1942 - The Talk of the Town

Another long delay between posts. Così has finished, and Australian Made Entertainment has already begun preparations for its next production, Speaking In Tongues. So busy have I been in the interim that it took a hurricane to shut down everything else I've been doing and free up enough time to watch another movie. Although, it's now taken another week to actually write about it.

Fortunately, Kat and I, and our houseguest Susie, who clearly chose a horrible time to visit New York, were all safe and sound in our apartment during the storm. Even more fortunately, we never lost power, unlike many others in neighbouring counties and states, who lost that and a whole lot more. We're feeling very lucky.

So, with the winds blowing and the DVD player still working, we watched the first of 1942's Best Picture nominees...

The Talk of the Town

Director:

George Stevens

Screenplay:

Irwin Shaw, Sidney Buchman, Dale Van Every, Sidney Harmon

Starring:

Cary Grant, Jean Arthur, Ronald Colman, Edgar Buchanan, Glenda Farrell, Charles Dingle, Emma Dunn, Rex Ingram

Academy Awards:

7 nominations

0 wins

Charged with arson and murder, innocent mill worker Leopold Dilg (Grant) escapes from police custody and convinces schoolteacher Nora Shelley (Arthur) to hide him out in her rental property. Inconveniently, Nora has rented the house to esteemed law professor and Supreme Court candidate Michael Lightcap (Colman) for the summer. Posing as the gardener, Dilg enjoys deep legal discussions with Lightcap and the two begin an unlikely friendship. With the help of Nora and his own lawyer, Dilg attempts to surreptitiously persuade Lightcap to get involved in the arson case, hoping his influence will help expose the truly guilty parties. Unsurprisingly, a love triangle develops, as both Dilg and Lightcap vie for Nora's affections.

The opening sequence of The Talk of the Town seems to set the film up as a noir thriller - a wrongly accused man escapes from police custody to clear his name and fight the oppressive corporate mastermind who tried to bring him down. The photography is dark and newspapers with big headlines twirl towards the camera every few seconds. Then almost immediately, farce and even some occasional slapstick well and truly take over, and the picture's screwball comedy nature reveals itself. However, the moral explorations still remain, particularly the question of whether it's ever morally right to disobey the law, and it is all mixed seamlessly together with the comedy to create a thoughtful and entertaining story.

The film received an impressive seven Oscar nominations, including a Best Picture nod, but was unable to convert any of them into a win. Somewhat surprisingly, with so many nominations, none were for the actors, despite appealing performances from the three leads. Cary Grant is affable (as usual), even with such a passionate cause. The delectable Jean Arthur is adorably goofy as the girl trying to hold it all together. But Ronald Colman's nonchalant delivery steals the show, a truly elegant gentleman. And look out for a very young Lloyd Bridges playing a pushy reporter.

Best Picture of 1971

My good intentions of wrapping up this year of review quickly have clearly failed. Who would have thought producing a play would be so all-encompassing? Così, the play in which Kat and I are acting in and producing is now in its final week and I'm finally beginning to come up for air. We've had some great reviews and wonderful audiences, so if you're in New York City, get your tickets to the madness. We play until Sunday.

Now, at long last, let's review the latest contenders...

The nominees for Best Picture of 1971 are:

• A Clockwork Orange
• Fiddler on the Roof
• The French Connection
• The Last Picture Show
• Nicholas and Alexandra

All five are extremely entertaining films, fine examples of their respective genres, and interestingly, all five essentially end on downers. Perhaps the Academy was feeling depressed in 1971. Between getting kicked out of their hometown, failing to catch the bad guy and being executed, the protagonists in these films don't experience your typical Hollywood endings.

In no particular order, I will remove from competition Nicholas and Alexandra, an exquisitely presented and sumptuously designed period epic and The Last Picture Show, an engrossing slice-of-life coming-of-age drama. A tougher choice is the decision to eliminate Stanley Kubrick's dystopian masterpiece A Clockwork Orange, whose heavily stylized tone, while fascinating, keeps the audience at a distance.

Perhaps it's a guilty pleasure, but Fiddler on the Roof remains a very comfortable film for me, warm and inviting. Yet it will give way to the utterly gripping The French Connection. Despite its intensely unsatisfying ending, this cop thriller is so edge-of-your-seat brilliant that it could have ended with aliens inexplicably landing on earth destroying the entire planet and I still would have picked it as my favourite Best Picture nominee of 1971.

Best Picture of 1971
Academy's choice: The French Connection	Matt's choice: The French Connection

Your choice:

What is your favourite among this fine bunch of nominees? Have your say in the poll above. Next up (and be patient, it might be a while before I get to it) we move back to a golden era of Hollywood for a selection of classics.

And the nominees for Best Picture of 1942 are:

• The Invaders
• Kings Row
• The Magnificent Ambersons
• Mrs. Miniver
• The Pied Piper
• The Pride of the Yankees
• Random Harvest
• The Talk of the Town
• Wake Island
• Yankee Doodle Dandy

Stay tuned...

1971 - The Last Picture Show

Rehearsals are well under way for Cosi, the first production of Australian Made Entertainment, the theatre (and eventually, film) company that Kat and I recently formed. We begin performances on September 7 in New York City, only three and a half weeks away, so if you're going to be in the area, get your tickets now.

We now turn our attention to the final nominee from the Best Picture race of 1971...

The Last Picture Show
Director:
Peter Bogdanovich
Screenplay:
Larry McMurtry and Peter Bogdanovich
(based on the novel by Larry McMurtry)
Starring:
Timothy Bottoms, Jeff Bridges, Cybill Shepherd, Ben Johnson, Cloris Leachman, Ellen Burstyn, Eileen Brennan, Clu Gulager, Sam Bottoms, Sharon Taggart, Randy Quaid, Joe Heathcock
Academy Awards:
8 nominations
2 wins, for Best Supporting Actor (Johnson) and Best Supporting Actress (Leachman)

Contrary to my usual rule, my viewing of The Last Picture Show was of the director's cut, not of the original version that played in cinemas in 1971, which appears to be difficult to find. Nonetheless, with only seven minutes of additional footage, I think we can let it slide.

It's 1951 in a small town in Texas. Sonny Crawford (Bottoms) is a senior in high school and doesn't really have any plans, either for tomorrow or for the rest of his life. His best friend Duane (Bridges) is dating the spoiled Jacy (Shepherd), a strained relationship if ever there was one. After Sonny breaks up with his girlfriend Charlene (Taggart), who he never really cared about anyway, he begins an affair with his football coach's middle-aged wife Ruth (Leachman). Stumbling from one day to the next, Sonny impulsively takes a trip to Mexico with Duane, takes over the town's pool hall, begins a flirtation with Jacy, and generally comes of age.

Being set in the early 1950s, director Peter Bogdanovich cleverly replicates the style of film-making during that era. The film is shot in black-and-white and, during some of the darker scenes, the lighting often employs that stark contrast effect in which an actor in close-up moves in and out of a small sliver of bright light. The performances, too, are sometimes filled with a 1950s bravado and enthusiasm, typical of the acting style back then.

However, the most fascinating element is the incongruity that results from the pairing of this nostalgic style with the solemn and crude subject matter. During the actual time period, it seems unimaginable that such sexuality and bad language would have appeared on film, but twenty years later, without the shackles of censorship, The Last Picture Show is free to create a sobering look at life in a small town. Stylistically, though, it remains in the 1950s, creating a slight feeling of unease.

The story certainly doesn't rush. With its slice-of-life approach, the characters plod along, experiencing things unfolding without any main driving goal at the forefront of the plot. Which is not to say that nothing happens. The film is full of major events, and considering the plight of the younger characters, could easily be described as a coming-of-age story - kind of a cruder small-town version of American Graffiti. Sex is clearly a focus, particularly the awkwardness of first encounters, but in no way could it be said that any of the sex scenes in this picture are actually sexy. In one scene, for instance, our attention is directed toward the awkward noises of the squeaking bed as one participant attempts to hold back tears.

Timothy Bottoms (pictured) carries the film well with a very understated performance as a young man trying to make sense of his world. He is joined by several young stars in the making. Cybill Shepherd, in her film debut, is extremely effective as the manipulative girl with powerful eyelid-batting skills. Also on debut, Randy Quaid is delightfully awkward as the patient rich kid. Jeff Bridges deservedly scored his first Oscar nomination for his breakout role, but was beaten to the Best Supporting Actor trophy by his co-star Ben Johnson, who delivers a moving performance as the surrogate patriarch. The film also received two Supporting Actress nominations, the first for Ellen Burstyn's fantastic portrayal of a woman attempting in vain to prevent her daughter from making the same mistakes she made. Cloris Leachman clinched the Oscar, though, with an incredibly touching performance, capped off by a memorable outburst near the end of the film. And yes, that's Magnum P.I.'s right-hand man, Higgins (a.k.a John Hillerman) as the school teacher at the beginning.

For a bit of extra trivia appropriate to this blog, some of the characters in the film attend a screening of Father of the Bride, which is itself a Best Picture nominee.

1971 - The French Connection

It's not often the timing works out that one of the nominees from a year I'm currently reviewing happens to be scheduled for a retrospective screening in New York City during that time. Such was the case with the next subject of review, which had a one-day only engagement at BAM Rose Cinemas, which, if memory serves, is a Matt vs. the Academy first. Of course, had I been speedier with my look at the rest of the nominees, I would have been entirely finished with the current year of review and missed the opportunity all together. In any case, it certainly was a thrill to see this picture up on the big screen. In fact, I worry that it may give this film an unfair advantage in my final verdict, since the experience of watching a movie in a darkened cinema is far more all-engrossing than watching on a smaller screen at home, susceptible to all sorts of distractions.

Advantage or not, here are my musings on this nominee from the 1971 Best Picture race...

The French Connection
Director:
William Friedkin
Screenplay:
Ernest Tidyman
(based on the book by Robin Moore)
Starring:
Gene Hackman, Fernando Rey, Roy Scheider, Tony Lo Bianco, Marcel Bozzuffi, Frédéric de Pasquale, Bill Hickman
Academy Awards:
8 nominations
5 wins, including Best Picture, Best Director and Best Actor (Hackman)

Narcotics cop "Popeye" Doyle (Hackman) and his partner Russo (Scheider) become suspicious of small business owner Sal Boca (Lo Bianco) after they witness him entertaining mob men known for drug trafficking. Acting on a hunch, they trail Boca, following lead after lead, eventually uncovering a drug smuggling ring, headed by French crime boss Alain Charnier (Rey). Committed and determined, Doyle leads the charge to bust Charnier and his henchmen, at often dangerously high risk.

Gritty and realistic, The French Connection delivers an almost documentary-style story, complete with shaky, hand-held camera work and voyeuristic, fly-on-the-wall long shots. Everything is raw and unpolished from the performances to the design. Even the film print I saw was dirty. I realise, of course, that the Blu-ray is probably crystal clear, but the graininess of the film print actually seemed strangely appropriate for this picture, possibly even enhancing the viewing experience.

The details of the drug ring central to the plot may be complex but, at its heart, The French Connection employs a solidly simple cops-and-robbers story, or more accurately, cops-and-drug-traffickers. Most of the scenes consist of some variation of a cop following a criminal, whether it's tailing an alleged conspirator or an out-and-out chase scene, and consequently, the tension is extremely high throughout. Of particular note is the suspensefully amusing on-the-train, off-the-train sequence when Doyle unsuccessfully follows Charnier into the subway. And, of course, later comes the legendary chase scene which begins with Doyle flagging down a passing motorist and hijacking his car, a Hollywood cliche that is thankfully forgotten quickly as the chase gets under way. Then comes some of the most exhilarating few minutes ever committed to celluloid as we follow along in the backseat of the car as it careens underneath an elevated track attempting to keep up with the speeding train above. Listening to director William Friedkin and others talk about the making of this sequence, it's easy to understand why it feels so spectacularly authentic.

If there's one gripe I have about The French Connection, it would have to be the conclusion. I have talked about unsatisfying endings a fair amount in the past, but this picture's ending really takes the cake. It could even be said that it doesn't really have an ending. We spend almost the entire film watching Doyle and his colleagues chase the bad guys only to have a caption inform us that the main antagonist escaped and was never found. Not only that but in the final nail-biting scene, Doyle accidentally fatally shoots one of his own team, and the closing credits begin less than a minute later with barely an acknowledgement of the severity of such a turn of events, let alone a resolution. Luckily, the rest of the film is so profoundly engrossing. Plus, there's the fact that the story is loosely based on real events, so I suppose I should be more lenient.

As I mentioned, the performances are emotionally pure and candid with a distinct improvisational feel, adding to the documentary style of the picture. It is Gene Hackman's (pictured) film, however, and he is nothing short of sublime, well deserving of his Best Actor Oscar for this role. For the trivia buffs, Eddie Egan, the real cop on whom the character of Doyle is based, appears as the detectives' supervisor, Walt Simonson. Egan's real-life partner, Sonny Grosso, himself the basis for the Russo character, also appears in a minor role.

1971 - A Clockwork Orange

It's been a busy few weeks as Kat and I have been getting all the pieces together for the inaugural production of our theatre company, Australian Made Entertainment. In September, we will be presenting Cosi, a classic Aussie comedy about a bunch of mental patients who cobble together a performance of Mozart's opera, Cosi fan tutte. If you can't make it to New York in September, you could always check out the film version, which I believe is also available on Netflix. In any case, be sure to 'like' us on Facebook to keep up to date with our progress.

After a hectic week, I managed to squeeze in a viewing of another Best Picture nominee from 1971's contest...

A Clockwork Orange
Director:
Stanley Kubrick
Screenplay:
Stanley Kubrick
(based on the novel by Anthony Burgess)
Starring:
Malcolm McDowell, Patrick Magee, Adrienne Corri, Miriam Karlin, Godfrey Quigley, Anthony Sharp, Warren Clarke, Aubrey Morris, Michael Bates
Academy Awards:
4 nominations
0 wins

In an indeterminate futuristic time period, London has a serious crime problem with gangs of young thugs terrorising innocent citizens on a regular basis. One such gang of "droogs", led by Alex (McDowell), enjoys a night of "ultra-violence", first beating up a homeless man and then assaulting writer Frank Alexander (Magee) and raping his wife (Corri) in a home invasion. The next night, after Alex brutally rapes another woman (Karlin), his "droogs" turn on him, leaving him to be caught by the police. When the woman later dies, Alex is sentenced to prison for murder.

A couple of years later, Alex becomes a test subject for a new aversion therapy, a rapid conditioning technique intended to cure violent tendencies in criminals. While agreeing to the treatment gives him a get-out-of-jail-free card, he soon struggles with its often disturbing and inhumane effects.

Stanley Kubrick certainly knows how to give a film a distinctive style. Each of his films is unique in its presentation and A Clockwork Orange is perhaps his most stylised, in large part due to Anthony Burgess' source novel, which supplies the film's dialogue with some peculiar new English words. Burgess essentially created a new dialect that is best described as a Russian-influenced English. While it certainly lends the story an air of originality, it sometimes comes across as rather childish, as in the case of "eggiwegs".

Another standard of a Kubrick film is its sumptuous design and again, A Clockwork Orange is no exception. The retro-futuristic sets are beautifully fascinating, as are the strange costumes, particularly Alex's mother's weirdly inappropriate outfits. We are also treated to some inventive make-up as each of the central droogs displays an individual, asymmetric style. Even the music is somewhat stylised. While most of the score consists of classical music, it is juxtaposed with occasional moments of electronica, just in case we forgot we were in the future.

The one possible drawback of all this heavy style, however, is that it risks putting the audience at a bit of a distance. The very serious issues of the psychology of crime and the moral implications of brainwashing seem less accessible because of how abstractly they are presented. One such oddity is the "performance" to demonstrate Alex's reformation, as actors subject him to a sort of evil version of Punk'd. The artificiality also makes it easy to desensitise oneself to the violence in the film. I mean, how seriously can you take an assailant when he assaults his victims while dancing and crooning "Singin' in the Rain"? Or beats a lady with an oversized penis sculpture? Well, actually, those scenes are kind of creepy. In fact, despite the style, there are plenty of emotionally moving moments, so maybe the point is made.

While the character of Alex is unmistakably theatrical, Malcolm McDowell (pictured) at times shows clever restraint in his breakout role as the troubled youth. Other actors fail to avoid consistently theatrical performances, namely Patrick Magee, whose wild facial ticks are somewhat distracting. On the other hand, Michael Bates' pantomime portrayal of an enthusiastically gruff prison guard has its funny moments. Star Wars fans may appreciate seeing the man inside the Darth Vader suit, David Prowse, as Frank's placid attendant, Julian.