance.

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Re: The 1950s List: Discussion and Suggestions

#157 Post by knives » Sat Dec 21, 2019 8:47 pm

The Blackboard Jungle (dir. Brooks)
The opening announces itself as a special kind of melodrama and you'll either be lost or have the time of your life by the end of the first song. For me the reality buried under this fever dream made for a truly great experience. One thing I was battling with is how to take Ford and his tactics. It's a great use of a performer who often dies under his plainness here embodying wonder bread forced to understand rye. This is also a film made before IDEA, FAPE, nor title 1 reflecting a mentality of muscle. So my reading of Ford as a bad teacher (as much as he is trying to be a good one) is probably not intended. Though Brooks' politics makes me think that's at least partially a correct reading. Ford opens the film using tactics taken wholesale from union busters. Ford is never really successful in the film at least by a certain standard as represented by the all white school, but he never becomes Louis Calhern, in a typically great performance, and he at least has the small victory of earning the trust of Poitier to point of him finishing out the year with diploma in hand. The more things change the more they stay the same.

The film also has a million little jokes and details that stand up all these years later. The confusion over Ford's all girls school is something I've got comments on even though my college integrated before this movie was made! This movie does the best of melodrama by getting at the truth through a massive expansion of the experience.

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Re: The 1950s List: Discussion and Suggestions

#158 Post by therewillbeblus » Sat Dec 21, 2019 9:06 pm

Singin’ in the Rain

What is there left to say about this one? The Band Wagon may be the pinnacle of self-reflexive cinema, but this one achieves similar feats, albeit in a less expansive quest. Even if its interests are shallow by comparison the movie is no worse for its range of aims, focusing on the idea of authenticity in the performance industry, and extending this concept to the existential alignment of the self with the work. The best gags touch on the sensitive core of this very theme, and no punches are pulled at mocking the arrogance of self-proclamation as much as the dissonance between self-concept and action. The opening recall of narrative sheds light on this juxtaposition of public inauthenticity vs reality with humor and even Reynolds’ party appearance smashes her own airs. Nobody is excluded from the grin of hypocrisy but the film is anything but cynical, and believes that an existence in the reality of the compromised system and acting with honest passion are not mutually exclusive. Every number, joke, and plot point is perfectly executed, as are the stellar performances. Donald O’Connor in this film has always been the musical performer most etched into my memory from childhood, but Reynolds’ perky innocence breathes authenticity as does Kelly’s introspective star, that lend relatability to their performances and elicit a sense of freedom for the audience already set forth by O’Connor’s flamboyant showman. The entire voice plot itself provides a commentary so rich and humorous that the entire film could have been about that and it would still be a complex enough expression of layered insight. For some reason I tend to separate this film from the musicals I've seen and have come to love later in life, probably because it was the only one I adored as a kid until my mid-20s when I rediscovered the genre and gained a new appreciation for it. There’s a reason this one is hailed as the best, and while I have a personal preference for a few other musicals this decade and outside of it, there’s no denying it’s a perfect movie and it’ll land in a strong spot on my list.

Never Let Me Go

This was a more affecting Cold War melodrama than I expected. Tierney’s accent is distracting at first, but she embodies the mysterious love of Gable perfectly and her foreign characteristics only heighten that sensation of the attractive enigma when falling in love. Her performance may be artificial at face value but it feels natural in its symbolism and the way she carries herself as an emblem of warmth encapsulating the meaning of life for Gable allows the entire story of the movie to revolve around physically plotting to obtaining her presence in order to maintain that love. I was convinced, and understanding not only the emotional connection but the reasons to keep it that motivate the characters against all costs is at least half the battle in accepting the meat of these melodramas. This narrative also contains fun aspects of the spy adventure war genre that only make the film more endearing since the goal of love replaces that of duty, championing this passion as synonymous with the life-risking missions of war. This adventure piece is entertaining in itself and the pieces taken together are a fitting metaphor for Daves to play with; the gravity of the stakes is never doubted for a moment, which automatically propels this higher than average for 50s melodrama.

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Re: The 1950s List: Discussion and Suggestions

#159 Post by Rayon Vert » Sun Dec 22, 2019 12:50 am

Revisits for me for the foreseeable future.

Stalag 17 (Wilder 1952).
Only seven years after the war, turning a Nazi prisoner camp into comedy feels a little bit in bad taste. But that doesn’t stop both the comedy and drama-suspense from working. The humor is largely funny (especially contrasted to what’s in the more popular Some Like It Hot), it’s really well-staged, and the acting on both the comedic and dramatic parts is really strong. It’s not easy to mix those extremes that well but the director does a good job here. I’ve seen this several times now and it never feels extraordinary but always very satisfying, surprisingly so, whereas as with other Wilders I’ve blown hot and cold over the years. So that I see it as belonging among his best, and for me a contender for best of this decade from him, depending on what my rewatch of Ace in the Hole will hold.


Magnificent Obsession (Sirk 1954). Sirk’s version punches up the already high emotions and drama in the Stahl original. This is one Sirk where the events are so preposterous as to make you consider whether he is being ironic. Like twbb, I don’t think this completely works and I’m not really on board by the end, and I think the second half, starting with the trip to Europe, just doesn’t maintain the intensity of the first. Still a film I enjoy on purely and sometimes superficial aesthetic grounds – the staging, colors, design, style, especially in the lake scenes, are often remarkable.


The Bridge (Wicki 1959).
The absurdity of war as we watch these kids thrust into this meaningless mission in a war that’s already over anyway. The action scenes that make up the film’s build-up are rather impressive, but the whole thing is very well directed and acted, with earlier on a both realistically convincing and poetic portrayal of the lives of these teenagers in their social settings, living out their own personal minor and greater dramas, with the war making itself felt in the breakdown of their families. The desolation that later occurs brutally and indifferently does away with all of that reality.

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Re: The 1950s List: Discussion and Suggestions

#160 Post by TMDaines » Mon Dec 23, 2019 12:05 pm

Tormento (1950 - Raffaello Matarazzo): Catene is a bit of good melodrama. This is a bit shit. Yvonne Sanson's character is channelling the full Madonna after being kicked out of her family home by her wicked step mum. The film is too dull for you to really care though either about her fate, her evil step mum's, or the child caught in the middle. Hopefully there will be better to comes from the Matarazzo/Nazzari/Sanson trio.

Drei Männer im Schnee (1955 - Kurt Hoffmann): This could best be described as a comedy of errors. The story is that an eccentric and wealthy industrialist wants to get closer to everyday people and so goes undercover after winning second prize in a lottery of his firm, which is a trip to a ski lodge. Despite the best intentions of his family and staff to ensure that he is well looked after with the niceties of life that is used to, he is mistaken with the first place winner, who subsequently receives lavish attention from the staff, whilst the rich business man is treated like a third class citizen, even being forced to perform chores. A comedy of mistaken identities, with a little romance ensues. A nice film for winter viewing. Surprised this has never received the Hollywood treatment after adaptations of Kaestner's book in Austria, Germany, UK, France, Sweden and Czechoslovakia.

We're No Angels (1955 - Michael Curtiz): Bogart's always been able to deliver a deadpan line and succeeds further in a fully fledged comedy here. Peter Ustinov arguably steals the show, whilst Aldo Ray is very much the third wheel. After a slow start, this finally clicks into life with scenes filled with real wit and humour, following the three convicts who having escaped from the Devil Island's prison on Christmas Eve are looking to plot their escape from the shore. The scenes following cousin Andre and Paul's arrival mark the high point of the film, with Bogart's customer interactions being another highlight. The material either side of the central section feels a little too bloated. This should be 95 minutes rather than 106. If you want a decent Hollywood comedy, set at Christmas, for the festive period, then I'd recommend this.

Susan Slept Here (1954 - Frank Tashlin): Didn't get much out of this festive fare. The plot feels less edgy with the romance of the female lead only being only 17, than it does weird for the male being supposedly 35, but both looking and acting like he is in his mid-to-late 50s. Some funny moments, an ambitious and interesting dream sequence, but otherwise a stodgy film that feels far longer than its 90-odd minutes. The narrator being an Oscar statuette didn't add anything at all either.

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Re: The 1950s List: Discussion and Suggestions

#161 Post by domino harvey » Mon Dec 23, 2019 1:35 pm

Funnily enough, I just watched We’re No Angels too the other night and mostly agree that after a slow start, it really starts to win you over once the plot turns into a black comedy. I thought the film did a good job of making us believe these three criminals were way too nice to ever actually kill anyone and then has them start killing people in a very droll fashion. The tone here is definitely in the Kind Hearts mode.

I also watched the David Mamet-scripted Neil Jordan “remake” from the 80s which is, of course, virtually unrelated but an interesting mess of tones and styles and a more self-conscious invocation by Mamet of the Hollywood structure than the original! Demi Moore’s character is so ridiculously abrasive but her broadness is right at home with Robert De Niro’s incredible mugging and Sean Penn’s hapless idiot act. A complete shift from the laid-back approach of the original, though again, despite the credits, this is an adaptation in name only

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Re: The 1950s List: Discussion and Suggestions

#162 Post by HinkyDinkyTruesmith » Tue Dec 24, 2019 4:53 am

I've spent the majority of this month either in travel or working so I've watched far fewer films than I usually do, to explain my inactivity on this board. Thankfully, quality makes up for quantity, hence all the bright red.

Bell Book and Candle
For the holiday though, I did rewatch one of my favorite holiday films, this classic B-side to Vertigo's A-side. I've never thought this was an unimpeachable masterpiece, and it certainly doesn't compare objectively to Quine's My Sister Eileen in terms of its filmmaking. It's sort of a rough mishmash of odds and ends that congeal together based on Quine's expert tonal control. Whereas in Vertigo, the age difference between James Stewart and Kim Novak added to the general dynamic, here it's just sort of odd. Quine and James Wong Howe experiment with a variety of techniques––expressionistic lighting, zoom lenses, process filters, etc. to achieve some of their effects and they are fairly dated for the most part. A lot of the comedy that Stewart is saddled with is stale, and the faint outmoded sexual politics of the film is neither invisible nor savage enough as it is in Sex and the Single Girl that it becomes an active point of the film.

And yet how I adore the film. Its subject––three witches in Greenwich Village who get involved with a straight-laced book publisher––takes both the witchcraft and the beatniks seriously enough to produce a genuinely atmospheric fantasy comedy in the hip locale of 50s New York. Wong Howe's cinematography is often stunning, no moreso than during a musical number in a nightclub by a French dancer-singer which feels like genuine beat culture; likewise witches are heavily coded with a counterculture vibe predicated on niche African artifacts, jazz, and foolish pranks. Elsa Lanchester, Ernie Kovacks, and Jack Lemmon aren't given much to do to be fair but what they are given they do with great joy and their usual charisma. Stewart is Stewart. But Novak––Novak gives one of her most dazzling performances, one only a true movie star could pull off. Her icy cool looks and attitude, constantly dressed in tightfitting black clothes, suggest someone on a higher plane than yourself, and after the heartache and tragedy of Vertigo it's a great pleasure to see her control Jimmy instead. It's a complete piece of fluff, but its Christmastime setting and light tone and eccentric cast make it, at the very least, a must-watch around the holidays. Whether it will show up in my list remains to be seen: whether I will continue to watch it every holiday season is a certainty.

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Some Came Running
In my earlier post in this thread, I mentioned that Minnelli's Tea and Sympathy would likely find a place high on my list. Nothing has changed that, however, it will no longer be the highest ranking on my list by him, after rewatching this. I was prompted to revisit this, which I had seen many years before and which I didn't much care for, because of my interest in reading the novel. An experience like this is one that reminds you, full bodily, why you should revisit movies, books, albums, plays that you didn't much care for in the past, especially if you yourself have grown or changed significantly. Since watching Some Came Running the first time, I had developed an interest in the Hollywood melodrama, and it has by now blossomed into a love full stop, intellectually and emotionally. All the things I thought I understood about Minnelli before, I realized now I didn't. I remember once writing a pathetic essay where I remarked that Minnelli often prioritized color, composition, lighting, etc. over the melodramatics of his pictures; this is obviously not the case. Like Sirk, (who, contrary to domino's critical summary I do not consider as an outstanding subverter––I love him for other reasons that I'll get to when I do my write-ups of his films), Minnelli embraces his characters and plots with those plastic qualities, and because he so exceedingly manages to shape his material through his aesthetic aims, he avoids unintended banality or self-parody: he avoids cliché.

From the very opening, we begin with a strange dissonance between music and image: the image is a man on a bus, daytime, with the bright yellow of the credits overlayed, sleeping, and yet the music, bombastic and dreading, suggests tragedy and doom. The reverse shot, prompted by the bus driver waking up Frank Sinatra's Dave Hirsch, a former writer and GI and current drunk (and gambler), we have established the most important relationship of the film: Dave, in the foreground, and, in the background, mostly covered, sleeping, signaled by a bright red that will continue to signal her until the very end, Shirley MacLaine's Ginny, ignored by the film and Dave. When I say that the film's profundity and greatness is contained almost entirely in Ginny, I'm sure I will evoke skepticism, but for me, she is the Falstaff of this piece: MacLaine's performance is one for the ages, and the character as she plays it is contains such multitudes that I don't think I will ever be able to capture the funny heartbreak and the heartbreaking funniness of her. With her gaudy bright makeup and her rarely downtrodden attitude, she is truly a clown. This is a film nearly devoid of closeups––the wideness of the screen makes them rather difficult––but that doesn't stop Minnelli from providing her with an astonishingly vivid one: a cut from a three shot which makes her makeup seem excessive and trashy to the close-up focus on MacLaine, whose bright red lips and cheeks are suddenly transformed by the big red flower blooming out of the side of her head and the soft, gauzy lighting, and we understand suddenly, or should understand, that this character, who was left behind at the start of the film and then not seen again for almost a third of the running time, is the moral center of the film, the heart of this film. Minnelli loves beauty, and it's significant that he sees such startling, radiant beauty in her. MacLaine and Minnelli spare no opportunities, however, for providing Ginny with as many moments of confident shattered as possible however. The scene where she's talking to Dave as he's packing up, following him back and forth, literally into the closet, simply to keep his attention as much as she can, can only resemble a puppy dog trying to get attention. And I find myself continually thinking of the shot, where Ginny starts crying while talking to the schoolteacher Gwen, and bows her head, and the camera for a quiet moment fixates on the dark brown roots of her hair. It was either this scene, or the following one where she congratulates Dave on her story and he berates her, but I found myself literally in tears for long minutes, crying in pity about how sad kind people can be. I spent most of the film scoffing at the grand achievement of her performance, unable to keep myself from vocalizing the soft pangs of identification with the vulnerability MacLaine is able to achieve by so many subtle effects. And I don't think anyone has achieved such a perfect portrayal of cluelessness as she has when Dave interrogates her about her story.

The climax of the film, the carnival, has rightly been praised for its color and dynamism––it surely does play like a tour-de-force when you're in the rhythm of the film––but the tragic finish of that sequence is what made this film transcend for me as a great film, and not just a really, really good film with a great performance in it (I don't think the other plots in the film are bad, or weigh the film down, contrary to my lack of comment on them). I remembered very specifically how the film ended, so I was prepared for it with a stomachache, much like how I feel watching Vertigo. But Minnelli's staging of Ginny's murder is just as formally accomplished and audacious and heartbreaking and powerful as Sirk's staging of the end of Imitation of Life, as whiteness engulfs all there. Here, Ginny's death is transformed, in romantic morbidity, or morbid romanticism, into the tragic wedding night she never gets. The wedding dress, the red (Ginny's signal color) of her blood, the kitsch pillow Dave bought for her earlier, placed gently under her head, and the final shot of the two, Dave leaning over her––hell, even down to the wooden crate they lay beside resembling a headboard (although this last point I take more tongue in cheek than the others)––Minnelli composes them as if they were in bed. Between the visual doubling of death and sleep (can you tell I studied Donne in college?), it also makes a full circle that brings us back to the opening of the film, where Dave is awake and Ginny asleep: the way he rubs his eyes, perhaps stopping tears, perhaps in disbelief at how quickly she's gone from his life, it's almost as if he's hoping she'll awaken once again.

Anatomy of a Murder
I wonder if this quite qualifies as a hang-out movie. Of course, there's a narrative drive to it, but the film's emphasis on how things happen at the expense often of what actually happens seems to diminish the pulse without slackening the pace. Preminger's stately direction allows the intellectually sophisticated material to shine, the characters to come through instantly, with an engagement that is akin more to conversation than observation. We are allowed so much information that we become just as capable of judging the responses of witnesses as others; consider when Manion is called back to the stand after the inmate Miller he attacks earlier in the film makes his claim. Why doesn't he admit that they argued about his wife?

This seems to be my first time watching the film as an adult, with a stronger sense of the reality of the world. Preminger's ambiguity and the film's fixation on the unknowability of people haunts the film, and for the first time I found myself unsure of whether or not Laura Manion was telling the truth: her recounting of the rape is so calm, so collected. The moment where she takes off the sunglasses so charged with a sort of sadomasochistic sexuality; and the bookending moment when the groundskeeper remarks that he felt bad for her, because she was crying when she and her husband left; it leaves one questioning, unsure. It all, of course, calls back to Preminger's film twelve years earlier, Daisy Kenyon, where a distinction is made between melodrama and the facts: Preminger clearly doesn't believe there is a real difference between the two, but he's trying as hard as he can to avoid melodrama so as to best equip us to look at the world.

Anatahan
I think this might be von Sternberg's most fatalistic film, yet it still brims with the love of beautiful women; the carefully modulated monotone of his earlier films, where every element was chiseled towards a uniformity forged from his soul, has been replaced by the economical singularity of his literal first person, which in its droning quality that moves between reportage, philosophizing, and quotation (translation) resembles the early novel, primarily Daniel Defoe, whose Robinson Crusoe, Moll Flanders, and Roxana all feel only slightly distanced from this, primarily in von Sternberg's complete disinterest in the economic mindset that dominates Defoe's narrators. Instead, love and power dominate, and the shifts in power, both erotic and violent, are constantly the subject. The conclusion is devastating, as von Sternberg makes clear the dissonance between the unspoken narrative of the men we have just witnessed, and the reduced summary that serves as the basis for their reception as heroes. Their shame is their own. Keiko resembles most of all not the other Queen of von Sternberg's oeuvre, Catherine, but rather Concha from The Devil Is a Woman; instead of that film's rococo parody of misogyny, however, here we have a subjective portrait of a woman which is arguably divorced from the proceedings (it is, indeed, difficult whether the events we witness are an abstraction of the narration, or indeed the truth) and therefore depicts a character who is neither baselessly villainous and lusty nor simplistically moral. And the shift, at the very finale, to her perspective, as she watches the men who claimed power over her, now dead, walk towards her as they never will in life, makes clear that for all his fatalism, von Sternberg has the heart of a romantic: Emily Brontë perhaps is his nearest kin in depicting the savagery of men and women, dominated by love.

No Down Payment and Peyton Place
A Jerry Wald double feature tonight, both of these rocked me with their savage indictment of American suburbian society (although Peyton Place surprised me by not being set in the suburbs of the 50s, which is what I expected!) The latter already has its defenders on here, whose defenses and praise for the film top anything I can provide on first watch, although I do want to say that I think that the film is slightly deficient in its handling of the multiple narrative threads in terms of its comparisons. I couldn't help but laugh at Lana Turner's breakdown at the climactic trial, which I don't think is quite as self-aware as Sirk's savage takedown of her in Imitation of Life (wherein her performance of motherly grief is quite literally a parody of the other mother-daughter relationship in the film)––whereas earlier in the film when she says to Nellie that "everyone as problems" as Nellie tries to obliquely reveal that her daughter has been raped feels at least heavily ironic with some judgment on her. Selena's narrative throughout was overwhelmingly powerful, however. It's difficult to get the same sense of sociopolitical analysis that others have commented on, hence my reservations, but it's certainly a hell of a melodrama, even if none of the other parts compare to Selena's.

No Down Payment has a similar situation, in that Joanne Woodward's performance and characterization is clearly the strongest (not unlike Ginny in characterization), but the other narrative threads are just as rich. I actually find much of the sociopolitical analysis that others see in Peyton Place much more present here, as the film takes on a very naturalistic structure: it feels almost at times like we're scientists, watching specimens live in their own little compartments, and then be let out to interact with others, producing reactions for us to study. There is a strong claustrophobia to the film, and the characters' own sense of "this is it"ness can be palpably felt. It stumbles in its finale, but how could it not? Racism is solved magically; the rapist is disposed of instantly. This is an ejector-seat ending that leaves us with great discomfort, as it should, but not quite as much as some of Sirk's or John Cromwell's. But the film, better than any other 50s film I've seen yet, manages to diagnose the American individual's sickness: complacency, conformity, repression, self-medication, delusions of grandeur, smothering by objects, entitlement––you name it, this film savages it.

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Re: The 1950s List: Discussion and Suggestions

#163 Post by therewillbeblus » Tue Dec 24, 2019 10:16 am

HinkyDinkyTruesmith wrote:
Tue Dec 24, 2019 4:53 am
I couldn't help but laugh at Lana Turner's breakdown at the climactic trial, which I don't think is quite as self-aware as Sirk's savage takedown of her in Imitation of Life (wherein her performance of motherly grief is quite literally a parody of the other mother-daughter relationship in the film)––whereas earlier in the film when she says to Nellie that "everyone as problems" as Nellie tries to obliquely reveal that her daughter has been raped feels at least heavily ironic with some judgment on her.
Interesting take, I won’t doubt that there’s some irony here but the reason it works for me (as opposed to the heavy-handedness I find in a lot of Sirk) is that Robson doesn’t feel like a god judging his characters or shaking his audience. When she commits the earlier act of ignorance (well, all of them), Turner is caught up in the blindness of comfortable suppression for problems (hers or others’) and I think Robson goes to lengths to validate this position as natural, even if it’s harmful. This makes her emergence into a state of sobriety when awakening to them in the trial, naked in front of all, more powerful because yes it’s a common family dynamic of the times in harm through invalidation, but it’s also unique to her: her own history and micro-level intimate relationships with others. She’s alone up there, or feels alone, and this is something Robson seems empathetic to, the feeling of being alone. I think his aims are more compassionate and less finger-wagging than Sirk, opting for validation of the individual experience and the cultural one as not mutually exclusive and just as significant rather than parody, humanistic rather than didactic. I don’t think Robson is presenting the contrasting scenes as ammunition for judgment but instead relaying objective interactions that will become her memories during this sobering moment, for us to see why she comes to judge herself, becoming her own worst critic, worse than god, her daughter, or even the audience - which is a powerful and honest assessment of the human condition.

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Re: The 1950s List: Discussion and Suggestions

#164 Post by HinkyDinkyTruesmith » Tue Dec 24, 2019 12:03 pm

therewillbeblus wrote:
Tue Dec 24, 2019 10:16 am
HinkyDinkyTruesmith wrote:
Tue Dec 24, 2019 4:53 am
I couldn't help but laugh at Lana Turner's breakdown at the climactic trial, which I don't think is quite as self-aware as Sirk's savage takedown of her in Imitation of Life (wherein her performance of motherly grief is quite literally a parody of the other mother-daughter relationship in the film)––whereas earlier in the film when she says to Nellie that "everyone as problems" as Nellie tries to obliquely reveal that her daughter has been raped feels at least heavily ironic with some judgment on her.
Interesting take, I won’t doubt that there’s some irony here but the reason it works for me (as opposed to the heavy-handedness I find in a lot of Sirk) is that Robson doesn’t feel like a god judging his characters or shaking his audience. When she commits the earlier act of ignorance (well, all of them), Turner is caught up in the blindness of comfortable suppression for problems (hers or others’) and I think Robson goes to lengths to validate this position as natural, even if it’s harmful. This makes her emergence into a state of sobriety when awakening to them in the trial, naked in front of all, more powerful because yes it’s a common family dynamic of the times in harm through invalidation, but it’s also unique to her: her own history and micro-level intimate relationships with others. She’s alone up there, or feels alone, and this is something Robson seems empathetic to, the feeling of being alone. I think his aims are more compassionate and less finger-wagging than Sirk, opting for validation of the individual experience and the cultural one as not mutually exclusive and just as significant rather than parody, humanistic rather than didactic. I don’t think Robson is presenting the contrasting scenes as ammunition for judgment but instead relaying objective interactions that will become her memories during this sobering moment, for us to see why she comes to judge herself, becoming her own worst critic, worse than god, her daughter, or even the audience - which is a powerful and honest assessment of the human condition.
Thank you for your thoughtful response, TWBB; I realize I have to clarify a lot of what I meant both in regards to Sirk and Lana Turner––as well as what sort of "judgment" I expect from a morally responsible film. Sirk would agree with your disbelief in "shaking the audience." Rereading my phrasing of "savage takedown" of her, I realize that I was caught up in a single moment of the film (her argument with her daughter, when she "gives up" John Gavin, followed by Sandra Dee's demand that she stop acting), and with typical auteurist aplomb, ascribed the judgment entirely to Sirk. I don't quite think that criticizing your characters, especially through dramatic means, is the same thing as harsh judgment, nor does it display heavyhandedness, nor is it mutually exclusive with loving them. Dramatic ironies and tensions are the stuff of good drama, and even in Some Came Running, with Ginny, there's a certain point at which her "I'm a human being too" line, simply by virtue of being repeated so often in the same way, becomes a bit pathetic rather than an honorable declamation of her humanity––the irony at which she doesn't seem to quite understand the failure of that sentiment in simply being said. What made me laugh in Peyton Place was not that Robson was taking Turner's self-concern seriously, which I don't think makes her a bad person, but rather the situation. It veers into self-indulgence (on Turner's characters part) that I can't help but find in incredibly bad taste given the situation at large: she's in a trial of someone she knows very well whose mother killed herself and who is charged with murdering her father in cold blood.

Now, what really made me laugh, is the framing: the prosecuting attorney is trying to get an answer out of her, and she goes off on her own concerns and starts crying in the middle of the court, derailing his attempts to get an answer out of her. It wouldn't be hard to intentionally turn it into a comic moment. In the next scene, she even says, "What have I done to Selena?" so I have to back up and acknowledge that the film is more self-aware than I gave it credit for. But, if I'm understanding you correctly, you draw a connection between the scene where she says "Everyone has problems" to Nellie, and the breakdown at the trial. I don't think there is a connection necessarily, I don't see any reason to believe that she recognizes the suffering of others outside of her social class––she's crying because she realizes she was incapable of understanding her daughter's suffering. She's certainly not her own worst critic, and I think you give her character too much credit (even if I initially gave her too little); and Robson, by virtue of the material at least, is not as philosphically detached as all that––at least I don't think so. Even if his modulation of Turner performance and the actual camerawork allows for distance and "objectivity", the very situation is clearly one of indictment: when the attorney asks Turner "doesn't your daughter ever bring home her problems?" it's suddenly Turner on trial, rather than Selena, literally behind the witness stand. And compared with Lloyd Nolan's realization, where he gets to declaim the virtues of the story (not to suggest they're the film's virtues), the dramatic staging of the scenes demonstrates that the trial of Lana Turner's character is not passive and objectively depicted. It's inarguably effective staging for managing two separate plot-lines––but when one character's rape is hanging over the entire proceeding, even if unbeknownst to the rest of the characters (save one), I can't help but find it, again, lacking in sophistication––even if the rest of the characters don't know it, the film knows it, and we know it. (It's also interesting to note the difference between this and Anatomy of a Murder, and how obviously absent the word "rape" is here, even if the depiction of the act is extraordinarily bold for the time.)

Your use of the word "natural" in describing Robson's evaluation of the characters' flaws is interesting, and has made me think quite a lot. Obviously it's diegetic language to the film: the turning of the scenes, the setting's complete immersion in the rich countryside––but the way your argument hinges on Robson's detachment, on his recognizing the naturalness of the characters' vices––well, that argument becomes all-encompassing, even for Arthur Kennedy's rapist, who argues that "after all, it wasn't like I was your real father." In that defense, Kennedy quite literally justifies his own sexual urges as distinctly natural––compared with the unnaturalness of incest. I do not in any way mean to put this argument into your mouth––but this is the natural endpoint for your argument as I understand it.

I'm still working through my conclusions to all this: I had written up a little bit about a lack of faith in "objectivity" and all that jazz about preferring moral judgment to immoral compassion but I've seriously got to consider now what I actually believe. I suppose this, at the very least, proves the richness of Peyton Place.

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Re: The 1950s List: Discussion and Suggestions

#165 Post by domino harvey » Tue Dec 24, 2019 3:04 pm

I love No Down Payment and have long argued that it’s the key text for understanding the American middle class anxieties of the fifties, but Tony Randall def gives the best performance, not Woodward!

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Re: The 1950s List: Discussion and Suggestions

#166 Post by HinkyDinkyTruesmith » Tue Dec 24, 2019 4:27 pm

Perhaps it was disgreeing with domino about No Down Payment (Tony Randall's great––his seamless blend of delusional drunk and loving, genuinely caring father is extremely touching and masterful, but Woodward, especially in her scene with Jeffrey Hunter, is pure magic), but I forgot that I did watch one other film!

Scaramouche
I know domino loves this, but, alas, I find it merely a fun excursion. Despite the energy of the main cast, I find the filmmaking a little choppy, the cinematography often dull (literally, not metaphorically; perhaps a newer scan/transfer would help this/seeing it on film), and the pacing slow. This swashbuckler genre has never particularly appealed to me in practice, as much as I like it in theory (I don't think I've ever enjoyed one more than I enjoy Captain Blood), and although this is filled with wit, extravagance, and a well-balanced blend of comedy and pathos, I always get bored by halfway through. I enjoy the theatre sequences the most, and Eleanor Parker looks wonderful throughout, as do most of her costumes, but this is one film that I don't see myself ever warming up to. I'd much rather read an 18th century picaresque to get my fix of convoluted royalty and bloodlines, loosely connected setpieces, and a hero's journey.

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Re: The 1950s List: Discussion and Suggestions

#167 Post by therewillbeblus » Tue Dec 24, 2019 8:50 pm

HinkyDinkyTruesmith wrote: She's certainly not her own worst critic, and I think you give her character too much credit (even if I initially gave her too little); and Robson, by virtue of the material at least, is not as philosphically detached as all that––at least I don't think so. Even if his modulation of Turner performance and the actual camerawork allows for distance and "objectivity", the very situation is clearly one of indictment: when the attorney asks Turner "doesn't your daughter ever bring home her problems?" it's suddenly Turner on trial, rather than Selena, literally behind the witness stand.
I appreciate your detailed analysis, and I think we just disagree on the intent to which Robson is aiming his “objectivity.” I agree that it can be used as you see it for indictment and your reading is definitely sound within its own logic. I won’t argue that the director isn’t placing her in the position of being on the stand, but I still personally view it as not objective via God’s (or Robson’s) judgment but framed as this character stuck in a prison of a changing culture, pressure and people everywhere, unable to hide in her repression any longer and indicts herself. The objectivity here being literally so, the world “as is” creating her own reminders of her faults (making her her own worst enemy, judgment emanating from the internal rather than external forces).

HinkyDinkyTruesmith wrote: Your use of the word "natural" in describing Robson's evaluation of the characters' flaws is interesting, and has made me think quite a lot. Obviously it's diegetic language to the film: the turning of the scenes, the setting's complete immersion in the rich countryside––but the way your argument hinges on Robson's detachment, on his recognizing the naturalness of the characters' vices––well, that argument becomes all-encompassing, even for Arthur Kennedy's rapist, who argues that "after all, it wasn't like I was your real father." In that defense, Kennedy quite literally justifies his own sexual urges as distinctly natural––compared with the unnaturalness of incest. I do not in any way mean to put this argument into your mouth––but this is the natural endpoint for your argument as I understand it.

I'm still working through my conclusions to all this: I had written up a little bit about a lack of faith in "objectivity" and all that jazz about preferring moral judgment to immoral compassion but I've seriously got to consider now what I actually believe. I suppose this, at the very least, proves the richness of Peyton Place.
I don’t see how it has to be all-encompassing and I should clarify that Robson is not “detached” so much as not an interventionist, or minimally so. Kennedy’s proclaimation is rooted in self-justification, but he refuses to be aware and thus cannot change, so he is going against Robson’s view of the world, even outside of the moral violations of his behavior. I think Robson has morals, only part of his camera has sympathy for even the foulest of people because he validated their deep-rooted humanness, but other parts are revealing the harm in these behaviors. I don’t think Robson completely resigned his moral compass (who can?) but I think he is a realist who knows that change is difficult but necessary to beget growth, including moral growth, and self-awareness/insight is an important ingredient in the process. I think Robson sees a difference in Turner getting caught up in her ego and refraining from stepping outside of herself to be empathetic to another - an action that causes harm but doesn’t brand her with irredeemable responsibility - and Kennedy’s rapist who is only validated as far as his inability to stop drinking and work on himself which is, at its invisible source, relatable since he’s so burdened with fear under his thick coat of aggression. Since he repeatedly and intentionally harms another, there is a moral exposition here, but Robson is less interested in judgment than consequence (more on that later).

Just because one empathizes with, or validates, the human condition to act upon fear and desire, doesn’t mean that this is the whole perspective. That’s what Robson does so well. Turner’s position is understandable to a degree and yet it’s also harmful and demands self-awareness and willingness to change. Social context is a piece of the puzzle but not the whole thing. There is also a difference between validation and belief, as well as having empathy and total acceptance. Just because he acknowledges human nature doesn’t mean he condones it limitlessly. Robson’s the rare director to find comfort in the discomfort of a grey world. He may not be a moral interventionist but that doesn’t mean he’s not a moralist. Rather I think he believes in consequences, often natural ones absent from karmic properties. The murder that happens is directly a natural consequence of “immoral” behavior, and it’s justified! Just as Turner’s consequence of emotional and existential flooding on the stand is a consequence not from god or an indicting audience or jury but her own history of cognitive dissonance. Robson places her there but her natural consequences do all the rest.

It’s a process of revealing, of seeing social and personal consequences, of allowing them to question themselves by pitting them against others’ perspectives and consequences, intended or unintended. This action of “allowing them to question themselves” is very different than an imposing questioning by a morally posited filmmaker, but doesn’t mean that he’s not causing the processing of “questioning” to occur. It’s just done more naturally, “more” as the keyword, for any filmmaker is going to bring themselves and their values in no matter how hard they try not to. I just believe Robson is more interested in observing characters work out their own issues than judging himself. It comes down to not a lack of morality but the position of interventionist vs. non-interventionist god/omniscience/objectivity - of which Robson is the latter.

To your last point I think that objectivity and faith aren’t mutually exclusive either along these lines, nor are moral judgment and “immoral compassion.” Perhaps from the position I think you’re viewing the film (the type of “objectivity”) that they would be ill-fitting, but there is faith in objectivity even when divorced from an interventionist stance. Robson’s non-interventionist approach allows for all to be possible. He, and god, have morals and there is a sense of right and wrong, but it’s a lot more interesting and meaningful to watch characters realize this through the consequences in murky grey waters. Faith exists, but humanity is all that’s on display visibly in this objective portrait, with faith being that which one can find in the cracks, the spirituality of this observable growth becoming visible only through the distanced perspective of watching a character grow, change, face their fears, achieve catharsis. Characters judge themselves and one another along moral lines, with all moral judgment taking place within the milieu without interference from the filmmakers who admire all from that place of relativist - not “immoral” - compassion (allowing these ideas to coexist as well). I noticed faith many times in this movie in these moments, perhaps in my subjective interpretation of the humanist objectivity presented, but now we’re getting into even more philosophically dense territory...

That’s a lot of (probably redundant) rambling, but either way you’ve given me a lot to think about and those dualities you propose at the end are particularly insightful, even if you didn’t want to go down that road yourself I appreciate you putting them out there!

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Re: The 1950s List: Discussion and Suggestions

#168 Post by nitin » Thu Dec 26, 2019 12:40 am

Journey To Italy is a stunner but Rossellini’s Stromboli is an even more staggering film IMHO.

Ingrid Bergman plays a woman who agrees to marry a poor Sicilian man to get out of an Italian ‘displaced people’ camp in post WWII Italy, only to find herself in a different kind of prison when they go back to his home island of Stromboli, loomed over by an active volcano and where life is very primitive and tough.

There are real life parallels between the narrative and Bergman and Rossellini’s personal life during the making of the film, but those can be put to one side while watching one of cinema’s most interesting female characters captured against a landscape that literally and figuratively seems to mirror her own inner turmoil. Rossellini may be known for his neo-realist approach, and a stunning mid movie scene showing the local townsfolk tuna fishing is ample proof of that reputation, but the way he constantly frames Bergman against the island is a masterclass in cinematographic technique.

Against all of that plays out a terrifically layered narrative of the ability and disposition of people to not communicate with and to not try to understand each other, irrespective of whether they are speaking the same language. And throughout it all Bergman shines luminously as the frustrated woman who cannot get through to anyone, at least not on her own terms.

In a similar way to Journey To Italy, I am not quite sure I buy the ending as much as I bought into the rest of the movie but it doesn’t lessen my enthusiasm in recommending this great film!

Criterion’s blu is from compromised source (a combination of a 2k restoration of a duplicate negative and also a 35mm print) and has a fair bit of blooming in the whites and some noticeable damage throughout. But it’s pretty sharp and detailed and more importantly presents the full international version with English audio, which the Region B BFI release does not. The English audio is pretty important to Bergman’s performance so this definitely is the version to get of a movie with a notorious censorship history.

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Re: The 1950s List: Discussion and Suggestions

#169 Post by Rayon Vert » Fri Dec 27, 2019 12:46 am

The Furies (Mann 1950). The King Lear parallels to reoccur in later Mann westerns are quite evident here. This stands out from the Stewart films in that it feels a lot more cramped visually, with a lot of the action taking place inside (what outside there is often features rocky mountainsides that will be a staple of the director’s westerns), and it has more of the feel of a complex psychological family melodrama than an action film (both elements are more balanced in something like Laramie). I forgot that surprising scissor scene! This film has a lot of unique things but one of them is how Stanwyck’s role is really one of the great, fully fleshed-out and individual western heroines. It’s her story as much as it is the ol’ aging toro’s. Hopefully this gets an upgrade by Criterion because in this transfer the noirish photography shows up so dark as to be hard to see anything at times.

Il Grido (Antonioni 1957). There are certain continuities of themes across a narrative of wandering but it’s surprising how little here announces the new cinematic language that would come next in L’Avventura. The romantic disillusionment and psychological disintegration is accompanied here by a context of social disintegration as well and a focus on the working classes, which sets its apart from most of the director’s films. Following the lost Aldo aimlessly traveling down the Po Valley, emptily linking up to one pretty, lonely woman after another, I didn’t find all that much to like the second time around. The ending felt a bit obvious as well.

Westward the Women (Wellman 1951). Really the decade for westerns when you think of the wealth of classics during these years. Here a wagon master and his diminutive Japanese assistant wind up alone with 138 women crossing the country to meet men in California waiting for wives. It’s not Ford but it’s a fun yarn, as the crew meet on one deadly obstacle after another (the Donner Party is referenced). Many of the women are individualized enough, with the French Denise Darcel in the lead, to add a lot of spice to the movie.

Bigger Than Life (N. Ray 1956). This makes me think of Fuller’s Shock Corridor from several years later, another startling film about insanity that surprises you about how modern it is for the time. The social and family critique of Rebel is here more in the (obvious) subtext, but it’s equally impressive for its shared visual sense, Ray’s way with compositions and colors (and the eruption of the family drama framed on the stairwell), although here the style is less Olympian and more expressionistic. Really an incredible achievement on that front. That use of Mason’s shadow when the father is towering over his son doing his homework resembles a giant ape, something that converses ironically with the professor’s earlier mania-induced speeches about the evolution of man over his stone age origins, and it also looks a bit like Abraham Lincoln who is later referred to by the patient once he regains his mind.

Tokyo Story (Ozu 1953). There’s a special poignancy at the end in regards to the father and the daughter-in-law, in a variation on what happens in Late Spring with the same actors, but as fine as it is as a whole film I really don’t have anywhere the admiration for it that I do for that earlier film, or Early Summer which is a lock-in for my list here. Maybe something feels a bit predictable in the unfolding of the story. In any event, I don’t understand why this so often gets the unique status that it does among the director’s works. Looking forward to revisiting a few of the other films in this decade though.

Bob le flambeur (Melville 1956).
Really the template for Melville’s gangster/heist films, down to the dancing girl club scenes. A striking mix of realism and stylization, with a strong pre-New Wave feel with the way Montmartre is filmed, and that voiceover by the director himself reinforcing the feel of a personal, autonomously-made film. Interesting how the theme of honor among thieves is extended to the friendship between Bob and the Inspector. This has a softer, slightly more lyrical edge than the films that follow though, and the images often prettier, i.e. less gritty.

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Re: The 1950s List: Discussion and Suggestions

#170 Post by barryconvex » Fri Dec 27, 2019 3:30 am

Great writeup of Bigger Than Life Ray, which is probably in my top ten. You also included two others definitely making my list, one of which is currently in the top spot.

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Re: The 1950s List: Discussion and Suggestions

#171 Post by therewillbeblus » Fri Dec 27, 2019 11:23 am

You really hit on some of the key ways that Ray uses technique to amplify this “family and social critique.” Aside from form, part of the reason I think Bigger Than Life is so excellent is that it is at once the ultimate melodrama and the anti-melodrama. By taking the male head of the household and turning him into the sole problem in the home, the destruction of the patriarch crumbles this family and transforms the film into essentially horror at the unpredictability of such a role diffusion, which makes it the extreme melodrama. However, the fact that the male is the only problem sheds a light on the family’s ability to function well, and makes transparent the facade of the father figure as essential by essence rather than by social construct. Therefore, he’s reduced to being emasculated of both his power as stable leader and as a necessary role of leader in the first place. The entire family systems theory of the 50s collapses and the melodrama dies in the wake of seeing the other, typically depicted as ‘weaker’ members- or at least composed of problems with equal value to show a fair distribution of individual stress, emerging as resilient and self-actualized. The family only stresses because the father is incapable of being cast out in this social structure and yet Ray seems to insinuate that they could survive just fine if the mores shifted. This reveals an equality of strength that destroys the idea of patriarchy but also of traditional family and societal necessities beyond the roles, a jarring proclamation for the time that ends the melodrama by ending the assumed ideas of family.

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Re: The 1950s List: Discussion and Suggestions

#172 Post by Rayon Vert » Fri Dec 27, 2019 1:42 pm

therewillbeblus wrote:
Fri Dec 27, 2019 11:23 am
By taking the male head of the household and turning him into the sole problem in the home, the destruction of the patriarch crumbles this family and transforms the film into essentially horror at the unpredictability of such a role diffusion, which makes it the extreme melodrama. However, the fact that the male is the only problem sheds a light on the family’s ability to function well, and makes transparent the facade of the father figure as essential by essence rather than by social construct. Therefore, he’s reduced to being emasculated of both his power as stable leader and as a necessary role of leader in the first place. The entire family systems theory of the 50s collapses and the melodrama dies in the wake of seeing the other, typically depicted as ‘weaker’ members- or at least composed of problems with equal value to show a fair distribution of individual stress, emerging as resilient and self-actualized.
Are you describing The Shining here? :D Obviously a lot of it is in the novel as well, but I've wondered if Kubrick was inspired by Ray's film, which he must have seen. (There's a central stairwell scene there as well). Of course the theme you articulate here obviously was completely revolutionary in the earlier decade.

p.s. some guy edited scenes from the two films together to make BIgger Than The Shining, but after a second public viewing destroyed it with an axe!

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Re: The 1950s List: Discussion and Suggestions

#173 Post by therewillbeblus » Fri Dec 27, 2019 1:50 pm

That “some guy” is Mark Cousins! I never made that connection to The Shining but you’re right, though the specific deconstruction of the melodrama and fixed roles of 50s nuclear family roles is mostly what makes this delve into a deeper existential horror beyond the surface-level signifiers. Still, the parallels are uncanny

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Re: The 1950s List: Discussion and Suggestions

#174 Post by Michael Kerpan » Fri Dec 27, 2019 4:45 pm

Re: Tokyo Story -- The characters (including the parents and the daughter-in-law) are actually more complicated (and flawed) than the standard perception in the west (or at least the US). Looking at them less sentimentally (and more critically) makes this a far more interesting and rewarding film. ;-) I think some of the other wonderful late films of Ozu are actually less "complicated".

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Re: The 1950s List: Discussion and Suggestions

#175 Post by therewillbeblus » Sat Dec 28, 2019 8:06 pm

Early Summer

A revisit following a more full understanding of Ozu’s body of work elevates this to be one of his most transcendental works. Initiating the film with Ozu’s camera meditating on waves and birds before dropping the viewer in on a family engaging in the calm banalities of nature in homeostasis is powerfully comparable with the natural marvels outside. Of course change is just as natural, and this calm is temporary as social mores and inner conflict between the external superficial ideologies and the internal authentic consciences of emotional and love engage in a soft battle soon enough. This problem is rooted in a fear of time, the family afraid of Noriko’s future, and Noriko herself disrupted from her serenity in the present by these fears that cannot be ignored due to engrained importance of the family system. I admired this film a lot more this time for the continuous takes on present beauty, just seconds longer than expected to make a point, a way of showing how time is elastic in its perception even if it is impermanent in nature. Observing a bird inside with the sun shining through the window is a fleeting moment but can last for what feels like forever in just seconds, and yet the family spends a considerable amount of their time worrying about Noriko’s life years into the future. At the same time, even in many of these moments of “worrying” there are brief meditations on nature and these processes don’t snowball into the obsessions that take over characters and blind them to their peripheries, compared to some of Ozu’s other works (nor does it have this effect on Noriko, who isn’t as debilitated as the heroine of Late Spring, for example, and holds onto that optimistic assurance in step with her identity that keeps her in a serene space against the expectations of an Ozu protagonist).

There is a genuine question rather than pejorative judgment about the necessity to plan and think of the future (as well as adhering to cultural values that bind and contribute to harmony) vs. to only focus on the present or oneself, aside from even the more obvious cultural deconstruction. A question with no right or wrong answer, this film presents a complex array of issues corporeal and spiritual coexisting across perspectives on values as applied to both socialization and human identity, as well as abstract concepts like time. The inclusion of three generations of people is used better than most of Ozu’s works here as there is an establishment of harmony when little stress is impacting the system and we get more shots of members of all ages looking out of sunny windows, admiring the mystical mysteries of life and the physical ones of the skies, engaging lovingly with one another; and when an elder questions Noriko’s status of single, we feel no ill will and are empathetic to all parties equally, as if this initial statement that kicks off the plot is something shared rather than issued with emotional distance, as one could interpret actions depicted in something like Tokyo Story. There is love in both, and characters are blind to the other perspectives in each, but something here was assuring that the cosmic and social connectivity existed, is known, and is valuable on a spiritual level in spite of any social critique and individual reservations that come with the problems within the milieu of the film. Ozu doesn’t see these opposing presentations as contradictions or ironic, but as equal parts of the complicated pie of life, and this may be one of his most confident works about this idea that permeates his oeuvre, with a position of more universal acceptance in treating the details of the film as a spiritual microcosm. Even the seemingly random inclusions of the interactions between side characters that amount to no build in plotting lend themselves to this comprehensive composite of an emblem of life. This might be Ozu’s ‘fullest’ film, if measured by his own interests and ideas, and perhaps my favorite of his dramas.

[Note: Even though I’d classify this amongst his dramas, like many of those works this has a lot of humor, including one of the funniest moments in any Ozu film, when Noriko and Aya imitate an accent that translates to American ‘southern drawl.’ Also, and I’m aware that this is a contentious opinion, I don’t think he’s ended a film in a way that signified the transient nature of things better than here.]

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