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

[Michael Kerpan]

Early Summer is perhaps Ozu's easiest to love film -- and it was certainly the first I loved (as opposed to merely liked very very much -- but I saw it a day _before_ Tokyo Story). Also one of his funniest films (but not so much as Autumn Afternoon) -- but almost all of Ozu's films contain plenty of humor (even Tokyo Story) -- only a few, like Tokyo Twilight, are virtually humor-free.

[therewillbeblus]

I agree with you Michael on the humor piece, but I’m not so sure I think it’s the easiest film to love. Definitely for western audiences I could see Noriko’s individualistic choice sans too much drama on her end to be relatable or even refreshing, but there is a lot more sublime meandering and seemingly aimless scenes that don’t serve an overall plot (as opposed to the structure of something like Tokyo Story or Late Spring or honestly everything I can think of) to make this seem as accessible to audiences that expect such containment. Don’t get me wrong, all Ozu has these moments, but Early Summer seems to be the loosest Ozu drama, which I think is a great strength. I guess I’m saying that perhaps it’s easy to love on the surface because it contains a lightheartedness that’s accessible, but I didn’t find what I now believe to be the real treasures to it until this last watch, some five years later and with help from the context of his filmography. That’s just my experience, but I also think his best films are the 50s comedies Good Morning and The Flavor of Green Tea Over Rice (this would be third) so my perceptions of Ozu’s merits and accessibility don’t exactly match the norm.

[barryconvex]

Casque D'or (Jacques Becker 1952)

For the first two acts Simone Signoret (playing the lead, Marie) is so heavily backlit in her closeups that it's almost shameless. The angelic glow this effect achieves wasn't necessary as she's already radiating enough raw beauty that if captured would keep the lights on in Paris for years. She has two definitive moments here- the first being her attempt to stifle a smirk after being slapped by her gangster lover Roland and later when she sashays around the gang's primary hangout, L'ange Gabriel- that are among my favorites in all of cinema. With her perfect skin, singular, wide set eyes and impossibly grandiose hairdo (the golden helmet of the title) she has a kind of reverse Medusa effect on men, liquifying all who gaze in her direction into puddles of warm goo. The woman is a goddess incarnate, baptized in the river Styx and delivered to the Belle Epoque for the sole purpose of laying waste to the male ego. But she's no run of the mill femme fatale even if she does leave a trail of wreckage in her wake, for one-she has the capacity to love deeply and she also has no ulterior motives. Neither does the movie. Marie falls in love with a man she can't be with. That pretty much sums up the whole film. None of the characters are anything other than what they appear to be, small time hoods, prostitutes and ex-cons and everybody has their cards on the table as the tale unfolds with the same sense of inevitability that all great tragedies possess. Manda and Marie's love story is handled in a simple and directly sweet way. The reason these two are so in love with each other is because they're so in love with each other. If they were teenagers this absence of reason would be played as innocent naïveté but as they're both older the lack of extraneous motivations makes their relationship touching. They know their time together is limited so no thought is given to future responsibilities or any other circumstances that could lead a love affair like this away from its foundations.

If the movie has a flaw it would be that none of the men vying for Marie's affections are anywhere close to her league, first and foremost the film's leading man Serge Reggiani. Playing the ex con Manda who's attempting to go straight with a job as a carpenter it's easy to believe that he could be instantaneously smitten but the opposite is pushing it: with his droopy mustache and proletarian wardrobe Manda may exude a slight aroma of intoxicating danger (he was jailed for murder) but is sorely lacking in charisma. He's got principles and isn't afraid to stand up for himself but doesn't seem to aspire to be much more than an average Joe and in a different movie a woman like Marie would've eaten him for breakfast and forgotten him by lunch. But in truth I care not a whit what Manda's shortcomings may be. In fact these or any other possible criticisms valid or not, are lost on me. There are a few other films that have had this effect. They pull me so thoroughly into their orbits that rational thought is rendered secondary and any on screen weaknesses become endearing.

This was my first Criterion blind buy more than ten years ago (I think I picked it up after seeing Signoret in Army Of Shadows) but it wasn't until my viewing the other night that I realized the screenplay was written by Jacques Companeez whose daughter Nina wrote several brilliant scripts for Michel Deville, whose films I've been gorging on recently.

[Michael Kerpan]

I can't even _count_ how many times I've watched the great 50s and 50s Ozu films at this point -- and yet I find new things to love for all of them with each re-visit. It took me a few viewings to really warm up to Late Spring (which didn't really fully register until I saw it screened). Equinox Flower, first seen via an incredibly ugly VHS tape (colors were disastrously wrong) didn't bloom until I saw the unsubbed (but lovely) Japanese DVD. Green Tea worked better when finally seen in tandem with its predecessor What Did the Lady Forget. Munekata Sisters will probably never make it onto my list of favorite Ozu films. Otherwise it was pretty much love at first sight.

Early Summer (i.e., really "barley harvest time") is definitely the "loosest" of these films -- almost feeling a bit more like some of his earlier comedies. It also has my favorite single scene of all Ozu films (the "proposal" one -- during which I invariably simultaneously sniffle and laugh heartily). Also, having heard some Akita accents for real I'm not sure how well Setsuko Hara gets it down.

[therewillbeblus]

Tea and Sympathy: This film seems quite audacious and necessary for its time, as a melodramatic adaptation that deconstructs the male who doesn’t possess the traits of the normative signifiers of identity. It’s a rather painful film to watch in a society where many of us have been validated in the process of forming our own identity (at least comparably) and yet seeing Tom find ways to access his own against all barriers really magnifies the importance of security in self-concept above all else. Aside from this process of identification, the film has an absolutely beautiful color palette, and the photography dares to capture and even dwell on this beauty even amidst the aggressive undercurrents of the social tide. I have no idea what Minnelli’s intentions were, but I’d like to believe that the juxtaposition itself signals that idea of identity as a wonderful possession, a bright light that refuses to burn out in the muck of dark social pressure that seeks to isolate the special.

Unfortunately, despite these praises, I wasn’t very engaged through most of this film. I didn’t care too much for the performances, outside of Deborah Kerr, and the issues at hand revealed themselves as a bit of a one-note offering across the two hour runtime, a feeling that frustrated me because I wanted to like this more. I still found plenty of merit in its ideas even if I wasn’t always thrilled by its execution.

Stalag 17: I had never thought of this as a comedy until I read RV’s comments and felt compelled to revisit it. Sure enough the tone has a light comedic touch from the opening voiceover and introduction to the men in the camp. I’m not often moved to strong feelings by Wilder but I will credit him with the ability to fuse comedy and drama together seamlessly when he’s at his best. While this film is nowhere near as good, it probably has the most balanced and comfortable blend of these next to The Apartment (I think Sabrina does this well too, and may be the better film, but separates the feelings a bit wider than here). I don’t think the comedy is intended to be risky toward the potential of bad taste, but it’s fitting with the resilience Wilder sees inherent in strong men who can laugh amidst their dire circumstances just as they can shudder during their laughs at the existential composite of their situations. It’s a great skill and one that I wish he put to use better across his career, but this is in the upper tiers and a very good film.

The cast and well-developed characters, anchored by an excellent script, certainly help a lot. Aside from the great crew of heroes and their detailed camaraderie, the Nazis are peppered with intentionally opposing personalities. Sig Ruman plays another hilarious Nazi after his unforgettable performance in To Be or Not to Be and Preminger is affecting as the evil domineering head of the bunch. Another good example of Wilder’s peripheral schematic perspective on comedy and drama in life applied to an unsettling physical space.

[barryconvex]

Anatahan (Josef von Sternberg 1953)

in 1944 a dozen Japanese sailors are marooned on an island in the Marianas chain; a South Pacific eden whose sole inhabitants are its own quasi Adam & Eve (Kusakabe and Keiko). Years pass and the soldiers remain oblivious to Japan's surrender and the war's conclusion, leaflets are dropped but this and all other attempts to convince them to go home are dismissed as enemy trickery. Military discipline slowly fades to be replaced by simmering carnality and eventually cold blooded brutality as, one after another, these men become drawn to Keiko as if she were as necessary as air or water (the opening credits list Akemi Negishi as the "Queen Bee" and the soldiers as "drones"). Shoehorned in rather awkwardly is the discovery of a downed American war plane along with two revolvers retrieved from dead airmen, a crucial plot point.

There are definite parallels to The Lord Of The Flies but as that film's cast were all prepubescent boys it lacked any notion of human sexuality. Here it's a central theme along with man's will to power. Men who have lost all ability to reason and are left with only animal instinct are no different than beasts vying for alpha male status and all the breeding rights that go with it. Of course most beasts are smart enough to know when they've been beaten by a superior combatant and every challenge to authority is done out in the open, on equal footing. That's a lot more than can be said for the men here who resort to back stabbing (literally) and other forms of non direct skullduggery but these are also men who have been corrupted by their militaristic notions of conquest and access to firearms. Add to that the allure of a truly beautiful woman and the hysteria that ensues seems inevitable.

Untranslated dialogue with Von Sternberg himself providing narration, the stranger than fiction nature of the true story the film is based on and the hazy B&W photography give the film an air of weirdness and a low budget horror movie vibe (this story -if condensed- might've made a great segment in an anthology like Kwaidan) that took me some time to catch onto. Once I was on the film's wavelength however, it worked beautifully.

[knives]

A fun little Bogart double feature to start things off with:

Sirocco (dir. Bernhardt)
This is clearly trying to lean on Casablanca, but shifts around the dynamics in a way that makes it a fortunately different experience even if Sirocco never rises above okay. The main difference is in the gender sense of the film. The script is heavily masculine and could never be reasonably considered a romance. The relationships are spelled out in venom with no good old friends. It reflects a world as dirty as Bogart acts. Conversely, Bernhardt (director of many women's pictures) is a lighter director than Curtiz filming the proceedings with an arched eye and sense of humour. He's the only person I can think of who would take the film's rape scene and film it with exhausted disgust rather than violence. The camera as Toren (whose role is too small to be considered significant) has been here before and just wants it to be over. This sense manipulates the whole boys' fantasy into a dirty object where Bogart's role is simply the least slimy and not really heroic.

The Harder They Fall (dir. Robson)
Bogart looks like a bloated corpse here and that half dead form suits this depressing tale well. In a lot of ways this mirrors The Third Man with CTE replacing penicillin. The scene making this the most explicit is also one of the most disturbing I've ever seen in a movie. It's a cut into realism that leaves the film off balance for the rest of the experience. Toro, the boxer, is such a pathetic man. He's almost a child and weak beyond belief. Every scene reinforces the idea of noir not as horror, but an act of depression. The relationship between him and the crowd isn't that of entertainer, but of victim.

South Pacific (dir. Logan)
This was a lot better and more complex than I was expecting. It takes a while to pick up, but especially when it hits that Apocalypse Now as a romance second half it becomes an impressive attempt at throwing everything against the wall to see what sticks. The film does enough to give us a clean entertainment, but also paints the heroes in a complicated light so that we have to question some of the initial entertainment. I'm not sure if it was worth the three hours (though what seems to be cut from the regular version this longer cut seems superior), but it is also not the turgid mess I expected.

[barryconvex]

Marie-Octobre (Julien Duvivier 1959)

An Agatha Christie style whodunit as ten former French resistance members reconvene fifteen years after the war's end in an effort to root out the traitor in their midst. Whoever ratted them out to the Gestapo all those years ago ended up getting the leader of their faction killed and the time has come for justice to be meted out. This is pretty standard murder mystery stuff and all the usual misdirections, buried secrets and last minute revelations one would expect from a movie like this are in place. Small cast, single location, dialogue driven films are a favorite subgenre of mine and while this one worked for me, Duvivier never delivers the knockout blow. The last minute revelations I mentioned -the lifeblood of a good mystery- are rather underwhelming here and the film's single location -the spacious living area of a country chateau- is drab and visually uninteresting. The actors are all uniformly excellent (Paul Meurisse and Danielle Darrieux as the two ex members who have called for the meeting play the leading roles) and the script wastes nary a second doing anything other than getting to its climax. A solid movie and I enjoyed it but it all felt a little too rote and won't make my list.

[Drucker]

Meant to watch more of the MGM musicals on Criterion Channel but only got around to two:

Summer Stock
This one was definitely better than the average musical I've seen, but that's not saying a lot. I wanted to love this but there are a few things that don't click for me. For one, this idea that Garland secretly really desires to be an actress but is sort of 'held back' by this need to be near her family farm really never clicks or becomes believable to me. It feels like it's an impulse inserted into the second half of the film. Beyond that, the pacing of the film is a bit slow for me. I prefer musicals where the music is a slightly higher percent of the overall film, and some of the dramatic stuff wasn't there for me.
It wasn't all bad though! Gene Kelly is superb, many of the songs including "Forget Your Troubles" are amazing, and the plot fits and makes sense. Doubt this will make my list but fairly enjoyable. I also see that about 15 years ago there are some posts on this forum praising this film to the heavens, and would love to hear a defense.

Give A Girl A Break
Incredibly boring, thin film which at about 75 minutes or so is twice as long as it needed to be. A slog to get through, nothing particularly charming, and the songs are too long and not that great. Hard pass.

[domino harvey]

Forget the girl, give me a break

[Rayon Vert]

Marie-Octobre (Julien Duvivier 1959)

An Agatha Christie style whodunit as ten former French resistance members reconvene fifteen years after the war's end in an effort to root out the traitor in their midst. Whoever ratted them out to the Gestapo all those years ago ended up getting the leader of their faction killed and the time has come for justice to be meted out. This is pretty standard murder mystery stuff and all the usual misdirections, buried secrets and last minute revelations one would expect from a movie like this are in place. Small cast, single location, dialogue driven films are a favorite subgenre of mine and while this one worked for me, Duvivier never delivers the knockout blow. The last minute revelations I mentioned -the lifeblood of a good mystery- are rather underwhelming here and the film's single location -the spacious living area of a country chateau- is drab and visually uninteresting. The actors are all uniformly excellent (Paul Meurisse and Danielle Darrieux as the two ex members who have called for the meeting play the leading roles) and the script wastes nary a second doing anything other than getting to its climax. A solid movie and I enjoyed it but it all felt a little too rote and won't make my list.

I had very similar feelings to this one. Great actors, the screenplay has its moments, but not enough to overcome the plot conventions. Classic B- material.

[therewillbeblus]

I've been mentioning this short in a few threads but A Short Vision is an excellent 6-minute film well worth your time. Kind of a horror by way of utter powerlessness to annihilation. It might make my horror list, but it felt like the rec belonged here.

[swo17]

I love this tidbit: "The film had a very strong impact on audiences, in particular across the Atlantic, where it was shown on primetime television to millions of American viewers and reportedly produced one of the biggest reactions since Orson Welles' 'War of the Worlds' broadcast in 1938."

According to the BFI disc, the thing it aired on was The Ed Sullivan Show

[therewillbeblus]

I love this tidbit: "The film had a very strong impact on audiences, in particular across the Atlantic, where it was shown on primetime television to millions of American viewers and reportedly produced one of the biggest reactions since Orson Welles' 'War of the Worlds' broadcast in 1938."

According to the BFI disc, the thing it aired on was The Ed Sullivan Show

That’s amazing. It’s definitely a bizarre and unexpected turn of events and the fact that it’s animation is probably all that stopped it from getting the same reaction a radio broadcast would have, and consequently the animation is what subverts the viewer (or at least this one) from going in with the expectations to match the effect, allowing it to creep up and sober one to its dark essence, using the format as a great strength.

[therewillbeblus]

Where the Sidewalk Ends is an especially engaging noir because it imbibes the morally grey sludge of the genre into the source of the investigation itself and the judgment of the hero by placing the responsibility on the viewer through its own shrugging light anti-position of objectivity. Andrews is more likeable here than in Fallen Angel and yet he, objectively, commits a crime and takes a life, doing more harm than the former film. It’s a testament to Preminger’s healthy examination of all dimensions in his untainted perspective that we can become so invested in a character and anti-mystery that could be a snoozer in the hands of a less interested filmmaker and thus become uninteresting (Double Indemnity would be my ‘exhibit A’ example here, though I realize I’m in the minority). One of the better films in the subgenre of watching a case unfold around a guilty protagonist, because we are left to weigh the stake we place in the guilt (intent, etc.) with our own knowledge and experience of his development and personal historical context, seeing the situation as more complex and thereby creating a unique kind of suspenseful mystery of where our own chips will fall within the anti-mystery of the surface plot. Watching Andrews grapple with his moral compass and self-preservation in the presence of the woman he loves is far more intense than I used to give the film credit for. This won’t make my list- there are far too many great Preminger’s this decade and this isn’t one of his best- but it’s a worthy watch and a more layered and original example of the escalation of the noir’s inner melodrama ideas than it appears to be.

[Rayon Vert]

La Strada (Fellini 1954). For a film that supposedly leaves behind neo-realism and is more the first fully realized instance of Fellini’s own mythical-spiritual universe, this still strikes you on how it takes place in a world of impoverished social circumstances and how a strong sense of realism accompanies the driving artistic vision. I’m not the greatest Fellini fan even though a few of his films I quite admire. This is definitely a memorable film but I’m not inspired enough to say much more than what plays out quite evidently on the screen. Maybe a greater appreciator of the film will write this one up.


Carrie (Wyler 1952). Speaking of realism, I haven’t read the Dreiser original but Wyler doesn’t seem to pull any punches with the content here. This is really a tough story – a world mercilessly guided by money and social expectations. As dark as The Little Foxes but in a different way, as here we’re made to really care for the lead characters, so there’s more of a punch to the gut that results from the narrative developments. As usual with the director, the acting shines especially – both Jones and Olivier feature in some of their strongest films performances. I’m really not very fond of Wyler’s 50s output in general relative to the previous two decades (that includes Roman Holiday and the forum favorite Detective Story), so for me this is his best of the decade.


A Time to Love and a Time to Die (Sirk 1958). This really belongs among the best of Sirk’s films. It artfully manages to combine melodrama with a hard-edged, suspenseful war film (it’s striking on how it’s continually raining bombs in this film, whether on the field or at home during furlough), while also investigating certain philosophical queries. It’s initially surprising to find ourselves following the German soldiers but I don’t find it hard to sympathize with Ernst (relative to what senseabove wrote earlier), given that his humanity is established early on and the rest of the film sees him come to entirely reject his leaders’ views and anguish over his own responsibility. Wonderfully pleasing film compositionally as well, as usual. The one low point is John Gavin, not just because he’s the usual, obviously great-(but completely bland)looking guy for these Decca Universal melodramas, but the acting is definitely limited. It says something that the movie can succeed as it does even with that problem.


The Wrong Man (Hitchcock 1956). My favorite Hitchcocks of the decade already have their secured spots on my list, but there are a few middle-tier ones I need to revisit to see if they can potentially make the cut. (I already wrote-up all these films for the Hitchcock list but I’ll just ignore those and write a little based on what comes from these new viewings.) This one definitely took a strong fall. It’s the director’s personal worst nightmare come true, but it feels here that because he’s limiting himself to a story based on real facts he’s not availing himself of his full creative powers and vision. The technique is there, in the photography, and in the way for example he can make us feel for the bank tellers’ fear when they suspect Manny was the robber even though we know he wasn’t. But narratively is where things get more problematic. Even though the articulation of the theme of the wrong man here is perhaps more than in any other film (especially with the lack of any humor) the expression of an almost metaphysically hostile universe, in itself the plot is kind of overly simplistic and dull, almost on the level of a television drama. And the fact that the problems appear to be resolved by prayer to Jesus in the end just seem alien to the director’s work. In a similar way, Rose’s guilt-induced paranoia is potentially interesting because her words about how “they” are out to get them don’t appear to be that much of an exaggeration (“they” arguably includes the police, the wrong-headed witnesses, even the economic system that just makes trying to make a living, i.e. seeing the dentist, a lawyer, the doctor, self-defeating), but the film doesn’t make any efforts to integrate this theme with the rest. Her proneness to fear and guilt were already evident before Manny gets wrongly accused, but the fact that her “sickness” goes on and what it is has to do with everything else is never really explained. And again that is also “resolved” very unsatisfyingly, with the words onscreen that act as a coda.


Johnny Guitar (Ray 1954). So three years later I finally unwrapped my Olive Signature purchase (that's at least one thing these list projects are for!). The film just breathes so much more on the wider aspect ratio, really nice. My favorite part of this film is the beginning, the dialogue that takes place among all these different protagonists, groups and subgroups, and the staging of it. For the rest, despite its offbeatness (the stylization, the painted backdrops, the colors) and the anti-McCarthyism allegory we’re supposed to decode, it still runs like a good but not terrific western to me. It’s also noteworthy for its two female protagonists (great performance by Crawford, and an almost possessed McCambridge – not for the last time ha ha…), but I’ll still take The Furies over this.

[therewillbeblus]

Two other Preminger revisits:

The Man with the Golden Arm: Another watch didn’t change much here. It’s a bold depiction of addiction for its time and the pressure of manipulative forces bleeding Sinatra of his will power in stripping him of supports is a worthy venture, as is the psychology of his wife in lying to hold onto her own support for stability of mind and heart. Incorporating all of these needs in physiological, emotional, and psychological helps to drive home a composite that transcends any one specific concept like addiction or honesty to a place of universal humanity. Unfortunately the melodrama really stretches itself to unbearable degrees and these ideas, alive in Preminger’s vast scope of perspective, are weighed down by such ridiculous plotting extremities, especially involving Zosh which is too bad since she’s arguably the most interesting character, or at least the one with the most potential that is barely realised. A lot of the power of this one is lost as a direct result of these narrative impositions.

Carmen Jones: I’m not familiar with the source and somehow have only foggy memories of seeing this before so the mood shifts were shocking and I didn’t always know what to make of the content or my responses to it. Dandridge is wonderful and the attempts at projecting African-American culture as a milieu for this malleable take have promise, even if the stream of actions that turn in this melodrama succumb to contrivances against much of the rest of the fresh and lively structure. It’s definitely never anything but alluring, mostly so when playing the screwball cards early on, which work well; and in various numbers where dance choreography is abandoned for cinematic choreography in technique, dancing the camera between glances and minute details in flirtatious gestures that say so much without specifying the exactness in measures or intent. This is a film that’s pulsing with sex, both sexiness and the opposite emasculation that comes from the pains of sex out of reach. I’m not sure if my problems with the film are even problems at all, for there are strengths to a choppy ride like this. The intensity of such a silly, romantic, musical tragic drama is an elusive and abrasive cocktail. Assimilating genres aggressively doesn’t mean it’s not done carefully in a layered agenda that the colorful energy only scratches the surface of. I can’t decide whether I loved this or not, but usually when I’m even considering the former and continue to scratch my head about it days later (a weird feeling to say the least), it means wherever I come down in the end, there’s a greatness present that is rare and worth praising.

[therewillbeblus]

Trying to fill in my Quine gaps and revisit his 50s works for this project. I don’t know if there needs to be more said about My Sister Eileen than domino has already in the dedicated Quine thread, but if anyone hasn’t checked it out it’s worth doing while paying attention to the dark subtext or trapped sexual politics and the way the two lead women are able to break free in brief spouts within such confines. I can’t see it getting bumped from my top ten, and while nothing I’ve seen from him this decade has come close to rivaling it, all of his works have at least been exciting in their distinctiveness.

Full of Life appears to fit the mold of a conventional romantic comedy at first but Quine implements an eclectic technique to elicit deep tension overlapping with playful mannerisms. There is a brief departure from standard shots in a select scene early in the film, where the camera moves with a sense of handheld realism that would become the ‘gritty’ authenticity of Cassavetes soon enough. This kind of realism in technique mirrors Quine’s thematic interests, best demonstrated by the underlying fears, insecurities, and isolation the characters either face in actuality or in their minds: the husband’s own compromise of his convictions of comfort (an inevitable force of change via uncontrollable circumstances, as Quine sees it) with the ideological apparatus of family is an obvious one, but just as stark is the wife noticing a flirtatious exchange between husband and a neighbor, and then again on a train ride. This first moment occurs just after we are granted access to the most intimate idiosyncrasies of their lighthearted relationship, and is sandwiched between a slapstick floor caving gag, but Quine lingers for long enough to expose the wife’s discomfort and provide us a front-row seat to the dysphoria and surrender of powerlessness that lurks even within the artifice of comedy and the reality of romance.

The film is served well by the casting of two very artificial performances that issue equal parts fakery and authenticity, playing into two-dimensional genre tropes and possessing the small details of real relationships often skipped over. This doesn’t stop at the couple but as soon as the plot moves to the family the same themes expand to larger and more complicated family dynamics, at one moment slapstick goofy shtick and the next a raw expression of deep-rooted communication issues and resentment from the static separation between family members who desperately want to be connected but don’t know how. The comedy continues to flow into the picture even as the content becomes thicker with unraveling preoccupations. Conte regurgitates his ill feelings in making detailed plans for raising a son that’s not born yet, and we only realize his erratic behavior by his wife calling him on it, awakening the entire picture to what is really transpiring. The mother tells Judy Holliday that her marriage isn’t even honest in a passive aggressive approach for the ages! And so on and so forth. This is not major Quine, but it’s an odd duck of a film and one that reminds me that even the less intriguing movies in his canon are novel in different shades.

[barryconvex]

The World, The Flesh and The Devil (Ranald MacDougall 1959)

Two Guys, a Girl and an Apocalypse! After a poorly explained nuclear event only three people are left alive on the eastern seaboard and the two men spend their time squabbling over the woman like a pair of jealous 7th graders who have access to firearms. She doesn't help by being wishy washy about both of them and of course Belafonte is black... At the time i'm sure the idea of putting an interracial relationship on screen was probably akin to showing a blow job but the film's decision to pussyfoot around it instead of confronting the issue and coming up with a workable resolution only magnifies how ineptly handled it is. To make matters much, much worse the movie's opinion of blacks is so low that even though Ferrer is depicted as a murderous lunatic he's still considered a viable love interest for Sarah. Never mind that Belafonte has done nothing but conduct himself as a gentleman, been her only companion for weeks on end and generally proven himself invaluable in a world without basic necessities. It's all indicative of the movie as a whole which, In skilled hands, could've been a fascinating subject. But since director MacDougall lacks even a modicum of interest in his characters and their circumstances nor possesses any knowledge of human nature the result is exceedingly half baked. That's about as charitably as I can put it.

Belafonte, who was trapped in a mine somewhere in Pennsylvania when the catastrophe occurred, takes a car and drives to Manhattan. Once there he naturally opts to ditch the car and push a wagon around instead. One day he throws a mannequin out of his apartment window which leads to an encounter with Sarah (played by Inger Stevens), the first person he's seen in days. Struggling to keep himself busy and even though he has access to any vehicle in the entire city he elects not to explore the region and look for other survivors (Belafonte, who has single handedly revived the NYC electrical system, instead broadcasts a message no one will hear as the power grid has been knocked out in every other city that he's not a resident of) or pursue any number of other activities that might involve the survival of the species he belongs to, instead he and Sarah spend their time arguing about haircuts and whining about birthday parties. By the time Ferrer shows up towards the end of the second act the movie is on life support. And while he does add a much needed new perspective on things, it's way too little too late. Just how colossally dumb is this movie? in one scene Sarah asks Belafonte if he wants to move into her apartment. He declines because, "people might get the wrong idea". This could've been a serviceable joke- in a movie devoid of any humor it would've been the only joke- but instead it's lost on everyone on either side of the camera and hangs in the air like a stale fart.

[barryconvex]

Tous Peuvent Me Tuer (Henri Decoin 1957)

I don't think I've seen any of Decoin's fifty other films that date all the way back to 1931 but he's very much on my radar after watching this excellent caper flick. A band of thieves stickup a rich woman for her jewelry, stash the loot and then purposely get themselves arrested for breaking into a brewery, ostensibly using their arrest for one crime as an alibi for the other, more serious charge. They've all agreed beforehand that they'll serve whatever short prison sentences they receive for the B & E and once released, they'll split up the jewels and go their separate ways. Pretty clever idea except that once in jail someone begins killing off the gang members one by one while framing the murders to look like suicides. From crime flick, to prison movie, to whodunit in 97 minutes, I was impressed with Decoin's ability to switch locales and genres without slowing down or losing the story's thread. It may not be the most plausible story in the world but it's fun and doesn't take itself too seriously.

Voici Le Temps Des Assassins... (Julien Duvivier 1956)

Another late Duvivier, another solid effort totally worth watching. I enjoyed this more than Marie-Octobre but I wouldn't call either film great despite what might be the most insane finish to a movie of this type ever filmed. It really has to be seen to be believed. Gabin turned into quite the dignified presence in his later years, exuding an easy authority and innate likability. Here he plays the restaurant owner Andre, who is visited one morning by Catherine (Danièle Delorme) the daughter of his ex-wife Gabrielle (Lucienne Bogaert) who Andre hasn't seen in twenty years. She claims she's been on her own and struggling since her mother's death and although she's not a blood relative Andre sympathizes and takes her under his wing. He introduces Catherine to the restaurant's clientele among them the young student he treats like a son, Gerard (Gérard Delacroix). Andre hopes the two will fall in love and eventually get married but Catherine has set her sights squarely on Andre. Why is a 21 year old woman interested romantically in a man in his fifties instead of Gerard, who seems like an obvious match? I'm sure it's readily apparent what's going on here but I don't want to spoil anything by saying too much. There are no glaring issues with anything Duvivier tries here, although the first hour or so is rather slow as he sets up the pieces on the chessboard it soon builds up a full head of steam before careening into that ridiculous (I say ridiculous with a lot of admiration) climax.

[Red Screamer]

I caught up with Hollywood over the holiday. Highlights in red.

I Love Melvin (Don Weis, 1953)
Might be my ideal B musical: gleeful and absurd, with creative numbers and great songs (the hilariously tongue-in-cheek opening song rhymes "positively feminine" with a line about tea with "cream or lemon-in"). Weis' direction effectively balances simplicity and a general light touch with bursts of ornate images.

Artists and Models (Frank Tashlin, 1955)
Hollywood or Bust (Frank Tashlin, 1956)
I've seen Artists and Models twice since beginning this project. It's delightful and very funny from end to end, and even better the second time around. I usually wind up wanting more Lewis in films not directed by him, but here he's both augmented and counterbalanced by Shirley MacLaine's comedic chops and gloriously goofy character. I generally tend to prefer musicals with more dynamic numbers, but Tashlin and Fapp's low-key choreography is fresh, witty, and economical, qualities that some of the decade's overpraised musical numbers, like the bloated examples from An American in Paris, could use more of. Its cartoonish kinda-satire of comics holds up extremely well and its cat-and-mouse undercurrent of who's the artist, who's the model, and what it all means proves to be suprisingly malleable and elegant. Hollywood or Bust is entertaining but doesn't have the same energy or charm. Some of Tashlin's more surreal touches are inspired (like the stunt shots of the car falling apart & the magazine-spread farmer's daughters in its faux Ohio) but it's too often just a string of jokes, with sequences that rarely build or surprise (as the bathtub scene and the gala do, for example, in Artists and Models). Lewis is great as a sweet and obsessive cinephile, but Martin's character is a creep and Crowley's character is a dead end. Its occasional shameless racism doesn't exactly add to the fun either.

Don't Give Up the Ship (Norman Taurog, 1959)
Some hilarious Lewis bits and impressive underwater photography (no, really) don't make up for the flavorless farce at the heart of it all.

Bell, Book and Candle (Richard Quine, 1958)
The magic material is wacky enough to work, some of the comedy too, but the romance and "do you believe in witches?" bickering got on my nerves quickly. The pagan-beatnik joke might have been hilarious once but it now seems rather broad and dopey (I can't stop seeing Jack Lemmon's stupid bongo-playing grin). Of course, I found much of the film interesting for its echoes of Vertigo: some moments come eerily close to replicating it and, as someone who's seen Hitchcock's film many many times, Novak's performance is somewhat distracting for how closely it hews to her earlier one. She's in the same mysterious and intense mode, but in a movie that doesn't really merit it. Worth seeing, though unsatisfying.

Lili (Charles Walters, 1953)
Has a gentle poetry that makes what might have been schmaltz come alive. In that way, it reminds me of Curse of the Cat People, another dark fairy tale about the fantasy life of a lonely young woman. What does it mean that so many of the Hollywood films from this era that shaped our unachievable fantasies for decades to come are themselves about the very dangerous gap between fantasy and reality? I'd direct you to the writing on this film by domino and twbblus if you haven't already found your way there.

And, on the other end of the spectrum, I don't really know what to say about Schwechater (Peter Kubelka, 1958) except that I find it hypnotic, alien, and endlessly rewatchable. The degraded VHS(?) version on YouTube is kinda great in its own way but re-seeing this on a 16mm print confirmed how incredible it is as well as what it is in the first place: a constant, never-quite-complete metamorphosis from the tangible and specific to the abstract and musical in an irregular rhythm of inexplicable, inhuman power.

[knives]

Bell, Book and Candle (Richard Quine, 1958)
The magic material is wacky enough to work, some of the comedy too, but the romance and "do you believe in witches?" bickering got on my nerves quickly. The pagan-beatnik joke might have been hilarious once but it now seems rather broad and dopey (I can't stop seeing Jack Lemmon's stupid bongo-playing grin). Of course, I found much of the film interesting for its echoes of Vertigo: some moments come eerily close to replicating it and, as someone who's seen Hitchcock's film many many times, Novak's performance is somewhat distracting for how closely it hews to her earlier one. She's in the same mysterious and intense mode, but in a movie that doesn't really merit it. Worth seeing, though unsatisfying.

I agree that this has a weird overlap in feeling to Vertigo only slightly induced by the leads, but I'm mostly using this as an excuse to say that the Quine likely will make my list while the Hitchcock won't. That speaks more to my eccentricities then anything, but I find the exploration of sick love as well as the tone to be much more satisfying here.

[therewillbeblus]

The Solid Gold Cadillac is another generous offering of detail for character and environment from Quine, populating every inch of space and time with energy towards understanding and enjoying the spinning wheels of individual personality and working systems. The patriarchal oppression is within Quine’s thematic wallet but his empowerment of women is even more sly than it appears. Take the early scene where the men in charge give Holliday an office, a personal secretary, and a job to cool her jets. She presents as a bit of an eccentric and naive person, and her asking them what she’s supposed to do is a nice setup for the comic deceptive dynamic, but it’s her follow up question when they assign her a role as to the specificity of what it means that throws them off. This is funny but it’s more than that- it reveals not only that she’s interested, curious, and more than they bargained for- but that these men are thrown off because in Quine’s world a man who was offered such a position freely would not take the same charge or challenge the system in asking questions that are necessary to do the job. Holliday functions as a thinker and a piece divorced from the sleeper systems of operations, and this alive participant is glowing so bright the men in charge are blinded. What this seemingly simple comic exchange of the sexes is saying about the politics of the sexes and the pathetic nature (and ironic stupidity and laziness) of patriarchal systems is both loud and quiet in its attack. The compassion for its characters is felt throughout and the film carries a warmth few others 50s comedies contain. After watching the terrible The Notorious Landlady yesterday (not of this decade, not that I’d have much to say about it) a “comedy” without any real thematic merit or directoral flourishes, it’s refreshing to see Quine get it so right yet again and signal the later film as an outlier in his filmography.

The Reformer and the Redhead: A light, cute romantic comedy with a strong heart and head of moral justice. Basically every side character is hysterically funny, and the central duo of Allyson and Powell have an interesting dynamic that ventures into screwball territory but maintains composure that barely stays on the rails thanks to both actors’ consistencies to their roles while they certainly stretch amusingly. The social justice applied to animals as the peculiar baseline for Allyson’s character must have worked perfectly in the contrast of culture at the time of release, but it remains funny and warm in its hierarchical dissonance with its milieu.

[therewillbeblus]

Ewa Wants to Sleep

This is wonderfully dark sociological farce that channels Buñuel in its comic look at bizarre behavior of the ‘deviant’ side of society. Underneath this nudging cynicism is a positive shade of support between the policeman and Ewa that supplements this composite with some optimism (though the kind that flinches) like yin and yang. Director Tadeusz Chmielewski, who I’ve never heard of before, uses the entire city as his milieu for dissecting the effects of political and anthropological forces on one another from a satirical position and modest distance, not trying to be specifically didactic but welcoming laughter at the absurdity, and more importantly, relatability of it all.

The viewer is given a different kind of respect than the entryway allotted into Buñuel’s surrealistic carnivals. Rather than being invited to the party, the audience is acknowledged at having been inhabiting these places or at least their peripheries (to be fair there is a notable absence of bourgeoisie, not that this is all Buñuel examined, but worth noting), and are instead offered an exaggerated lens to look through at life in a space and with people that they see every day, albeit with limitations into the narratives, but these barriers are lifted and provided here thanks to the artifice of the medium. This film would actually serve as an inverted companion piece to Buñuel’s Susana, but while that film involved the heroine intentionally using her sexuality to manipulate the men in her artificial vicinity mimicking society, this film’s heroine’s sexuality unintentionally affects others against a more authentic portrait of a city, even if it’s also reflecting a washed out version of reality.

The film is saying a lot (with very little effort) about a patriarchal gaze and objectification of women, poking at the silly and illogical behavior of men as a double wallop with the passive disinterest in them from the women they seek. However, there’s also the meditation on a woman’s restrictions due to her objectification and the naïveté and innocence in Ewa paints a depressing picture of the ignorance as not freeing and only briefly maintained in such a culture. While Susana assimilates to her objectification and uses it as a form of resilience, Ewa fights it and cannot escape this imposition that commodifies and categorizes her worth while in the presence of the oppressive systems. Still, as opposed to the other artist’s philosophy, here Ewa does get away and her moral convictions do provide such an optimistic outlet via self-actualization and a different kind of resilience in finding inner peace, rather than external supports, that encourages her identity and freedom from the outside superficialities towards embracing the self (and then attracts the social engagement of like-minded people as a result of this ego strength, significantly not the other way around). Thus she turns a powerless position into one of empowerment, a retreat to in her own subjective space outside of the confines of larger society. If the sole interest here was one of sexual politics it would be great but the aims are wider and more ambitious, also making witty observations about institutional practices, satirizing the police force and their ideological absurdities.

The relationship between men and other men is examined as much as men and women and when Ewa leaves the screen for a long period of time early on we see the political ridiculousness at work in a long gag at the police station that works just as much for its confusion as it does from the interplay, because it’s supportive of a layman’s understanding of such government subsystems. Conversely, there's some sympathy given to the invisible people on the streets by the camera and our lead, and this feels as much of a political stance along the lines of socialism as one of empathy for the underseen, invalidated, and oppressed. Though even in these moments there’s usually a gag or two to bring everyone back to ground zero. There’s so much heart in this movie it feels like a less winky and aggressive Buñuel, to make the comparison yet again, and it’s one that all fans of the surrealist social magnifying glass master should check out.

On top of all of this revolt and provocation there is a movie that understands comedy by way of the social outside of a political context which lessens the ambitions to a humble and more playful position. There are gags complexly divorced from said motives like one with a grenade towards the end that is reminiscent of American silent comedy mixed with the spatial awareness of the nouvelle vague. Ultimately, in spite of all the sexual oppression and ideological dissections, Ewa just wants to get some fucking sleep, and as the film progresses we let go of the political ideas and expand our own peripheries to that very basic simplified goal, which both propels Ewa into a superior realm than the rest of the silly passerbys and systems by diluting their agendas, and also exposes such a place as not particularly mature in and of itself but sadly is in comparison to the absurdity of socialization. Towards the end all the players collide in a messy connective tissue that separates just as it seems to mesh, and validates other players to a place of respect as character and half-respect as people, while also playing their anarchy as a cinematically playful-political hybrid of mayhem, and the transformation into a romp also morphs some of these previously analytical variables into Chekhov’s guns that service a more liberally comic narrative. The film is as messy as it sounds switching angles, perspectives, and interests of exploration constantly, but it’s never anything but alive with passion for the medium and the people and eclectic interactions the camera can capture with it.

I could go on and on but I won’t. Hopefully this ramble encourages at least one person to see the film. A huge thanks to domino for recommending this one. Also, I need to see everything that Barbara Kwiatkowska-Lass has ever done now, she’s breathtaking. And yeah, I’m aware of the irony of taking away that impression from this film!

[nitin]

Broken Lance is a solid well made CinemaScope western from Edward Dymtryk that reworks the story from Mankiewicz’s noir House of Strangers (itself a loose adaptation of King Lear).

Some of the changes add more interest like the flashback structure and the addition of a ‘half breed’ son, but the changed ending is a change for the worse IMHO from the original story. It gives us a decent shootout but is a fairly weak and conventional end to a generally more complex film.

The pluses include a terrific salty performance from Spencer Tracy in the King Lear role (Edward G Robinson has the duties in House of Strangers) and some very nice epic outdoor photography from Joseph MacDonald. I would have preferred more scenes between Tracy and Richard Widmark (who is relegated to a supporting role but shares one of the best scenes in the film with Tracy) but Fox obviously decided this was to be Robert Wagner’s show, who plays the ‘half breed’ son Joe. He is ok enough but lacked charisma and depth.

The TT blu features a pretty good 4k restoration from Fox which looks overly dark and blue in screenshots on my computer and iPad but looks far better on my calibrated tv. It’s also pretty sharp and detailed throughout doing justice to the cinematography. The 5.0 track does a great job for the music score.