Ray Enright's Dancing Sweeties (1930)

 Dancing Sweeties is a charming film from the very beginning of the talkie era: a drama, a comedy and a musical.  Bill Cleaver (Grant Withers) ditches his partner to dance with Needles Thompson's (Eddie Phillips) girl Molly O'Neil (Sue Carol) and they win the dance competition cup, dancing to and singing with "The Kiss Waltz" at Hoffman's Parisian Dance Palace.  While Bill and Molly are drinking their cokes the manager is forced to find another couple who want to get married in the dance palace, the original bride having bolted when she finds out the groom is an undertaker.  Bill and Molly agree to marry on the spot, mainly because they are stuck at home with tyrannical parents and the married couple will get their own furnished flat.

For a while things go okay, until Bill (who works at a soda fountain) wants to return to dancing and sneaks out to do so; they are headed for a divorce until they see each other with different partners at the dance palace and reconcile.  The last shot of the film is of Bill and Molly walking in the park with their babies, twins.  The film is full of dancing, jazz and slangy conversation ("he's got such a swelled head he has to put his hat on with a shoehorn") but symbolizes the end of the twenties, as Bill and Molly realize that leaving their parents means it is time to grow up and be responsible.  This sixty-two minute film is efficently directed by journeyman Ray Enright and shot by cinematographer Robert Kirrle, who both had long careers in mostly B films.

A Light in the Dark: A History of Movie Directors by David Thomson

 Yet Bunuel's rating on the movie stock exchange is slipping.  No matter that so many of us seem always hurrying after a meal that does not materialize.  Despite the settled marriages in which the partners are somehow looking offscreen.  Still, his seasons or fetes are less often now.  Perhaps his insights are too unsettling for a community content with dreams and white lies.  I fear his status is passing out of reach -- and there are other directors for whom that shade has arrived:  Josef von Sternberg, King Vidor, Mizoguchi, and even Jean Renoir.

-- David Thomson. A History of Movie Directors (Knopf, 2021)

David Thomson, who wrote the indispensible The Biographical Dictionary of Film, here meanders a bit in a stream of consciousness about a number of different directors, from Fritz Lang to Quentin Tarantino, and his rambling thoughts about their roles in film history and whether they will be remembered or not.  As he says, "Who directed Ozark?" one might think this would lead to a discussion about the current auteurs of streaming TV shows, but it doesn't (there are a number of choices and reasons, from showrunners such Ronald D. Moore of the intelligent time travel series Outlander to writers such as David E. Kelley of Mr. Mercedes).  Whatever one's opinion of Howard Hawks or Alfred Hitchcock may be Thomson has his own interesting and intelligent comments and analyses.  Certain things I agree with him about (the ultimate blandness of Spielberg and Tarantino) and others I completely disagree (Fritz Lang's American films never lived up to the quality of his German ones), but he always acknowledges the social factors at work.

In any case, Thomson's book has encouraged me to seek out again quite a number of movies (especially those of Stephen Frears, whose Philomena in 2013 I particulary liked) as well as books, with his recommendations of books on Renoir and Mizoguchi, though he shares my disappointment that the torrent of good books on film has been reduced to a trickle, though there a number of good ones in French that have not yet been translated.  He is also encouraging in his efforts to rethink and rewatch what one may have already formed an opinion about. 

Robert Traver's Anatomy of a Murder (1958)

 It is a measure of how well he succeeded that in this page-turning novel the trial doesn't even begin until halfway through the book.  And it is this digging into the past of the various witnesses, the uncovering of secrets, the finding of evidence that is the anatomy of a murder.  And it is the law that is the true hero of the book.

--John Steele Gordon, "The Middle Ground of Fiction," The New Criterion March 2021

"To prove your insanity.  Insanity, Lieutenant, is a medical question and for us, the defense, to create a legal issue on that score we must present expert testimony that you were insane.  Once that is done, however, the issue is created and then the burder of disproving your insanity falls squarely on the People.  That is our biggest and most pressing problem."

--Robert Traver, Anatomy of a Murder, St. Martin's Press (1958)

Robert Traver was a pseudonym for John D. Voelker, an attorney in the upper peninsula of Michigan, where Anatomy of a Murder is set.  The book is a detailed look at a murder trial, narrated in the first person by defense attorney Paul Biegler, and crammed with detail about the trial, the law and life in that somewhat sparsely populated area of the state.  We often get to hear what Biegler is thinking as the prosecution makes its case and even as Biegler presents his defense, trying to counter and outthink the prosecution (it helps that he was a prosecuter himself until he got voted out of office).  A soldier is on trial for shooting the man who raped his wife and with the help of a possibly temporary sober and crusty assistant, Parnell McCarthy, Biegler mounts an insanity defense.  The complex plot is the thing here, though the unmarried and aging Biegler does have the beginning of a relationship with one of the female witnesses.  The book is very much a product of its time, when murder trials were rather short and lawyers were mostly male. their reliable secretaries female, and victims of rape not always taken seriously.  Though the writing is somewhat on the folksy side the legal details and the personalities -- from the judge and the lawyers to the law enforcement officials and the jurors -- are effectively portrayed. 

Todd Haynes's Carol (2015)

 Yes, I do occasionally like a contemporary film and Carol is another intelligent and personal film by Todd Haynes, whose artistic interest in the 1950's (see his 2002 film Far from Heaven, an inspired remake of Douglas Sirk's All That Heaven Allows from 1955) shows an understanding of the relevance of the period to today.  Carol is essentially a two-character film, with Cate Blanchett as the wealthy Carol and Rooney Mara as the shopgirl Therese with whom she has an affair.  The subtlety of the characters and their relationship harkens back to D.W. Griffith, with its understated understanding of how much is expressed by facial expressions that take the place of words, within a structure of flashbacks that circle back around to the present in the manner of David Lean's Brief Encounter (1945).

The period re-creations are effectively muted; the film takes place from late 1952 to early 1953, as Eisenhower's inauguration and Hank Williams death are heard in the background, along with the music of Eddie Fisher and Patti Page; Haynes and scriptwriter Phyllis Nagy demonstrate in a low-key way how much has changed since 1952 but also how much has remained the same.  Edward Lachman's slightly grainy and smoky color cinematography evokes the fifties, while Carter Burwell's Philip-Glass-like score captures the subdued emotions of the period.

Steven Cantor's Twyler Moves on American Masters (2021)

 Deuce Coupe is fresh and exciting because it is closer to its source in popular culture than most pop or "jazz" ballets ever care to be.

--Arlene Croce, The New Yorker, Oct. 29 1973.

I find it difficult to figure out Twyla Tharp; Steven Cantor's film for PBS is of little help.  He covers her career from modern dancer and choreographer to her present choreographing on Zoom in detail, with a wealth of documentation but no comments from dance critics or writers.  Tharp's work has given me much pleasure over the years, from Deuce Coupe for the Joffrey and her own company to Movin' Out in 2002 on Broadway, with music by Billy Joel. When she was still dancing she reminded one of Buster Keaton, with her deadpan expression, and in 1976 she did Push Comes to Shove on Keaton-like Mikhail Baryshnikov.  She started out doing modern dance without music, moved to dance with popular music and then eventually after the death of Balanchine moved more directly into ballet, doing two ballets for NYC Ballet:  Brahms/Handel (1984, co-choreographed with Jerome Robbins; it was obvious who had done what in the choreography) and Beethoven Seventh, neither of which has been performed in the last fifteen years.  

Tharp has choreographed more than 160 dances for her own company, ballet companies, movies, Broadway and even for ice dancer John Curry.  Tharp has a distinctive and idosyncratic style, with unusual port de bras and use of turnout as well as intense relationship to the music and a deadpan sense of humor (she did a piece for The Martha Graham company that was a subtle parody of the Graham style!).  How much of this work will continue to be danced remains to be seen, but in Cantor's documentary she is still hard at work -- as she is about to turn eighty -- choreographing a piece with Misty Copeland, Herman Cornejo and Maria Khoreva via video conference.

Leaving a Doll's House by Claire Bloom (1996)

 But something ominous had taken place during the interval between the time of my proposal and Philip's reply, which I had chosen to disregard.  Had I done otherwise , it would have given me the clearest message that the marriage was no more than Philip paying lip-service to my desire to be married.

--Claire Bloom, Leaving a Doll's House (Little, Brown and Company, 1996)

Claire Bloom's life was one of professional success and marital failure.  I have never seen Bloom's theatrical work but have always enjoyed her films, from Chaplin's Limelight in 1952 to The King's Speech in 2010.  She writes about her films and plays with intelligence and passion and about her marriages with dismay and regret for the red flags she constantly ignored.  Her father was a distanced presence until he eventually deserted the family completely and perhaps Bloom was reacting to that.  Her happiest liaisons were relatively early in her career -- especially with married Richard Burton -- but her three marriages to depressed and unfaithful men, which she writes about with regretful introspection, were disasters.  Rod Steiger, with whom she had a daughter, was followed by Hillard Elkins and then Philip Roth, a serial philanderer and mysoginist (have you read his books, where he doesn't even try to disguise this?) who never wanted children and treated his stepdaughter, Anna Steiger, with unconcealed dislike, often requiring Bloom to choose between them.

Bloom writes intelligently about all this and is relatively honest about the mistakes she made in her personal life, particularly her willingness to give into men,  while keeping a grip on her acting opportunities

A Dog's Ransom by Patricia Highsmith

When Clarence awakened the events the events of last evening went tumbling through his mind until he stopped them by deliberate effort.  The Pole might be dead, he thought.  And if he wasn't dead?  He would say it was the cop Dummell who -- had attacked him and beaten him nearly to death.  Clarence knew that he had flung himself on Rowajinski like a maniac.  He had hit Rowajinski with his gun.

---Patricia Highsmith, A Dog's Ransom (Knopf, 1972)

I hadn't read any Highsmith recently until I read Terry Castle's review in the London Review of Books of a new biography.  I'm not one who thinks it's necessary to know anything about a writer's life to enjoy their books but Highsmith's life is an interesting one, if only because with all her life's complexities and problems she was able to write some superb prose; she creates a world of her own.  The world of A Dog's Ransom strongly resembles the New York City of the 70's, with much of the story taking place in Greenwich Village, where I lived at the time, with its relatively low rents and diverse population.  Clare Duhammel, a policeman with a college degree who is called "Dummell" by his fellow cops,  tries to help a couple whose dog has been taken by the dubious Kenneth Rowajnski, who sends a note to the dog owners demanding a ransom, even though Rowajinski had killed the dog immediately.  Clarence takes the crime seriously, unlike his fellow patrolmen, and tries to track down the dognapper.  Clarence finds Kenneth but things start to go bad immediately, as Rowajnski starts to harass Marylyn after he is seen by a psychiatrist and released; Marylyn is Clarence's girlfriend, a hippie who hates cops and proceeds to break up with Clarence.  After Clarence kills Rowajinski the other cops investigating the murder start harassing Clarence, Marylyn, the dog's owners, and even Clarence's parents in Queens.  As often happens in Highsmith's misanthropic novels those who try to do the best end up the worst.