Now that March is almost here and I am rather on the mend it is time to get back to some of my regular postings. (For the record, my post about my ballet performance was January 19th and the one about being hit by a motorcar was Feb. 23).
March 1. Mark Sandrich's Shall We Dance? (1937). My favorite of the Rogers/Astaire musicals: elegant dancing, lovely music, beautiful comedy.
March 5. Mark Robson's The Seventh Victim (1943). The eeriest of Val Lewton's low-budget horror films.
March 11. Otto Preminger's Bunny Lake is Missing (1965). A neglected film of extraordinary visual style, in wide-screen black-and-white.
March 12 and 28. Raoul Walsh's They Died With Their Boots On (1941). A fascinating film about George Armstrong Custer, as mythopoeic as they come.
March 20. Samuel Fuller's Park Row (1952). A film about the early days of newspapers, full of passion and feeling.
March 21. Anthony Mann's Man of the West (1958). About the last days of the West, and the classical Western.
March 22. Vincente Minnelli's Some Came Running. A great Minnelli melodrama about the hypocrisies of small towns, with a powerful Elmer Bernstein score.
And, as always, I recommend any movies by Hitchcock, Lang, Ford, King Vidor. And don't be afraid to try something you have never heard of: you can always e-mail me and I'll let you know if I've seen it and/or what I may know about it
Saturday, February 28, 2015
Monday, February 23, 2015
I Was Struck by a Hit-and-Run Car
On Jan. 23 I was crossing Ridge Blvd. to pick up my three-year-old daughter from day care, at about 5:30 P.M., when I was struck by an incredible force and hurled to the curb, where my head hit the pavement with a terrific impact. The next thing I knew I was giving my wife Susan's phone number to someone, who was quickly able to reach her at the near-by supermarket. Someone did get a partial plate number but the police never found the car. Susan was able to find a babysitter and followed me to Lutheran Medical Center where I was almost immediately put into intensive care, though fortunately I was intact: no skull fracture or broken bones (but plenty of bleeding). That first night was the worst, as they did not want to medicate my head until they were sure I was compos mentis; Susan held my hand and talked to me while it felt as though hot butter knives were being thrust in my ears. Finally in the morning they gave me some morphine, which did help somewhat. Unfortunately for me I was an unusual patient: eight years ago I had had an aortic dissection and had been taking Coumadin, a blood-thinner, ever since. Without going into too much detail, that meant that to reduce the bleeding in my brain they had to reduce the blood thinner, risking clogging that aortic valve and causing a blood clot. It became a delicate balance, with constant brain scans to make sure errors were not being made in one direction or the other. I was moved out of intensive care once and then back again when the bleeding became too severe. Eventually they were able to stop the bleeding in the brain and bring me into rehab. The occupational therapists (who teach one how to increase endurance, boil water, and take a shower) and the physical therapists (who work on balance and strength) were well-trained and helpful, knowing just how far to push one. I had an hour daily each of OT and PT and also an hour of speech therapy. The ST was mostly unrelated to my accident, but rather because of a paralyzed vocal cord that had been nipped during my last aortic surgery six years ago and I had just been tolerating, laughing when people called me "miss" on the phone.
For me the worst part of being in the hospital is the boredom. They are good at giving you painkillers and feeding you, though the food, of course, is terrible (dry rice and chicken, grey canned green beans, etc. and I only received jello once the whole time I was there!). I love to read and I love to watch movies and I love to listen to music, but only if I can do so comfortably, not propped up in an uncomfortable hospital bed while one' s roommate listens to and watches the cartoon network. I did have my faithful Walkman with me but the situation in radio has become more dismal than ever (you think TV is a vast wasteland?!) and WKCR and WQXR did not come in very well. The nurses and doctors, when one can find them, are helpful and friendly, mostly. But one can sleep only so much! Anyway, at the moment I am safely home and will write more when I have had time to spend with my beautiful daughter Victoria! My unending thanks to her, my lovely son Gideon and my sweet wife Susan.
For me the worst part of being in the hospital is the boredom. They are good at giving you painkillers and feeding you, though the food, of course, is terrible (dry rice and chicken, grey canned green beans, etc. and I only received jello once the whole time I was there!). I love to read and I love to watch movies and I love to listen to music, but only if I can do so comfortably, not propped up in an uncomfortable hospital bed while one' s roommate listens to and watches the cartoon network. I did have my faithful Walkman with me but the situation in radio has become more dismal than ever (you think TV is a vast wasteland?!) and WKCR and WQXR did not come in very well. The nurses and doctors, when one can find them, are helpful and friendly, mostly. But one can sleep only so much! Anyway, at the moment I am safely home and will write more when I have had time to spend with my beautiful daughter Victoria! My unending thanks to her, my lovely son Gideon and my sweet wife Susan.
Tuesday, January 20, 2015
Mike Leigh's Mr. Turner
It is with some sadness that I report my disappointment with Mike Leigh's latest film, since he is one of the few directors whose new films I look forward to. Mr. Turner is an incoherent mess. The "biopic" of an artist is, of course, a most difficult proposition and the only one that I think is a glorious success is Daniele Huillet and Jean-Marie Straub's The Chronicle of Anna Magdalena Bach (1968), which is mostly wonderful performances of Bach's music in original locations, interspersed with reflections on his life. For a composer one can perform his music but for a writer or painter it is more difficult to showcase the work, and Mr. Turner is a series of sequences of Turner painting, and feuding with his fellow artists. In Turner's paintings there is little room for humanity, but Leigh's film is full of endless close-ups of Turner and his women, with only occasional walks in the outdoors.
Leigh has done a wonderful job, in films such as Secrets and Lies (1996) and Vera Drake (2004), of exposing the absurdities of class distinctions in England. But his Turner film has little of this, other than to briefly dwell on Turner and his father, a barber. The film does not tell us the date and place of each scene, which is all to the good, but it also does little to indicate what the time and place is, even if one is thoroughly knowledgeable about Turner's career. The series of anecdotes -- Turner with a female Scottish scientist, Turner at the Royal Academy feuding with Constable, Turner singing Purcell -- are given little context or meaning. Turner himself is boorish and inarticulate, speaking mostly in a series of grunts.
One would not know from this film what a great artist Turner was, because paintings are not shown to great advantage on film: the texture is entirely missing. Certainly Turner has a great ego -- something that seems necessary for an artist -- but there is little attempt here to understand or communicate what made him a great painter; Dick Pope's pretty cinematography is very much beside the point, though it glows beautifully on the big screen at the Angelika.
Leigh has done a wonderful job, in films such as Secrets and Lies (1996) and Vera Drake (2004), of exposing the absurdities of class distinctions in England. But his Turner film has little of this, other than to briefly dwell on Turner and his father, a barber. The film does not tell us the date and place of each scene, which is all to the good, but it also does little to indicate what the time and place is, even if one is thoroughly knowledgeable about Turner's career. The series of anecdotes -- Turner with a female Scottish scientist, Turner at the Royal Academy feuding with Constable, Turner singing Purcell -- are given little context or meaning. Turner himself is boorish and inarticulate, speaking mostly in a series of grunts.
One would not know from this film what a great artist Turner was, because paintings are not shown to great advantage on film: the texture is entirely missing. Certainly Turner has a great ego -- something that seems necessary for an artist -- but there is little attempt here to understand or communicate what made him a great painter; Dick Pope's pretty cinematography is very much beside the point, though it glows beautifully on the big screen at the Angelika.
Monday, January 19, 2015
My Ballet Performance: January 17, 2015
I have been taking ballet classes at the 92nd St Y now for a number of years and I have participated in the Adult Student Dance Concert now a number of times since I have been with my current teacher. Before this year, however, the last time I did it was in 2011: in 2012 my daughter was only a few months old, in 2013 I was having cataract operations, in 2014 I was recovering from hospitalization. In the fall of 2014 I returned to ballet class after my teacher started teaching "ballet for the older body" and I was pleased to be able to join in this year's performance, for which she choreographed a piece that included students from three different classes.
I have been studying ballet for a number of years but had never contemplated actually doing a performance until the opportunity came at the Y. In a sense ballet class is a preparation for something that never happens --for most of us -- so it is a pleasure indeed to actually perform before an audience, especially one as supportive as the family and friends to come to see us at the Y. Originally the performances were upstairs in one of the studios but gradually the demand for tickets increased --once we had to do three performances to accommodate the crowds! --and now we have moved to the larger ground-floor theatre.
For this performance our instructor used music by Leon Minkus, La Bayadere Waltz, and we had rehearsals for several weeks. Part of that time was to fix the choreography but most of the time was used simply to practice and get everything right, especially since the fourteen participants (twelve women and two men) had very different levels of experience. The choreography is relatively simple, no big jumps or complex turns: port de bras, tendues temp lié
I did have to get black ballet slippers for the performance, with black shirt and pants and minimal make-up. I arrived early on Saturday for tech rehearsal, scheduled for 3 P.M., and went over our piece several times with Patti, who was also in another piece (several dancers were in more than one piece). Tech rehearsal went quickly; though it was our only rehearsal on stage we quickly established the spacing and lighting. Then all of us in the ballet dances had a warm-up upstairs in our regular studio and another run-through of our dance. Before I knew it it was performance time (I had, as always, brought a book with me but spent most of the time talking with my fellow performers). They had a video feed so we could see all the dances; we were scheduled for 10th and our time came quickly, after my wife and children dropped in to say hello to everyone. Our performance went well, as I concentrated on smiling and pointing my feet. Applause was enthusiastic and I was pleased, as were Susan, Gideon and Victoria and Susan's aunt and uncle, Phoebe and Stan, all of whom stayed for all the dances
I have been studying ballet for a number of years but had never contemplated actually doing a performance until the opportunity came at the Y. In a sense ballet class is a preparation for something that never happens --for most of us -- so it is a pleasure indeed to actually perform before an audience, especially one as supportive as the family and friends to come to see us at the Y. Originally the performances were upstairs in one of the studios but gradually the demand for tickets increased --once we had to do three performances to accommodate the crowds! --and now we have moved to the larger ground-floor theatre.
For this performance our instructor used music by Leon Minkus, La Bayadere Waltz, and we had rehearsals for several weeks. Part of that time was to fix the choreography but most of the time was used simply to practice and get everything right, especially since the fourteen participants (twelve women and two men) had very different levels of experience. The choreography is relatively simple, no big jumps or complex turns: port de bras, tendues temp lié
I did have to get black ballet slippers for the performance, with black shirt and pants and minimal make-up. I arrived early on Saturday for tech rehearsal, scheduled for 3 P.M., and went over our piece several times with Patti, who was also in another piece (several dancers were in more than one piece). Tech rehearsal went quickly; though it was our only rehearsal on stage we quickly established the spacing and lighting. Then all of us in the ballet dances had a warm-up upstairs in our regular studio and another run-through of our dance. Before I knew it it was performance time (I had, as always, brought a book with me but spent most of the time talking with my fellow performers). They had a video feed so we could see all the dances; we were scheduled for 10th and our time came quickly, after my wife and children dropped in to say hello to everyone. Our performance went well, as I concentrated on smiling and pointing my feet. Applause was enthusiastic and I was pleased, as were Susan, Gideon and Victoria and Susan's aunt and uncle, Phoebe and Stan, all of whom stayed for all the dances
Friday, January 16, 2015
Hope: Entertainer of the Century by Richard Zoglin
The late Bob Hope devoted a fantastically successful and well-remembered lifetime to showing that a truly unfunny man can make it as a comic.
Christopher Hitchens
Richard Zoglin's biography of Hope (Simon and Schuster, 2014) tries hard, with little success, to show that Bob Hope was occasionally funny. The problem is that Bob Hope had little to say --though he said it very well sometimes --and preferred making money, chasing skirts, and being famous. Certainly he may have done some good in his many trips overseas to entertain troops, though as always he made sure not to offend anyone and always brought along starlets, encouraging the troops to ogle them.
Hope was equally at home and equally unfunny in films, radio and TV. In his films he was always, as Zoglin says, opaque and lacking emotion, and, according to Zoglin, never worked with a major director, probably because he did not like anyone telling him what to do. I would consider Frank Tashlin a major director and Hope would sometimes use him to add gags to his film. But the two Hope films that Tashlin directed, Son of Paleface (1952) and The Private Navy of Sgt. O'Farrell (1968) are Hope's best films, simply because Tashlin did not let Hope dominate things with his smart--aleck persona, but rather emphasized visual gags. Minor director Sidney Lanfield said, "Hope was the worst egomaniac I ever worked with."
I have said before that the best comedy is the most serious and Hope was never serious, except perhaps about supporting the war in Vietnam. One can't necessarily blame him for his political beliefs, but he never wanted to annoy a President because then maybe the guy would no longer play golf with him. Zoglin tries to make a case for the Road movies, with Bing Crosby, but one cringes today when watching those films: the talking camels and frequent irrelevant asides indicate a genuine insecurity with the plot, a refusal to take it seriously.
Certainly humor and what is funny can be quite subjective, though I seldom hear from anyone how much they laughed at the Bob Hope movie they watched last night. A good comparison with Hope's radio show is that of his contemporary, Fred Allen; there are about 175 surviving episodes of each comedian's show: they both do monologues and spoofs of current politicians and events. But Hope's quips have no bite, while Allen's are both funny and thought-provoking. Certainly part of the reason is that Allen wrote much of his own material, while Hope was always completely dependent on his writers, who came and went in great numbers.
Christopher Hitchens
Richard Zoglin's biography of Hope (Simon and Schuster, 2014) tries hard, with little success, to show that Bob Hope was occasionally funny. The problem is that Bob Hope had little to say --though he said it very well sometimes --and preferred making money, chasing skirts, and being famous. Certainly he may have done some good in his many trips overseas to entertain troops, though as always he made sure not to offend anyone and always brought along starlets, encouraging the troops to ogle them.
Hope was equally at home and equally unfunny in films, radio and TV. In his films he was always, as Zoglin says, opaque and lacking emotion, and, according to Zoglin, never worked with a major director, probably because he did not like anyone telling him what to do. I would consider Frank Tashlin a major director and Hope would sometimes use him to add gags to his film. But the two Hope films that Tashlin directed, Son of Paleface (1952) and The Private Navy of Sgt. O'Farrell (1968) are Hope's best films, simply because Tashlin did not let Hope dominate things with his smart--aleck persona, but rather emphasized visual gags. Minor director Sidney Lanfield said, "Hope was the worst egomaniac I ever worked with."
I have said before that the best comedy is the most serious and Hope was never serious, except perhaps about supporting the war in Vietnam. One can't necessarily blame him for his political beliefs, but he never wanted to annoy a President because then maybe the guy would no longer play golf with him. Zoglin tries to make a case for the Road movies, with Bing Crosby, but one cringes today when watching those films: the talking camels and frequent irrelevant asides indicate a genuine insecurity with the plot, a refusal to take it seriously.
Certainly humor and what is funny can be quite subjective, though I seldom hear from anyone how much they laughed at the Bob Hope movie they watched last night. A good comparison with Hope's radio show is that of his contemporary, Fred Allen; there are about 175 surviving episodes of each comedian's show: they both do monologues and spoofs of current politicians and events. But Hope's quips have no bite, while Allen's are both funny and thought-provoking. Certainly part of the reason is that Allen wrote much of his own material, while Hope was always completely dependent on his writers, who came and went in great numbers.
Thursday, January 15, 2015
John Cromwell's For The Defense
John Cromwell's For the Defense is further evidence of how innovative good directors were in the early sound era, moving the camera in spite of the difficulties of recording sound at the same time. For the Defense starts out with the camera following a man on trial walking through jail doors and corridors until he gets to the courtroom where he is on trial, defended by William Fallon, played by William Powell. The film ends with Powell himself convicted -- of jury bribery -- and going in the reverse direction, before arriving at Sing Sing in the rain and the doors closing on him.
This film was something of a high point for director John Cromwell and actors Kay Francis and William Powell, though they all made quite a number of films in the sound era. Kay Francis is best remembered for her elegant and amusing role in Lubitsch's Trouble in Paradise (1932) but unfortunately usually seemed more interested in who designed her clothes than who her director was. William Powell is most remembered for his role in The Thin Man movies, which veered far away from the Dashiell Hammett novel, where he played a smug dipsomaniac. But before he became identified with that role he played complex and conflicted characters in For the Defense and other films, especially Von Sternberg's beautiful The Last Command (1928). Cromwell became primarily known for his intelligent direction of females, including Barbara Stanwyck in Banjo on My Knee (1936) and Eleanor Parker in Caged (1950).
The cinematography on For the Defense is by Charles Lang, a master of light and shadow; the film is a good example of what it means when one says "black-and-white is more beautiful than color." Lang and Cromwell use close-ups sparingly, usually giving us a wide view before moving in closely. Cromwell is especially effective in his use of sound, often having the conversations take place off-screen while the camera is on another part of the scene.
The plot of Cromwell's film may be somewhat old-fashioned -- a lawyer bribes a juror "to save a woman's honor" -- but the style and emotion are as relevant as ever.
This film was something of a high point for director John Cromwell and actors Kay Francis and William Powell, though they all made quite a number of films in the sound era. Kay Francis is best remembered for her elegant and amusing role in Lubitsch's Trouble in Paradise (1932) but unfortunately usually seemed more interested in who designed her clothes than who her director was. William Powell is most remembered for his role in The Thin Man movies, which veered far away from the Dashiell Hammett novel, where he played a smug dipsomaniac. But before he became identified with that role he played complex and conflicted characters in For the Defense and other films, especially Von Sternberg's beautiful The Last Command (1928). Cromwell became primarily known for his intelligent direction of females, including Barbara Stanwyck in Banjo on My Knee (1936) and Eleanor Parker in Caged (1950).
The cinematography on For the Defense is by Charles Lang, a master of light and shadow; the film is a good example of what it means when one says "black-and-white is more beautiful than color." Lang and Cromwell use close-ups sparingly, usually giving us a wide view before moving in closely. Cromwell is especially effective in his use of sound, often having the conversations take place off-screen while the camera is on another part of the scene.
The plot of Cromwell's film may be somewhat old-fashioned -- a lawyer bribes a juror "to save a woman's honor" -- but the style and emotion are as relevant as ever.
Friday, January 9, 2015
Two Films by Thornton Freeman: Week-End Marriage; They Call it Sin
Thornton Freeman was a journeyman director who made four films in 1932, including Week-End Marriage and They Call It Sin, both recently shown in the Turner Classic Movies tribute to Loretta Young(she made six films in '32), who starred in both. These films were both very much in the First National/Warner Brothers style of fast visions of modern life; each clocks in at about 65 minutes.
In They Call It Sin, Loretta Young runs away from the a stuffy small town in Kansas after traveling executive David Manners picks her up there. When she arrives in New York she finds out that Manners is already engaged and he doesn't have the guts to give up his society dame. So songwriter Young (Manners discovered her playing the organ in church) takes up with a show producer (played by the wonderfully sleazy Louis Calhern) who steals her songs and discards her, after which she marries George Brent, Manners's friend.
Week-End Marriage presents another point of view of the difficulty women have. In this case Loretta Young marries Norman Foster, who resents that she makes more money than he does and drinks himself out of his job after his wife is transferred to St Louis. He takes up with floozies and she takes up with George Brent, until Foster gets sick and she returns to him.
Both these films were made before the Production Code was enforced: in Week-End Marriage the husband and wife even get to sleep together in a double bed and fool around in the morning! They both also show how difficult it was for women in the Depression, with their choices even more limited than they are now. There were points of view in both movies that women should stay home and take care of their husbands but these were more than canceled out by the glowing independence of Loretta Young, who was 19 when these films were made.
Though Freeman was a journeyman and only directed until about 1950 he shows a rare intelligence in these films. Very much in the Warner Brothers style he gives distinctive personalities to each part, no matter how small, and he lets the audience draw its own conclusions, e.g., when Young returns to her husband and a woman is there taking care of him and the woman (beautifully played by Vivienne Osborne) smokes a cigarette and looks out the window while Young is with her husband it is quite clear the conflicting emotions she is feeling. Freeland directs Loretta Young in an effectively minimal and restrained style, moving the camera slightly and letting the emotions show in her eyes.
In They Call It Sin, Loretta Young runs away from the a stuffy small town in Kansas after traveling executive David Manners picks her up there. When she arrives in New York she finds out that Manners is already engaged and he doesn't have the guts to give up his society dame. So songwriter Young (Manners discovered her playing the organ in church) takes up with a show producer (played by the wonderfully sleazy Louis Calhern) who steals her songs and discards her, after which she marries George Brent, Manners's friend.
Week-End Marriage presents another point of view of the difficulty women have. In this case Loretta Young marries Norman Foster, who resents that she makes more money than he does and drinks himself out of his job after his wife is transferred to St Louis. He takes up with floozies and she takes up with George Brent, until Foster gets sick and she returns to him.
Both these films were made before the Production Code was enforced: in Week-End Marriage the husband and wife even get to sleep together in a double bed and fool around in the morning! They both also show how difficult it was for women in the Depression, with their choices even more limited than they are now. There were points of view in both movies that women should stay home and take care of their husbands but these were more than canceled out by the glowing independence of Loretta Young, who was 19 when these films were made.
Though Freeman was a journeyman and only directed until about 1950 he shows a rare intelligence in these films. Very much in the Warner Brothers style he gives distinctive personalities to each part, no matter how small, and he lets the audience draw its own conclusions, e.g., when Young returns to her husband and a woman is there taking care of him and the woman (beautifully played by Vivienne Osborne) smokes a cigarette and looks out the window while Young is with her husband it is quite clear the conflicting emotions she is feeling. Freeland directs Loretta Young in an effectively minimal and restrained style, moving the camera slightly and letting the emotions show in her eyes.
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