I Love You Again (1940)
“A thing like a divorce can break up a marriage!”
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Rosemary’s Baby (1968)
“To 1966 — the year One!”
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Response to Peary’s Review: What arguably makes Rosemary’s Baby so powerful (and, counter to Peary’s claim, so scary) is the authenticity of its setting and situation. At a (pre-Lib) time when women had not yet come into their own — a time when a housewife’s most cherished dream was [supposed to be] having a baby — Farrow’s yearning for a healthy pregnancy would naturally be all-consuming; indeed, nearly every scene of the film revolves around either Farrow’s desire for a baby, or some aspect of how her pregnancy is proceeding, to an extent I can’t recall in any other movie. Meanwhile, to have one’s husband wavering in his devotion (or at least his attention and loyalty) is perhaps the ultimate fear for a vulnerable mother-to-be, at a time when her “nesting instinct” and desire for safety and security is stronger than ever — which makes Cassavetes’ gradual transformation from loving and playful husband to an increasingly distracted and self-absorbed heel come across as especially harsh. Each element of this masterfully constructed psychological horror film “works” — from William Fraker’s cinematography, to Polanski’s unusual camera placements (he often films scenes through doorways), to fine use of sound and music, to judicious set designs and strategic use of outdoor New York locales, to the perfect casting of each character. Farrow, of course, gives the film’s stand-out performance: her eventual paranoia is palpable (could anyone else have inhabited this role in quite the same way?). But I’m actually almost as fond of Cassavetes (with his devilish arched eyebrows) in the critical part of her self-absorbed husband, a man whose every statement and sentiment is eventually suspect. Meanwhile, kooky Gordon (in hideously over-the-top makeup and outfits) and Blackmer (deceptively genteel) are scarily believable as elderly neighbors who hide their diabolical beliefs behind an air of nosy normalcy. Other supporting roles are equally well-handled — including Victoria Vetri as a grateful former-druggie whose new friendship with Rosemary is cut tragically short, to Ralph Bellamy as the “esteemed” doctor who tries to reassure Rosemary that her painful pregnancy is “normal”. Another key to the power of Rosemary’s Baby is how Polanski takes his time building tension throughout the suspense-filled narrative; we’re allowed ample opportunity to witness Farrow and Cassavetes’ happiness in their new apartment before hints are revealed about the terror that’s to come. Equally effective is the fact that we’re never sure exactly how much each character (Cassavetes in particular) knows, and from what point; rewatching the film allows one to appreciate the layers of nuance and ambiguity Polanski strategically inserts throughout just about every scene. For instance, is the look Cassavetes gives to the African-American elevator operator near the beginning of the movie significant or merely incidental? Is Elisha Cook (the real estate agent who shows the couple their new apartment) “in” on the proceedings, or an innocent bystander? Are the accidents that befall Cassavetes’ acting rival (Tony Curtis, heard in voice only) and Farrow’s best friend (Maurice Evans) coincidental, or nefariously instigated? And, despite the apparent lack of ambiguity in the disturbing final scene, we still can’t help wondering: is what we’re seeing really “real”, or simply a figment of Farrow’s by now psychotically disturbed imagination? Redeeming Qualities and Moments:
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(Listed in 1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die) Links: |
Carrie (1976)
“Sin never dies.”
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Response to Peary’s Review: Spacek’s performance is undeniably the critical element that grounds the film, elevating it from a finely crafted horror outing to a true (albeit warped) coming-of-age classic. Spacek is so iconically “Carrie” that it’s nearly impossible to imagine anyone else in the role (though we’ll soon get to see how Chloe Grace Moretz does in director Kimberly Peirce’s 2013 re-visioning of the story). But equally key are the fine supporting performances across the board — from Allen’s slimily prissy uber-bitch, to Irving’s conscience-stricken peer, to Buckley’s fiercely protective and maternal gym teacher, to Laurie’s genuinely terrifying religious fanatic. Speaking of Laurie, I think a case could be made that a film set entirely inside Carrie’s house would be an effective horror flick in its own right; the image of Laurie standing silently behind a semi-closed door as Carrie returns home after the bloody prom night is one of the most bone-chilling in cinematic history — not least because of what it implies about the film’s real basis for [domestic] horror. (Special kudos belong to set designer Jack Fisk, Spacek’s real-life husband, for turning their house into a candle-lit den of horrors.) De Palma’s film is perhaps most unusual for the range of tones he employs, as he shifts repeatedly between teen comedy (viz. the wacky appearance of P.J. Soles and Edie McClurg as two of Carrie’s classmates, or the scene in which three boys try on tuxes for the prom); satire (i.e., Allen and Travolta’s over-the-top nastiness and villainy, especially during Allen’s passive-aggressive seduction of Travolta in the car); romantic fantasy (as during the idyllic first part of Carrie’s prom experience, when she and Katt begin to fall for one another); Gothic perversion (all scenes between Carrie and her insane mother); and “pure” horror (i.e., the entire last portion of the movie — which Peary argues is “overly violent”, but I disagree; De Palma employs enough restraint from violence throughout most of the story that the final bloody outcome feels “deserved”). Also noteworthy is how artfully De Palma (with help from DP Mario Tosi) directs and crafts each scene, strategically utilizing deep-focus placements, split-screen cinematography, low lighting, suspenseful editing, and unusual use of sound (or lack thereof) to heighten mood. The film is never uninteresting to look at; even as we occasionally wish for deeper character development (Irving and Katt’s characters are especially under-explored), we can’t help staying glued to the screen. Note: Catching snippets from Carrie on television as an impressionable child was single-handedly responsible for my dread of horror films for many years — until I was old enough to approach them from an appropriately aesthetic film-fanatic perspective; nowadays, I appreciate this fact as further evidence of De Palma’s genius with the genre. Redeeming Qualities and Moments:
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(Listed in 1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die) Links: |
Detective, The / Father Brown (1954)
“I want to help him — to cure him of a sickness in his soul.”
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Review: Note: Robert Hamer is best known for directing Alec Guinness in the classic black comedy Kind Hearts and Coronets (1949), and for helming one segment (“The Haunted Mirror”) of the horror anthology Dead of Night (1945). Redeeming Qualities and Moments:
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It Should Happen to You (1954)
“The whole reason I came to New York in the first place was to make a name for myself.”
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Wuthering Heights (1954)
“A minute after you left, you were already back with me for good.”
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Bells Are Ringing (1960)
“What a perfect relationship: I can’t see him, he can’t see me!”
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— is “overlong and not particularly smooth”; but he argues that “Holliday, even below her peak, is well worth watching”. He notes that “one interesting point is that Holliday’s ‘dumb blonde’ is much more stable than the men in the film — however, her support for them, including Martin, comes more out of her need to be a mother than a friend or lover”.
I’ll admit to finding this Vincente Minnelli-directed musical (with songs by Betty Comden, Adolph Green, and Jules Styne) one of the least compelling Holliday vehicles listed in Peary’s GFTFF; even Holliday’s naturally engaging presence can’t do much to elevate the storyline. The primary problem, as Peary hints, is that Martin and Holliday lack any real romantic tension: their “meet cute” (with Holliday crawling around Martin’s apartment after surreptitiously trying to wake him up for an important appointment) is poorly handled (why does he accept her presence so easily?), and Martin only seems to fall in love with Holliday because of her power as a muse. Meanwhile, the subplot involving thick-headed Clark’s pursuit of Holliday comes across as equally inane. This one is only must-see for diehard fans of Holliday and/or musicals. Redeeming Qualities and Moments:
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How Green Was My Valley (1941)
“There is no fence nor hedge around time that is gone. You can go back and have what you like of it, if you can remember.”
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Review: As the film opens, the Morgans are represented in an idealized fashion: McDowall’s brothers are strapping, his sister gorgeous, his parents stern but loving, and coal mining is viewed as a beloved, honorable profession. However, it’s quickly revealed that life will present an unending series of challenges for this group of strong-minded individuals. Crisp and his sons don’t see eye-to-eye on issues of unionization; O’Hara is asked to set aside her love for Pidgeon in order to marry (unhappily) for money; and McDowall, while clearly gifted (and, as the youngest child, somewhat spoiled) suffers from a debilitating injury, and must ultimately make a difficult decision regarding his future livelihood. Indeed, for a nostalgic historical drama, HGWMV is filled with a surprising number of genuinely distressing scenes; it’s to Ford’s credit that HGWMV remains so lighthearted in overall spirit while simultaneously avoiding designation as a “feel good” film. It should also be noted that Ford mostly avoids his general tendency to incorporate comedic supporting actors for levity; the only instance of this is in the character of Dai Bando (Rhys Williams), McDowell’s boxing teacher, and his presence does indeed provide some welcome relief. The production values for HGWMV — shot in the hills of Malibu, given wartime climate in Europe — are uniformly stellar. Arthur C. Miller’s b&w cinematography is consistently stunning, and Ford frames each scene with his characteristically considerate eye. Scene after scene has lasting visual impact, from the image of Welsh coal miners singing as they wend their way to and from work, to the strategically choreographed wedding scene between O’Hara and her wealthy suitor (Marten Lamont), to crippled McDowell’s attempts to walk to Pidgeon on the hillside. The performances are equally top-notch: Crisp and Allgood are perfectly cast as the heads of the Morgan clan; O’Hara is stunning in her breakthrough role; and it’s difficult to imagine anyone but McDowell in the lead role (though a different actor should perhaps have been considered to play his character in the final scenes of the film, given how many formative years have supposedly passed, and how youthful McDowall still looks). But this is a minor complaint about a film that remains surprisingly poignant all these years later, despite its enduringly bad rap as the film that “stole” Citizen Kane‘s award. (And yes, Citizen Kane — one of my top-five favorite films — DID ultimately deserve the award. But that’s beside the point.) Redeeming Qualities and Moments:
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(Listed in 1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die) Links: |
Marrying Kind, The (1952)
“You don’t seem to remember anything — and when you do, you remember it all wrong.”
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Response to Peary’s Review: I actually don’t find this scene particularly painful, given Holliday’s loving attempts to smooth the situation over: “Money you get that way doesn’t do you any good”, she reassures her depressed husband. It’s a later, tragic scene — one following on the heels of Holliday singing a delightful ditty (“Dolores”) while strumming a ukelele — that tears me up inside each time I think of it (though I won’t say more at risk of spoiling).
Indeed, Kanin and Gordon’s willingness to include truly hard-hitting scenes such as this one is part of what sets The Marrying Kind apart from other romantic comedies of its era. Equally innovative is their incorporation of voice-overs during flashback scenes, as we hear either Ray or Holliday telling their version of what happened while we simultaneously watch the “truth” unfold in front of us; it’s a remarkably effective strategy, shaking us out of our complacency as viewers. Hunky newcomer Aldo Ray was an interesting choice to play Holliday’s postman-husband, Chet. While he suits the bill nicely in many ways (he’s believable as a blue collar worker, and seems invested in his role), his acting lacks nuance at times. More than making up for this, however, is Holliday, who gives a typically stellar performance as Florence (a.k.a. Florrie). In Alternate Oscars, Peary names Holliday Best Actress of the Year, noting that the role “was designed as a showcase for her, to prove that she had enough versatility to play in all kinds of films and that she could play a real character”. He writes that “like other Holliday characters, Florence is funny and endearing, and has a singular logic about life, which completely befuddles everyone else, including Chet… She seeks happiness along a rocky road, stubbornly refusing to compromise her way of doing things”. Yet he points out that “she can be extremely aggravating, insensitive, unsupportive, unforgiving, even selfish” — in other words, she’s an equal partner in the dissolution of her marriage. Holliday’s performance makes this film must-see viewing at least once, though the film itself is also a hidden gem. Redeeming Qualities and Moments:
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Quiet Man, The (1952)
“I’m Sean Thornton and I was born in that little cottage. I’m home, and home I’m going to stay.”
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Response to Peary’s Review: In his GFTFF, Peary analyzes the film’s sexual politics, noting that Mary Kate’s refusal to “consummate [her] marriage if she doesn’t have the dowry” makes her like a “modern woman”, given that she “doesn’t want to enter a relationship unless it’s on equal terms”. He writes how refreshing it is that, despite their obvious challenges, Mary Kate and Sean ultimately both view each other with maturity, love, and respect. Mary Kate “decides to have sex with Sean although he has not come through for her”, given that she “senses that he has reasons for not challenging her brother, although she herself may not understand them”. Similarly, Sean “challenges Will for Mary Kate’s sake”, conceding “that her reasons for wanting the dowry are not trivial, although he doesn’t understand them”. Peary goes on to note that “there’s so much Irish humor in this film and so many quirky characters that one tends to overlook that just below the surface there is much seriousness, hurt, and guilt; both Sean and Mary Kate are tormented in real ways and we feel for them”. Finally, Peary points out that while “Ford was never known for ‘love scenes’… the silent passage in which Sean and O’Hara hold hands, race for shelter from the sudden rain, and then stop, clutch (he drapes his sweater over her), and kiss as the rain soaks through their clothing is incredibly sexy”; I agree. Wayne and O’Hara are both in top form here, and are indeed — as Peary notes — “one of the screen’s most romantic couples”. In Alternate Oscars, Peary names Wayne Best Actor of the Year for The Quiet Man, and provides a detailed analysis of why this performance was one of Wayne’s best and “most relaxed”. He notes that Sean “is Wayne’s gentlest character”, that he’s “formidable” but without McLaglen’s “need to be a bully or braggart”. As Peary writes, “He has such confidence in his masculinity that he is polite, emotional, sentimental, and sweet enough to plant roses”, never “hid[ing] his love from Mary Kate, [and] never assum[ing] a paternal or authoritarian stance with her”. Indeed, it’s easy to see why O’Hara would fall in love with him — though naturally, she’s equally appealing, for her own reasons. This romantic couple is one we truly enjoy watching on screen. Redeeming Qualities and Moments:
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(Listed in 1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die) Links: |
