1939 - Love Affair

Covering an entire city block, Macy's is a gigantic department store here in New York City. And I mean gigantic. (In fact, it was the largest department store in the world until just a couple of months ago when a South Korean company opened an even more ridiculously sized one.) Whilst wandering around Macy's yesterday, I was mystified upon reaching the top of an escalator to find myself on Floor 1½. How do you get to this floor by elevator, I wondered. I imagined having to stop the elevator in between floors 1 and 2 and squeeze the doors open in order to exit, à la Being John Malkovich (pictured). But alas, the elevator's panel does indeed include a button for Floor 1½ and shoppers are able to simply step out without the need to crouch.

Still, how on earth did this happen? Once construction was complete, did some ambitious executive demand an extra floor in between the first and second? It appears not. On one side of the enormous building, the first floor does seem to have a mezzanine, so I suspect that this balcony-like floor was simply not numbered until the other side of the store was built. The question remains, though. Why 1½? Why not M for mezzanine? Or B for balcony? Even EF for extra floor would have been less absurd. I suppose 1½ is the simple option.

Last night, I reached the final contender in 1939's Best Picture competition...

Love Affair

Director:

Leo McCarey

Screenplay:

Delmer Daves, Donald Ogden Stewart, Leo McCarey and Mildred Cram

Starring:

Irene Dunne, Charles Boyer, Maria Ouspenskaya

Academy Awards:

6 nominations

0 wins

Don't be confused by the lead characters' names in this hopelessly romantic boy-meets-girl love story. The boy's name sounds like Michelle, but it's actually Michel. He's French, you see. And the girl's name is Terry, a common man's name. Got it? Good. So, Michel is a famous playboy finally settling down to get married. Terry is a frustrated singer somewhat involved with her supportive but boring boss. Michel and Terry meet on a cruise ship and, despite their attempts to suppress their affections, they secretly fall in love. They arrange to meet six months later on top of the Empire State Building, hoping by then to have reasonably dealt with the obstacles in their way, thereby making it possible for them to marry.

The film up to this point is simply beautiful. There's something sad but exciting about a love that cannot be and the obvious will-they-or-won't-they suspense that goes along with that. The secret flirtations. The no-we-mustn't looks. The but-I-can't-help-it touches. The to-hell-with-it kisses. It's genuinely beguiling to witness.

Inevitably, though, these kinds of stories suffer from the Ross and Rachel syndrome. As an audience, we begin to care a little less once they actually agree to be together. However, there are still plenty of obstacles in the way for Terry and Michel even after they declare their love for each other. But unfortunately, the main reason is a little hard to swallow. You see, when Terry is on her way to meet Michel at the Empire State Building, (spoiler alert) disaster strikes and she is knocked down by a car, ending up in hospital with a serious possibility of losing her ability to walk. But Terry doesn't inform Michel about any of this, reasoning that he would prefer not to be burdened with the task of taking care of a cripple. More months pass and even when they meet by chance at the theatre, she still insists on keeping the truth from him.

It all just seemed so unnecessary. Sure, the intention is there. She doesn't want him to sacrifice anything for her. But the reality is that it's kind of cruel. Michel waited until midnight for her and left devastated, remaining so for months.

Hmm, now that I'm writing this out, it actually is becoming quite a fascinating character study. Perhaps Terry's own self-doubt is the real culprit. Maybe she feared that Michel would reject her because of her condition and that's why she chose to keep him in the dark. She retains the control that way.

In any case, the final scene between the two of them recaptures that will-they-or-won't-they tension, and despite another abrupt ending (like Mr. Smith Goes To Washington), it is indeed satisfying.

Irene Dunne and Charles Boyer are superb in their roles. There's a great chemistry between them and some of those early scenes have a surprising improvised feel about them. Very natural, indeed, considering the era. Leo McCarey has a deft directing style, sharing those clandestine moments on the ship with the audience as if it really is a secret. Their first kiss, for instance, is partially hidden behind a door (pictured). A special mention also to Ferike Boros, who appears in a cameo performance as Terry's landlady. She is downright hilarious.

So, that concludes the beast that is the 1939 Best Picture race. The next post will contain my musings on which of these ten fine films deserves the accolade of being my favourite. Plus, find out which year is next...

1939 - Mr. Smith Goes To Washington

I'm back! Although I enjoyed an immensely fun time performing in an improv show every night and meeting some fantastic new people, my fondest memory of the last few days in Atlanta is my discovery of Whirlyball. Half sport, half amusement park ride, Whirlyball is like lacrosse in bumper cars. Yes, bumper cars. I defy you to play this game and not enjoy yourself.

An unfortunate consequence of my time in Georgia is the considerable delay in viewing the next Best Picture nominee, a delay that disrupts the six-movies-per-week viewing rate that is required for this project to be completed by its arbitrary deadline. Rather than suffer the humiliation of admitting defeat less than a month into the project, I will simply continue at a slightly more leisurely pace and worry about it later. Besides, with things becoming a tad busier for me, less frequent posts may have been an inevitable byproduct anyway. But fear not. I am still as passionately determined to see this project through to the end. It just might be an end with a later date than originally planned. Then again, you never know, I might just have a big movie marathon weekend at some point and find myself back on track without the need to extend the deadline.

Last night was time for the ninth of the nominees from 1939...

Mr. Smith Goes To Washington

Director:

Frank Capra

Screenplay:

Sidney Buchman and Lewis R. Foster

Starring:

James Stewart, Jean Arthur, Claude Rains, Thomas Mitchell, Edward Arnold

Academy Awards:

11 nominations

1 win, for Best Original Story

The ultimate underdog story, Mr. Smith Goes To Washington pits a fresh-faced Senator against the corruptible political machine. Jefferson Smith is unexpectedly appointed as the Senator for an unnamed state, a move which has political boss Jim Taylor furious. Taylor essentially runs the state, controlling the Governor and the senior Senator, Joseph Paine, a man who Mr. Smith admires greatly... Until he learns of Paine's complicity in Taylor's corrupt political scheming. When Mr. Smith tries to pass a bill that inadvertently conflicts with a Taylor-supported bill, he finds himself beaten down, trodden on, chewed up and spat out. Despite his newfound disillusionment in the system, he remains standing, refusing to back down.

Delightfully droll and thoughtfully sincere, Mr. Smith Goes To Washington delivers an interesting message. On the one hand, it could be argued that the film is passionately critical of a corrupt system of government, and I imagine, at the time of the film's release, Senators must have been beside themselves. How dare Hollywood accuse them all of crookedness. And Nixon wasn't around for at least another 30 years. On the other hand (and clearly the more correct hand), the film's intention may be to illustrate the inspiring results that can be achieved by one man's dedication to stand up for what he believes in. For all its bashing of the political machine, Mr. Smith Goes To Washington is a most patriotic film, evidenced by its use of every single patriotic song known to man.

It is also a film in which punching journalists in the face is not only acceptable but encouraged. After all, the press is just as corrupt as the government. They need a good smack in the mouth. And Jefferson Smith is just the man to do it. He may be idealistic and naive, but he can still pack a punch ... or seven. In fact, that's what's so adorable about him (and James Stewart's portrayal). Despite being so innocent, he still has the courage to stand up to the bullies, even playing them at their own political game. There's nothing like being the little guy to garner the audience's empathy. And providing us with that opportunity to empathise are some simply captivating scenes on the Senate floor in which Mr. Smith braves his Goliath.

Director Frank Capra assembled a fabulous cast. An on-the-rise James Stewart cemented his screen persona as Mr. Smith. Claude Rains is superb as the corrupt senior Senator. As is Jean Arthur as Mr. Smith's aide and love interest (a political sex scandal sub-plot never arises, however). And the prolific Thomas Mitchell appears in yet another 1939 Best Picture nominee as the one decent press man.

Apparently, there were scenes that were shot, intended for the end, but not included in the final film. I feel as though they may have added to a more satisfying resolution. As it stands, the ending is rather abrupt and a little disconcerting.

Only one more to go in the mighty juggernaut that is 1939...

1939 - Ninotchka

Today's entry may be a little shorter than usual on account of the plane I need to catch in a few hours, a plane not bound for Brazil, where my friends Jon and Aline are getting married today. Sadly, due to financial and other constraints, it was necessary for Kat and I to tick the "I/We regretfully decline" box on the invitation, so no trip to Brazil, unfortunately. Subsequently, I was offered a spot on the Australian team in an international improv tournament in Atlanta, Georgia. And since the organisers are paying for my airfare and accommodation, I was more than happy to oblige. So, I still get to fly somewhere this week, although, it is without my beautiful wife.

My absence may also result in a steep deceleration in film viewing, so I may not be able to update this blog over the next five days. I'll be taking the last two 1939 Best Picture nominees with me to Atlanta in the event of some free time, but I'm not even certain I'll have internet access, so it still may be next week before you read the next post. We'll see...

In the meantime, this morning I watched the eighth nominee from 1939...

Ninotchka

Director:

Ernst Lubitsch

Screenplay:

Melchior Lengyel, Charles Brackett, Billy Wilder and Walter Reisch

Starring:

Greta Garbo, Melvyn Douglas, Ina Claire, Bela Lugosi

Academy Awards:

4 nominations

0 wins

It is a wonderful thing not knowing anything about a film when you sit down to watch it. Apart from the knowledge that it starred Greta Garbo, I really hadn't the first clue as to what Ninotchka was about. As it turns out, it is a very pleasant romantic comedy with a load of political satire thrown in. Three Soviet delegates arrive in Paris with instructions to sell some confiscated jewellery for the government, but the allure of French capitalism sidetracks their mission, so the uncompromising and unsentimental special envoy Ninotchka is sent to move things along. Into the mix comes Count Leon, initially representing the original owner of the jewellery, the aristocratic Grand Duchess Swana. But Leon begins to fall for Ninotchka, and Ninotchka's eyes are opened to the glorious wonder of laughter and love ... and material objects.

Billed as Greta Garbo's first comedy, Ninotchka is a charmingly romantic and witty film. The scriptwriters, including the brilliant team of Brackett and Wilder, create a world of goofy characters and situations with some clever wordplay to boot. I found myself chuckling many times, a feat not easily achieved by such a dated picture.

There is a great deal of political discussion in the film as it pits capitalism and communism against each other. But it pokes fun at both sides of the coin, so it never really comes across as too politically motivated. To demonstrate his newfound freedom in a capitalist society, one Russian yells out his room, "The service in this hotel is terrible," and is pleased to discover he is totally ignored. See, capitalism is certainly not without its faults.

For her first comedy, Greta Garbo delivers a brilliantly funny performance as the stuffy and no-nonsense Ninotchka, who confesses her romanctic feelings in a deadpan and almost robotic tone, "Chemically, we're already quite sympathetic." As a movie star, though, she must have been disappointed at all the drab clothes in which she was attired, including a downright ridiculous hat (pictured). Melvyn Douglas, who would go on to win two Oscars in the next 40 years, also delivers a finely dry portrayal as Ninotchka's love interest. And the three hapless Soviet delegates are a joy to watch, as well. You can also spot classic horror star Bela Lugosi as the Commissar.

With all its political commentary, Ninotchka is essentially about love conquering all barriers, and its romance is sure to leave a warm fuzzy feeling in the hardest of hearts, communist or otherwise.

1939 - The Wizard of Oz

The next film in Matt vs. the Academy is one with which I have a close relationship. Not because of a particularly large number of viewings (before today, it had been almost fifteen years since I last watched it), but because it served as the basis for my debut stage performance. At the age of eleven, I stepped into the suffocating costume of the Cowardly Lion in a community production of The Wizard of Oz, lovingly adapted (or plagiarised, if you prefer) from the script of the 1939 Best Picture nominee. I credit that one-night-only production with the genesis of my love of performing. It is where I first caught the acting bug. I remember fondly the first rehearsal when, after weeks of listening intently to the film's dialogue, I delivered my lines in a perfect imitation of Bert Lahr's thick New York accent, only to elicit laughter from the cast and crew. I consequently dropped the impersonation. However, laughter could still be heard on show night, but this time, it was from the audience and at appropriately comic occasions. And that was it. I never went back. Once you've received the love of an audience, you just want more. Thus, I now find myself in a city famed for its theatre industry, still pursuing that glorious feeling.

Plus, as I am rather fond of pointing out, Robert De Niro was similarly eleven years old when he first trod the boards to play the Cowardly Lion in a community production of The Wizard of Oz. Good company, indeed. I'm still waiting for my Travis Bickle.

In the meantime, here are my thoughts on...

The Wizard of Oz

Director:

Victor Fleming

Screenplay:

Noel Langley, Florence Ryerson and Edgar Allan Woolf

(based on the novel "The Wonderful Wizard of Oz" by L. Frank Baum)

Starring:

Judy Garland, Frank Morgan, Ray Bolger, Bert Lahr, Jack Haley, Billie Burke, Margaret Hamilton

Academy Awards:

6 nominations

2 wins, including Best Song ("Over the Rainbow")

I doubt I have any readers who are not at least slightly familiar with The Wizard of Oz, the classic musical about Dorothy Gale and her fantastical adventures. The film begins on the sepia-toned Kansas farm on which Dorothy lives with her aunt, her uncle, three quirky farmhands and her dog, Toto. She has brief encounters with her unpleasant neighbour as well as an amiable fortune teller. After being caught in a fierce tornado, Dorothy is rendered unconscious, awakening to see the house spinning out of control in mid-air. The house lands in a strange and colourful place, a land known as Oz. Greeted by dozens of Munchkins and a good witch by the name of Glinda, Dorothy is told that, in order to return home, she must seek the assistance of the Wizard. On her journey, she teams up with a Scarecrow, a Tin Man and a Lion, all remarkably similar to those quirky farmhands back in Kansas, yet Dorothy simply can't make the connection, try as she might. She is also pursued by the Wicked Witch of the West, angry at Dorothy's careless murder of the Witch's sister, who was crushed by Dorothy's descending house.

When you need to put a smile on your face, just sit back and relax with a viewing of The Wizard of Oz, still charming seventy years on. It is replete with spectacular sets and costumes and make-up, plus some impressive special effects, considering the year it was produced. Add to that some familiar tunes with witty lyrics and you have yourself the perfect cure for any kind of blues. Be aware, however, that this is unmistakably a children's movie. But it's that innocent charm, perhaps, that makes it so enjoyable, allowing you that brief moment to feel like a child again. Still, The Wizard of Oz is also the height of pantomime. The production has an air of a stage performance about it, no doubt a consequence of the vaudeville background of a number of the cast. Everything is as hammy is it can possibly be.

Despite its junior demographic, there are some strangely morbid themes. The first scene in Munchkinland could be somewhat unsettling to some, with its celebration of death. Sure, the Wicked Witch of the East was a nasty old hag, but to dance about and sing, "Ding dong, the Witch is dead," before she's even cold seems a tad insensitive. No wonder the Wicked Witch of the West is so miffed.

The design elements in the film are nothing short of magnificent. A sweeping field of poppies, a sea of flying monkeys, a colour-changing horse. Even the painted backdrops that create the illusion of a larger landscape can be forgiven their conspicuousness because they are still so beautifully extravagant. Although, the frequent sight of the cast skipping along the yellow brick road into the distance made me almost expect to see them wander too far and simultaneously slam their noses into the backdrop.

One of the most impressive effects occurs when the Wicked Witch disappears behind a puff of coloured smoke. Yes, you can see the trapdoor if you look close enough, but the impressive part is the huge ball of fire that spews itself out almost immediately after the Witch has descended. A little less impressive, perhaps, after I discovered that Margaret Hamilton was off work for weeks with second-degree burns because of that stunt. Or maybe more impressive, I'm not sure.

The pre-fantasy sequence demonstrates the cleverness of the script, made all the more fascinating with the knowledge of the subsequent storyline. We all know that Dorothy's dream contains characters inspired by those in her real life, but the farmhands also give hints to their fantasy counterparts' respective desires. The whole concept is rather Freudian, when you think about it.

Which brings me to the film's conclusion. Quite the cliché, but I guess The Wizard of Oz was really the pioneer of the it-was-all-a-dream plot. Besides, the central character still learnt a lesson even if her entire journey is made redundant. And hey, what happened to Miss Gulch's plans to destroy Toto?

1939 - Gone With the Wind

After a pleasant weekend in New Jersey, eating good food and playing Trivial Pursuit with good friends, and leisurely strolling through Princeton and eating more good food with more good friends, I sat down to watch the epic Gone With the Wind. Kat watched with me and gallantly made it to the intermission before heading off to bed, but I persevered and saw it through to the end. And I have to admit, I'm very glad that I did.

The next nominee from 1939, and the eventual winner of the Best Picture award, is none other than...

Gone With the Wind

Director:

Victor Fleming

Screenplay:

Sidney Howard

(based on the novel by Margaret Mitchell)

Starring:

Vivien Leigh, Clark Gable, Leslie Howard, Olivia de Havilland, Thomas Mitchell, Hattie McDaniel

Academy Awards:

13 nominations

8 wins, including Best Picture, Best Director and Best Actress

I've written and rewritten this opening sentence at least a dozen times in the vain hope I might be able to introduce this film by conveying something that is remotely unique. Discussing arguably the most famous movie in cinematic history is a somewhat daunting task, if only because of the knowledge that almost every other film critic, film historian and film buff in the last seventy years has already weighed in on the topic. Hence, I shall simply be content that my views are merely my views, interesting or otherwise.

Scarlett O'Hara is a Southern belle living on her family's farm, Tara, with her ma and pa and two sisters, during the American Civil War. Her passionate crush on neighbour Ashley Wilkes is technically not unrequited, but in practical terms, it might as well be, because Ashley marries Melanie Hamilton instead. Nevertheless, Scarlett pursues him consistently, while rejecting the advances of the charming Rhett Butler, who seems to be the only person unwilling to succumb to Scarlett's every whim. She marries a lot, for spite and for money, inconsiderate to the feelings of those around her. She is, without doubt, a spoilt brat. And even after she endures humbling hardships, she remains a brat. So much so, that the local madam is a more likable character. Yet, in the end, Scarlett learns her lesson and vows to change her selfish ways. After all, tomorrow is another day.

Gone With the Wind is most definitely an epic and majestic film. And considering its costly budget (the largest of its era), you would certainly expect the production values to be extravagant. Lavish costumes, grandiose sets, vivid colour cinematography, spectacular special effects, beautiful music, exciting stunts, huge crowd scenes. A feast for the eyes and the ears. It almost seems unfair to its competition. There is simply no doubt money can be a great boon to a production's quality. Can be. Not always. It still has to captivate its audience with its story. Luckily, Gone With the Wind succeeds there, as well.

The entire film is very much akin to a play. It has an overture (and an entr'acte and exit music). It begins by displaying a cast of characters. It even has an intermission. The structure of the story is exceptionally well paced. As I have frequently mentioned, many films adapted from novels, including several other nominees of 1939, have suffered from too short a script. The narrative feels rushed and distant. No such issue with Gone With the Wind. At close to four hours long, it definitely takes its time. And for the better, in my opinion. Despite being an epic tale, it is never complicated. The breathing time allows us to follow Scarlett's journey in a simple yet comprehensive way.

Having an Australian education, I'm not too familiar with the American Civil War. Nonetheless, it is not difficult to recognise the Southern bias that Gone With the Wind emits. Considering the Southern origins of the novel's author, that is perhaps unsurprising. However, the film is also, at times, blatantly racist without an obvious sense of satire. But perhaps I'm wrong. Perhaps the film was simply intended to be completely faithful to its source. And perhaps Margaret Mitchell, the novel's author, also intended to be completely faithful to her sources. Still, one wonders whether that excuse would be enough to pass muster in today's cinema.

This discussion of the appropriateness of certain material becomes all the more interesting when you consider the restrictions that were placed on films of that time. Racism and violence may have been acceptable, but heaven forbid anyone mention sex. Quite often, however, this constraint only made for a cleverer script, as it did in this instance. There is no sign of any improper displays of bare flesh, nor any blatant reference to anything remotely sexual, and yet the subject of sex pervades this film in several sequences. The scriptwriters (and despite Sidney Howard's exclusive credit, there were several scriptwriters) were forced to be ingenious about how they broached the topic and it creates a fantastically subtle intensity.

Vivien Leigh could not have asked for a more spectacular debut. She is exceptional as the spoilt Scarlett. Classic movie star Clark Gable is perfect as Rhett, exuding charm when he delivers lines like, "You should be kissed and often. And by someone who knows how." You can just hear the women in the audience swooning. Other standouts are Olivia de Havilland as Melanie and Hattie McDaniel as Mammy, both nominated for Best Supporting Actor, the latter becoming the first African-American to win an Oscar.

Gone With the Wind has clearly stood the test of time. Accounting for inflation, it is the most financially successful film in history. People flocked to the cinema in 1939 to see it, and it remains a consistently popular home viewing choice today. When I first saw this film as a teenager, I wasn't particularly interested, but it honestly grabbed me this time, and to a large extent. I found it to be a full and satisfying film, most worthy of its place in cinema lore.