1940 - The Great Dictator

My time here in Boiling Springs, Pennsylvania is coming to a close - only three more days left. It has been an incredibly illuminating summer for me. Regional theatre in Australia does not operate the same way that it does in this country (mostly due to the smaller population) and hence, this was my first regional theatre experience. While I missed my home and, more importantly, my wife in New York City, it was definitely nice to get away from the hustle and bustle of city life for a few months. And, believe me, there is very little hustle and almost no bustle in Boiling Springs. Quiet living, for certain. The two shows in which I have performed have been a lot of fun. There's no denying that I love the stage. It's also been a welcome challenge to perform in musicals, a genre I rarely participated in until recently. Of course, it is the people with whom I have worked alongside that I will miss the most. It is those new friendships that have made my time here so pleasurable. Although, most of them are also based in New York, so there's really no need for this sentimental crap. Anyway, I will be glad to get back to the Big Apple next week and I eagerly await my next adventure.

It's been a long journey but I finally reached the end of the 1940 Best Picture competition by watching...

The Great Dictator

Director:

Charles Chaplin

Screenplay:

Charles Chaplin

Starring:

Charles Chaplin, Paulette Goddard, Jack Oakie, Reginald Gardiner, Henry Daniell, Billy Gilbert, Maurice Moskovitch

Academy Awards:

5 nominations

0 wins

Charlie Chaplin's parody of the Nazi regime, The Great Dictator follows the inner machinations of the Tomanian dictatorship, led by Adenoid Hynkel (Chaplin). Aided by his ministers Garbitsch (Daniell) and Herring (Gilbert), Hynkel aims to reduce the Jewish population of his country to second-class citizens, restricting them to a ghetto. Hynkel also seeks the support of Benzino Napaloni (Oakie), the dictator of neighbouring Bacteria, in his planned invasion of Osterlich. Concurrently, a Jewish barber (Chaplin again), once a soldier in the Tomanian army, now copes with persecution, along with love interest Hannah (Goddard). Strangely, the barber happens to look exactly like Hynkel, a coincidence that later proves to be incredibly convenient.

The Great Dictator is a fascinating study for many reasons, not the least of which is the fact that it is Chaplin's first genuine talking picture, despite the new technology being available for more than a decade. However, he didn't completely let go of his beloved silent comedy techniques with several sequences in The Great Dictator devoid of dialogue. Indeed, the film speed is increased during some physical comedy scenes, reminiscent of silent era technology. Plus, Chaplin's familiar Tramp character is clearly represented in his portrayal of the Jewish barber, oversized clothing and all.

The most intriguing aspect of this seminal picture is its seamless blending of comedy and tragedy, and you don't get much more tragic than the Jewish Holocaust. Even though the worst atrocities had yet to be committed at the time of the film's release (in fact, production began only a week after war was declared), there are several very sobering scenes of human persecution to which Chaplin very cleverly introduces humour without making light of the situation. A key example is the scene in which the barber is forced by a couple of Hynkel's men to paint the word 'Jew' on his shop window. In lieu of a spoken refusal, the barber throws paint on the men and a slapstick routine ensues. The conflicting emotions felt as one watches this scene create quite a confounding sensation. And if this tragicomic mix weren't enough to sate your emotional appetite, there's a sweet love story thrown in. Roberto Benigni has a lot to thank Chaplin for.

Then, there is the fearlessness with which the Nazis are ridiculed. (Although, years later, Chaplin commented that, had he known the true extent of Hitler's atrocities, he could not have made the film.) Chaplin was defiantly critical of the Nazis at a time when the notorious party was at its most powerful. The U.S. had not yet declared Nazi Germany an enemy, yet Chaplin was clearly not afraid to speak out. While the names of the leaders are all changed for satirical purposes, as are the names of the countries, interestingly the term 'Jew' is retained, so there's no mistaking what this film is really about. To make the message even more abundantly clear, the powerful final speech lays it all out in no uncertain terms, almost as if Chaplin himself is speaking directly to his audience (pictured).

The film showcases Chaplin's brilliance superbly. He is impeccably silly during the hilarious faux German speech. His comic timing is on display during a delicately choreographed shave of a customer to the tune of a Brahms composition. And, of course, there is the well-known ballet dance with a balloon globe, a hypnotic and moving, yet cleverly metaphorical routine. He is well supported by the rest of the cast, in particular Jack Oakie, sporting an equally amusing silly accent as the faux Italian dictator. Billy Gilbert, a charmingly comical performer who enchanted me as the garage owner in One Hundred Men and a Girl, delivers a highly entertaining array of facial expressions as Hynkel's mostly incompetent Minister of War.

The actual narrative of the film remains somewhat unresolved, but perhaps this was an attempt to encourage the viewer to be active in changing the outcome of world affairs. If only...

1940 - The Grapes of Wrath

A few nights ago, I joined some of my cast mates to frequent a local Central Pennsylvanian bar. Unfortunately, I was turned away at the door for not having the correct I.D. You see, the law states that not only must all patrons be over the age of 21, but they must also be carrying an appropriate form of identification in order to confirm their age. Even if you clearly appear to be of age, you must still carry one of three acceptable forms of I.D., namely a military I.D., a passport or a state-issued I.D. (which includes a driver's licence). Well, I'm not in the military, my passport is back in New York and my driver's licence is from Australia. So, no luck there. I did, however, have my Green Card with me, but the gentleman behind the bar was kind enough to inform me that it was not state-issued. True. In fact, it is federally-issued, which you would think would hold more weight than mere state-issued items, but alas, his hands were tied. To add insult to injury, he made it clear that he could tell I was older than 21. "Way older" were his exact words. Thanks...

So, we went to another bar around the corner where the rules were more lackadaisical.

Yesterday, I managed to fit in another nominee from the 1940 Best Picture race...

The Grapes of Wrath

Director:

John Ford

Screenplay:

Nunnally Johnson

(based on the novel by John Steinbeck)

Starring:

Henry Fonda, Jane Darwell, John Carradine, Charley Grapewin

Academy Awards:

7 nominations

2 wins, for Best Director and Best Supporting Actress (Darwell)

Paroled after four years in prison, Tom Joad (Fonda) returns to his family's Oklahoma farm only to discover they are being driven out by greedy landowners. Such is life during the Great Depression. In search of work, the Joads load up their poor excuse for a vehicle and head for California, an area that they have heard is in dire need of fruit-pickers. The journey along Route 66 is far from smooth sailing and life in California is no picnic either. The family hops from town to town trying to make ends meet, fighting the working class fight.

A classic American film based on a classic American novel, The Grapes of Wrath is best described as solid. Solid story. Solid performances. Solid direction. The narrative is eventfully robust, teeming with activity at every turn, yet despite the action's varying nature, the picture still retains a strong sense of unity. One might even call it solid.

All this solidness does have its downfall, however, since it is partly achieved through highly stylised dialogue. It makes for some clean and delicate moments, but it also feels a tad methodical. Nonetheless, the Joads' action-filled journey kept me involved, outweighing the saccharine taste of the dialogue.

Henry Fonda in a comfortable newsboy cap (pictured) leads the cast with a strong portrayal of a determined man, chalking up his first Oscar nomination. It was co-star Jane Darwell, however, who won a Supporting Actress award for her affecting turn as the Joad matriarch. For pure entertainment value, it's hard to go past Charley Grapewin's antics as Grandpa Joad.

1940 - Our Town

Happy Anniversary! Last week marked one year since the inception of Matt vs. the Academy. Hurrah! I want to thank you all for reading thus far, especially during this slower period of recent weeks. You'll be glad to know (or maybe you won't care) that Mid-Life: The Crisis Musical opened last week and so I am finally free of rehearsals and therefore experiencing some free time.

I have taken advantage of said free time by continuing with my review of the 1940 Best Picture contest. Next up is...

Our Town

Director:

Sam Wood

Screenplay:

Thornton Wilder, Frank Craven, Harry Chandlee

(based on the play by Thornton Wilder)

Starring:

William Holden, Martha Scott, Fay Bainter, Beulah Bondi, Thomas Mitchell, Guy Kibbee, Frank Craven

Academy Awards:

6 nominations

0 wins

Grover's Corners is a typical small town in early 20th century New Hampshire. Quiet, simple living is the order of the day. Our narrator introduces us to several of the town's residents and their daily routines, paying particular attention to the ambitious George Gibbs (Holden) and the smart Emily Webb (Scott). As teenagers, Emily innocently helps George with his homework but, as they grow up, their relationship develops and soon, marriage is on the cards.

This picture is the first screen adaptation of the classic American play that appears on many school curricula, but being educated outside the United States and never having seen a stage production of it, I was not overly familiar with its story. Paradoxically, however, my initial reaction after watching the film was that it just wasn't as good as the stage version.

From the outset, there's a definite theatricality to the picture. Although there is something comfortably soothing about the opening narration from a fourth-wall-breaking character, the regular interruptions set you apart from the action. While this device is perfectly appropriate for the stage, it isn't always effective on film.

In addition, there is the age-old issue with which a lot of films adapted from the stage have trouble tackling - that of loquacious dialogue. In Our Town, there are many slow and languid conversations. Indeed, the script and performances lean toward the superficial and sentimental, and not just due to the film's old-fashioned temperament.

Having said all that, I experienced somewhat of a moment of clarity an hour into the story during the wedding scene when a series of inner monologues by several characters served to illustrate that their cheery dispositions were merely facades to cover up the misery and self-doubt they all feel. Suddenly, the theatricality made sense. The townsfolk were all putting on a show. Nonetheless, this moment of clarity soon gave way to more sentimentality as the film concluded with its sentimental message of "appreciate life while you're living it". Interestingly, I discovered that the final resolution differs quite markedly from the stage play, which contains a much bleaker ending. You can always count on early Hollywood to make the ending cheerful. (Although, in all honesty, I actually appreciated the pick-me-up after the downer that is the final act.)

The other major difference is that the stage version is intended to be performed with the use of only a minimal set, chairs and tables representing entire houses. Playwright Thornton Wilder expressed his desire to allow the emotion of the characters to be highlighted without relying on scenery for enhancement. This film adaptation, however, makes full use of its production designer with complete set pieces in every scene - odd, considering Wilder is credited as one of the screenwriters. Plus, the knowledge of the playwright's original intentions seems to fly in the face of my epiphany about the theatricality of the film. It would seem that Wilder specifically wanted to avoid theatricality. So, either the filmmakers missed the mark on this one or I completely misunderstood the whole thing. Now, I'm confused...

1940 - The Letter

I'm back! Yes, I realise there has been a rather elongated pause leading up to this post. It has been a very hectic time for me recently. While I have been performing My Fair Lady, I have also been rehearsing Midlife: The Crisis Musical, the next show to be staged at the Allenberry Playhouse. Consequently, I have essentially been without a day off for two weeks. The only free day I had was last Monday, and that was spent in New York City with my darling wife as well as some family who were visiting from Australia. Plus, some good friends from home, Steve, Susie and Amanda, were also in town for an improv festival, allowing for a long overdue catch-up. It was an enjoyable break from the hustle of rehearsals, but it left me with no time for this project.

Thus, today was a relaxing day off in which I finally found some time to watch another nominee from the 1940 Best Picture contest...

The Letter

Director:

William Wyler

Screenplay:

Howard Koch

(based on the play by W. Somerset Maugham)

Starring:

Bette Davis, Herbert Marshall, James Stephenson, Gale Sondergaard

Academy Awards:

7 nominations

0 wins

The Letter begins dramatically with Leslie Crosbie (Davis) firing bullets into an unarmed man named Hammond. When her husband Robert (Marshall) arrives with their lawyer Howard Joyce (Stephenson), her story is that Hammond, known as a friend of the Crosbies, tried to make love to her, so she defended herself by unloading the pistol into him. She is put into custody in Singapore, awaiting trial, despite her seeming innocence.

Soon, however, Howard becomes privy to a damning letter that Leslie sent to the deceased on the day of the murder which seems to indicate a more intimate relationship between the two. The original letter is in the possession of Hammond's widow (Sondergaard), who threatens to deliver it to the prosecution unless her demands are met.

With such a breathtaking opening scene, The Letter grabs you by the throat very early. What follows is a gripping suspense drama that had me wondering why it hasn't become a bigger classic. Although there are a few wordy sequences (it is based on a play, after all), director William Wyler cleverly infuses the picture with symoblic imagery, mostly involving shadows and moonlight. Apparently, the ending needed to be altered from its original version thanks to the censors, and the resulting bleakness of the denouement probably explains the film's failure in the test of time. (Anyone with a decent understanding of the Hays Code will know that murderers were not allowed to remain unpunished.)

Bette Davis' eyes are at their glassy best as she portrays a woman desperate to hide the truth. But Gale Sondergaard as the bitter widow gives Davis a run for her money in the "staring daggers" department. Herbert Marshall as the unsuspecting husband appears in his second 1940 nominee after Foreign Correspondent. My favourite performance from the film comes from James Stephenson, superbly detailed as the attorney with a guilty conscience.

1940 - Rebecca

Another week of My Fair Lady performances nearly over and since this project is moving at a more leisurely pace during this period, it means you have plenty more time to vote on the next year of review. We're heading to the 1990s next and the poll is over there to your right.

This week, I managed to find some time to watch the eventual winner of the 1940 Best Picture race...

Rebecca

Director:

Alfred Hitchcock

Screenplay:

Philip MacDonald, Michael Hogan, Robert E. Sherwood, Joan Harrison

Starring:

Laurence Olivier, Joan Fontaine, George Sanders, Judith Anderson

Academy Awards:

11 nominations

2 wins, including Best Picture

Yet another 1940 nominee dealing with class differences, Rebecca relates the tale of Max de Winter (Olivier), an upper class gentleman who begins a love affair with a delightful young woman who apparently has no given name (Fontaine). The whirlwind romance proceeds to marriage and Max brings his new bride to his country home, which does have a name - Manderley. However, all is not rosy, as the new Mrs De Winter must live in the shadow of Max's first wife Rebecca, whose presence can still be felt at Manderley. Not only do all the servants seem to have adored their prior mistress, especially the creepily stoic Mrs. Danvers (Anderson), but everywhere our young heroine looks, she finds another monogrammed item of her predecessor's.

There is no question why director Alfred Hitchcock was given the moniker The Master of Suspense. In Rebecca, he creates a mysterious mood seemingly out of nowhere. For the most part, the story itself does not necessitate such mystery, at least until the final act. The first half could easily have been interpreted as a straightforward drama about a young woman struggling to fit into her new surroundings. Yet, Hitchcock consistently makes his audience feel uneasy, aware that something is awry. The circumstances of the title character's demise are given without much detail and new seemingly unrelated clues are provided every so often to unsettle the audience further. It's like an episode of Lost (except for the fact that there is actually a resolution at the end).

This is all the more unsettling precisely because the events that are unfolding do not immediately seem to be out of the ordinary. It's just the story of a woman who married a widower. But, of course, that's what you get with Hitchcock at the helm. Even the most mundane activities are treated with disconcerting tension, making us painfully curious for answers. And when these answers arrive, in the form of an explanatory - and intensely captivating - monologue from Max, the tone shifts from mysterious tension to suspenseful tension. No longer does the audience ask, "What is going on?" Now they ask, "What will happen next?"

Only a year earlier, Laurence Olivier hammed it up in Wuthering Heights, but here he is exquisitely restrained, delivering a wonderfully natural performance. Joan Fontaine succeeds at creating a meek and almost invisible character. The intense glares from Judith Anderson as the deadpan Mrs. Danvers are truly disturbing. And George Sanders is fast becoming another favourite actor of mine thanks to another bitingly acerbic portrayal.