Cover via Amazon

There are some movies that, when the name is uttered, are just considered classics. It doesn’t matter if the person talking about them or hearing about them has actually seen the movie. These films are shorthand in the vernacular of film for the epitome of filmic achievement. I have found, through the years, that some of these have earned that hallowed place within the halls of filmdom while others have been placed there for reasons that completely escape any sense of logic. Luckily, far more of these films fall into the former category than the latter, including the film that I was lucky enough to watch in 35mm at Liberty Hall in Lawrence, Kansas, yesterday as part of their Film Church series. That film was, as I mentioned in my Year of Thankful Living post yesterday, The Last Picture Show.

The Last Picture Show earns its placement among the pantheon of film classics through a lot of hard work on the part of director Peter Bogdanovich and his cast. Bogdanovich shoots the small town drama with the loving eye of a man who, despite growing up in New York, understands the ennui that accompanies life in the microsized population that inhabits a town like Anarene, Texas. The story, which revolves around two best friends, Sonny(Timothy Bottoms) and Duane(Jeff Bridges), and Duane’s girlfriend, Jacy(Cybill Shepherd), and their quest to find some sort of meaning in their lives in their tiny hometown, is one that has been told in varying forms throughout history. It is a coming of age tale, a tale of dissatisfied youth, and a story of passion and lust. Honestly, it is a story that, if pitched to a major studio today, would be deemed much too boring to be a successful film and thus would be extremely difficult to get made.

However, it would be idiotic to judge this film based on the synopsis alone. It is the performances and the direction that truly make it a classic.

Timothy Bottoms is, among the three leads, the weakest link in the acting chain. This is saying something, as his performance as the conflicted, quiet, and brooding Sonny is pretty damn riveting. However, Jeff Bridges, as Duane, is outstanding in his portrayal of teen angst as he tries to hold onto the love of his life and become a man in one fell swoop. The scenes where he portrays the heartbreak of finding out that his girlfriend, Jacy, has not been honest with him are truly moving, as is the confrontation he has with Sonny over a similar issue.

Cybill Shepherd, in her first professional acting role, is fantastic as Jacy Farrow. She portrays Jacy as a spoiled, bored small-town rich girl who is used to getting exactly what she wants and will stop at nothing to do just that. Whether it is during the scene where she and Duane initially attempt, and fail spectacularly, to have sex, or during the scene where she strips down naked in front of a bunch of other naked teens, thus losing the last bit of her innocence and naivete that made her likable early in the film, Shepherd brings an openness and honesty to her portrayal of Jacy that makes the manipulative young woman seem almost understandable in her devious tactics.

The three leads are joined in giving bravura performances by a stellar supporting cast. Ben Johnson, best known for his turns as a cowboy in a multitude of westerns, brings a real stoicism and natural charisma to the role of Sam the Lion, the mentor to Sonny. Cloris Leachman, who many people today know from her role on Raising Hope, was stunning in her portrayal of a woman trapped in a loveless marriage who seeks comfort in Sonny’s arms. The sublime Ellen Burstyn played another woman in a loveless marriage. However, while Leachman’s Ruth was closed off and sullen, Burstyn’s Lois Farrow was an outgoing, sexpot of a woman, making her a truly believable mother to Shepherd’s Jacy. Finally, one of the best performances of the film, in my opinion, was that of Eileen Brennan as Genevieve, the cook/waitress of the only diner in town. Brennan delivers, in her few scenes, a portrayal of a woman who loves Sonny as if he were her own son. She plays a nurturing mother-figure in a film that is without many examples of that, and does it wonderfully.

Of course, all these performances owe a great debt to the steady directorial hand of Bogdanovich, who was making only his third narrative film. As a well-known scholar of film, Bogdanovich’s study comes through the lens to the viewer as he pays homage to the great films of Ford, Welles, and Hawks in every inch of the footage. By paying homage to the films that were made during the era that he is depicting, the early 50s, Bogdanovich is able to envelope the viewer into the world of Anarene, Texas in 1951 much easier than he would be if he had attempted to make a more modern film. By using black and white, he is able to create a sense of desperation that wouldn’t have been possible in color. In short, Bogdanovich uses a few stylistic choices to create a world that is classic where many other directors would have created a boring B-movie.

As I stated at the beginning of this review, some films that are lauded as classics by film aficionados are given that label despite all evidence to the contrary. However, in the case of The Last Picture Show, that label is not just warranted but the only way to describe the film. It is, without a doubt, a classic.

Grade- A+

I watch far too many movies, this is great in the fact that I see what I consider to be the ultimate in artistic expression on a regular basis, and it’s bad in the sense that I don’t have the time to talk about them all, or sleep with any women, anytime, ever. Fortunately, I’ve found a solution to both of these problems and strangely enough both of them contain quick bursts of wrist action. Yes, it’s time for the lazy reviewer’s favourite chestnut, the quick review, that’s 300-500 words of the latest films I’ve seen that didn’t merit a full write-up, but I wanted to share a few thoughts about non-the-less. Let’s strap ourselves in then for a look at financial crisis companion piece ‘Margin Call’ and Peter Bogdanovich’s classic ‘The Last Picture Show’. 

GRADE: B+

“They can learn how to tell a story for a start,” says Bogdanovich.

Full article on the Irish Times website
http://www.irishtimes.com/newspaper/features/2012/0607/1224317432787.html

I recently enjoyed watching a reissue of the 1970’s classic ‘The Last Picture Show’ at Film Forum in NYC

At the time it was made America was still very much on the up (unless you were in Vietnam) with living standards still rising for the average citizen. You might not realize it if you watched this film, however. Set in a deadbeat, Texan, one-horse town, everyone seems to be struggling with some disappointment or failure or other.

Even the local cinema can’t make it and has to close.

Whereas at the time the film was seen as a nostalgic pining for old Hollywood and simpler times, now it seems like a hugely prescient comment on modern America and its depressed economy. The good times are gone and maybe they’re never coming back.

I really like this underrated film from Peter Bogdanovich, which seems to have slipped through the cracks since its release.  While I believe its a wonderfully crafted and engaging film, I have to admit I’m biased because I love this whole era, and particularly the work of Chaplin, who’s a main character in it.  This movie has a really great cast, especially the fantastic Edward Herrmann, who kills (in more ways than one) as W.R. Hearst.

The Cat’s Meow is based on rumors and speculation surrounding the very suspicious occurrences aboard W.R. Heart’s yacht in 1924 that may or may not have lead to the death of film mogul Thomas Ince (probably more ‘may’ than ‘may not.”) The leading theory is that Hearst was jealous of Chaplin’s affair with his girlfriend Marion Davies, and accidentally shot Ince when meaning to kill Charlie.  You can read more about the mystery here, scroll down to “Murder and Natural Death debate.”

Today’s youtube clip not only shows Marion Davies (Kristen Dunst) and Charlie Chaplin (Eddie Izzard) in a really beautifully directed scene/shot, but also illuminates some really interesting aspects of this film as it’s a movie clip within the documentary “By Bogdanovich,” which includes a disconcertingly-not-so-animated, yet always interesting, Bogdanovich pontificating on his work.  I love how he can just as easily claim credit for what he knows he’s done well as give kudos where kudos are due while admitting his own short-comings (eg, finding the ending of The Cat’s Meow).

Peter Bogdanovich channels Orson Welles

I know I said no one can block these oners like Welles, but, wow, P.B. sure is giving him a run for his money with this scene – it’s organic, flowing, natural and intense.

Today’s shot from The Cat’s Meow begins at 5:15 – but why not watch the whole excerpt from the documentary? It starts with The-Ascotted-One talking about his work in television, which I found very engaging.

Father & Daughter: Ryan and Tatum O'Neal

Paper Moon (Bogdanovich, 1973)

Plot:  During the Great Depression, a charming con-man finds an unlikely partner in the form of a recently orphaned young girl, who in fact may, or may not, be his own daughter.

Boiled Down:  Touching.  Comic.  Evocative.  Picturesque.  Light-hearted.

Rating:  3 1/2 out of 5 stars.

Speaking of oners (check out the newly minted glossary, link on above menu-bar, if you need any clarification on that term) nothing beats, in terms of performance & overall impact, this amazing single shot from Paper Moon.  It’s such a simple thing – on the surface – but took Bogdanovich a grueling day and half to get this short scene.

The little girl, Tatum O’Neil (daughter of Ryan, screen right) gives an amazing performance, especially considering she’s 9.  Thing is, if she’d go up on a line, the whole parade — the tow vehicle, the picture car, any crew vehicles — had to be turned around and reset – an arduous process that would only allow for a limited number of takes before they lost the daylight.

Peter Bogdanovich’s Paper Moon Persistence

They didn’t get it the first day, and Bogdanovich had to fend off incredulous and desperate producers who wanted him to move on.  He knew he was on the verge of something special, and the final result is magnificent on all levels.  Coverage of this scene would have really lessened the verisimilitude and impact, I feel.

You can check out the scene in this youtube video:

Small town West Texas, the early 1950′s. Through the eyes and insights of some denizens of a small dust cloaked hamlet a visual tone poem emerges, the dying town revolves around Sam the Lion (Ben Johnson) Pool Hall and Picture House, the stomping grounds of a group of listless and bored teenagers including Timothy Bottoms, Cybil Shepherd, Jeff Bridges and Randy Quaid in their big screen debuts, ably supported by the fine character actresses Cloris Leachman and Ellen Burstyn. The flirtatious Jacy Farrow (Shepherd) is playing off the adolescent lust of  best friends Duane (Bridges) and Sonny  (Bottoms) who also looks after his mute and backward friend Billy. The teenagers hesitant fumbling in the back of cars and the cinema are reflected by the indiscretions of their adult parents and guardians, the kids perhaps unconsciously realising that similar lives of quiet desperation are on their horizons unless they can escape the towns suffocating isolation and grinding creative poverty.

This beautifully realised, discretely paced and gently directed masterpiece is perhaps the prime example of what a Hollywood auteur could produce unfettered by the demands of a purely commercial cinema. Through the haunting monochrome photography – already an uncertain choice in 1971 when colour was the de rigueur screen palette of choice – we are offered a tantalising glimpse of an America away from the exciting bustle of the East and West coast metropoli, a working class vision of muted dreams and listless hours where only the escape of the local picture house offers a brief respite. The film has no central narrative as such, its more a series of vignettes as the teenagers undergo their rites of passage and the adults search for affection, the film charting those uncertain years from high school graduation to the burgeoning steps of a career, whether that be in the military, or as a home-maker or the local retail store. In that sense it has an Altmansque ensemble feel with an emphasis on performance, on character and on mood, rather than any visual pyrotechnics or finely attuned melee, a fine alternative to the usual Hollywood fare, witness the sisyphean sweeping of poor, simple Billy…

Bogdanovich was heralded as a new incarnation of Orson Welles given his age (which is odd as he was 32 when the film was completed) with his similar employment of deep focus cinematography for certain scenes and an alternative approach to music scoring, The Last Picture Show has no soundtrack away from the crackling radios and laboured LP turntables that silibate the Rock n Roll hits of the Fifties. In that sense the film is a curious cousin to Lucas’s American Graffiti with which it shares a fond nostalgia for a passed generation, they would make an ideal double bill in some converted mid-Western US picture house, a dying breed in these multiplex dominated days. The iconography is wide-brimmed hats and cowboy boots, tumbleweed streets and sparsely decorated bedrooms, as stagnant oil and water derricks wheezingly collect dust in the background, The Last Picture Show’s citizens affect a greying, corpse like pallor, even a revivifying excursion to Mexico on the part of Duane and Sam is transmitted in a wonderfully constructed telegraphing of time.

 Normal Hollywood fiilming practices follow a long-established policy – every scene is covered in master shots to establish the space and environment, then dialogue will be filmed in two pieces to trap the figures at the centre of the action, then in a shot reverse shot approach the close-ups of the actors faces will be captured, this methodology giving three tiers of material to select from the editing room when constructing the film in its post production phase. Time and resources permitting  on-set the director can then move on to a speculative mode and toy with alternative compositions or dialogue twists which is where some different approaches can be gleaned from a scene, this phase only conducted once the indemnity coverage has been secured. Bogdanovich deliberately knew exactly what shots he wanted and needed for which beats in any scene, he abandoned the masters and accordingly only captured his choice of coverage in the negative - it’s a risky proposition but it’s also an insurance policy, when there are no alternatives to insert from the hands of meddling producers and studio executives the chances of getting the film you wanted out of your head and into the cinemas is much more achievable.  The film is a chrysalis of one significant talent – Jeff Bridges – in tandem with that aforementioned bridging effect it also mourned the passing of an American icon, the rough and ready, morally decent, granite hewn men who work the animals and crops of the prairies, all encapsulated in a brilliant performance by Ben Johnson who was a veteran of the Western (he worked extensively with John Ford and appeared in Shane) whose famous speech is quite brilliant;

Even the film’s title signals a baton passed from one generation to the next, a picture show that Bogdanovich acknowledges is his finest work which makes up for the critical mauling that his subsequent efforts and neutered career proved to  be. Watching the film reminded me of my own little ‘Last Picture’ moment, back in I guess 1989 I was the only person in attendance of the final screening of my local Odeon in Peterborough city centre, I distinctly remember walking out after the screening of Pet Semetary of all things to see the usherettes and ticket sellers having a little cry together, the cinema presumably being decimated by the opening of a new multiplex on the outskirts of town. For some reason the projectionist also decided to treat me to the trailer of the classic C. Thomas Howell hilarious race relation ‘comedy’ Soul Man – all in all it was a weird but memorable trip to the flicks. In this months Sight & Sound a succinct interview with Bogdanovich reported that he had bumped into Bridges at some function recently and they got to talking about the old times, Jeff quite rightly observing that The Last Picture Show is unique in that there is nothing else quite like it in American cinema in terms of approach, atmosphere and aura, in comparison to the blossoming of the other auteurs of the era it occupies a solitary position of specific grace and melancholic merit. One of my all time favourites it’s a maudlin, moving, elegiac masterpiece.

In order to understand Bob Seger, I needed to watch Mask, a 1985 retelling of The Elephant Man starring Eric Stoltz as the deformed Rocky Dennis and Cher as his mother Rusty Dennis. Mask was released two years after Risky Business, and featured a number of Bob Seger songs predominantly in the soundtrack. These songs uniformly mixed to the foreground, often serving as Rocky’s theme, juxtaposed against an ambient soundtrack of songs by black musicians like Little Richard and Gary US Bonds. These black oldies, “Tutti Frutti” and “Quarter to Three,” are used thematically when Rusty’s friends, a bunch of guys in a motorcycle gang, are partying. Not only is Rocky othered from the kids at school because he is ugly, he is poor, raised by a single mother with a drug addiction. Although whiteness takes center stage in this film, it holds a complex relationship to blackness. Rocky and Rusty are atypically white, finding community only with each other and a super-masculine network of bikers; they are misfits, doing their best to pass in a mainstream and affluent white society.

Bob Seger’s “Katmandu,” is the song which introduces Rocky in the opening credits. It is guilty of the trademark Bob Seger whiteness: more refurbished Chuck Berry and piano so droll it could have been played by a metronome. In the context of Rocky and his struggle to identify with white society however, it paints Seger in a different light. Bob Seger’s uncoolness can be read as a failed attempt to pay homage to black musicians like the aforementioned Little Richard and Gary US Bonds. Instead of suggesting a totalizing narrative of white appropriation, I argue that Bob Seger can be understood as a musician who would never be completely accepted by his heroes or critics. Reflected in the posters on Rocky’s wall and Universal’s contract negotiations with Columbia Records (Bruce Springsteen had been first choice for the soundtrack), Seger was not even cool to the director of the film, Peter Bogdanovich, who refered to his music as “inappropriate.”

Toward the end of the movie, Rocky holds his blind girlfriend for the last time. Her parents, disgusted by his face (but probably also by his shabby clothing), keep the two separate. Contradicting the escape narrative of Springsteen’s “Born to Run,” Rocky evinces the power of fantasy toward coping with discrimination: “We can’t run away Diana. But we can sort of run away in our minds. We can remember camp, the mountains and the Ocean…especially New Year’s Eve” (Mask Part 11 4:40). Like Rocky, Seger can’t run away from his whiteness, even though he may not relate to it, or fully embrace it, it is ever present in his recordings. Songs like “Old Time Rock and Roll,” “Katmandu,” and even “Night Moves” are celebrations of music as a forum of imagination – one where identity, be it black or white, can be reimagined as something else. Though “Old Time Rock and Roll,” will sound forever white, it relates the experience of otherness. Try as he might, Seger has no idea how to sound authentically black, and this is evident through both its celebratory lyrics and contrived arrangement.

Growing up in a bi-racial household, where, depending on the holiday, my Jewishness could be as visible as my blackness, I feel a strong kinship to figures like Rocky, not completely belonging to any ethnic community. Perhaps this led to a juvenile obsession with Springsteen, who, according to my father, everyone could relate to, regardless of color (he worked at an all-night Jersey Shore diner, the Inkwell, in the early 1970s). Bruce though, was never really misfit, mulatto or poor; whether discussing his working class freehold roots, or his first guitar, his music epitomizes white privilege. Even his stage shows feature Clarence Clemons, The Big (Black) Man, notably subordinate to Bruce, or “The Boss.” Although now, my Bruce phase seems laughable, I wonder if it was also a fantasy of fitting in, of recovering a fantastic and invisible whiteness deep within myself. When he wrote “Old Time Rock and Roll,” was Bob Seger trying to do the same and recover a font of blackness deep within himself? I now see a complex web of identity politics informed by an economic and social history of Rock and Roll, but this holds an uneasy and complex relationship with the part of me that still believes in rock and roll. I was, am, and forever will be the misfit who found an identity in the church of rock and roll. Though the sermons have changed, in high school, Springsteen was the pastor, and I suspect that for my friend at the bar, Seger also conducted service. Even though I could never completely fit in to the rich white world of these artists, I wonder if this speaks to a fundamental affinity. Did Springsteen and Seger ever feel like outcasts, later to find solace in the black cool of Little Richard, Chuck Berry and Fats Domino? In the context of these figures and their music, how could whiteness seem anything but contrived, misfit and ugly – or in truth, is this dialectic really the beat which pushes rock and roll forward?

AT

The problem with telling someone, “I just heard the funniest joke EVER!”, and then telling the joke, is that the expectations are raised so high, it usually falls short.

That being said, What’s Up Doc? is not only One of the Best Movies Ever Made, it is the funniest movie ever made. No question. If you disagree, start your own blog. You can call it, “Why I Think Michael Pippa is Wrong, Even Though He is Right”.

Thanks to the screenwriter (Buck Henry) and director (Peter Bogdanovich) from beginning to end this movie is fun. F-U-N.

It begins with a group of people unknown to each other, staying at the same hotel, four of which have identical plaid overnight bags (plaid is a very funny pattern, in case you haven’t noticed). The four bags contain personal belongings, pre-historic rocks, top-secret government documents, and a fortune in jewelry.

The bags get stolen, found, misplaced, and in the end, chased through the streets of San Francisco, culminating in a riotous courtroom sequence, presided over by Lian Dunn as Judge Maxwell. His eight and one half minute performance is the best in the film. A close second would be Madeline Kahn (in her first movie) as Eunice Burns. She manages to be annoying, sympathetic, and of course, hysterical.

Ryan O’Neil does a great job basing his character on Cary Grant’s in Bringing Up Baby (1938), and Barbara Streisand does a good job basically portraying herself. Her timing is fine, and this movie was made before her ego turned her into a MAPOE (Most Annoying Person On Earth).

Beware. The script is full of lines you will be repeating for days. So watch this with friends, so they’ll understand you. Or don’t, and people will think you’re strange, even though you’re not. Works for me.

The Sting – 1973

Director – George Roy Hill

Starring – Paul Newman, Robert Redford, and Robert Shaw

Some movies are just the right combination of pluck and chemistry.  They don’t have the strongest story, nor do they have the most gripping action, or the most beautiful girl, but they leave you with a pleasant feeling once the film is over.  Thanks to the long lasting effects of this pervasive pleasantness, films like Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, Hot Shots, and The Neverending Story still resonate with me, while still other films (much like the Wonka re-make) fail.  They possess some element that isn’t quantifiable or necessarily repeatable.  The stars aligned and the seas parted and low and behold the film is good.  The Sting sits firmly in this demographic, not at all bad, but somehow better than the sum of its parts.

Redford and Newman re-team in this buddy film set in the lawless Chicago of the 30′s.  Newman oozes confidence and cool as the con-man Henry Gondorf, who takes novice Johnny Hooker, Redford, under his wing in order to pull off the fleece of the lifetime against serious as cancer mob boss, Doyle Lonnegan (Shaw).  There are a number of twists and turns, red-herrings and surprises on the con-men’s road to revenge, yet the whole tone of the film stays light and fun.  Despite some marvelously dower moments by Robert Shaw’s Lonnegan, the stake never really seem that high, although it is still a pleasure to watch all of the three main actors do their thing.

Cinematographically, the film rides a thin line between stylized and cartoon, (a line that fellow 70′s heart-throb Warren Beatty went way, WAY past in Dick Tracy) and at times seems a little campy.  Still the look of the film sets a certain tone that works for the camaraderie of Hooker and Gondorf.  It looks exactly like the Disney resort “The Boardwalk” made me feel, nostalgic about a time I never thought I cared about.

Of all the creative elements, the least effective in terms of me continuing to enjoy the movie, was the musical score.  Despite the fact that it compliments the set design and look of the film, every time strains of Scott Joplin’s “The Entertainer” began, I was immediately drawn out of the story.  Luckily, even though the music is a little goofy, it isn’t used to a degree where I couldn’t pay attention, I just gritted my teeth and eventually it would end.

By and large, I enjoyed this film quite a bit.  I saw the twists and turns for what they were long before they were revealed, but I blame my knowledge of modern movie conventions for that.  While it might not be the best con-man movie I’ve ever seen (that dubious honor goes to the super fantastic Paper Moon), I think it’s earned it’s spot on this list, even if that spot is towards the end.

“Learn to run your own con-game.” – Ashley

A sticky sweet masterpiece with a self conscious conceit well suited to Bogdanovich himself (it’s no surprise he says this is his most personal movie, his favorite movie, something like that).  Everyone’s charming and nothing bad happens. I could see myself actually hating this movie, but there’d be no point.

It’s been a white since we’ve had a big-screen feature from Bogdanovich, and it’s about time. The Cat’s Meow, his reimagining of the Ince yachting incident, was released in 2001, almost a decade ago. Since then, he’s been busy with everything from Sopranos to Tom Petty, and though many may not know it, Bogdanovich has used the time to turn out some terrific work. Directed by John Ford, televised by Turner Classic Movies in 2006, will surely become one of the most essential studies of John Ford in either book or film form, and will gain in importance as Ford’s legacy becomes more and more wound up in the past. While Ford’s contemporaries, giants like Hawks and Cukor, will have an easier time reaching audiences of the future – their sensibilities being so sharp and forever modern – visitors to Ford Country, I’m sure, will need more of a roadmap. Directed by John Ford will be just that.

Bogdanovich would be the first to admit that he learned landscapes from John Ford. Films like The Last Picture Show, Paper Moon, and Nickelodeon are full of expansive vistas, the sort of evocative, mythic terrains we think of when we think of Fort Apache or The Searchers. Even They All Laughed, Bogdanovich’s dazzling New York comedy, contains a Fordian fascination with topography. Some of those low-angle shots of John Ritter framed against shining skyscrapers bring to mind Ford’s famous depictions of John Wayne beaming against the desert sky. Monument Valley has been usurped by Times Square, but the effect is the same: setting is emotion.

This is all to say that a bit of Ford, a touch of Hawks, and a generous helping of Bogdanovich could – if the Movie Gods decree it – fuse to make Turn of the Century a very good thing. Peter Bogdanovich is at home in a crowd, and a rollicking, expansive satire like Turn of the Century, with its cast of thousands and epic scope, may very well provide him with the sort of omnibus ingredients that have buttressed his handful of masterworks.

At least I hope it does. Bogdanovich certainly deserves another terrific piece of time. “An’ that’s the thing,” Jimmy Stewart said to him, “that’s the great thing about the movies…After you learn – and you’re good and Gawd helps ya and you’re lucky to have a personality that comes across – then what you’re doing is – you’re giving people little…little, tiny pieces of time…that they never forget.”

Turn of the Century is scheduled to begin shooting next spring in New York.

Bad Day at Black Rock – 1955

Director – John Sturges

Starring – Spencer Tracy, Robert Ryan, Ernest Borgnine, Lee Marvin and Walter Brennan

Coming into this film, I knew only the blurb that I’d seen in the 1001 Movies book, and frankly I was pretty excited to check it out.  The premise is pretty standard, yet pretty compelling.  A man gets off a train in a lonely desert town, no one knows why he’s there yet they immediately distrust him, eventually leading to threats of violence and confrontation.  I was instantly grabbed by this concept.   I wanted to see what would happen.  Unfortunately, once I did, I wished I had just lived with my imagination of what it might be.

First off, Spencer Tracy isn’t a bad-ass.  Based solely on the description, it seemed to me that Tracy’s character would have to be a hard as nails, no-nonsense type of guy.  Someone who could take care of business if the situation called for it.  What we got was a rather weathered old man who never seemed willing to stand up for himself.  The townsfolk took a lot of pleasure in pushing him around, and he took great care to try to keep from provoking them any further.  He took loads of abuse when it seemed like he should be handing some out.

The bad guys, while actually pretty bad people, didn’t provide any interesting motivation for their cruelty.  The set-up of the story hints at some terrible secret that the entire town is trying to keep quiet, and when Tracy’s character arrives, everyone immediately jumps to the conclusion that he is there specifically to position blame.  Aggravatingly, nobody ever stops to ask any questions, instead they stubbornly decide to be vague and confrontational with their dealings with one another.  I’m sure if the towns people ever asked the Macreedy why he was there, they could have saved themselves an awful lot of trouble.  Instead they start trouble almost immediately

As far as the supporting bad guys go, I would have expected more from a cast featuring Lee Marvin and Ernest Borgnine, both actors that I really like in other roles.  It wasn’t until the credits that I realized that Lee Marvin was in it, or that he played a fairly prominent character.  The character of Reno played by Robert Ryan was probably the only character I found somewhat interesting, unfortunately he seemed a little under-developed, and lacked any real motivation by the end.

One of it’s most gorgeous attributes, the scenery in which it was filmed, was mis-used as well.  It was rare that we ever saw the panoramic vista’s in which the town was supposedly set.  It’s too bad really, as the location would have given the audience insight into the isolation (both literally as well as the town’s isolation from decency) that each of the people in town was subject to.  The one major theme of the film seemed to be the fact that each character was in one way or another alone, some for their crimes, and in the case of Macreedy, his  isolation from any help or safety.

Unfortunately, this is another film that I’d have to say is just taking up a precious spot on this list that rightfully deserves to go to another film.  While it wasn’t awful, it was by no means one of the greatest films ever made.

P.S.  Although it has nothing to do with Bad Day at Black Rock, I recently watched  film that I thought for the life of me was on this list.  To my dismay, it was not.  To my further dismay, films like Bad Day at Black Rock, are!  The film in question is Peter Bogdanovich’s, Paper Moon starring Ryan and Tatum O’Neil and a “father” and “daughter” team of hucksters, traveling their way across depression era America swindling what they can from whoever they are able to.  It features a performance from the always fantastic Madeline Kahn, and is quite possibly one of the most beautiful looking films I have ever seen.  If you haven’t seen it, do yourself a favor and check it out.

Horror legends rarely get as respectable a send-off as Boris Karloff was afforded in Peter Bodgdanovich’s Targets, a thriller loosely based on the Charles Whitman water tower murders of the early 60s. It’s rather interesting that both Karloff and Bela Lugosi ended their careers working with young, eager filmmakers on a low budget, but while Lugosi hammed it up in Bride Of The Monster, Karloff was given one of his very best roles – basically playing himself – in an effective (though occasionally muddled) meditation on modern horrors.

Meanwhile we follow the young Vietnam veteran Bobby Thompson as he goes from attempting to discuss his seemingly random thoughts of violence with his wife, to acting out on these thoughts by horrifically murdering his family. Leaving a note stating that more will die, Thompson climbs a water-tower and uses a sniper rifle to randomly shoot at drivers. Eventually the two stories meet as Bobby, running from the police, hides behind the drive-in movie screen and begins to target those watching the film.

Despite being his first directorial effort (having worked on Roger Corman’s The Wild Angels previously), in the included commentary Bogdanovich states that his two least favorite genres of film are horror and science fiction. With Corman producing, he likely didn’t have much say in the matter but he’s actually quite good at directing suspense, attempting some ambitious shots and cinematic references to Hitchcock and Fritz Lang that foreshadow his major success over the following decade. In particular, the choice to use only ambient sounds and radio noise (inspired by Rear Window) give everything a realistic, verite feel that serves to build tension in the sniper scenes. This is particularly true in an early scene where Bobby is skulking around his house and we can hear conversations in the other room. Bogdonavich gives a lot of credit to his sound editor, and it really is quite well done for a low budget production.

While not actually Karloff’s final film – he made some mostly forgotten Spanish sci-fi films afterwards – Targets was made just two years before the actors death and makes a fine capper to a masterful career. Bogdanovich was obviously in awe of the man and his cinematic importance, and takes several opportunities to pay tribute. Orlok watches a clip from Howard Hawks The Criminal Code (the film that introduced Karloff to many), meditates on his importance at the height of his career, and – most memorably – is given an opportunity to tell W. Somerset Maugham’s tale of the Appointment in Samarra, showing that even at this late stage of his career Karloff retained his ability to chill the audience.

However it’s the Bobby Thompson segments that prove to be the most terrifying, particularly since he envelops the usual idea of the all-American boy, with his young wife and strong relationship with his parents. We’re never given any strong idea of just what pushes him over the edge – even his military background is barely hinted at – but when he finally snaps it’s truly horrifying. The scenes on the water tower with Thompson drinking soda and eating a sandwich as he calmly picks off drivers are equally shocking, and have retained their power to disturb.

The Paramount DVD of Targets features the film in its original 1.85 :1 aspect ratio, and the image quality has held up quite well for a low-budget film of the era. Music is minimal throughout, usually only heard blasting from speakers (or introduced by Corman regular, the late “The Real” Don Steele), but is effective and the mono soundtrack is never difficult to decipher.

We also get a couple of wonderful extras, including the thirteen minute Targets – An Introduction by Peter Bogdanovich where the director/actor relates how he got into directing and some of the fascinating stories behind the creation and (eventual) distribution of Targets. Even better is the full length commentary by Bogdanovich, who repeats a lot of the information from the Introduction, but continues to pack the running time with interesting anecdotes about his experiences making the picture. One of the biggest reveals involves how much maverick director Samuel Fuller contributed to the final script, basically re-writing the whole thing without asking for credit. Both features are very worthwhile.

While the two stories never really gel effectively – likely because of the limited time that Karloff was available – Targets remains a striking example of low-budget horror, as well as a timely epitaph for the style of horror pioneered by Karloff, Lugosi and Chaney. The film feels relevant even today, where issues of gun violence and post-traumatic stress still dominate headlines, but for audiences in 1968 – shaken by Robert Kennedy’s assassination – the film must have been almost too much to bear. A minor masterpiece, and one well worth revisiting.

http://www.youtube.com/v/SfXOx04d6m4&hl=en&fs=1&

Targets – 1968

Director – Peter Bogdanovich

Starring – Boris Karloff, Tim O’Kelly, Peter Bogdanovich, and Nancy Hsueh

My review of a couple of days ago of The Masque of the Red Death, dove-tails nicely with today’s review of the film Targets.  Both films started out as projects coming out of the creative collective that is Roger Corman and American International Pictures, however both films ended up becoming polar opposites of one another.  Masque, while brimming with campy fun, was  produced solely to turn a profit banking on the names of Edgar Allen Poe, Vincent Price, with a dollop of horror and a pinch of sexuality. 

Targets on the other hand, started it’s existence in much the same way, but was able to become more than the sum of it’s parts.  Corman, who produced the picture, offered the directing position to a young up-and-comer by the name of Peter Bogdanovich who would later go on to direct a number of critically acclaimed films, as well as make friends with some very influential and talented people (most notably portly wunderkind, Orson Welles).  Corman would allow Bogdanovich to make any film he wanted to with two caveats, he had to re-use footage of a b-horror movie “The Terror” that he had the rights to, and mix it with footage filmed in the two days of filming that legendary horror actor Boris Karloff owed to Corman.

Reportedly, Bogdanovich was so frustrated with trying to find a way to merge the scenes of campy victorian horror, with the older, more frail Karloff that he only had two days with, that he jokingly said Karloff was going to be a washed up movie star disgusted with where his career had gone.  Ultimately this ended up being a large chunk of what the story became. 

The other half of the movie centers around Tim O’Kelly’s character, Bobby Thompson, a troubled young man with a penchant for guns.  Modelled after real life gunman Charles Whitman, Bobby Thompson goes on a similar type of shooting spree, firing methodically into traffic and later into into the audience of Byron Orlok’s (Boris Karloff’s) newest movie.  Where Orlok represented horror in his day, Bobby Thompson represented the fear that existed in the future.  Thompson remorselessly guns down his wife, and mother before calmly collecting all of his weapons and setting out to make his mark on the world.

Though the story is one that is partially designed to be fantastic, and draw an audience through shock value, unlike Masque, it talks about a very real kind of fear, one that is just as prescient today as it was in 1968.  At one point Karloff’s Orlok laments about how he no longer wants to be in the movies because with things like these {murders} appearing in the papers, what’s so scary about a man in a rubber monster costume.  It is just these little kinds of humanistic characterizations that helped Karloff achieve such a dignity in his original famous role, that of  Frankenstein.  Though the story centers around these crimes that Bobby Thompson commits, and their direct influence on our main characters, the real meat of the film is watching Karloff as Orlok, play himself.  We watch as he realizes his time is done, his effectiveness has faded away, and his realization that he is no longer a star, but only a man.

Peter Bogdanovich does a fantastic job, not really despite what he has to work with, but because of it.  Due to his drive to create something beyond the desire for a payday, he was able to far surpass other grind-house films that started in the same vein,  like The Masque of the Red Death.  He is forced to be creative with his resources.  Everything from his actors, to his story, to his limitations on directing had to be carefully measured and weighed. 

To his credit, however, Roger Corman gave a lot of young, aspiring director’s their big breaks.  Without him wouldn’t have had Scorsese, Coppola, Demme, Bogdanovich, James Camer0n, or Joe Dante.  Imagine a world without Goodfellas, and Gremlins.

SESIÓN DOBLE (II)

Ángel Rey Gallego

“EL AVIADOR”

La última obra de Scorsese desarrolla la vida del magnate Howard Hughes hasta finales de los 40, reflejando tanto sus virtudes como sus debilidades. El retrato es parcial en cuanto a que no vemos sus años finales, pero esto, más que un inconveniente, beneficia al tratamiento de la historia.

La historia le puede servir al realizador para tomar un nuevo y más calmado rumbo frente a sus anteriores films, muy floridos visualmente. En un libro-entrevista con Amenábar, éste dijo que había leido que Martin Scorsese sentía que el público y la crítica le pedían que moviera la cámara, aunque realmente a él le gustaría hacer una historia con la cámara quieta (“Amenábar, vocación de intriga”, pág. 83). En “El Aviador” empieza a realizar lo que anhelaba, si bien mantiene parte de su viejo estilo que tan buen resultado le dio en películas como “Casino”. Conduce la trama biográfica donde el biografiado tiene una personalidad poliédrica. El film muestra que desde niño quería, cuando llegara a la edad adulta, volar en los aviones más rápidos y dirigir las mejores películas; aparte de convertirse en uno de los hombres mas ricos.

Con 18 años hereda de sus padres una fortuna y decide llevar a cabo lo que había soñado, imponiéndose a las personas que lo infravaloraban por su juventud. Howard Hughes tiene una gran imaginación e iniciativa en las actividades que emprende, pero con un componente autodestructivo.

Leonardo DiCaprio, injustamente criticado, incluso denostado por muchos, hace una más que digna labor, perfilándose como uno de los mejores actores para el futuro. Con la presente película lleva, por vez primera totalmente la carga del papel principal sin que nadie haga sombra a la importancia de su personaje en la historia. No obstante, hay grandes actores en ella: Alec Baldwin, interpretando a uno de los adversarios de Howard; Cate Blanchett, que, de una forma muy cuidada a la hora de imitar los gestos y actitudes de la original, encarna a Katharine Hepburn; Kate Beckinsale es una misteriosa e indómita, a la par de sensible, Ava Gardner; John C. Reilly, en el papel de asesor del millonario; Ian Holm, ayudante en aspectos técnicos; la guapa cantante Gwen Stefani, como Jean Harlow; Willem Dafoe tiene una breve y oscura intervención; y tantos otros, ya que esta producción se prodiga en apariciones de numerosos y eficaces secundarios, procedimiento tradicional del cine americano que ha tenido no escasa importancia en la grandeza de éste. Destaca Alan Alda, en el papel de un irritante senador demócrata, que se enemista con Hughes a raíz de una ley que pretende llevar a cabo. Este hecho es importante en la trama, pues la citada ley es tenida por el magnate como antiamericana, ya que supone un intervencionismo en el mercado de la aviación. Cito este detalle porque muchos de los lectores de EL CONSERVADOR muy probablemente estarían en consonancia con estas ideas.

“El Aviador” (“The Aviator”) está nominada a 11 Oscars y su autor entrará en competición con “Million Dollar Baby”, de Clint Eastwood, en la categoría de mejor director. Scorsese no consiguió el galardón con “Gangs of New York”, y este 2005 tendrá otra oportunidad. Aunque cuando ustedes, estimados lectores, estén frente a éstas líneas, el dilema se habrá dilucidado. Tanto Scorsese como Eastwood tienen una gran experiencia y son unos fantásticos cineastas, por lo que mi consejo es que vayan a ver ambas y opinen en consecuencia.

Nota agregada: Como ya se pudo ver, “Million Dollar Baby” se llevó los Óscars a Mejor Película y Mejor Director. Scorsese no pudo llevarse el Óscar al Mejor Director hasta 2006 con “Infiltrados”.

“CENTAUROS DEL DESIERTO”

Se abre una puerta y una mujer observa cómo llega un jinete. Es Ethan Edwards (John Wayne), el cual, tres años después de finalizada la Guerra de Secesión americana, regresa al rancho de su familia para visitarla. Ethan saluda a la mujer, Martha, su cuñada, y por la forma de hacerlo vemos que estuvieron enamorados.

En esta escena inicial, una de las mejores del cine, vemos condensados y en su esencia algunos personajes de manera tal como sólo John Ford hubiera podido recrearlos.

“Centauros del desierto” (“The Searchers”, 1956) es uno de los grandes westerns de todos los tiempos. Cineastas como Spielberg, George Lucas, Coppola o Scorsese la tienen entre sus películas favoritas.

Tras este comienzo, se revela parte del carácter de Ethan, su racismo hacia los indios, que, cuando éstos asaltan el rancho y matan a su amada Martha con toda su familia y raptan a su sobrina, le llevará a emprender una persecución épica de años recorriendo cantidad de lugares. Aunque un crítico, echando a Ford en cara un supuesto abuso del realismo, destacó que parecía que no se saliera en toda la historia de Monument Valley, cuando los actores recorren todo el Oeste. Esto último viene señalado en el libro “John Ford”, de McBride y Willmington, donde se hace la interpretación, bastante acertada a mi entender, de que Monument Valley, más que un lugar real, es un estado mental para John Ford (pág 37 del libro citado). Acompañará a Ethan, Martin Pawley (Jeffrey Hunter), mestizo miembro adoptivo de la aniquilada familia.

Ford siempre se caracterizó por sus escasos movimientos de cámara, de forma que, cuando los utiliza, al suponer algo inusual, logra una fuerza que subraya sobremanera la escena y momento en que ocurre (“¿Cuándo cree que debe moverse la cámara? Cuando hay motivo.” Pág. 48. McBride-Willmington).

Este film, fiel a su norma, sigue ese estilo, si bien está mucho más elaborado y es más innovador (pág. 307. Urkijo) que otros suyos en todos los sentidos. En cuestiones como la composición o el ritmo narrativo (hay un uso del flashback muy bien traído, tanto que parece que no lo es, absolutamente coherente con la narración) e, incluso en las interpretaciones. John Wayne, que siempre fue muy infravalorado como actor (L. Anderson, pág. 256), compone en esta obra una de sus mejores y más maduras actuaciones, a la altura de otras como en “Río Rojo”. Lleno de matices, con contradicciones y dudas que lo hacen más humano. Lindsay Anderson, en su estudio sobre John Ford, advierte que los tonos y acentos [de Wayne] varían y titubean de escena en escena (pág. 256. L. Anderson), tachando esto como negativo. Considero poco acertada esta opinión (en un libro que, por otra parte, es de enorme interés para el análisis de Ford, su obra y aún de la presente producción), ya que “Centauros del desierto” es un prodigio del séptimo arte, de una densidad colosal de contenidos, casi insondable, que, por mucho que se vea, permite sacar nuevas impresiones a cada visionado. Además de todo esto, es una película bellísima dentro de su épica.

Volviendo a la cuestión del racismo, brevemente apuntada arriba, opino, al contrario que otra gente, que no es el verdadero tema de la película, sino sólo una de las vías de escape de la frustración del protagonista, condenado a la soledad. Es la tragedia de un solitario, dijo Ford en una entrevista con Bogdanovich (Bogdanovich, Pág. 91), un outsider según Anderson (pág. 254). Un hombre amargado que ha visto y vivido mucho, lo cual puede haberle llevado a tener una opinión negativa de la raza india, que llevaría a comprender (no digo justificar) sus prejuicios. Sin olvidar que son en cierta parte fachada de sí mismo, como demuestra el que negocie con indios y en el fondo sienta simpatía por el mestizo Pawley. Llevados por lo políticamente correcto, se ha caído en la beatería de tildar al film de “obra maestra, pero racista”. Un simplismo radical ya que, aparte de que Ford fuera adoptado por la tribu de indios que intervinieron como extras, la narración muestra, más que racismo, el choque cultural y las dificultades de los pioneros para formar un hogar en las áridas tierras de Texas. A los interesados en el tema de la formación de los EEUU y el paso del salvaje oeste a la democratización de éste les recomiendo “El hombre que mató a Liberty Valance”, otra de las cumbres fordianas.

INFORMACIÓN DE INTERÉS SOBRE “EL AVIADOR”:

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0338751/

http://theaviatormovie.com/

http://movies.yahoo.com/shop?d=hv&cf=info&id=1808411951

http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,145326,00.html#top

http://us.ent4.yimg.com/movies.yahoo.com/images/hv/photo/movie_pix/miramax_films/the_aviator/leonardo_dicaprio/hughes.jpg

INFORMACIÓN DE INTERÉS SOBRE “CENTAUROS DEL DESIERTO”:

-“Las 100 mejores películas”. John Kobal. Alianza editorial. Madrid, 1995. (Sección: Cine).

-“Diccionario de directores de cine”. Augusto M. Torres. Alianza editorial. Ediciones del Prado. Arganda del Rey (Madrid), 1994. (Biblioteca temática Alianza).

-“Los 100 mejores western de la historia del cine”. José Luis Mena. Ediciones J. C. 1994, Cacitel, S.L.

-“John Ford” Francisco Javier Urkijo. Ed. Cátedra. Madrid, 1991.

-“Escritos-120: John Ford: Obras maestras”. Luis Martín Arias. Caja España, Obra Social.

-“Escritos-143: John Ford”. Luis Martín Arias. Caja España, Obra Social.

-“Sobre John Ford”. Lindsay Anderson. Ed. Paidós. Barcelona, 2001.

-“John Ford”. Peter Bogdanovich. Ed. Fundamentos. Madrid, 1991.

-“John Ford”. Joseph McBride. Michael Wilmington. Ediciones JC. Madrid, 1984.

http://www.filmaffinity.com/es/film591096.html

http://www.alohacriticon.com/elcriticon/article533.html

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0049730/

http://sfy.iv.ru/sfy.html?script=searchers

http://images.usatoday.com/life/_photos/2004/2004-01/06-johnford-searchers-inside.jpg

Variety says: “The film stars John Huston as an aging Hollywood director attempting to revive his career by making a trippy movie filled with sex and violence.”

When Welles died in 1985, he left behind extensive notes and about 45 minutes of edited footage. I’m not sure if there’s unedited footage they plan to add to it, or if they’re just working on those 45 minutes.

Peter Bogdanovich and Frank Marshall have been trying to complete the movie for a while with the help of Showtime. In addition to Huston, Bogdanovich and Dennis Hopper star in the film.