1994 - Forrest Gump

One of the lesser known perks of being a SAG member is that I now have the opportunity to join the SAG Film Society (for a nominal fee, of course), which allows me to attend any of their four or five screenings per month that take place at the DGA Theater. Mostly, they are films that have just hit the cinemas, but occasionally there is a preview screening of an upcoming release. At the risk of sounding elitist, I have noticed something fascinating from the couple of events that I have attended so far. Somehow, these screenings are a much more pleasant affair than watching a movie with the general public. Perhaps it's because of the near capacity attendance, so the communal atmosphere exudes excitement. Perhaps it's because of the odd rule restricting any food or drink inside the theatre, so the distracting crackling sound of candy wrappers is absent. Perhaps it's because the industry audience are more respectful of the film-going experience, so there is nary a whisper during the course of the picture. Which, I guess, means that I am an elitist.

Yesterday, Kat and I spent a lazy Sunday afternoon watching another 1994 Best Picture contender...

Forrest Gump

Director:

Robert Zemeckis

Screenplay:

Eric Roth

(based on the novel by Winston Groom)

Starring:

Tom Hanks, Robin Wright, Gary Sinise, Mykelti Williamson, Sally Field

Academy Awards:

13 nominations

6 wins, including Best Picture, Best Director and Best Actor (Hanks)

As Forrest Gump (Hanks) sits down on a bench to wait for his bus, he begins talking to the stranger next to him. He tells her of his childhood growing up in Alabama with his very supportive mother (Field) and his best friend Jenny (Wright). Although intellectually slow, he inadvertently becomes an influential part of U.S. history during the 60s and 70s, meeting most of the Presidents along the way. He's a college football star, a war hero, a ping pong champion, a shrimp boat captain and a distance runner. All the while, Jenny pops in and out of his life, but she always remains on his mind. As the people at the bus stop come and go, he continues his story undeterred, talking to whoever will listen to his simple tale.

It would be easy to dismiss Forrest Gump as just a mindless piece of fluff. Things just seem to happen to the main character with very little action on his behalf. Most of his major accomplishments are not achieved due to any hopes or desires that he may possess, but rather those around him shove him into the spotlight. He becomes a football star because the coach notices he can run fast, but Forrest has no clue what he is doing. He inadvertently sets the Watergate scandal in motion, not because he feels a sense of duty to report the burglary he is witnessing, but because he can't sleep with all those flashlights shining into his room. Even when he saves his entire platoon by carrying them safely out of the jungle, it is more of an act of necessity than genuine heroics.

Yet somehow, Forrest's complete lack of awareness of his influence on the world around him merely makes him more adorable. Yes, the story is fluffy and rambles on from sequence to sequence with no real direction, but Forrest's puppy dog behaviour and oddly enchanting vocal inflection more than compensate to create a sweet and funny film. Plus, the relationship between Forrest and Jenny, a subplot full of charm and poignancy, acts as the story's spine, preventing the picture from becoming totally aimless.

Alan Silvestri's music is nothing short of divine. Some may call it sappy but Kat and I didn't choose it to feature in our wedding ceremony for nothing. The entire score is touching and inspirational. Not to mention the soundtrack full of provocative hits of the era, perfectly selected to match the images on the screen, including Everybody's Talkin', a song written for another Best Picture winner, Midnight Cowboy, and heard in this film during an homage to Dustin Hoffman's famous "I'm walkin' here!" scene.

Tom Hanks earned the second of his back-to-back Best Actor Oscars for the title role. He plays the simpleton with heart, delivering a very moving final speech. Robin Wright's performance as the troubled Jenny is intelligent, never slipping into cliché. Gary Sinise offers a touchingly raw portrayal of Lieutenant Dan, and with the help of some incredible visual effects, he is utterly convincing as an amputee. And before he saw dead people, Haley Joel Osment appears briefly here as Forrest Junior.

1994 - Four Weddings and a Funeral

As we jump headlong into October, the smell of awards season is wafting in the not-too-distant air. I've been trying to catch up on some lost cinema time, taking in a few movies this week, each of which could possibly hear their titles announced come nomination day. The American, a gripping thriller full of paranoid tension; The Town, a gripping thriller full of heart-pounding excitement; and Inception, a gripping thriller full of mind-bending twists. Three very different pictures, each satisfying my need for being gripped and thrilled.

Today, I viewed a film of a rare genre for a Best Picture nominee, the 1994 romantic comedy...

Four Weddings and a Funeral

Director:

Mike Newell

Screenplay:

Richard Curtis

Starring:

Hugh Grant, Andie MacDowell, Kristin Scott Thomas, Simon Callow, James Fleet, John Hannah, Charlotte Coleman, David Bower, Corin Redgrave, Rowan Atkinson

Academy Awards:

2 nominations

0 wins

Before the world had even heard of Harry Potter, this quirky comedy was the biggest British box-office sensation. Charles (Grant) is an awkward bachelor with a tight-knit bunch of equally awkward friends. The group, all apparently single, seem to be constantly watching those around them getting married. At one such wedding, Charles very briefly meets Carrie (MacDowell), an American in town for the occasion. The two spend an intimate night together, but Carrie is back to the States the next morning. Over the course of the next several months, they keep running into each other at various nuptials, never seeming to be able to get their timing right.

Four Weddings and a Funeral is a charmingly witty piece from a rather successful writer/star pairing. Hugh Grant has appeared in several films penned by Richard Curtis and it's clear to see why. Curtis writes such endearingly bumbling dialogue, playing right into Grant's forte. Grant and the rest of the cast are given such exquisitely constructed comedy bits, some of which might even seem at home on a TV sitcom (Curtis co-wrote Blackadder, after all). Nonetheless, they work equally well here without removing the viewer from the story at large despite the punch lines occasionally sounding very ... well, punchy.

The plot itself is rather simple. In fact, the title says it all, really. The vast majority of the action takes place almost exclusively within the five ceremonies. The film's appeal is in its characters and its relationships, and in true Curtis style (he wrote and directed Love Actually, after all), there is a multitude of minor characters filling in every nook and cranny. However, it is this excess of characters that inadvertently prevents total satisfaction. Several of the major supporting characters, despite having well-written distinct personalities, have largely underwritten journeys. Understandable, I suppose, when you consider that there are no less than half a dozen principal characters, each with stories requiring resolutions. The main storyline also suffers slightly with Charles' and Carrie's relationship seeming a tad too intermittent to be truly as deep as it is portrayed. I mean, they only see each other for one day at a time every few months. But perhaps I'm just being unromantic...

Hugh Grant plays Charles to sheepish perfection with constantly furrowed brow. For a rather unapologetically promiscuous character, Andie MacDowell plays Carrie inexplicably sweetly. The entire supporting cast are all impeccable, capturing the humour and pathos brilliantly. Standouts are: Kristin Scott Thomas, strong as the rich bitch, despite her unrequited love story being one of the more glossed over subplots; John Fleet, adorable as the clumsy, happy-go-lucky buffoon; and Rowan Atkinson, in superb comic form as the inept vicar.

1994 - Pulp Fiction

This post marks the 100th film to be reviewed for Matt vs. the Academy, a milestone that took a lot longer to reach than I first expected. If nothing else, it is pleasing to know that I haven't yet thrown in the towel. So, thank you for following along as I journey through Academy history and here's to the next 100!

Yesterday, I watched a modern classic from the 1994 Best Picture shortlist...

Pulp Fiction

Director:

Quentin Tarantino

Screenplay:

Quentin Tarantino & Roger Avary

Starring:

John Travolta, Samuel L. Jackson, Uma Thurman, Harvey Keitel, Tim Roth, Amanda Plummer, Maria de Madeiros, Ving Rhames, Eric Stoltz, Rosanna Arquette, Christopher Walken, Bruce Willis, Quentin Tarantino

Academy Awards:

7 nominations

1 win, for Best Original Screenplay

Essentially three episodes cleverly interwoven, Pulp Fiction jumps around in its chronology as it follows a few days in the lives of some less than savoury characters. In the first episode, Vincent Vega (Travolta), a well-dressed henchman of gangster Marcellus Wallace (Rhames), spends an evening with Wallace's wife Mia (Thurman) at his request. Vega is supposed to entertain her while Wallace is out of town, but her narcotic habit causes a few issues when she carelessly snorts some heroin. Episode two sees boxer Butch Coolidge (Willis) on the run after winning a fight in which Wallace had paid him to take a dive. He meets his girlfriend Fabienne (de Medeiros) in a motel, but is later forced to return to his apartment at great risk to fetch a forgotten family heirloom. Vega returns in the final episode with partner Jules Winnfield (Jackson), who vows to retire from his life of crime after the two miraculously survive a barrage of bullets from an unfriendly shooter. Before he gets the chance, though, Vega accidentally shoots their informant in the face while they are driving away. They hide the car in the garage of a friend (Tarantino) while waiting for assistance from the Wolf (Keitel), a clean-up expert.

A cult classic, Pulp Fiction features Tarantino's signature conversational dialogue. The conversations are often irrelevant to the plot and some lengthy scenes are unnecessarily wordy, but it's all so downright entertaining. And it's entertaining for different reasons at different times. Sometimes, it's gripping as when Jules intimidates his prey by babbling about tasty burgers. Other times, it's endearing as Mia and Vincent flirt over dinner. But mostly, it's just plain funny. (Do I even need to mention the discussion about the names of French McDonald's burgers?) Besides, this loquaciousness is not at the expense of the action. In fact, a great deal of Butch's story is told visually and there are plenty of tension-filled moments throughout.

Being a Tarantino film, you can also expect some eclectic music. Devoid of orchestral underscoring, the Pulp Fiction soundtrack is replete with provocative tunes, each perfectly appropriate in its placement. Most of the songs were once obscure but, thanks to the success of the film, they are now pleasingly familiar. The mood of the picture is set almost immediately when the sounds of Dick Dale's Miserlou warble over the opening credits.

Pulp Fiction sports another superb cast. John Travolta's (pictured) career was given a new direction after a smooth performance as the simple and nonchalant Vincent Vega, earning him a Best Actor nomination. In the supporting categories, Samuel L. Jackson received a much-deserved nod for his steely-eyed portrayal of the no-nonsense Jules, as did Uma Thurman for her alluring turn as the boss's wife. The great Christopher Walken appears in just one scene delivering a monologue that is intensely moving before suddenly turning absurd, the perfect vehicle for Walken. D-lister Kathy Griffin shows up in a very minor role as a passerby and is curiously credited as "Herself".

Now, if you'll indulge me for just one second, I'll relate my dubious connection to the film. Susan Griffiths, one of the world's foremost Marilyn Monroe impersonators, appears as the sultry star in Pulp Fiction's diner scene. About a year prior to the film's release, she was flown to Australia to star in a McDonald's commercial in which yours truly was an extra. To my great surprise, a Youtube search produced a fuzzy version of the spot, which is missing the first ten seconds or so. Rather unfortunately, it is these first few seconds that I could be seen. Still, I think one of those blurry bodies walking behind her is me. Just squint and imagine a younger version of me with more hair.

1994 - Quiz Show

The next year of review is finally under way, which means the new poll to decide the year of review after this one is ready for your votes. Just shift your eyes over to the right.

Yesterday, I began the task of sorting out the Best Picture nominees from 1994 by watching...

Quiz Show

Director:

Robert Redford

Screenplay:

Paul Attanasio

(based on the novel "Remembering America" by Richard Goodwin)

Starring:

John Turturro, Rob Morrow, Ralph Fiennes, Paul Scofield, David Paymer, Hank Azaria, Christopher McDonald

Academy Awards:

4 nominations

0 wins

Based on the real events surrounding the game show scandal of the late 1950s, Quiz Show follows the charming and intelligent Charles Van Doren (Fiennes) as he decides to take a shot at being a game show contestant. The producers at Twenty One (Paymer & Azaria) love his all-American vibe and the fact that his father (Scofield) is a Pulitzer prize-winning poet. Not to mention he would be a far more ratings-friendly champion than the current schlub Herb Stempel (Turturro). So, in order to make sure Van Doren ousts Stempel, they offer to ask Van Doren questions to which he already knows the answers. On moral grounds, he declines, preferring to beat Stempel fair and square, but the producers ignore him and go ahead with the deceitful plan anyway.

It's show time and host Jack Barry (McDonald) asks Van Doren a familiar question. In the heat of the moment, he pretends to contemplate the question and eventually answers correctly. And so begins a moral slippery slope as he agrees to be fed the answers prior to each show. A bitter Stempel attempts to blow the whistle on the scandal but he is all but ignored. His crowing, however, is enough to gain the attention of Harvard lawyer Dick Goodwin (Morrow) who then begins a Congressional investigation into the matter. Van Doren's fraudulent success on Twenty One eats away at him, but he continues to deny any allegations of corruption, a state of affairs that is further complicated by the cordial friendship he and Goodwin establish.

Quiz Show is one of those internal dramas that seems to defy the rules of dramatic tension. All the good screenwriting books will tell you to break up your story into action scenes and dialogue scenes to keep the pace of the narrative ebbing and flowing. Sometimes it's rapid-paced, then there's a breather. But before the audience falls asleep, you wake them up again with an exciting action scene. Put simply, when your characters have been talking for a while, throw in a car chase. However, Quiz Show contains almost no physical action whatsoever. In fact, major turning points in the film occur with just about every character on screen in a seated position. Almost paradoxically, though, there is a genuine sense of swift forward motion. The film is intensely gripping due to the internal struggles of its characters.

Robert Redford's exquisite direction creates a deliciously intriguing atmosphere. The morally ambiguous producers of the game show are introduced in darkly lit rooms and most of the back-room dealings are treated similarly. Redford makes clever use of the dolly zoom (as referenced in my musings on Jaws). But, whereas Spielberg caught Brody front on to accentuate the horror of what he saw, Van Doren's big moment is internal and hence, Redford places the camera behind him. But enough with the film-making lesson...

Redford also manages to maintain a very amiable tone despite the picture's intensity. Although, much of the credit for that belongs to screenwriter Paul Attanasio, whose script embodies another paradox: the funny drama. Consider Stempel's response to his wife when she craves more attention from him: "You want to be worshipped? Go to India and moo."

Ralph Fiennes (pictured) delivers a terrific performance as the conflicted Van Doren. But here's the film's (possibly only) flaw. Even though Fiennes succeeds in making Van Doren so incredibly likable, the character is a liar and a cheat. Yes, he feels guilty about the whole thing but he still tried to cover it up. The result was that I was torn about what I should feel about this guy. I could see he was troubled and ashamed by what he had done but I still felt icky about liking him. Don't get me wrong, it's a spectacularly fascinating study of a complicated man, but there was something slightly dissatisfying about the fact that he was the lead character. Of course, one could argue that Goodwin is the conscience of the film, but despite a superb portrayal by Rob Morrow, it's hard for an audience to fully get behind what is essentially an underwritten character. Goodwin is, in some ways, a mere observer. Mind you, none of that really matters considering how engrossing the picture is as a whole.

Adding to the film's intrigue is its curiously innovative casting, so I'll now spend a little more space than usual commenting on it. I've already mentioned the talented turns from Fiennes and Morrow. Rounding out the central characters is Herb Stempel, brilliantly portrayed with innocent volatility by John Turturro. Supporting that trio with comically sincere performances are David Paymer and Hank Azaria as the reprehensible producers. Then, in a delightfully ironic twist, Redford, who is far better known as an actor, fills two roles with actors who are far better known as directors. Martin Scorsese ably plays the slimy sales-focussed sponsor of the show and Barry Levinson is casually off-beat as NBC Today host Dave Garroway. To top it all off, the film is peppered with several familiar faces in minor roles, some of them unknown at the time, including Calista Flockhart as an adoring fan. The most curious cameo of all is an uncredited Ethan Hawke, whose twenty seconds of screen time is mostly spent off camera talking to Van Doren, Sr. Which brings us to the only performance in the film to be nominated for an Oscar, that of Paul Scofield, whose portrayal of the elder Van Doren is refreshingly simple yet immensely effective.

Best Picture of 1940

I'm now back in New York City after an exciting summer in Pennsylvania. My busy schedule during that time meant that reviewing this current selection of Best Picture nominees took well over two months, but after a much-needed recap of my musings, I'm now ready to make my decision on which of these entertaining films is most worthy of the top award.

The nominees for Best Picture of 1940 are:

• All This, and Heaven Too
• Foreign Correspondent
• The Grapes of Wrath
• The Great Dictator
• Kitty Foyle
• The Letter
• The Long Voyage Home
• Our Town
• The Philadelphia Story
• Rebecca

There's something to admire in each of these ten pictures. They all capture their respective moods very nicely, some more than others. A few have a slightly inconsistent atmosphere, though. In Foreign Correspondent, Hitchcock occasionally shines with some thrilling scenes, but not consistently enough for my taste. The Long Voyage Home contains some gripping sequences but feels disjointed as a whole. Likewise, Our Town has its moments, particularly towards the end, but its other flaws leave it a little wanting. Next out of the running is Kitty Foyle. While I would place it above the previous three films, it also suffers from a slight case of the not-quite-spectacular-enoughs.

Providing a stronger sense of direction are four classics that have stood the test of time - seven decades of time - and two rarely discussed and therefore surprisingly enjoyable pictures. All This, and Heaven Too is an intensely subtle romance tale, well worth a look for lovers of forbidden love stories. The Philadelphia Story is a classic screwball comedy, full of fun and humour, topped off with a charming cast. The Grapes of Wrath is a heartfelt story of one family's struggle that is both exciting and touching.

Then, there are two brilliantly moody mysteries. The classic, and eventual Oscar winner, Rebecca, is a filmmaking masterclass in how to create tension. The lesser known of the two, The Letter, deserves a greater place in film history than it received. Both are incredibly entertaining. But, for me, the winner is Charlie Chaplin's The Great Dictator with its ingenious blend of heart-wrenching emotion and slapstick comedy.

Best Picture of 1940
Academy's choice: Rebecca	Matt's choice: The Great Dictator

Your choice:

As always, you may voice your opinion on this slate of films by using the poll above. Next up is a selection of five films, most of which are extremely popular, so I foresee another difficult decision ahead of me.

And the nominees for Best Picture of 1994 are:

• Forrest Gump
• Four Weddings and a Funeral
• Pulp Fiction
• Quiz Show
• The Shawshank Redemption

Hopefully, we can resume a normal tempo of movie-watching again. Then again, I probably shouldn't promise anything...

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.

1940 - Kitty Foyle

For those who have not been paying attention, I'm currently performing in My Fair Lady at the Allenberry Playhouse. That's me on the right playing Colonel Pickering. Last week was a hectic week of final rehearsals, but our first few performances were received very well. Four more weeks to go! With such a busy schedule last week, there was little time left for this project, or anything else, for that matter, but now that the show has opened, things have settled down again. In fact, today, a few fellow cast members and I made the most of our first day off in two weeks by taking out the tubes and rafts for a slow trip down the Yellow Breeches.

On the weekend, I had a chance to catch another 1940 Best Picture nominee...

Kitty Foyle

Director:

Sam Wood

Screenplay:

Dalton Trumbo and Donald Ogden Stewart

(based on the novel by Christopher Morley)

Starring:

Ginger Rogers, Dennis Morgan, James Craig

Academy Awards:

5 nominations

1 win, for Best Actress (Rogers)

Young working class girl Kitty Foyle (Rogers) is dating a friendly doctor named Mark (Craig). Before Mark proposes marriage, he delicately enquires whether Kitty still has any feelings for her ex-beau, a high society Philadelphian named Wyn (Morgan). She promises that she no longer thinks of him. But no sooner has she accepted Mark's proposal than Wyn sweeps back in to whisk her away. He's married now, but somehow they both seem to be able to look past that minor detail.

So, Kitty has a choice: settle down with Mark or run away with Wyn. She talks it over with her mirror image who helpfully recaps her life leading up to this moment, with particular attention given to her on again, off again relationship with Wyn and the problems caused by their class difference.

The opening of Kitty Foyle is a little choppy, jumping around in time, but once the story settles into its main flashback portion, it becomes a lot more engaging. However, due to the decent amount of exposition before the flashback, we are already mostly aware of the state of Kitty's current relationships, which creates a peculiar sensation as the flashback unfolds. Initially, one feels a sense of inevitability as Kitty and Wyn begin their love affair. But even if you think you know where it's all heading, there are still plenty of ups and downs throughout the picture that hold your attention.

By today's standards, the special effects employed to give the illusion that Kitty has a mirror image capable of independence are relatively basic, but considering when this film was made, it is an impressive achievement. Not to mention its effect as a literary device. It's the rational experienced Kitty talking to the impulsive modern Kitty, reminding her of how she got into this dilemma. Despite a clever script, I have to question one minor detail. While working at the department store, Kitty moves to call the stock room, but accidentally presses the burglar alarm instead. What kind of horrible telecommunications design is that to have the stock room call button and the alarm button right next to each other?

Ginger Rogers bagged her only Oscar nomination for this title role, winning the coveted Best Actress award. And a well deserved win it is, too. She clearly proves she is not just Fred Astaire's dancing partner. The two men of Kitty Foyle, Dennis Morgan and James Craig are a little dry, but in fairness, this is Ginger Rogers' movie, so it's almost fitting that they are not as memorable. And that inexplicably cute kid from All This, and Heaven Too, Richard Nichols, also appears briefly here, just as cute as before.

1940 - The Philadelphia Story

I remember when television shows would screen the end credits in their entirety. Often, there was a voice over while the credits rolled, promoting another show on the same channel. Fair enough. A little while ago, to capitalise on advertising time, some channels began squishing the credits to one side of the screen and presenting a video promo on the other side. Okay, no biggie. But recently I witnessed what must be the conclusion to this escalation. I saw the next show begin as the previous show's credits flashed in a tiny font at the bottom of the screen. Now, that's efficiency.

Yesterday, I had a chance to watch another classic from 1940's Best Picture ballot...

The Philadelphia Story

Director:

George Cukor

Screenplay:

Donald Ogden Stewart

(based on the play by Philip Barry)

Starring:

Cary Grant, Katharine Hepburn, James Stewart, Ruth Hussey, John Howard

Academy Awards:

6 nominations

2 wins, including Best Actor (Stewart)

Tracy Lord (Hepburn) is an upper-class socialite set to wed the dependable George Kittredge (Howard). Tracy's ex-husband, the arrogant yet suave C.K. Dexter Haven (Grant), shows up the day before the nuptials to stir up some trouble. He brings with him a reporter Macaulay Connor (Stewart) and a photographer Liz Imbrie (Hussey), who are both introduced as "friends of the family" in order that they can secretly cover the wedding of the year. But the evening brings a few surprises, mostly induced by the flow of alcohol, and with three men in her vicinity, Tracy begins to doubt where her affections truly lie.

The entertainment value of The Philadelphia Story lies mostly within its words and its performances. Another adaptation of a stage play, the picture unsurprisingly sees very little action and an abundance of dialogue. Indeed, once the main plot has been set up, not much happens other than conversation. Fortunately, all this talk is delightfully witty, with such gems as Tracy's line regarding her first marriage, "I thought it was for life, but the nice judge gave me a full pardon." Additionally, the words are delivered in a typically effective fast-paced manner. Thus, despite the lack of major activity, there are no lulls and the film feels a lot shorter than it is. The ending may feel a touch too neat, but this is a romantic comedy, after all, so it is an appropriate conclusion, sure to put a heartwarming smile on the faces of fans of the genre.

The three leads are a major reason why this picture has remained such a classic. Grant, Hepburn and Stewart (pictured) are all at the top of their respective games. Stewart, in particular, provides plenty of laughs with his adorable drunken behaviour. Ruth Hussey successfully holds her own amongst that famous trio. Playing Tracy's younger sister Dinah is Virginia Weidler, also seen in another 1940 Best Picture nominee All This, and Heaven Too. Here, she proves her talent, delivering a mature performance, including a delightful rendition of one of Groucho Marx's signature tunes, Lydia the Tattooed Lady.

1940 - All This, and Heaven Too

It is undoubtedly summer in Pennsylvania. This week, the heat has been almost unbearable, topping 38 degrees Celsius, which sounds much more powerful and effective when expressed in Fahrenheit: It's a hundred degrees! As I write this, the weather gadget on my computer desktop is displaying the temperature in Boiling Springs as N/A. I can only assume that the intense heat has broken the recording instruments.

Yesterday, I remained indoors as much as possible, where I watched another film from the selection of 1940's Best Picture nominees...

All This, and Heaven Too

Director:

Anatole Litvak

Screenplay:

Casey Robinson

(based on the novel by Rachel Field)

Starring:

Bette Davis, Charles Boyer, Barbara O'Neil, Jeffrey Lynn

Academy Awards:

3 nominations

0 wins

Mademoiselle Henriette Deluzy (Davis) is the new French teacher at a girls school in mid-nineteenth-century England. Her first day is marred by taunts from her impudent students, who have heard rumours that their teacher was involved in a tragic and sordid scandal, forcing her to leave France. Rather than let the gossip run wild, Deluzy throws away the lesson plan for the day and attempts to set the record straight by narrating her own version of the story.

Several years ago, Mademoiselle Henriette Desportes (as she was known before scandal forced her to change her name) served as governess to the four children of Duc de Praslin (Boyer) and his capriciously moody wife, the Duchesse de Praslin (O'Neil). While Henriette wins the hearts of all the children, she is subjected to the Duchesse's constant emotional episodes. This erratic behaviour has already pushed the Duc away from his wife and he is now secretly smitten with Henriette, who just as secretly reciprocates. Although both dare not act on their feelings, stifling any urges they have, the Duchesse's paranoia translates into bitter jealousy, making life miserable for everybody involved.

The opening of All This, and Heaven Too successfully sets up an intriguing mystery, releasing just the right amount of information so as to make the audience want more. It is this gossip in all of us that delights in uncovering the facts of any juicy scandal, so when Henriette begins to tell her tale, we can't wait to hear all the sordid details. It turns out, however, that the story is actually heart-breakingly poignant, but by the time we have heard it all, we are so invested in the characters, that we can forgive the lack of sordidness.

The screenplay is a prime example of the power of inference. Just like a good British period drama about forbidden love (the ones that Merchant-Ivory do so well), this picture manages to communicate the strong desire and yearning of its two lead characters without having them say a word about it. The love affair between Henriette and the Duc is understated, full of longing looks and subtext-filled metaphors, without any overt mention that they are even attracted to each other. Other people gossip about the pair, but neither Henriette nor the Duc ever let slip their true feelings. Until the end, of course - and I'm about to ruin it for you now - when the Duc makes a deathbed confession of his deep affection for Henriette, a passionate declaration that is made all the more satisfying due to the fact that he has remained so silent about it up until that point. It is like an enormous weight has been lifted and all the tension that has pervaded the story's atmosphere simply fades away.

Bette Davis and Charles Boyer are both superb in their subtlety. Barbara O'Neil (who you may remember as Scarlett O'Hara's mother) is frighteningly convincing as the crazy bitch, earning herself the film's only acting nomination. You may also recognise Isabelle, the eldest daughter. That's 60s sitcom mom June Lockhart. And I cannot go without mentioning Richard Nichols as the youngest child, Reynald, who is possibly the cutest child to appear on screen. He even manages to remain adorable while delivering (in an equally adorable Southern drawl) the morbidly philosophical line, "But my white rabbit died and I loved it better than the brown one that didn't."

1940 - Foreign Correspondent

Life in Boiling Springs, Pennsylvania is quiet. That much is certain. While I enjoy that silence in comparison to the unrelenting noise of New York City, it is accompanied by few options in the way of entertainment. Quiet towns, I guess, are quiet specifically because there is not much going on. Not that I want to discourage people from visiting. I hear there's a very fine playhouse here with a couple of very entertaining shows this summer.

In my down time today, I watched another nominee from 1940's Best Picture shortlist...

Foreign Correspondent

Director:

Alfred Hitchcock

Screenplay:

Charles Bennett, Joan Harrison, James Hilton and Robert Benchley

Starring:

Joel McCrea, Laraine Day, Herbert Marshall, George Sanders, Albert Bassermann, Robert Benchley

Academy Awards:

6 nominations

0 wins

One of two Alfred Hitchcock films nominated for Best Picture in 1940, Foreign Correspondent begins innocently as a drama about New York Globe reporter Johnny Jones (McCrea), whose fresh assignment as a foreign correspondent is to travel to Europe and get the scoop on the impending war. Under the pen name Huntley Haverstock, our intrepid reporter soon becomes embroiled in political intrigue as he witnesses the murder of Dutch diplomat Van Meer (Bassermann) ... or does he? Haverstock uncovers a kidnapping plot at the heart of a larger conspiracy, but establishing it to those around him proves difficult even with the help of British reporter Scott ffolliott (Sanders), who is not at all concerned about his surname's lack of a capital letter. Somehow, during all this excitement, Haverstock also has time to fall in love with peace activist Carol Fisher (Day).

As Foreign Correspondent begins, there is no indication that this is an Alfred Hitchcock film. The opening prologue, written on screen, glorifies the role of the foreign correspondent, leading the audience to believe the ensuing drama will be a realistic portrayal of the sacrifices made by a man living away from home as he attempts to heroically inform the people of his home country of the most important news abroad. And the first twenty minutes or so of the film do well to maintain this charade. Then, suddenly, almost without warning, there is a cold-blooded public murder and our hero becomes involved in chasing the assassin. Throughout the course of the film, he escapes several attempts on his life, as well as surviving a plane crash. While many real-life foreign correspondents might find themselves in dangerous situations, especially in wartime, I suspect there are precious few who have dealt with these kinds of circumstances.

That is not a complaint, by the way. Hitchcock is well-known for surprising his audience, and the political assassination that sparks off the events of the film is enticingly unexpected. The scenes that immediately follow are classic Hitchcock, full of heart-stopping suspense, but the story disappointingly only allows for a few more sequences with that level of tension and, consequently, the picture drags a little in between these moments. The plot is not as simple as it could be and often includes characters making seemingly unjustifiable decisions. Nonetheless, Hitchcock shines when he is given the opportunity. The plane crash sequence is particularly brilliant.

Despite the story flaws, the dialogue is witty and playful, evidenced by an exchange between Haverstock and ffolliott, in which Haverstock informs the other man of Van Meer's death. ffolliott offers a typically British, "Bad show," to which Haverstock replies, "Couldn't be much worse from his point of view."

Joel McCrea as Haverstock is eager and charming. George Sanders plays the British reporter with his usual caustic brilliance. German actor Albert Bassermann delivers a moving performance as Van Meer that earned him a Best Supporting Actor nomination. Spotting Hitchcock's standard cameo is relatively easy in this one. He's on the street reading a paper (pictured) when Haverstock first notices Van Meer. And if I didn't know any better, I could have sworn that was Danny DeVito as the excitable Latvian.

1940 - The Long Voyage Home

Rehearsals are in full swing here at the Allenberry Playhouse in Boiling Springs, Pennsylvania. Fortunately, I have found some free time to continue this silly little project of mine. The poll to decide the next year of review is ready for your input and, considering there are ten nominees in the current year, I suspect you will have plenty of time to vote.

We begin the review of 1940's Best Picture contenders with...

The Long Voyage Home

Director:

John Ford

Screenplay:

Dudley Nichols

(based on the four Glencairn Plays by Eugene O'Neill)

Starring:

John Wayne, Thomas Mitchell, Ian Hunter, Barry Fitzgerald, Wilfrid Lawson, John Qualen, Ward Bond

Academy Awards:

6 nominations

0 wins

One of two John Ford films nominated for Best Picture in 1940, The Long Voyage Home follows the crew of the freighter SS Glencairn as they sail from the West Indies back home to Mother England with a shipment of explosives that they are secretly transporting to aid in the Allies' war effort. The motley crew consists of an Irish troublemaker (Mitchell), a simple Swedish farmboy (Wayne), a furtive ex-alcoholic (Hunter), a caustic steward (Fitzgerald) and a neurotic teetotaler (Qualen), amongst others. They battle through rough seas and enemy fire and, at one point, suspect one of their own of being a spy. Their onboard antics keep them sane, however, as they attempt to make it through ... (wait for it) ... the long voyage home.

Since the script is based on four one-act plays, the story feels decidedly episodic. All the "episodes" involve the same characters so there is still a sense of continuity, but at the same time, the picture is somewhat disjointed. However, taken on their own merits, each vignette stands up very well. In particular, the storyline revolving around the crew's suspicions of a spy in their midst is especially engrossing. Its climax contains the film's most moving moments.

There are several sections in The Long Voyage Home that play out with very few words spoken, making for some captivating cinema. Director John Ford is extremely adept at telling the story visually. In addition, the special effects employed during the storm sequence are effectively simple. Dumping vat loads of water on to the set is all it takes.

John Wayne, in the role of Olsen, is billed first, yet he hardly speaks two sentences until the final act. And the way the other characters treated him, I initially thought that Olsen was slow. Turns out he's just Swedish. Anyway, The Long Voyage Home is clearly an ensemble piece and the cast is very capable. Particularly memorable are John Qualen, Barry Fitzgerald and Thomas Mitchell (pictured). Qualen and Fitzgerald expertly provide the humour. And watching Mitchell has been one of the great joys of this project. Here, he adds to his other Matt vs. the Academy appearances with an absorbing portrayal of the unpredictable yet loyal Driscoll.

Best Picture of 2002

It's hardly worth mentioning any more, but yet again, I have reviewed five more excellent films. The 2002 crop of Best Picture contenders is an impressive assortment worthy of their nominations. My pick of the bunch was not an incredibly difficult decision, but it was a close call, nonetheless.

The nominees for Best Picture of 2002 are:

• Chicago
• Gangs of New York
• The Hours
• The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers
• The Pianist

The fascinating thing about this collection is the level of disillusionment one takes away from each film. Despite their artistic and entertainment value, each picture presents a relatively bleak view of life, sometimes leaving the audience with little faith in humanity. They each retain the positive aspects of their respective genres while introducing some darker themes to boot. Of course, there's nothing wrong with dark themes. The films are all very effective and touching. It's just interesting that they were all nominated together, that's all.

The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers achieves the awe and wonder inherent in a good fantasy film, but adds to it a good dollop of evil, which occasionally produces some surprisingly naturalistic pathos. The sole musical of the bunch, Chicago, succeeds in providing its genre's greatest assets. Indeed, its enthusiasm and excitement won over the Academy, yet it features as its leads a host of rather despicable characters. The Hours takes on depression as its main area of exploration, particularly the depression associated with the fear of leading a wasted life. It's hard to leave that one with a smile on your face.

Gangs of New York wears its violence on its sleeve, and its protagonist, although motivated by the desire to honour his father, could be more accurately described as being consumed with revenge. Finally, in The Pianist, we are presented with ignorant bigoted genocide, a more depressing theme is hard to find. While it may not have garnered Oscar's top prize (although, the Academy is not shy about its respect for Holocaust films), for its emotionally powerful journey, The Pianist will be declared my choice of Best Picture of 2002.

Best Picture of 2002
Academy's choice: Chicago	Matt's choice: The Pianist

Your choice:

Vote for your own favourite with the poll above. We move now to another year of ten nominees by reviewing the films up for consideration in 1940, a collection which happens to include a number of classics.

And the nominees for Best Picture of 1940 are:

• All This, and Heaven Too
• Foreign Correspondent
• The Grapes of Wrath
• The Great Dictator
• Kitty Foyle
• The Letter
• The Long Voyage Home
• Our Town
• The Philadelphia Story
• Rebecca

My current rehearsal schedule may begin to encroach on my movie-watching duties, so please don't be surprised if there is a short delay before we get to these fine films. I'll do my best to keep the hiatus to a minimum.

2002 - The Pianist

Well, I'm settled in here at the Allenberry Playhouse in Boiling Springs, Pennsylvania. Music rehearsals began yesterday and, for those of you familiar with My Fair Lady, you'll know that Col. Pickering is not required to flex his singing muscle all that much. Consequently, I have had a grand total of 45 minutes of rehearsal time in the past two days, which is good news for Matt vs. the Academy because it meant I could watch another film today. This wealth of free time will not last forever, though. In fact, tomorrow, we begin rehearsing scenes and again, for those familiar with My Fair Lady, you'll know that Col. Pickering, despite his sparse dialogue, spends a great deal of his time sitting in the background.

Last chance to vote for the next year of review. The poll is waiting for your mouse to click it.

Earlier today, I viewed the last of the 2002 Best Picture nominees...

The Pianist

Director:

Roman Polanski

Screenplay:

Ronald Harwood

(based on the memoir by Wladyslaw Szpilman)

Starring:

Adrien Brody, Thomas Kretschmann, Emilia Fox, Ed Stoppard, Maureen Lipman, Frank Finlay

Academy Awards:

7 nominations

3 wins, including Best Director and Best Actor (Brody)

Based on the autobiography by noted Polish musician Wladyslaw Szpilman, The Pianist relates his unthinkable struggle for survival as a Jew in Nazi-occupied Warsaw. In 1939, when the SS first enter Poland, Szpilman and his family are subjected to greater and greater humiliations in the form of official decrees that essentially ban Jews from leading normal lives. Soon, they are imprisoned inside a Jewish ghetto with hundreds of thousands of others, starving and desperate.

As crowds of Jews are being forcibly shoved onto cattle trains headed for the Treblinka concentration camp, Szpilman is saved at the last minute by a family friend. He spends the next few years scrambling from place to place, hiding from Nazi officers with a little help from members of the Jewish uprising and the Polish resistance. As the war rages on around him, he witnesses all sorts of inhumane atrocities, managing to barely maintain sanity by playing imaginary pianos.

I previously commented on the bleakness of The Hours but it is now evident that the bleakness crown sits well atop the head of The Pianist. The first act of this powerful Holocaust drama presents the slow descent of Warsaw's Jewish population into a horrendously debilitating predicament. First, they are limited in their wealth. Then, they are denied access to parks and certain restaurants. Then, they are forced to wear armbands, publicly labelling themselves as Jews. These scenes are carefully presented one by one, ominously capturing the incremental debasement of Nazi policy, intended to lessen the incidence of resistance. Each demeaning decree is such a small step from the last that the injustice is almost unnoticeable - kind of like the growth of a fingernail. Nobody suspects that the conclusion will be fatal, so before they know it, the Szpilman family are in line waiting to be sent to their deaths.

Although the first third of the film is devoted to these unfolding events that affect the entire Jewish population of the city, the rest of the film is a very personal journey of survival. As people come in and out of Szpilman's life to either help or hurt him, it is painfully clear that he is on his own. Despite his incredible survival instinct, however, he is a somewhat passive character, a perfectly understandable trait given his circumstances. He requires the kindness of others plus a bit of luck in order to survive. Many battles and uprisings occur in his vicinity while he attempts to remain inconspicuous. Director Roman Polanski accentuates this point by allowing us only to see these battles from a distance, just as Szpilman does, watching the violence through a window. Still, once all of Szpilman's contacts have inevitably abandoned him, passiveness is no longer an option and he finds a way to keep going, spurred on by the memory of music.

It is certainly a tad disheartening to concede that humans are capable of inflicting this sort of blindly stupid cruelty on each other and The Pianist is such a simply told story that this message is so easily accessible. Depressing, perhaps, although the film balances its evil characters with a fair number of brave and selfless ones as well. In fact, the point is also made that you cannot always be sure of who is good and who is bad. Szpilman suffers due to neglect from a man who is supposedly working with the resistance, while at another time, he is aided by a Nazi officer.

As Szpilman, Adrien Brody (pictured) is superb in his breakout role, reportedly studying piano technique fiercely prior to shooting. His playing is definitely realistic despite the fact that the actual recordings (and some of the close-up shots of hands) were provided by classical Polish pianist Janusz Olejniczak. It is difficult to single out any other performance, partly because Brody is so prominent and partly because the supporting actors are equally impressive. So, instead you will have to trust me when I say that the rest of the cast support Brody wonderfully. Truly, the casting is spectacular.

The images in The Pianist are unmistakably powerful. Undoubtedly, however, I am more deeply affected by this subject matter due to my own Jewish heritage. I imagine it is something akin to the way an African-American must feel when watching a film about slavery. There is an inexplicable affinity in witnessing this persecution knowing that your own ancestors suffered similar adversity. Having said that, though, the film is still required to be well-made and avoid any trivialising of the issue. And on those counts, The Pianist succeeds.