How Green Was My Valley

How Green Was My Valley (released October 28, 1941)

Director: John Ford

Starring: Walter Pidgeon, Maureen O’Hara, Anna Lee, Donald Crisp, Roddy McDowall

Produced by: Darryl F. Zanuck

Written by: Screenplay by Philip Dunne, based on the novel by Richard Llewellyn

Music by: Alfred Newman

Cinematography by: Arthur C. Miller

Distributed by: Twentieth Century Fox

Working the Coal Mines

“How Green was my Valley” was another film I’d heard about for years but never paid much attention to. It turned out to be a pleasant surprise, but not without its occasional frustrating moment. The first thing that struck me was the musical score. It was composed by Twentieth Century Fox’s music director, the great Alfred Newman. The reason the music was so memorable was not only due to its great lyricism but it contained some of the longest pieces of musical underscoring I’d ever heard in a motion picture. And when we weren’t graced with that beautiful Newman score, the characters (Welsh coal miners and their families) were belting out what sounded like traditional Welsh tunes throughout the first quarter-hour of the movie.

The proud, hardworking Morgan family.

The film is a story about the proud, hardworking Morgan Family, headed by the stern but lovable patriarch, Gwilym Morgan (Donald Crisp). His large family of six boys and a girl (Maureen O’Hara) live in a small village in a valley in Wales and make their precarious living by working the dangerous coal mines of the region. The story starts with a grown Huw Morgan (Roddy McDowell) saying a sad farewell to his village as he leaves it for the last time. The poignant narrative smacks of seasoned writer Philip Dunne who was nominated with an Oscar for his effort. A scene shot at the family dinner table where Mr. Morgan demands quiet is rendered: “I never met anybody whose talk was better than good food.”  Brilliant stuff.

Coal mining: A dirty job indeed.

We are transported back in time to the village as Huw recalls it as a child. The long introductory piece of the film contains the perfect amount of happy memories as Huw narrates to us. Within the space of seventeen minutes or so we are surprisingly settled into the story. We learn of Mr. Morgan’s work ethic and loving family life and even the addition of a daughter-in-law (Anna Lee). We are also treated to a burgeoning love affair between the young Angharad Morgan (O’Hara) and the newly appointed pastor Mr. Gruffydd, played with much sensitivity by Walter Pidgeon. All this is beautifully laid out for us in the small space of a quarter-hour. It proves an example of excellent storytelling on film.

Of course, this being touted as a drama, the good times (if such a thing can exist in a Welsh coal mining town) are not long to stay. We learn that the mine owners cut the meager wages of the miners as they find other men who arrive and are willing to work cheaper. This forces the Morgan family to break up as the sons feel the need to form a union and strike in response to the wage cuts. This eventually leads to two of them packing up and heading out for America.

Angharad Morgan: about to be crushed under the heel of Love.

One minor frustrating plot point I had with this film was the love affair that began between Angharad and the preacher, Mr. Gruffydd. In true Hollywood style, it is allowed to slowly blossom as one of the film’s undercurrents, but ends with no fairytale finale. One almost feels cheated. But upon further reflection, the way it was filmed seems much more poignant and right; the boy doesn’t always get the girl in the end.

It is interesting to note our old friend, Walt Pidgeon returns one year later to star as Clem Miniver in the Best Picture Winner for 1942, “Mrs. Miniver”. Whoever his agent was at the time, he did a damn fine job of placing Walt in some excellent roles. His character of the mild-mannered preacher of the village, befriending young Huw and helping him to walk again (after the boy saves his mother from drowning in icy waters) are some of the film’s highlights. How could Huw Morgan turn out as anything but a superior man when he has the honest and decent influences of both his fine father and Mr. Gruffydd to guide him?

"I fear he'll never make a prize fighter."

One of the lighter moments of the film occur when two villagers head to Huw’s school to “instruct” Mr. Parry, Huw’s tyrannical teacher, the niceties of the art of boxing. It is quite hilarious and one gets from it a great sense of revenge.

The finest scene and surely one of the best speeches in the film comes near the end when Mr. Gruffydd confronts the gossiping townsfolk and elders in the church. Angharad Morgan is not allowed to marry Mr. G because he himself forbids it, as much as he loves her. His higher calling as a preacher forces him to admit he could not support her as comfortably as he would like. Angharad eventually marries the wealthy son of the mine owner, but we are in no doubt where her heart truly lies. Later she ends up divorcing him and lives alone in their large house outside the village. And now the evil tongues of the villagers begin to wag and have created a scandal where none existed. They spread the untrue rumors that the preacher and Angharad have been having an affair. Deciding that the villagers are unworthy of his guidance, Mr. G comes out fighting in his last night in church, giving the gossiping congregation a stupendous and much deserved comeuppance. It’s a wonderful scene and Walter Pidgeon carries the day with his portrayal of a wronged man striking out at those who have wronged him with nothing but the truth.

The film concludes on a dark note. Death comes to the Morgan family with the dangerous coal mines claiming another member. This time, the patriarch, Gwilym. But through the sadness and loss one feels that young Huw has enough foundation to be raised and live the rest of his life as an honest and decent human being. That sense resonates strongly well after the picture ends and I’m sure the same sentiment was felt by the Academy Members when it came time to hand out the Oscars for Best Picture, 1941

–kak

Not So Green

One of my favorite first lines of a book is from Louis Sachar’s novel for kids called Holes. “There is no lake at Camp Green Lake.” It makes me think of the movie we watched last night.

There is no green in How Green Was My Valley.

Filming in color would have changed the title to "How Brown Was My Valley."

The film was originally slated to be filmed in Wales, but the outbreak of World War Two stopped that. It was actually filmed in California, and done in black and white because of the complete lack of green in that location. But it wasn’t just because it was filmed in black and white. Green to me is a color I associate with spring, promise, and hope. This movie was devoid of these things.

That, however, does not mean I didn’t like the movie. I did, actually. Which is surprising, since I tend to get angry at stories like this. The Grapes of Wrath comes immediately to mind. While I can appreciate John Steinbeck is a good writer, it doesn’t necessarily mean I like his stories. I read The Grapes of Wrath my senior year of high school and only finished it out of spite. There was no shred of hope anywhere in the book and that made mad as hell. And yet I found myself liking How Green Was My Valley.

I am nothing, if not full of contradictions.

This is another book made into a movie that I have not read. Richard Llewellyn published his novel in 1939 about the Morgan family living in a mining town in Wales. Just two years later it won five Academy Awards, including Best Picture. It beat out such heavy hitters as Citizen Kane, The Maltese Falcon, and Suspicion. That surprised me greatly. The movie was good, but better than any of the three mentioned above? This movie reviewer does not agree. I suppose the lesson I am learning here (albeit rather slowly) is that the movie that wins all the marbles is not necessarily the best one.

Is it really an honor just to be nominated?

Politics seems to ruin everything it touches with its slimy fingers, doesn’t it?

Reflecting on what I liked about the film brings me to this conclusion: even though there was a never-ending stream of obstacles for the Morgan family to face (and we’re talking debilitating illness, scandal, and sudden death) they always seemed to rally. There was genuine love between the family members and a sense of pride in the family name.

Little Roddy McDowall as the tenacious Huw Morgan

I’ve been ruminating over the reason why I liked this story better than The Grapes of Wrath, and I’ve come to a conclusion. The Morgan family, no matter what tragedies life throws at them, retains dignity. I did not feel the same way about the Joad family from Oklahoma. Perhaps time and space have clouded my memories (and I am NOT about to reread the book to confirm anything), but I feel the Joads gave up.

The secondary story of this film involved Angharad and the preacher, played respectively by Maureen O’Hara and Walter Pidgeon. While the attraction between them is evident, the preacher tells Angharad he won’t marry her because he has nothing to offer her as a husband. Brokenhearted, Angharad marries the son of the coal mine owner out of spite and moves away. Towards the end of the film she returns, sans spouse, and the gossips in the village start whispering the salacious word, “divorce.” A rumor is spread that Angharad would leave her husband to marry the preacher, which causes such a scandal that Angharad is the town pariah, and the preacher is forced to move away; but not before delivering a stinging speech to his deserving congregation.

Happy happy, joy joy.

Thou shalt not be happy...

Really, when I come to think of it, no one in this picture has a happy ending. So why did I like it? Good writing, likeable characters with strong spirit, and earthy humor would be a start. While I can’t say I thought it should have won best picture, it was a satisfying and solid effort.

~Anna

Next up: In the Heat of the Night (1967)

See you real soon!

Hey, I just wanted to let all of our loyal followers that we will be on vacation for three weeks. We’re going to Greece! And no, this does not give you permission to come rob our house. We have a very mean pack of rottweilers and chihuahuas just waiting to eat you. (Don’t laugh, chihuahuas can be nasty!)

When we come back we will be reviewing How Green Was My Valley. I know you can’t wait! Neither can I.

So in the words of a 5-year-old I know, “Peace out, suckas!”

~Anna

Cimarron

Cimarron (released February 9, 1931)

Director: Wesley Ruggles

Starring: Richard Dix, Irene Dunne, Estelle Taylor, Roscoe Ates

Produced by: William LeBaron

Written by: Howard Estabrook (based on the novel by Edna Ferber)

Music by: Max Steiner

Cinematography by: Edward Cronjager

Distributed by: RKO Pictures

Context This

Eighty years is a long time, especially in the film industry. This amount of time has great impact on attitudes, cultural references, technological advances, and the collective memory of those who watch movies.

Cimarron won for Best Picture for the Academy Awards for 1930-31. I would imagine most people my age have never heard of it. Most of the people who saw it in the theaters are dead. Certainly everyone who was in it is dead. Today’s world has almost no memory of this film that was judged to be the best of the best for that year.

But there are other movies from that year that are more memorable today than Cimarron. For instance, the1930-31 span also produced two rather famous pictures: Little Caesar (with Edward G. Robinson) and Public Enemy (with James Cagney). Neither one was even nominated for Best Picture (or Best Actor) but both make a stronger mark in time than Cimarron has.

Sabra Cravat has that "Get me the @#$% out of here" look.

The movie was based on Edna Ferber’s book by the same name. Turning books into movies has certainly been a phenomenon that has been with us since the beginning of motion pictures. The story follows the trials and tribulations of the Cravat family as they make their way from Witchita into the new territory of Oklahoma. Yancey and Sabra Cravat (played by Richard Dix and Irene Dunne) are a young couple who are suffocating under her well-to-do family’s thumb. They move to the upstart town of Osage, OK where Yancey starts the town’s newspaper, the Oklahoma Wigwam. The Cravats face all sorts of challenges with the riff raff and gunslingers that are drawn to the new boomtown. I was astonished at the shooting skills of all. Why Yancey himself draws his pistol and shoots from the hip, intentionally grazing the ear of Lon Yountis, the baddest, meanest outlaw Osage had to offer.

Watching this movie out of context would make one wonder just what the hell was the Academy thinking? The acting was overly melodramatic. But the film industry had only just moved out of silent pictures into the realm of talkies. Acting needed to be overblown in the silents to compensate for the lack of speech. Also, because sound had been so recently introduced, the technology wasn’t advanced enough to give the quality we are used to to day with our Dolby 6.1 surround sound. Sometimes words were muffled, and no matter how high you turned up the volume, some words were just lost.

Sabra's domestic bliss lasts about three seconds beyond this point.

The story was still interesting. Spanning 40 years, we see the young family torn apart my Yancy Cravat’s wanderlust and inability to stay in one place. Yancey actually abandons his family for five years in his quest for adventure. Then when he comes home he expects his family to welcome him with open arms. His children do, but his wife is torn between her relief at seeing him again and ripping his head off. She lets relief win, but Irene Dunne, I felt, did an admirable job of conveying that struggle within Sabra.

I do find it interesting that this story had such a mix of modern and antiquated ideology. On the one hand, the script makes no bones about putting down Indians, Blacks, and Jews. And yet the close of the movie sees Sabra Cravat being elected the first female Congresswoman to represent the State of Oklahoma in Washington. Even so, Yancey Cravat himself defends a prostitute in court, and has very tolerant ideas about Indians for a man of his time. Although I did notice he speaks of the Indians being robbed of their land, and yet takes part in the land rush to claim a bit of it for himself.

There were some rather comical parts. The first scene in the Venable home in Witchita (the childhood home of Sabra) we see a dining room scene briefly before it focuses in on one of the characters. I saw it and my brain did a “what the HELL was that?” It looked like there was a human being suspended above the table in a cage. And I was wondering if all those rumors about what dirty things the Victorians got up to behind closed doors was true.

When the camera cuts back to the whole table I see in fact my brain wasn’t entirely wrong. There was a human suspended above the table. A young black boy named Isaiah was laying on a platform up near the ceiling, fanning the folks seated below with a large feather fan.

Wow. I can see why TCM doesn’t have this one it its rotation. It was almost like a scene out of Blazing Saddles, only without the irony.

However, coming away from this film, I can see why it won over other films. There are some very high-brow themes that run through this picture that the Academy would love, even back then. Ideals like progress, pioneer spirit, and success through hard work are freely strewn through the picture. At the end, however, I felt the movie was less about Yancey and his freewheeling spirit, and more about Sabra and her constancy that were the foundation of this story. She comes out the real hero in the end.

The Academy didn't have the cajones to recognize real talent.

That said, I’ve seen both Public Enemy and Little Caesar, and the writing in either script totally outstrips Cimarron‘s. I wondered why on earth Cimarron was nominated in nearly every category, while the other two pictures scored only one nomination each, and won nothing? And then I learned about “The Code.”

For those of you who may not know, a code of censorship guidelines was imposed on the production of movies in 1930, although it was not rigorously enforced until 1934. These codes restricted the portrayal of violence, crime, vice, drug use, and all sorts of nefarious activities. Both Public Enemy and  Little Caesar were both pictures that flouted the rules set forth in the code, portraying organized crime in a very favorable light. I would imagine then, that the MPAA couldn’t go ahead and award these movies for blatantly ignoring the code it had just adopted.

Like The Greatest Show on Earth, we again find a film that won because of politics and not on its own merit.

~Anna

He’s no Stay-at-home Dad

I found it interesting that Edna Ferber’s historical novel, Cimarron, was brought to the screen only a couple of years after the book’s release. This would lead me to believe there was plenty of interest generated in the story of the late nineteenth century land rush for the Oklahoma Territories. Really? I guess that’s what people were into back in the early ’30s. Or maybe with the Great Depression starting to pick up a head of steam Americans were desperate to flock into movie houses and watch anything that took their minds off the worsening world outside the theaters. Still and all I don’t wish to bash this picture straightaway. Truth is I actually enjoyed it more than I thought. I should add that I did so with the same sort of quaint and slightly amused interest one would study an ancient Model T Ford.

Tedium: Film at eleven.

To a greater or lesser extent all movies are creatures of their times. They reflect the fashion, social mores and habits of speech that were prevalent at the time of their production. This might seem like a belabored point here, but as we re-watch this movie from a widening gap of eighty years, we might bear in mind the maxim of the Greek philosopher, Heraclitus who stated: “Noting is more constant than change.” And things certainly have changed since this motion picture hit the screens. The science of film-making has obviously advanced and it is evident throughout the picture. Camera angles and shots seem rather staid, stilted and stagy to a degree. A good example is the justly famous beginning shots of the picture that represent the start of the land rush. It is written that over five thousand extras and twenty-eight cameramen were used to film this sequence which for its time must have had a tremendous effect on audiences. Watched today however, it dissolves into a rather tedious elongated scene (2 min, 7 sec) of racing wagons bouncing across the prairie. The sheer numbers of them however is still mighty impressive.

Darling, someday your descendants will invite everyone home for milk and cookies.

We are constantly reminded that we are not too distant from the stage while watching each scene unfold. The actors, in particular Richard Dix who portrays Yancey Cravat, tend to overplay for the camera. Coming from the stage and silent pictures, it must have been difficult at first for the players to tone down their exaggerated mannerisms which would have been expected of them when treading the boards where such things were embellished for the benefit of audience members seated in the back row. Acting in silent movies would have also added to the inflated gesticulations as now words could be used to communicate characters’ thoughts instead of overblown reactions. Thus Dix as Yancey hams it mightily through his scenes and in truth, makes an enjoyable time of it for the modern-day audiences. And excuse me for saying, but am I the only one who thinks I am looking at the spitting image of the late comic actor, Andy Kaufman when we first set eyes on Yancey Cravat in the saddle sporting his white hat? It’s almost scary how much they look alike. I was also amazed to see who I thought was Carol Burnett in the role of the prim and proper Mrs. Tracy Wyatt, played by Burnett look-a-like, Edna May Oliver. Wow!

Yancey Cravat is introduced to us as part of the thousands ready and willing to carve out their little piece of America at the beginning of the land rush. His character is thus set for the rest of the picture. Restless and eager to push on, he is the embodiment one supposes, of the great pioneering spirit of the late nineteenth century. Well, he might fill that role admirably, but he certainly makes a piss-poor husband and father. At one point in the middle of the story, his wanderlust hits him bad and he lights out, leaving his poor wife, Sabra (played by Irene Dunne) to mind the children and the family business (running the newspaper: The Oklahoma Wigwam) back in the burgeoning town of Osage. Whatta jerk! Of course, throughout the movie one has hints that before he married, Yancey was running with bandits and having a wild time of it in the rather ambiguous territory named Cimarron. I assume then we are to regard Yancey as a sort of lovable rogue, not willing to be tied down to anything as frivolous as a wife and two children. That is truly the only way you can look at his character in the light of how he is portrayed throughout the film.

Yancey Cravat: Piss-poor husband but a fantastic shot.

His handling of the riff-raff in Osage, and in particular the evil Lon Yountis (you gotta love these names!) is priceless. The leading men of the town chose Yancey to give a sermon at the first meeting of the Osage Methodist Church. Since the town hasn’t got a proper house of worship built yet, the meeting is conducted in Grat Gotch’s Hall of Chance, a gambling tent – the only place in town big enough to house the event. Yancey shows up in the guise of a pistol-packin’ padre, Bible in one hand and six-shooters firmly holstered. In the middle of his sermon, he must gun down Lon who stands in the back and tries to shoot him first. One watches these scenes with an open jaw…

Great Balls of Fire! Even Jerry Lee Lewis would have been impressed with that head of hair.

There are numerous subplots enmeshed throughout the picture and in one of them, Yancey has to defend a whore with a heart-of-gold. While he makes his case (because of course in addition to being a pseudo-preacher and newspaperman, he is a former practicing lawyer too) I dare anyone to try and concentrate on his plea while concurrently watching the ridiculous ball of hair clinging to the right side of his temple become a living thing; bobbing and tossing about with abandon while below its owner chews up the scenery. Egad, but that’s some unintentionally funny stuff. Now since I’ve waxed poetic on noses [All the King’s Men] and teeth [The Last Emperor], I feel I should say something about Yancey’s hair. What in the hell is that all about?! Huge hanks of it flow out from both side of his head and at times makes him look like he’s sporting goat horns. Was this the style back then? Frankly, I can’t see when this type of coif would ever be in style.

This movie is never going to receive an NAACP picture award due to its rather cavalier handling of minorities. Actor Eugene Jackson’s portrayal of Isaiah, the Cravat family’s young black retainer is filled with the accepted mugging for the camera and comic relief such characters were expected to provide eighty years ago. It must drive the PCers of today plum crazy. However in the moviemakers’ defense, several times throughout the film Yancey is portrayed as a character sympathetic to the Indians’ plight and by the end of the picture, his son has taken on a Native American wife.

While Yancey runs off for years-on-end to do his thing, Sabra must fend for the family and in doing so ends up a much stronger character than her husband. Her iron will and perseverance rewards her by the end of the movie with a seat in Congress! At the close of the picture we meet Yancey for the final time. In the succeeding years he has turned into a drifter hanging around the oil fields that have everywhere sprung up in the state of Oklahoma. Why he would leave a loving family to end up like this we are never properly told. However we are described his heroism as it is his selfless action that saved the lives of the oil men working around a rig that unexpectedly gushed, sparing them but mortally injuring him. Sabra upon hearing this, rushes to her dying husband and cradles his head in her arms as he utters his final words to her: “Wife and mother… stainless woman. Hide me in your love.” Quick, grab your hanky.

Touted as the “first Western” to earn an Academy Award, Cimarron is an interesting piece of history that must in part be watched as such in order to understand it.

–kak

 

Next up: How Green Was My Valley (1941)

The Last Emperor

The Last Emperor (released October 23, 1987)

Director: Bernardo Bertolucci

Starring: John Lone, Joan Chen, Peter O’Toole, Ruocheng Ying, Victor Wong

Produced by: Jeremy Thomas

Written by: Mark Peploe, Bernardo Bertolucci

Music by: Ryuichi Sakamoto, David Byrne, Cong Su

Cinematography by:Vittorio Storaro

Distributed by: Columbia Pictures

Made in China

A huge film lost in the aftermath of economic turmoil.

The bio-pic, The Last Emperor was an award-winner I’d never seen up to this point in my life. Indeed, I’d heard so little about it in the ensuing twenty-four years since its inception that it arrived on my TV monitor the other night as something of a shock to me. As I sat through the 219 minutes of the life of Emperor Pu Yi I had to ask myself, how in the world could a motion picture this big slip under my radar? I vaguely recall reports at the time of a Western movie given first-time access to be filmed in Beijing’s Forbidden City, but that was about all that got through. I remember I was living in northern California at the time and worked at a mutual funds company. This in itself is innocuous enough but to realize that the picture was released on October 23, 1987, and the horrific stock market crash known as “Black Monday” occurred four days previous on the nineteenth probably had a little to do with the fact that as the economic world crashed to its knees, those of us laboring within the industry were running around like headless poultry trying to make sense out of it in the weeks after the disaster. Little thought would have been given to the quaint divertissement of watching movies. But I surely digress…

"Alizarin crimson for those happy little banners!"

I’m guessing Italian director, Bernardo Bertolucci can really tolerate the color red. He must have because that color is so prominently displayed splashed heavily upon the walls of the immense buildings within the Forbidden City. It is lacquered thick on the massive doors that hold the child-emperor, Pu Yi (John Lone) a veritable prisoner in his own kingdom. It seems to permeate the very film stock upon which the picture is shot. It is of course the color of good fortune to the Chinese and BB captures it beautifully in this visual masterpiece whose thousands of other colors dazzle the constant watching eye. We seem to overlook at times that movies are first and foremost a visual medium, but one can hardly forget this viewing The Last Emperor. Bertolucci’s palate of color is as loaded, vibrant and varied as they come. (Bob Ross is not the only master capable of commanding the colorful attributes of phthalo blue, alizarin crimson and cadmium yellow!)

The story relates the checkered career of the last Chinese emperor before the battling warlords fragmented the country and made it an easier prey for the burgeoning communists to conquer. Told in a series of flashbacks as Pu Yi sought to escape the Red Chinese roundup of what they considered to be political prisoners, color (or the absence thereof) is again used to great affect. The more recent episodes filmed in the communist prison are wholly stark in their total absence of color when played against the pomp and riotous color of the Forbidden City flashbacks.

Pu Yi is shocked no one wants to bathe and dress him anymore.

Coddled as only a ruler of an empire still fixated in the middle ages could be, we follow Pu Yi’s charmed life behind the massive walls in the center of the Chinese Empire. The sheer scale of the visuals is at times breathtaking beyond belief and Bertolucci does the almost impossible job of keeping the story focused on the characters despite them being swallowed up in the vast backdrop of unearthly-sized buildings, immense public squares, grand stone staircases and rooftops that stretch away to the horizon.

Most of the sympathy for the child-emperor comes from the tried and true, almost fairytale-like conundrum of having him waited on hand and foot by a thousand royal eunuchs and hundreds of imperial staff, as amongst it all, little Pu Yi bewails his fate of never being allowed to leave the Forbidden City. He is a non-functioning monarch prisoner behind his own imperial walls. He longs to see the world on the other side of those massive red doors which are always firmly shut against his leaving. It is ironic to consider when he finally does make it out, he enjoys several years of freedom before becoming a prisoner (again) of the Communists in 1945 who accuse him of playing into the hands of the rapacious Japanese as their puppet ruler of the puppet state, Manchukuo (Manchuria).

Yes, thank you... keep those lips closed!

The familiar face of Peter O’Toole surfaces as the Scottish tutor, Reginald Johnston. He is charged with educating the young emperor in the ways of the modern world. It is surprising now that I think back on it how little O’Toole had to say in this film. There are no large blocks of dialogue that gush forth nor any montage scenes of the teacher/pupil hard at work. And yet by adroitly weaving their tale, the filmmakers get the impression put across that the connection and camaraderie of the two characters was close. I still have an American’s squeamish aversion to staring at a mouthful of rotten Irish teeth and Mr. O’Toole’s choppers can never be mistaken for a set of piano keys. However, I figured I persevered through the fantastic array of noses in All the King’s Men, so I knew I could probably handle staring at some bad teeth…

I sensed the epic feel of the first half of the picture abandoned somewhat as we settled into the flashbacks of the emperor’s later life. During the second half we are treated to the intrigues of Pu Yi’s Manchukuo ruling period and the problems of juggling a royal wife, a royal consort and the ever menacing Japanese as the world raced headlong into World War II. Still, despite the loss of those incredible visuals, the story moves along as the fates close in on China’s last emperor, finally culminating in his incarceration in a political prison. And as grand as the picture opens, it closes with the final scenes of Pu Yi, now a released and “re-educated” proletariat gardener, puttering around amongst his vines. I must say that as portrayed by John Lone, Pu Yi is a formidably even-tempered character. He seems as at ease around his few tomatoes as he was commanding a staff of thousands in Beijing

And now, there only remains for me to make mention the arcane fact that The Last Emperor has got to be the only movie of all the Academy winners that has earned the little statue for a motion picture that includes a shot early in the film of royal doo-doo! I must confess I knew that would intrigue some of you…

–kak

Italians Portray the Chinese in English

Lone and Chen play the last imperial rulers of China.

Wow, that was a long movie! Even so, at 2 hours and 42 minutes, The Last Emperor is still only the second longest movie we’ve watched for Oscar Boot Camp. The Greatest Show on Earth ran a little longer, but this one was much less painful to view.

And you know, I don’t really remember hearing about this movie back in 1987. I have a theory about  this, though. When the movie was released, I was thirteen and in the eighth grade. Most thirteen-year-olds I know aren’t all that concerned with political history, especially of foreign countries. Throw in that the most well-known actor in the film is Peter O’Toole, who wasn’t exactly heartthrob material at the time, and you’ll see there was nothing to draw my adolescent brain. No hunky superstars, nothing modern, and nothing “cool.”

Set primarily in the first half of the twentieth century, this movie portrays the life of Pu Yi, the last emperor of China. I must admit I know very little of Chinese history, and this movie certainly brought me up to speed on their last 100 years or so. From the ridiculously plush splendor of the Forbidden City to the grueling harshness of a Communist prison camp, Pu Yi (played by John Lone) lives through some pretty fantastic situations.

Ack! I can't stand the cuteness!

Pu Yi ascended the throne when he was just three years old.  Like most royalty, he was treated with the greatest care. He had servants to bathe him, feed him, taste his food, dress him, and choose his wife.  No privacy was allowed him, and he was considered to be a god, human perfection on earth. That’s one of the problems with being chosen by God to rule, isn’t it? From birth the whole empire holds its breath, hoping some disaster (great or small) befalls him, putting him into an early grave and those left behind plunged into political upheaval.

The movie made me gasp several times from the sheer vastness of the Forbidden City and all the people they employed as extras to fill it. This was before CGI, folks, and the cast must have run to the thousands. The costumes were breathtaking, the sets elaborate, and wealth extravagant.  It was a feast for the eyes, for sure, with yards of Chinese silk in bright colors.

I find it extremely interesting that this film was made by Italians, about China, and all in English. I wonder if it were made today if they would have chosen to do it in Chinese with subtitles to give it more authenticity. Since the success of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, subtitles seem to be more acceptable, lending more street cred to the picture. Not that I think this movie was inauthentic. Of course, not knowing much of Chinese history, I can’t speculate as to how close to the truth this film actually was. I know filmmakers often condense and rearrange events to make them fit their time frame better. However, it was slightly jarring to watch the inhabitants of the Forbidden City speak to each other in English. I got over it, but I think I would have preferred subtitles.

Joan Chen plays the newly wed Empress who is impressing the Emperor with her skills.

The acting was quite good. John Lone, plays the adult Pu Yi, and he looks startling like the real thing. Joan Chen and Vivian Wu play his wife the Empress and his number two consort respectively. Both ladies did admirable jobs, but I thought Joan Chen did an especially good job playing the wife. From beautiful young princess to debilitated opium addict, she certainly had a range within the role.

There are only two things about this movie that I didn’t like.  The first was it felt a little flat to me. It was gorgeous, a spectacle, no doubt.  I didn’t really feel a connection to any of the characters. I think the trick of great movie-making is to find the connection between your leading man (or lady) and show the universal human within them that resonates with everyone. I suppose finding a way to relate the Emperor of China to everyman is a real challenge, but I think it can be done. I don’t feel I learned enough of the interior landscape of Pu Yi’s mind to make him a convincing character. And I don’t think the fault lies with the actors here… I think the script could have been better.

The second thing I had a problem with was the length. Again, a tighter script could have helped with that. Beautiful imagery can’t cover up the fact that there was too much here, and needed to be cut down. A lot of the childhood scenes I think could have been eliminated. How many times do we have to have the point pressed that this boy is an Emperor who can do what he likes and not be punished for it?

The Last Emperor was beautiful for sure. However, I didn’t feel it had the emotional oomph to make it a truly great picture. Apparently the Academy disagrees with me, since it won in every category it was nominated, including Best Director for Bertolucci, Best Editing, and Best Adapted Screenplay. It won nine Oscars in total.

I guess I must be a contrarian, or really stupid. If it’s the latter, no one tell my mother. She’d be devastated.

~Anna

Up Next: Cimarron (1930-31)

Rain Man

Rain Man (released December 16, 1988)

Director: Barry Levinson

Starring: Dustin Hoffman, Tom Cruise, Valeria Golino

Produced by: Mark Johnson

Written by: Barry Marrow, Ronald Bass

Music by: Hans Zimmer

Cinematography by: John Seale

Distributed by: United Artists

Faulty Memories

Last week we pulled Rain Man out of the box. Ever since then I’ve had that song in my head. You know the one: “My grandma and your grandma sittin’ by the fire…” It’s been there all week, and to be honest, I was never a big fan of it. It does take me back though, to my freshman year of high school. Huh. Maybe that’s why I don’t like the song. But that’s a story for the shrink, not for you.

You're so vain... you probably think this movie's about you...

Regardless of what was going on in my life during the Christmas season of 1988, the movie certainly does reflect the late 80s with flair. Like The French Connection, this movies is defined by its decade. Only this time instead of the gritty hideousness of the 70′s, we have images of the “Me” decade. And Charlie Babbitt (played by Tom Cruise) is the epitome of that ideal.

Charlie imports fancy sports cars in Los Angeles, wears expensive suits, and has a modelesque Italian girlfriend. Watching this movie now, the character of Charlie reminds me sharply of Cruise’s performance in the movie Jerry Maguire. He played both parts so spot on I wonder if this is “his” role, much like Mel Gibson seems to gravitate towards playing characters hell-bent on revenge. Charlie Babbitt is ruthless, slimy, and overly concerned with his image. He suppresses all emotions except anger. He’s a prick.

Not exactly Thelma and Louise...

The ubiquitous monkey wrench is thrown in when his father dies, leaving all the $3 million estate to his brother Raymond (played by Dustin Hoffman) , an autistic savant who doesn’t understand the concept of money. Charlie didn’t even know Ray existed. Ray had been sent to live in Walbrook, a mental institution in Charlie’s hometown of Cincinnati. When Charlie visits Ray he coerces him into the car (a 1949 Buick Roadmaster convertible – Charlie’s inheritance) and takes off. He thinks he can trade Ray for his half of the money, so he sets out for California.

Charlie’s life quickly implodes on the road. His business goes bust from the absence of his fine machinations (i.e. his gift of keeping his customers hanging on through bullshit), his fiancée leaves after she realizes his motivations for keeping Ray, and Raymond himself proves to be extremely hard to handle. A slave to his routines and rituals, Ray must watch The People’s Court every day, eat with toothpicks instead of a fork, and a whole host of other things to keep him comfortable and not pitching a screaming fit.

Susanna: "How was it?" Raymond: "Wet."

I’ve seen a lot of Dustin Hoffman’s films, and I think he’s an amazing actor. From The Graduate, to Tootsie, to Kramer vs. Kramer, he never fails to find a new and interesting role to play, and he plays them incredibly well. Hoffman won the Best Actor Oscar for his role in Rain Man, and it is easy to see why. His portrayal of Raymond Babbitt is so convincing, I forgot he was Dustin Hoffman. That, in my opinion, is the hallmark of a great actor.

My original impressions of this movie as a fourteen-year old were this was a great movie. What wasn’t to love? It had hot Tom Cruise (who had just rocketed to stardom on the con trail of Top Gun). It was funny (“K-Mart sucks” anyone?) and it even had the glitter of Las Vegas thrown in towards the end.

Los Angeles: the new city of Brotherly Love

Watching it last night left me feeling very different. Instead of funny and clever, I now find it to be sad and rather depressing. Tom Cruise’s character is no longer hot, but a rather pathetic jerk with shiny pants and too big hair. (Could someone get him a tie, please?) The movie is no less commanding, maybe more so now that I see it from an adult’s eyes. I can see now the finer subtleties that were lost on me as a newly minted teenager. Charlie’s character does shift from callous bastard to caring brother, but he still retains his self-centered attitude. Being pushed out of his comfort zone, Ray does make progress in learning to connect with people.

Rain Man is certainly not a light and happy movie. However, it does for really the first time bring to light the nature of autism. I didn’t know what autism was before this movie, did you? I’m telling you as a librarian, we buy just as many books about that as we do cancer these days. I believe this movie was instrumental in bringing autism out of the murky shadows of mental illness and defining it for the general public.

Now if I could just get that damn song out of my head.

~Anna

Not Your Typical Buddy Film

Hollyweird be thy name...

My initial reaction to seeing Rain Man is a mixed one. While I can imagine pitching this idea to producers may have been an interesting and exciting exercise, I would have liked the end result to have been somehow… different. The film’s overwhelming positive reviews and acceptance notwithstanding, I found the story a bit too forced in some scenes. I wonder how many people think of Tom Cruise’s role as the selfish and driven Charlie Babbitt a stretch for him. I for one must admit that under the influence of his recent behavior I could not cozy up to his character, even at the end of the film where he apparently has seen the light and accepts his new-found autistic brother, Raymond (Dustin Hoffman). It’s probably not in my best interest to critique a performance with all of the actor’s personal off-screen baggage influencing me, but there it is. The make-believe Hollywood and its actors and the real-life Hollyweird and its denizens are oft times difficult to keep apart.

It's not easy being an unfeeling ass.

An example of a less than believable scene was near the beginning of the movie in Charlie’s “auto sales office”. I realize the reason for filming it was to establish Charlie Babbitt’s odious character, but the conversations on the headsets sounded a bit too forced to me. Throughout the road trip, Charlie’s rather easy acceptance of Raymond’s decidedly annoying and difficult tantrums seemed unrealistic, although perhaps he was keeping that “thought of half of his late father’s 3-million dollar inheritance in the back of his mind. Overall, I sensed Cruises’s portrayal of Charlie was lacking that last little bit of umph to make me a believer, and him a truly sympathetic character. Their final scene together at the table when the doctors leave the room was something that worked and should have been exploited more.

The cast-list at the end of the film was of interest as it contained the names of a number of doctors who were “consulted” in helping the producers create the character of Raymond Babbitt. Of course, in Dustin Hoffman’s hands, the character of the idiot savant was adorable and interesting. And as this was written as a “feel good movie” firmly in mind, how then can the portrayal be otherwise? Still, one wonders how many people could survive that same trip in the real world and come out the other side wholly sane. Or would they have succumbed to the awful temptation of murdering poor Raymond and dumping his body in a ditch somewhere between Cincinnati and Los Angeles just for a little peace and quiet.

Still waters run deep.

Their brief foray into Las Vegas contained what I thought was the best shot of the entire picture.  It included the long-held close up of Raymond’s face as he sits at the card table and becomes a study in stillness. Director Barry Levinson brilliantly chose to move in very slowly with the camera as in the background, we hear unabated, the hustle and bustle of the rest of the casino which in turn accentuates what Raymond, unbeknownst to anyone else, is doing. That Hoffman can put so much acting into a still face is amazing. His eyes glaze over and you can almost “hear” him counting those cards. It was a very subtle yet bravado piece of acting.

Overall, while I can applaud the idea behind the story and film, its final execution seemed to lack a certain finishing touch, for want of a better term. And in the back of my mind I wonder how much the fact of portraying a dysfunctional character in a sympathetic manner played into the balloting decisions of the Academy members. At times, Hollywood can be awfully touchy-feely.

–kak

Up next: The Last Emperor (1987)

An American in Paris

An American in Paris (released October 4, 1951)

Director: Vincente Minnelli

Starring: Gene Kelly, Leslie Caron, Oscar Levant, Georges Guétary, Nina Foch

Produced by: Arthur Freed

Written by: Alan Jay Lerner

Music by: George Gershwin (music), Ira Gershwin (lyrics), Saul Chaplin (uncredited)

Cinematography by: Alfred Gilks, John Alton (ballet)

Distributed by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer

Joie de vivre in Gay Paree

It was a showstopper a minute...

Please excuse me while I don my sou’wester and grab for my umbrella as it seems to be raining romantic musical comedies around here at the Oscar Boot Camp. An American in Paris was pulled out of the box earlier this week and so Anna and I dutifully set up the machine and sat down together to watch Gene Kelly singin’ in the clear skies of Paris.

I was pleasantly surprised to discover this film was a joyous paean to life and love played out in the French capital which by the way looked much more realistic than the ersatz streets of London in My Fair Lady. But perhaps this is attributable to the fact that MGM was not averse to putting on such cinematic extravagances while Warner Bros. was not normally in the business of budgeting elaborate, musicals.

The plot to this picture, such as it is, is certainly no elaborately twisting Hitchcockian mystery, set up to keep the viewer guessing till the very end. In fact, scriptwriter Alan Jay Lerner concocted the barest storyline upon which to hang the marvelous music of the Gershwins and the dancing prowess of Gene Kelly. The fact that it worked and moreover won the coveted Best Picture award is a testament to the talents involved.

I can almost always tell an MGM picture from this period because of the unabashed saturation of color and the bright lighting under which it is filmed. An American in Paris is no exception. It’s a veritable feast for the eyes with an inherent brightness to it that seems to make everything you’re watching bigger than life.

Gene Kelly as the happy starving artist.

There is certainly exuberance to Jerry Mulligan’s character, played with such joie de vivre by Gene Kelly. Without a doubt he has to be the most cheerful starving artist in all of Paris. His perfect foil is his friend, Adam (Oscar Levant) an equally struggling artist who dreams of playing the concert piano. He is the wisecracking contrarian through whom Mulligan learns of the young French girl Lise, played by Leslie Caron in her film début. If there is any depth to the plot, it is to be found here with Lise falling for Jerry who in turn falls for her while concurrently being wooed by society woman, Milo Roberts (Nina Foch) who wishes to sponsor Jerry’s paintings. But Lise is engaged to Henri a cabaret singer played by Georges Guétary. Unwittingly then, Henri and Jerry are after the same girl. Ooo-la-la!

Jerry and Adam tra-la-la-ing in Adam's garret apartment.

While everything is sewn up rather quickly but unconvincingly during the last minute of the movie — is Henri really smiling while he watches Lise leave his cab for Jerry waiting for her at the top of the steps? Whatta chump! — the real reason the film is a hit is of course because of the music and dancing. Kelly does things with his feet and body that look so effortless and natural one almost believes he always moved that way. The amusing little vignette at the beginning where he “rearranges” his tiny garret apartment from his sleeping quarters to his living quarters is a gem. The musical/dance numbers come fast and furious in this picture, and one should pay special attention to the fluid camera work in the “Tra-la-la” sequence. And there is something very cool about lighting those stair risers during the “I’ll Build a Stairway to Paradise” number, as Henri ascends them.

The final big number choreographed to Gershwin’s “An American in Paris” serves as the highlight of the picture. It is interesting to note the use of Caron’s ballet movements interspersed with Kelly’s natural dancing and how they made it work.

A worthy Best Picture winner for 1951, I still can’t for the life of me comprehend how the Academy offered a similar statuette to the next year’s winner: The Greatest Show on Earth!

–kak

Gene Kelly est très chaud

Yes, please...

Gene Kelly is hot. Never was there such a manly man to dance on the big screen. I read a brief bio on Kelly (we share the same birthday!) and he said his Mom made him and his brother take dance lessons when they were boys. They quit because the other kids called them sissies. But he said he went back to dance class at fifteen because he discovered it was a great way to get girls. We watched An American in Paris last night. I’d never seen it before, nor did I even know what it was about except, well, Americans in Paris.

The story centers around Jerry Mulligan (Kelly) who stays in Paris when he gets out of the service after World War II. He decides he wants to try his hand at painting and reasons the best place in the world to do this is Paris. He lives in a tiny garret apartment next door to his buddy Adam Cook (played by composer and actor Oscar Levant), another American and concert pianist who is always preparing for a concert, but never actually performs. They are both scraping to make ends meet and living the starving artist lifestyle.

Ms. Roberts checks out the merchandise... and the paintings.

There are two central plots that intertwine in this film. One is about Jerry, his art, and the wealthy patroness that wants to keep him in her pocket. The other is about Lise (the debut for pixie-faced Leslie Caron), a shop girl who catches Jerry’s eye at a club and he pursues with great persistence. Lise is already engaged, but keeps this information from him as they fall in love. Of course, broken hearts and disaster ensues, but it’s a musical from the fifties, so you know it has a happy ending.

Gene Kelly is hot. Oops, I said that already, didn’t I? Not only that, but extremely talented and creative. He did all the choreography for this picture and it was incredible. In 1928 George Gershwin wrote a “symphonic tone poem” with the same title and is used as the music for the grand finale of the film: a seventeen minute ballet performed in a picture drawing set in the City of Light.

I loved the look of this movie. Like My Fair Lady, it was completely filmed on sound stages in Hollywood, but MGM did a much better job. They knew it was going to look like a set so they created an almost painterly feel to it. The color palette was vibrant: lots of reds and oranges mixed with dark teal, blues and soft gray. It was almost as if one had stepped into one of the paintings Jerry Mulligan was trying to sell on the street in the Montmartre. And indeed, the ballet was a vision Jerry has where we are sucked right into one of his sketches. The whole aesthetic of the film is a dreamy, fairytale quality. But a jazzy fairy tale, with lots of Gershwin hits and fabulous dance numbers.

With such elfin looks, I wouldn't be surprised if she were hiding pointy ears.

I love watching dancers. There is something so pure out of making art with your body as the tool. And Gene Kelly is so good: athletic, graceful, and did I mention hot? He makes even the toughest moves look easy and makes me want to try dancing again… almost. Leslie Caron was charming. Her impish looks and fluid grace make her a pleasure to watch. And then there’s the cute little accent which makes her attempts to tell off Jerry Mulligan downright adorable. She’s quite a dancer too, and she and Gene are matched very well as partners.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention how much I liked Oscar Levant as Adam Cook. He kind of reminds me of John Cryer and he was the comic relief. My favorite scene was when he is sitting between Jerry and the French singer, Henri Baurel. Both are talking about the women they are in love with and Adam is practically choking on his cigarette and coffee because he realizes they are the same girl.

No room for anything but happy.

I loved this movie. There is something about it that makes me want to grand jeté down my street. Maybe it’s because of the music. Maybe it’s because Gene Kelly is always so dang happy, and joy just beams out of his face like a searchlight when he’s dancing. This would be a great movie to watch on a rainy day, or when you’re feeling sad. It’s got everything you need for a boost: technicolor, jazz, snappy dancing, and a happy ending.

And Gene Kelly is hot.

~Anna

Next up: Rain Man (1988)

All the King’s Men

All the King’s Men (released November 8, 1949)

Director: Robert Rossen

Starring: Broderick Crawford, John Ireland, Joanne Dru, John Derek, Mercedes McCambridge

Produced by: Robert Rossen

Written by: Robert Rossen, based upon the novel by Robert Penn Warren

Music by: Louis Gruenberg

Cinematography: Burnett Guffey

Distributed by: Columbia Pictures

Really Bad Eggs

I mentioned in my post on The English Patient that I often have issues with books that have been turned into movies. For All the King’s Men, this was mostly the case. I read the book in 2007 when I was leading a Pulitzer book discussion series. This was the fourth and last in the series. Robert Penn Warren won the prize in 1947, and the film with the same name won the Academy Award for Best Picture two years later.

Usually the book/movie sequence happens like this for me: I read a book. I love it. Hollywood turns it into a movie. I see the movie and am greatly disappointed. For the most part I don’t go to movies anymore if I’ve seen and loved the book.

The difference with my situation with All the King’s Men, was that I hadn’t really loved the book in the first place. Like I mentioned, I read it about four years ago and even discussed it extensively. I was surprised when we watched it how very little I remembered of the book. It’s not my memory failing either, I think it’s just that the book was not really my cup of tea.

L to R: Crawford as Stark, Huey Long

I’m not a huge fan of politics, for one. Don’t get me wrong, I vote and take it as a great responsibility for being an American. But I groan each time a presidential election comes around because of all the hype and propaganda, and the grand speeches and the piecrust promises. The mudslinging and backstabbing are hideous to watch and make me so weary. Therefore, when you present me with a story about the corruption and greed that comes from high positions of power, well, I’m not all that interested.

Willie Stark is the central figure in this story. Coming from a poor, uneducated background, we first meet him running for local office in the small fictional town of Kanoma. The state is never mentioned, but we know it’s in the Deep South. Willie is closely based on the very real governor of Louisiana, Huey Long, who was assassinated in 1935 as he was gearing up the political machine to make a bid for President of the United States.

When we first meet Willie (played by Broderick Crawford), he was labeled an honest man with courage, who was running for Kanoma County Treasurer. From there he is asked to run for governor of the state in a hope he’d split the “hick vote.” He does, but not before he finds his voice and starts giving impassioned (and liquor-fueled) speeches about bringing the truth to the “dumb hicks,” of which he proclaims to be. He finally wins on his third bid and his own descent into corruption is fast and quick. He does do many great things for his state – he builds roads, schools, and hospitals, he brings his state out of the horse-and-buggy era and into the twentieth century. But the means by which he accomplishes these ends is just as despicable as the men he was originally fighting in Kanoma County.

Anne and Jack before Willie comes between them.

In addition to this main thrust of the narrative is the secondary story of newspaper man Jack Burden, who originally covers Willie’s early runs for office. Jack, in contrast to Willie, was raised in an affluent, country-club atmosphere complete with a dickwad stepfather and a drunk mother. He is in love with Anne Stanton, a neighbor who was the daughter of a former governor and the sister to Adam, a doctor Willie later appoints to head the free-care hospital he is building in the capital. It is this trio of characters that make up the complexity of the picture and the novel. All three are taken in by Willie to some degree, and it ends up his undoing in the end.

All right, I’ve told you about the movie. What did I think of it? In truth, I didn’t like it, but that has to do a lot with my own personal likes and dislikes. This is not a movie that I would gladly skip to the movie theater to see. The story is compelling, to be sure, but in the end, I could tell you I’ve seen it too many times in real life to want to waste my time watching a movie about it.

In all, I think the adaptation of the movie from the book was actually pretty well done. I can only imagine how hard it must be to take a book as complex as this one and translate that into a film. There were a few things lost, most importantly I think, was Willie’s gradual decline into corruption. The book portrays it as a more subtle progression. In order to keep the time short in the movie, he seems to go from honest man to fat cat swindler almost overnight. And the catalyst that gets him there? Why booze, naturally. Interesting comment by the director, Robert Rossen, who also wrote the screenplay.

There is part of me (on a strictly academic level) that wants to watch the 2006 version starring Sean Penn to see another interpretation. But it’s a very small part, and I’m sure if I lie down a while it will pass.

Poor bastard.

My final feelings come down to this: indifference. It wasn’t great, it wasn’t horrible. But I do remember getting to the end of the movie, and almost simultaneously Kosta and I asked, “Would someone shoot this guy already?”

“Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall;

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.

All the King’s horses, and all the King’s men,

Could not put Humpty Dumpty together again.”

When you look at the entire nursery rhyme from which the title of this movie (and book) is taken, it illustrates the story very well. What is also interesting is that Humpty Dumpty while never described in the poem itself, is always depicted as a large egg man—fragile, weak, and easily crushed. And while Willie Stark seemed the opposite of these things, ultimately he came to the same end as the egg man of the nursery rhyme.

~Anna

Starkness

Team Willie

I have always harbored reservations about watching this film even though I had never seen it before. In my mind I was concerned with the unappealing combination of it being shot in grainy black and white, having politics as a subject matter, and exhibiting a cast that wouldn’t exactly pack them into the cinemas on a Saturday night in 1949.

It's hard to be humble when you have a giant head.

That writer-director, Robert Rossen was going for a gritty and (excuse the pun) stark look there can be no doubt, however, after viewing it, all that grittiness tends to leave a rather abrasive memory of the film on a whole. It certainly wasn’t a pretty picture to watch, and maybe Rossen shot it that way, but in doing so, it left a distinct and unattractive impression on me. Although being filmed in the late Forties, the look and feel of the film seemed more in tune with the Dust Bowl Thirties. Rossen reportedly used local people for his crowd scenes – a lot of them shot outside Hollywood – which contributed to the hard look of the film. Even during the supposed idyllic interludes when reporter-narrator Jack Burden returns to Burden’s Landing, the place he grew up in as a child, one can hardly get excited about the weedy-lined, sluggish river over which his car is ferried. I guess that since the story took place in a southern state (Louisiana being the unnamed place) and amongst the poor farmers who ended up being the core constituency for populist leader Willie Stark (Broderick Crawford), one cannot expect to see starched shirts, smart fedoras and evening gowns.

Mercedes McCambridge plays the flinty Sadie Burke.

In keeping with the raw visual nature of the film, the characters were pretty much a despicable bunch. I don’t think I can ever recall watching a film without at least one redeeming character. This film had none. In fact there didn’t seem to be a gentle soul amongst the lot of them. Willie Stark (based on the controversial governor, Huey “The Kingfish” Long) started his political career fighting corruption in the backwater towns of the state until he ended up being the biggest proponent of it in the governor’s mansion. Along for the ride was a cast of characters who sacrificed honor and decency for the chance to climb to the top with him.

I’m guessing Robert Penn Warren who wrote the Pulitzer Prize-winning novel upon which the film was loosely based was not a big fan of crooked politicos. He certainly didn’t see much to admire in their machinery. Stark surrounds himself with a collection of thoroughly scheming and devious people including Sadie Burke (Mercedes McCambridge) and the bought-off newspaper man, Jack Burden (John Ireland). Burke, who at first is brought in to masquerade as one of Stark’s political handlers, actually U-turns and ends up becoming his top campaign aide. McCambridge garnered a Supporting Academy Award for her portrayal which is an interesting fact considering the positively nasty and brutish role she had to play. Jack, who sold his soul early in the film, ends up eliciting very little empathy even though he clearly has several clashes of conscience as the story unfolds.

In this film, the viewer is left waiting for someone – anyone – to step forward and do something honorable. But it never occurs. Characters who we think might end up doing the right thing invariably take the low road and end up in a state of misery or worse, dead. Consider Judge Monte Stanton, a character who seems immune from Willie Stark’s rapacious and corruptible grasp. He ends up shooting himself when through Jack’s investigations; an unsavory incident from his past is uncovered. The fact that Jack had once loved and admired the Judge makes this scene that much harder to watch. It seems as if the corrosiveness of Willie Stark permeates everyone and everything in which it comes into contact. Anne and Adam Stanton, the brother and sister team who begin the movie with such promise also fall under and get crushed beneath the Stark political machine. In fact, after it is revealed that Anne sleeps with Stark, all our hopes lay with Adam, the one last redeemable character in the film who fights Stark ’til the end when unable to defeat him, he actually assassinates him and is in turn gunned down by Stark’s bodyguard, Sugar Boy. Watch, by the way, how many shots Sugar Boy pumps into Adams’ prone body. It was reported that Carl Weiss, the physician who assassinated Huey Long was summarily gunned down an instant later by Long’s cadre of bodyguards, who shot him 62 times!

In its overall look and feel, would have to admit that All the King’s Men has to be the starkest film ever to receive the Academy Award.

Clockwise from top left: misshapen snoot, nose full of nickels, hatchet, and luxuriant trunk.

Finally, if the reader would indulge my irreverence for a moment I would be remiss if I did not mention a small detail I found rather amusing in this otherwise totally humorless film. All the King’s Men has to have been the only movie in cinema history to display as grandiose a collection of proboscises as has ever been committed to celluloid. Consider Broderick Crawford’s broken and misshapen snoot. Then we move on to John Ireland’s “nose full of nickels”. And how about actress Anne Seymour’s luxuriant trunk? Toss in character actor Walter Burke’s noteworthy conk and Mercedes McCambridge’s hatchet and you have a pretty amazing assortment of smellers. One is just thankful that Karl Mauldin and Barbara Streisand were not included in the cast…!

–kak

Up next: An American in Paris (1951)