Making a Low-Budget, DIY Film Part 5: Directing Yourself

I often act in my own movies. This choice was not born purely out of necessity. When I first started making movies as a kid back in the mid-90s, I harbored a desire to act as well as writing and directing. Looking back on it, it's a good thing that I was drawn to acting as well, because for the types of movies I wanted to make, I needed actors, and among my friends, there really wasn't anyone else I could call in to help out (other than my siblings). So, I took on roles in my own little movies just so I could get them made.

Someone once asked me whether it was difficult to direct myself. At the time, I had just completed an independent, zero-budget feature-length comedy, The Professional, in which I starred. His question took me aback somewhat, because I'd never really given it any thought.

But, it's something I've become increasingly aware of as I've pushed myself to do better work each time with my new films. And Unknown Number really brought that home to me. Case in point: in the film, I wear a gray suit. When I arrived on set, I had to begin setting up equipment, moving stuff around, etc. And it occurred to me that I had to be extra careful not to get anything on the suit. Now obviously, if I weren't also acting in the film, this would not have been a consideration, as the actor could have just waited on set for everything to be ready, or held off on arriving at all until it was time to shoot.

As the director, however, I have to be the first one there, and I'm a firm believer that, even when -- especially when? -- working with your family and friends, you must never ask anyone to do anything that you aren't doing yourself. So if we have to move shelves or boxes around, or assemble tripods or lights, I am the first to do that. All of these tasks, which would normally be handled by a crew on a bigger-budget production, fall on me, and present additional tasks that I have to deal with above and beyond acting.

There's another, purely practical matter, about directing yourself. When you're in front of the camera, you really have to rely on your cinematographer to make sure everything still looks good in the frame. Sure, you can take a look at it before getting in to the shot. And if you're using a camcorder like mine, you can even ask the cameraman to flip the little LCD screen around so you can see what it looks like (although this is not the most reliable choice, since it's a small screen and you're likely already positioned at a bit of a distance from it).

You really can't be 100% sure until you play the footage back, and even then, the small viewing screen can be deceptive. There might be minor details that aren't easily visible at that size which only be apparent when you look at the footage in the editing room.

Obviously, some of these issues are larger than the question of acting in your own film, but they become amplified when you are worried about giving a performance in front of the camera as well as handling all of the behind-the-camera considerations.

And then there's the elephant in the room:

If you're going to act in your own micro-budget DIY movie, you have to actually be able to act. I will leave it to others to decide how successful I am in that area, but I will say that I am satisfied -- as the director -- with my own performance in front of the camera, and ultimately, that's all you have to go on. I can say, with almost full certainty, that if I were just beginning to make films now, it's doubtful whether I would think about acting (or at least, starring) in them myself. But it's a role I've sort of "grown up" with, concurrent with my own directing efforts, and so I've grown accustomed to taking on the acting duties when the situation calls for it.

Back when I was making The Professional, and was asked about whether it was difficult taking direction from myself, I had made a conscious choice to star in my films, as I was primarily making comedies at that time. Comedy is, by far, the hardest type of role to take on. If an actor does not have a knack for timing, or verbal delivery, or performing bits of comic business, the entire thing falls apart. I make no claims for myself as a comic performer, but I will say that in terms of directing myself, I found that I was able to perform the kind of comedy that I envisioned for these films, so at least in that sense, my acting in them was not a detriment.

I think I have less of an affinity for dramatic roles, but I still love getting in front of the camera and acting. I'd love to act in other peoples' films, and have enjoyed that experience on more than one occasion.

I do not especially recommend acting in your own DIY movies unless you really enjoy it and find that you are able to deliver performances that you, as a director, are happy with. As I mentioned, I started doing so from the very beginning partly out of necessity but just as much because I had a desire to act, and in that sense, DIY filmmaking provided me with a way of doing that.

Making a Low-Budget, DIY Film Part 4: Stop-and-Go

When it comes time to actually make a movie, that's when the reality starts to set in. You've written your script, even looked at the resources that you have access to, and mentally prepared yourself for taking that first step back in to the creative process.

Then it comes time to get together all of the people and stuff needed to make the movie. And this is where it can become heartbreaking.

In making Unknown Number, I'd decided that I wanted to kick things up a notch, to make the production a little more polished and professional than my previous DIY efforts. This may sound a little contradictory, since the whole point of micro-budget DIY filmmaking is just to make the movie with whatever you have access to and get it done any way you have to.

Well, yes. But you have to remember, this is my 28th short film since 2006 (which doesn't even count the dozens and dozens of short films and features I made prior to film school, going all the way back to 1993). Each time you make the effort of embarking on a movie, it's only natural that you should want to make it better, in some way, than what you did the last time.

And one of the ways in which I hoped to do that on Unknown Number was to hire a videographer. My thinking was that by hiring someone who had access to professional level equipment, and who could handle the tasks of shooting and lighting the film (as well as all post-production services), I would be able to take the production up a few notches as I'd hoped.

I want to stop here for a moment to make something very clear: I am in no way disparaging the work done by my collaborators on previous efforts. On my previous films (and, it would turn out, on Unknown Number too) I have used my own cameras to shoot the movie. Often, I handle the duties of cinematographer myself. In some cases, this has not posed any particular challenge. For example, on my last film, The Survivor, I directed and shot the film since I was not acting in it, and given the relative simplicity of the shots, it was not especially difficult. In contrast, when I made the film before that one, Mercenary, I faced a unique set of challenges. In that one, I play the lead role, and I was directing and shooting it as well as an entirely one-man operation. For that film, I was able to set the camera up on the tripod in the hotel room to get the shots that I needed of me on the phone, sitting on the bed, etc. Where it became especially difficult was when I was filming myself walking around the streets, and had to mount the camcorder on the end of a "selfie stick" designed for lightweight smartphones. I made it work, but it was a tremendous compromise in terms of what I was able to achieve with it.

Those are exactly the kinds of compromises I was hoping to move away from with Unknown Number. And to do that, my first step was to look into hiring a cinematographer. I was put in touch with someone who had been recommended to me, but never heard anything back in response to my inquiry. This was very disappointing, and I'm not sure what happened. But it did momentarily give me pause as to whether or not I would continue with the film. This was one of the first strikes I encountered in that department.

Once I had accepted that I was going to have to return to using my own equipment, I spoke with my wife, who has shot a number of my films, as well as taking charge of the responsibilities of the art department in various capacities. She agreed to shoot the film, but I also did not want to ask too much and overload her with production design responsibilities as well.

Once again, I found myself seriously debating whether or not to even continue with the film. This is both one of the luxuries, but also one of the curses, of making a DIY movie. Because it is very easy, tempting even, just to pull the plug on it when you begin to encounter these kinds of compromises and challenges. As I mentioned earlier, there is always a part of me that wants to do better than I did last time.

After further deliberation, I reached out to my father, who had also shot many of my earlier films. He's a photography enthusiast, and I thought he might have access to a DSLR camera that I'd be able to borrow for the shoot. He didn't, but he agreed to shoot it for me using my camcorder. This would also allow my wife to take on the production design responsibilities without any other considerations.

There was one other issue: I had reached out to a friend and voice-actor with whom I've worked a number of times in the past ten years, about recording a voice-over for a character who is heard only through the phone. He was interested, but wasn't available for some time. The challenges I described above happened largely in that interim. At the last minute before our recording session, I decided to pull the plug on Unknown Number.

At this point, you might be wondering why I bother with this at all if it results in all of this back-and-forth. Well, like I said in a previous post, when you feel the time is right to make a movie, you get into action to make it happen. All of the compromises and challenges on top of that are things that need to be dealt with, but there also comes a point where you have to ask yourself whether it is worth trying to continue at all if there are too many compromises to be made.

You see, I've made this choice in the past, to plow ahead with making a movie even when the project becomes greatly compromised by the circumstances surrounding the production. Sometimes, when you go this route, you can step back and look at the results and realize that it didn't turn out half-bad. But after the last couple of films I'd made, I really did not want to repeat the process of making something on such a limited amount of resources. I wanted to do better.

So, at this point, Unknown Number was dead in the water. I wasn't thrilled with the decision, to be sure, but at the time I made it, I thought it was the right one. However, as the next several days passed, I found myself thinking about the project, and whether it was really the best choice just to let it die this way. I just couldn't shake the feeling that it might have been a mistake, after all, to pull the plug that way, rather than moving ahead.

I wish I could say that I had some big revelation, some big "a ha" moment in which everything crystallized, in which I picked up the camera and decided to go back out there and make the movie!

Well, it's not exactly like that. Rather, I came to the realization for myself that if I let Unknown Number go unmade, I would eventually come to regret the decision. Even if it was the easiest solution in the short term, I knew that, long-term, I'd be sorry I didn't do it when I had the chance.

This is something else that I can't stress enough about making a DIY movie: timing is everything. Everything. This is probably true even in Hollywood (think about how many times we read about films simmering for years on the back burner, or stuck in the purgatory of development hell). When you're making a movie entirely on your own like this, with any expenses self-financed entirely out of your own pocket, your personal life circumstances are inextricably linked to being able to make the movie. And when you have the opportunity, when all of the other elements are there that you need in order to do it, that's when you have to strike. Because there's no guarantee that everything will come together like that again.

So, after some hemming and hawing, I decided to move forward with Unknown Number again. This time, there could be no turning back...

Making a Low-Budget, DIY Film Part 3: But seriously, why now?

I really can't say why I decided to make Unknown Number at this particular moment. Sure, I could go on about getting access to a location, having all the pieces come together, etc. etc. etc. But none of that matters if it isn't the right time to make the movie.

Obviously, when you're self-financing a DIY short film out of your own pocket that will be shown on YouTube, you're not doing the project for the money. So you don't sign up to do a film like this because you have any expectations of trying to make any money. Hardly.

Why then?

Well, the only answer I can begin to provide is that, when you want to make movies, you want to make movies, and you will do what you have to do to make that happen. And a big part of that is striking when an opportunity presents itself.

I still haven't answered the question, have I?

Ok. Maybe I don't have an answer.

I'll mention a few things:

This is the first fiction film I've made since 2017. My last one was The Survivor, a dystopian historical fiction about a man struggling to survive in the wilderness after a catastrophic war had decimated the country. Sounds pretty elaborate? Well, not really. It was basically made with a single actor, and myself on camera and directing, using voice over narration to suggest the large-scale events off-screen.

This is a technique I've used numerous times before, and it's served me well in being able to tell stories on a micro-budget. But even this approach has its limitations, and I felt that I was pushing those limitations with that project and the one I made immediately before it, Mercenary (which I released on YouTube at the end of 2016).

Part of what made Unknown Number an appealing project is that it could be done with just a single actor (and I knew I'd step in to play that role). But at the same time, because it was to be shot in a controlled environment (the office), I knew that it would give me more freedom in trying out some new technical ideas and pushing myself to do better work than I'd done last time. In many ways, the project presented some of the same pitfalls and limitations I'd encountered with both Mercenary and The Survivor, but I wanted to push beyond those limitations and create something that would surpass what I'd done before. If you're not growing, it can be discouraging to feel like you're repeating yourself or treading water.

When I had the idea to go back to the well and film the script for Unknown Number, it had been nearly three years since I'd shot The Survivor. In the interim, I'd been working a lot in the documentary form, making short film history videos for YouTube as well as the documentary subject Cinevangelist: A Life in Revival Film, a portrait of Baltimore film historian George Figgs. Cinevangelist occupied a lot of my time over the past two-plus years, as I did an extensive roll-out and eventually self-distributed it via Vimeo on Demand (more on that in a later post).

After spending almost three years in the documentary realm, I suppose I yearned to return to making the kind of fiction film that was what primarily drew me to making films in the first place. Unknown Number presented that opportunity. And I hoped that after three years, I would have had time to re-charge and perhaps think differently about how to do things, which would then, hopefully, result in creating something above and beyond what I'd done before.

These are your hopes, anyway, when you go into a project like this. Obviously, you can't know exactly how things will go, or how things will turn out. But the more you do it -- the more you give yourself the experience of making the movies -- the better of an idea you'll have about these things.

I'll be honest -- going through the process of making a movie this way often brings up a lot of doubts and reservations for me. I don't know many people who, at a young age, dream of making micro-budget DIY movies into their '30s. I suspect many of us who do this started out with the goal of having access to the same kinds of resources as the filmmakers whose work inspired us. How many filmmakers describe watching Citizen Kane as the catalyst that ignited their desire to make films of their own? I know that was certainly the case for me, and hearing the stories about how Welles got access to the vast resources of RKO studios right out of the gate is the stuff of legend.

Of course, aspiring filmmakers only hear those exceptional success stories. And you quickly learn that very, very few filmmakers ever have that kind of opportunity -- even ones who may have been working in the industry for years, let alone on their very first film. Then it comes down to the question: do you really want to make movies?

If the answer to that question is honestly a "yes", then you will find a way. If you cling to the idea that you have to be like Orson Welles making Citizen Kane or Steven Spielberg making Jaws, you'll likely be disappointed and will walk away from it when those opportunities fail to materialize. You have to adjust in order to keep on going. And you keep giving yourself that experience so you can get better at it.

Maybe that's all the reason you need.

Making a Low-Budget, DIY Film Part 2: Identifying What You've Got

With the script for Unknown Number finished, it now got stuffed in to the digital drawer for the next six years. What made me pull it out again and decide to produce it?

As is usually the case with this kind of thing, it's difficult to pinpoint exactly what made me pull the script out again and decide that this was the time to film it. Sometimes something just sparks your imagination and you think of an old script but have new ideas about what you could do with it.

To return to something I said in my previous post, what I find often sparks this renewed interest in an idea is when resources become available that make it possible to film it. In this case, it was the realization that I could get access to an office location very much like the one needed for the script.

This gets back to my point that when you're working with no budget on an entirely DIY production, you really have to start with the resources that you have access to and go from there. For example, in this script, the office we'd originally written for included an elevator, and the opening and closing shots would involve the main character in the elevator as the doors open or close.

This new office that I got access to had no elevator. In the end, this is a minor detail that was easily worked around by simply adapting the action of the opening and closing scenes of the script. If I had insisted on only making the movie on condition that I'd been able to find an office with exactly the kind of layout we needed, then the script would still be fitting unfilmed.

At the end of the day, these kinds of minor re-adjustments to your script can be made without compromising the overall vision of the project. And, as I mentioned before, by having to work around these limitations, they can often lead to new inspiration.

Securing the location was the major hurdle I had to clear in order to begin thinking seriously about producing Unknown Number. And I emphasize producing. When you're a DIY filmmaker, you're not only a director, but often also a producer (and about a dozen other roles). In my case, I'm also an actor (something I'll get into more detail about in a later post). As a producer, you have to wear a different hat, and go in to the process with a clear-eyed view of what you can do, rather than what you'd like to do. We've all heard the stories about directors fighting for their vision against the penny-pinching cost-saving demands of the front office. When you're a DIY filmmaker, you have to have these arguments with yourself. How much (or little) can I spend without completely compromising the quality and purpose of my project?

These are questions that you have to reconcile for yourself as a filmmaker. Making DIY, micro-budget movies forces you to think creatively and realistically about these decisions. After securing my location, for instance, I grappled with the issue of hiring crew, and the challenges that that presented (another subject for a future post).

Leaving all of these practical matters aside, there is still the question of "why now?" What made me want to return to this idea and produce this script at this point in time?

That's harder to answer, but I will attempt to do so in my next post.

Making a Low-Budget, DIY Film Part 1: The Script

Production diary, January 24, 2020:

I recently completed the production of a short film, Unknown Number. I've made quite a few micro/no-budget, DIY short films over the past decade (this one being my 28th since 2006). I'll write more at a later point about how I started making films, some of the technology I've used and how it's changed, and other general observations on making these movies.

But for now, I thought it might be interesting to record the process here that I went through in making Unknown Number, while it's still fresh in my mind. I love reading about others' experiences in making truly personal, DIY cinema, so I hope this might be of some use to others starting out on making their own films.

The idea for this film started back in 2013, and was based on an actual Internet scam that I had learned about. I often draw on ideas like this in making short thrillers. I spoke with my friend Bill, with whom I've worked on a number of short film projects over the years (sometimes acting together, sometimes writing scripts together, and sometimes directing films based on his original scripts).

Anyway, Bill and I started discussing the idea for this film and were excited by the possibilities it afforded for making a low-budget short film. Bill and I wrote the script together over a period of a few days. I presented the initial idea and outline to Bill, and then he went to work putting his distinctive spin on the dialogue and developing key scenes. The premise of this film is that a businessman receives a phone call from an extortionist -- a threat which may or may not be genuine -- and we watch him as he struggles throughout the rest of his day in deciding whether or not to give in to the extortionist's demands.

I don't want to give away any more than that right now, but that gives you an idea of the set-up of this script.

At this point, I can't recall exactly how many days Bill and I spent working on the script, but it took shape quickly and was completed in short order. At the time we wrote it, the setting of the office was conceived of in terms of the actual office that I worked in at the time, and I envisioned the film with that location in mind.

I did not have immediate plans to produce this script, though, and after a certain period of time, it became unfeasible for me to consider making it under the circumstances that I'd originally planned for. For reasons not worth getting into here, I eventually began working remotely and no longer had access to the office I'd originally thought about using for the film. I will get into these details of the production, and how it finally came to happen, in a later post.

To return to the script for a moment, I have to mention that what I always enjoy about working with Bill is that he and I are very much on the same wavelength. As I mentioned, we've worked together quite a few times over the years on various projects, and I've always been a fan of Bill's solo projects, both as a writer and filmmaker himself. So when I pitched the basic idea of Unknown Number, I knew he'd "get" what I was going for with this project, and I was glad when he agreed to work on it.

I mention this partly because if you're making films, or involved in any creative endeavor, one of the most rewarding things you can ask for is having a like-minded friend and collaborator to discuss ideas with, bounce thoughts around and get feedback that you trust.

Personally, when I'm making a film, I tend to view the script as a skeleton for the project. This is not to de-value the script in any way. But what I've found is that, when you're on the set, often times ideas present themselves that offer a better way of doing things than you'd originally planned for. I always remember when I was making a short film back in 2008, The Interview. I had written the script for this one, but Bill was acting in it with me, and when it came time to filming the climactic scene, he had an idea for omitting a bit of dialogue that I'd written, which would have the effect of making the very last scene even more effective, because of how it built up a moment of suspense.

This was an excellent idea and I was happy to make this change on the set, because it felt right and made the film even stronger. So, it's good to be open to listening to these ideas and to be able to consider them in relation to the overall vision of what you're trying to accomplish. That's one of the advantages of low-budget, DIY filmmaking, because you can make those changes without throwing off your budget or schedule.

I made some of those kinds of changes to the script for Unknown Number, both in the weeks leading up the production, and also on the set. When I went to scout out the location, I recognized some elements that it offered which would work even better in the film than what we'd originally written. And, as you can imagine, with it being over six years since the script had been written, there were certain aspects of it that I thought about differently, so I remained open to adapting it to fit new ideas and approaches to telling the story.

I suppose that's enough about the script for now. In my next post, I'll talk a bit about how this production got re-started, and how I went about beginning the pre-production process.

One last thing: if you're embarking on a micro-budget short, be open to adapting your vision to the resources you have at your disposal. It's fine to write a script with unlimited imagination and without any concern for whether or not it's even feasible to consider producing. But on the other hand, if you put all that time into writing a script that you cannot realistically foresee being able to film, you're pretty much ensuring that you'll end up without a film to show for it. My suggestion would be to think about what resources you have access to, and work from there. Working around limitations can lead to inspiration.

That's a good lead-in for my next post... Stay tuned!

Here are links to:
Part 2: Identifying What You've Got
Part 3: But Seriously, Why Now?
Part 4: Stop-and-Go
Part 5: Directing Yourself
Part 6: Final Cut

Blue Parrot (1953)

I caught this Brit flick at the gym the other night. An American detective works with Scotland Yard to investigate a murder at a Soho nightclub. You know what I love about these British crime dramas? They have the Noir elements of American films that I love so much, combined with that British sense of style. You get the shiny cards, slick wet nocturnal streets, and the detective in an impeccable trench coat.

I love those dark elements and I love the British sensibility in these. Plus, at just over an hour, it was the perfect length for the gym and the perfect movie for a rainy night.

Strange Marriage (1932)

Right from the start, STRANGE MARRIAGE is surprisingly frank in its plot, beginning with a scene where a young prostitute who has been arrested on a street corner is defending herself to the night court judge, explaining that she was waiting for a date. A wealthy young idler who has wandered into the courtroom gallantly comes to her rescue by posing as the man she was supposedly waiting for, thus confirming her story. The judge is not convinced until the two agree to get married right then and there in his court.

The marriage falls apart when the girl learns that the man will not receive his inheritance unless the marriage is annulled. He, in turn, is led to believe she was only after his money. However, the girl learns that she is pregnant with their child, and struggles to raise the child on her own, until the situation is finally cleared up and the couple is reunited.

This one was especially interesting for a performance by Jason Robards Sr., a fine actor who was never really used to full advantage in the movies. Evelyn Knapp and Walter Byron are charming leads, and the great silent comedienne Marie Prevost has a nice role as Knapp's tough-talking best friend. The production was filmed at Universal Studios by an independent company, and the look of the film is marked by the characteristic sparseness of Universal's productions. I'd recently watched another independent production, FUGITIVE ROAD (1934), starring Erich von Stroheim, that had been filmed on the Universal lot by arrangement with the studio. They must have leased out space to bring in extra money during those lean years of the Depression.

Hardcore (1979) & Auto Focus (2002)

I watched both of these Paul Schrader films on the Criterion Channel last night. They made for an interesting double feature.

HARDCORE was my favorite of the two. It's the kind of film Schrader does so well, a character study of a deeply religious, conservative businessman (George C. Scott) from Grand Rapids whose daughter disappears from a church trip while in Los Angeles. After she is discovered to be acting in adult films, Scott descends into the lower depths of the porn industry to bring her back.

I missed AUTO FOCUS when it came out in 2002. This one explores the dark side of light TV comic Bob Crane, best remembered for his starring role on "Hogan's Heroes". After Crane (played by Greg Kinnear) meets video salesman John Carpenter (played by Willem Dafoe), his life takes a dark turn into recording his sexual fantasies on tape and struggling to re-brand himself so that he can continue working in Hollywood.

I frequently catch re-runs of "Hogan's Heroes" on MeTV, and am struck by what an affable leading man Crane was in that show. It's surprising that he wasn't able to build more of a career after that, but if the events in AUTO FOCUS are any indication, it seems he gave into self-destructive tendencies that prematurely ended his career, as well as his life.

"Oscar Micheaux: The Great and Only" by Patrick McGilligan

I recently finished reading "Oscar Micheaux: The Great and Only" by Patrick McGilligan, a thoroughly-researched biography of the pioneering independent African-American filmmaker that provides a rich account of his fascinating life and his many films, relatively few of which survive. The details of Micheaux's production and distribution strategies provide great insight in to the nature of "race" film and independent film models as they existed in the 1920s-40s. Perhaps the most interesting portions of the book, however, are those sections dealing with Micheaux's early years as a homesteader in South Dakota and his early work as a novelist, which paved the way for the subjects he would return to again and again in his films.

McGilligan also provides whatever details still survive about some phantom Micheaux films -- projects that were referred to in the press but are not known to survive or were even to have been produced or completed at all. Among the most intriguing of the lost Micheaux films are his first, THE HOMESTEADER (1918), based on his first novel, and his final film, THE BETRAYAL (1948), which ran over three hours and from the description sounds like a fascinating capstone to Micheaux's long career that brought together many of his favorite themes.

McGilligan paints a rich portrait of one of the most significant, but also enigmatic, figures in film history. The book is a much-needed examination of Micheaux's life and career. Through it all, Micheaux emerges as a larger-and-than life figure who tirelessly pursued and realized his artistic ambitions against significant challenges.

The Emperor Waltz (1948)

Bright Technicolor musical comedy set in 1905 Austria. Bing Crosby is a brash American traveling salesman determined to sell the Emperor Franz Joseph on his new gramophone, and with the emperor's endorsement, corner the market in Austria. His priorities change when he strikes up a romance with the Countess Johanna (Joan Fontaine), but the expected complications ensue when their class differences threaten to keep them apart.

The Brackett & Wilder script, bolstered by gorgeous Technicolor cinematography, lavish settings (including some scenic location work with Alberta, Canada standing in for the Alps), and a fine cast -- topped by Crosby and Fontaine as the appealing leads, supported by Richard Haydn, Roland Culver, Lucile Watson and Sig Ruman -- make this one a delight.

In his interview with Cameron Crowe, director Billy Wilder said he didn't think too highly of this film. It may not have been one of its director's favorites, but see it for yourself!

Re-visiting the Astaire and Rogers Musicals

FLYING DOWN TO RIO (1933) -- Fred and Ginger have supporting roles in this South American-flavored love story. The leads are Gene Raymond and Dolores Del Rio, but it's Astaire & Rogers who made a big impression, especially with the extended "Carioca" number. It's an enjoyable romantic-musical comedy but mostly of note today for introducing Astaire and Rogers to the screen as a team.

THE GAY DIVORCEE (1934) -- One of the team's funniest pictures, especially the "Let's Knock Knees" number with Edward Everett Horton. Contains some of their best numbers, including "Night and Day" and "The Continental". I enjoyed this one primarily for the great comedy.

ROBERTA (1935) -- Coming after THE GAY DIVORCEE, this one feels like a step backward, putting Astaire and Rogers into supporting roles under stars Randolph Scott and Irene Dunne. But their scenes together are fun, as always, and the movie comes to life when they are on-screen. Unlike the later misfire CAREFREE, this one is just a rather dull film lacking the energy of the best Astaire & Rogers pictures. Musical highlights are "I Won't Dance" and "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes".

TOP HAT (1935) -- Perhaps Fred and Ginger's most elegant film. The plot is a solid farce of mistaken relationships, making it one of the team's most fun pictures as well, topped by a first-rate Irving Berlin score.

FOLLOW THE FLEET (1936) -- Possibly the lightest and most entertaining entry in the Astaire & Rogers cycle, with a nice ensemble cast (Fred and Ginger, along with Randolph Scott and Harriet Hilliard) who gel nicely together. The shipboard scenes are a lot of fun, and offer a nice backdrop for some dance numbers. The highlight for me is "Let's Face the Music and Dance", performed on a stunning Art Deco stage.

SWING TIME (1936) -- Some really beautiful numbers here that showcase the team here to their full potential. Astaire's "Bojangles of Harlem" number is particularly impressive for the synchronized dancing against the backdrop of dancing shadows, and the "A Fine Romance" number get my vote as the most beautiful that the team ever did, performed on a snowy soundstage -- Hollywood artifice at its most appealing. Often cited as the team's best film, but I found myself missing the colorful supporting cast of some of the other films who were always such a welcome presence.

SHALL WE DANCE (1937) -- Another one I enjoyed primarily for the comedy, another romantic farce with an amusing premise of a bit of gossip getting blown up into a full-fledged scandal. The syncopated shipboard machinery of the "Slap That Bass" number is great example of the really innovative numbers that I love about these films. Several great George & Ira Gershwin tunes appear here including "Let's Call the Whole Thing Off", "They Can't Take That Away From Me", and the title song.

CAREFREE (1938) -- The weakest of the team's vehicles. It has a strong feel of the "Screwball" comedy style about it, which makes for some fun, zany scenes, but it lacks the tender, subtle moments of their best films, and contains no especially memorable dance numbers.

THE STORY OF VERNON AND IRENE CASTLE (1939) -- This biopic of the husband-and-wife dance team is a sprawling but charming affair. Somewhat an atypical film in the Astaire and Rogers cycle, much more dramatic than usual for them, but still a fine showcase for their talents, and featuring a virtual songbook of late 19th- and early 20th-century tunes.

THE BARKLEYS OF BROADWAY (1949) -- Fred & Ginger's final film as a team, about a husband and wife musical comedy team whose relationship (both personal and professional) is threatened when the wife decides to pursue a dramatic acting career. An MGM production, it's bigger and more elaborate than their earlier RKO pictures, and their only film together to be shot in Technicolor, but Astaire and Rogers never get overwhelmed by the production value, and it's great to see them reprise "They Can't Take that Away From Me". A fitting capper to one of the finest pairings in all of cinema.

Pygmalion (1937)

1937 Dutch film version of the George Bernard Shaw play, starring Lily Bouwmeester as Eliza and Johan De Meester as Higgins.

Made a year before the classic Leslie Howard-Wendy Hiller version. The humor translates surprisingly well, although the dialogue necessarily loses some of its nuance when translated in subtitles. Interesting to see a different ending to the story rather than the one that Shaw wrote for the 1938 film.

Lord of the Manor (1933)

This fun British "Quota Quickie" is a comedy of manners set in an English manor home. When the lord of the manor is forced to move some of the workers in to his spare rooms, romance blooms between two of the young aristocrats and their new housemates.

Henry Wilcoxon -- a year before his breakout role in DeMille's CLEOPATRA -- has an early role here as the young working class man who falls in love with aristocrat Betty Stockfeld. Frederick Kerr, best remembered by movie buffs as Baron Frankenstein in the 1931 Universal horror classic, gives a fine comic starring turn in the title role, wonderfully paired with Kate Cutler as his wife. Also in the cast are Frank Bertram, Joan Marion, Deering Wells, and April Dawn. Written by John Hastings Turner.

T-Men (1947)

Looking for an early morning movie I came across this one on the Criterion Channel. Seemed like a good pick for an early Saturday morning...

Always enjoy these Anthony Mann noir/procedurals. This time Dennis O'Keefe is a treasury agent pursuing a group of counterfeiters. Worth watching for John Alton's incredible cinematography alone.

Mr. and Mrs. Smith (1941)

Watched this one last night and realized I hadn't seen it before. I guess it was one of those Hitchcock films I always intended to get around to but actually hadn't seen yet. He supposedly made it as a favor to Carole Lombard -- although further details indicate it was a project he personally initiated on his own -- but either way, Lombard is absolutely radiant in it, and her typically brilliant comedy timing and energy gels fine with Hitchcock's direction. This was just her second-to-last film before her untimely death.

In the DVD supplements, director Richard Franklin calls this Hitchcock's only "essentially American picture" -- which is true in the sense that he's working entirely within a distinctly Hollywood genre (Screwball comedy), and engaging in pure farce rather than his usual droll sense of humor.

Despite its title, this film bears no relation to the 2005 film with Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie as a married couple who reveal that they are both assassins assigned to take the other one out. It's fun to imagine what Hitchcock could have done with that script...

Spellbound (1945)

Gregory Peck stars in this Alfred Hitchcock thriller as the newly-arrived director of a mental institute, but it soon becomes clear to the head psychiatrist (Ingrid Bergman) that he isn't who he claims to be...

I can't honestly say it's one of my favorite of The Master's films, but it's definitely worth checking out for Hitchcock & suspense fans, especially for its justly-famous dream sequence designed by Salvador Dali, topped off with a lush score by Miklos Rozsa, gorgeous B&W cinematography from George Barnes, and a pair of great stars -- who never looked more glamorous than they did when working with Hitchcock -- at the top of their game.

It Pays to Advertise (1931)

Farce comedy about the idle, rich son (Norman Foster) of a big businessman (Eugene Pallette), who decides to show his father up by starting his own company to compete with him, but gets himself in to a heap of financial trouble instead. He learns the value of good business skills in the process of getting the company back on its feet. This premise provides the framework for some very funny comic wheelings and dealings, played with good energy by the cast. Based on the play by Roi Cooper Megrue and Walter C. Hackett. The cast includes Carole Lombard as the secretary with whom the son falls in love, and Richard "Skeets" Gallagher as the wisecracking business partner. Tom Kennedy has a brief but quite funny turn as the dense and gullible landlord.

Bad Sister (1931)

A family drama about the troubled daughter (Sidney Fox) of a respected local merchant (Charles Winninger) who ditches her doctor boyfriend (Conrad Nagel) for a slick conman, and ends up getting her father involved in his fraudulent investment scheme. The cast includes a young Humphrey Bogart as the conman, and Bette Davis as the other sister. From Booth Tarkington's 1913 story "The Flirt".

Murder is My Beat (1955)

A detective, investigating the murder of a businessman, becomes obsessed with the showgirl accused of the killing. After she is convicted, the detective becomes convinced of her innocence and goes rogue in order to clear her name, plunging himself further in to a web of mystery and danger, and navigating a series of twists and turns to bring the real killer to justice.

Edgar G. Ulmer finds the poetry in the film's low-budget, B-level trappings, and tragic star Barbara Payton has her final role as the showgirl accused of murder. Loved the location shots of the cheap motel at night -- really evocative of a certain atmosphere.

Rich Man's Folly (1931)

A solid melodrama, based on Dickens' "Dombey and Son", about a shipbuilder whose obsession with having a son to carry on the family business pushes away his daughter and puts a terrible strain on the son's health, ultimately leading to tragic consequences.

I love stories about the sea and the shipping business, so I was instantly drawn in to this one. The plot is high melodrama, with the family dynamics enhanced by George Bancroft's forceful performance as the father, and Frances Dee as the estranged daughter who eventually finds the love and affection she has been missing with a rival shipbuilder.

The location photography, taken at a Massachusetts shipyard, adds a great deal of authenticity and detail, particularly effective in the film's climactic scene.

Helen's Babies (1924)

Harry Burton (Edward Everett Horton) is the author of a popular book on modern child-rearing methods, who is called on to babysit his two nieces (Baby Peggy and Jean Carpenter). The problem is, Uncle Harry is a life-long bachelor and, in fact, knows nothing about raising children, so chaos predictably ensues.

This was the first of the Baby Peggy films I've seen, and I can see why she was such a big star in the early '20s. She has an undeniable screen presence and is fascinating to watch, commanding attention as she goes through extended bits of business such as trying to fit a bunch of celluloid collars back in to their box or trying to retrieve her doll dangling precariously from a tree branch

It's also fun to watch Edward Everett Horton in a silent film, knowing his distinctive voice and mannerisms that made him such a reliable and welcome presence in so many comedies of the 1930s. Based on the popular 1876 book by John Habberton.

Lonesome (1928)

A poetic city symphony and romantic drama directed by Hungarian filmmaker Paul Fejos, who was one of the European emigres who found a home at Universal Pictures at the end of the '20s. The film takes place in New York, and is a narrative exploration of urban alienation and the oppressive effects of modernity. Fejos focuses on a young man and woman -- he a factory worker, she a switchboard operator -- both of whom are individually ditched by their friends and each of whom decide to head to Coney Island for the night, where they meet and fall in love amid the bustling throng.

The majority of the film (which in total runs just over an hour) is set at Coney Island. As the boy and girl find companionship with each other, the overbearing intensity of Coney Island threatens to separate them physically. Fejos overloads every frame with hundreds of extras, tons of confetti, balloons, and other decorations. The camera never stops moving. It's really a dizzying experience. Fejos certainly captures the frantic pace of modern life in a big city, and the sense of alienation.

It's a great representation of several things going on in late silent era. It contains a strong mix of elements from the New York-set Hollywood films of that era, as well as the City Symphonies. The plot really is a trifle, and while I could accept it as a kind of "anytime, anyplace, anyone" parable, too much time is spent on the romance for me to accept it solely as a kind of metaphorical stand-in for universal experiences. But, it still has a charm and energy to it that makes a strong impression.

The King of the Movies: Film Pioneer Siegmund Lubin

There is so much more to the story of the early American film industry than the Edison-to-Porter-to-Griffith trajectory that gets passed down in the textbooks. Joseph P. Eckhardt fills in some more of those gaps with his book "The King of the Movies", which chronicles the life and career of motion picture pioneer Siegmund Lubin (1851-1923), a Jewish German immigrant who settled in Philadelphia, setting up shop first as an optometrist and then as an all-around film producer-distributor-showman.

Lubin was one of Edison's opponents in the patent wars of the wild and woolly early days of the picture business, gaining a reputation as film pirate for illegally duping and distributing films by other producers including Georges Melies. Although Lubin later joined forces with Edison in the Motion Picture Patents Company, he struggled to be fully accepted by Edison and the other members of the group. Lubin remained something of an outsider in the film industry throughout his career, fiercely independent and stubborn by the same turn. Lubin's critics attacked the poor quality of his original productions, which were often seen to be lacking in the acting and production values of his peers, but Lubin plowed forward with production at his main base in Philadelphia, dubbed "Lubinville".

Philadelphia would remain the central hub of Lubin's cinematic empire, even as he expanded his operations, maintaining production units in different regions throughout the US including Los Angeles and Jacksonville. In addition to his role as a producer and distributor, Lubin also moved in to exhibition, opening a chain of theaters in cities across the country. An interesting story involves Lubin helping out independent producers Sam Goldwyn, Jesse Lasky, and Cecil B. DeMille when they ran in to trouble with their inaugural production, THE SQUAW MAN, due to a technical error in the printing process. Lubin -- himself a member of the Patents Trust -- covertly aided the rival independents by devising a solution to their problem and rescuing them from personal and professional ruin. Even after joining the establishment, Lubin was still something of a maverick at heart.

Lubin would remain a major player in the industry throughout the first half of the 1910s, but changes in the industry, including those brought about by the first World War, lead to his studio closing by 1917, ending his reign as one of the important pioneers of the American film business. Little of Lubin's output survives today, as most of his films were destroyed in a horrific studio fire in 1914, thus making evaluation of his work difficult. Lubin would return to his optometry business in the final years of his life prior to his death in 1923.

Eckhardt has written an extensively-researched portrait of Lubin as a visionary who saw seemingly endless possibilities in the infant medium of motion pictures, and further expands the historical record of the formative years of the American film industry.

Col. William N. Selig: The Man Who Invented Hollywood

Too many film histories relegate the name of William Selig to a mere footnote, if he is mentioned at all. If one thing is clear, it's that the more you study film history, the more you realize there is yet to be explored.

Andrew Erish's book is an impressively-researched work that fills in many gaps in the traditional histories of the early film business, and in doing so, serves nearly as much as a history of the fledgling American film industry as it does as a biography of a major film pioneer. Selig was responsible for a number of important steps in the transition of filmmaking into a full-fledged industry. He was making films almost from the very beginning, in 1896. Originally based in Chicago, the filmmaking activities of his Selig Polyscope Company eventually expanded to Los Angeles, where he established Southern California's first permanent film studio in 1909, as well as his famous Selig Zoo. Selig also pioneered popular film genres and forms (particularly the serial) and helped establish such stars as Tom Mix and Fatty Arbuckle.

Unfortunately, most of Selig's films are lost, making re-evaluation of his work difficult, and unfairly consigning his name to relative obscurity -- not helped by the fact that he is also somewhat awkwardly positioned between the earliest inventors of cinema (Edison, Lumiere) and the next generation of moguls who often receive credit for many of Selig's contributions to the cinema.

This book is a major work that provides a much-needed re-evaluation of those contributions made by Selig, as well as painting a more complete picture of the development of the American film industry.

Suddenly (1954)

This is an excellent -- and offbeat -- crime drama. I had been looking for a movie to watch and was browsing through the selection on the Film Noir Central app on Roku late last Saturday night. I came across SUDDENLY, which is a film I've been meaning to see for quite a while, intrigued by the casting of Frank Sinatra and Sterling Hayden (who I'd actually forgotten was in the film until the opening credits rolled). It was made at the height of Hayden's career as a leading man in such great Film Noir pictures as THE ASPHALT JUNGLE (1950) and THE KILLING (1956), and of course, Sinatra was coming right off his Oscar win for FROM HERE TO ETERNITY (1953), so this seemed like a unique chance to see two great stars working together at the top of their game.

This is one of those public domain movies that turns up on countless collections of Film Noir and crime dramas, and because of its stars, is also a familiar title on numerous Hollywood Classic collections of PD films, the kinds of collections that permeated the discount sections at stores like Best Buy or Walmart during the golden age of DVD.

Now, many of these titles have jumped over to streaming, and I'm beginning to catch up with quite a few that I'd just never gotten around to watching before on those giant DVD collections. So when SUDDENLY popped up in the queue, I decided it was time to check it out. I was in the mood for a dark thriller and something not too long, given how late I was starting the movie -- so this film, with its tight 75 minute running time, fit the bill perfectly.

Kim Charney as Peter Benson III and Sterling Hayden as Sheriff Tod Shaw
in SUDDENLY (1954)

Sterling Hayden stars as the sheriff, Tod Shaw, of a small town called Suddenly. It's the type of town where the sheriff knows everybody, and keeps an eye out for any suspicious strangers passing through. Shaw is romantically interested in Ellen Benson, a young widow living with her son Peter, and her father, a retired secret service agent (played with just the right touch by that great character actor James Gleason). Peter takes a liking to the sheriff, whom he sees as a father figure, but Ellen is resistant to Tod's advances, and admonishes him for buying her son a toy gun, which she doesn't want him playing with.

It seems like a pretty ordinary day in Suddenly, when the word comes over the wire that the town is due for an unexpected visit by a most extraordinary guest -- the President of the United States. But there is no time for celebration. The notice is given confidentially that Shaw must work with his local law enforcement as well as members of the Secret Service to ensure that the area surrounding the train station is secure.

Meanwhile, at the Benson home up on the hill overlooking the station, three men including John Baron (Sinatra) show up and introduce themselves as members of the FBI, alerting the family to the news of the President's pending visit, and -- because of the house's direct proximity to the station -- put the house on security lockdown until the visit is over.

It quickly becomes apparent, however, that the men are not who they say they are. Baron is, in fact, a psychotic war vet who has been trained as a killing machine, and now intends to put his training to use on taking out the President. Any hopes of Shaw and the Secret Service agent foiling the plot are dashed when both men come to the house as part of their security routine, and are taken hostage along with the family.

Over the course of the film, the tension builds greatly as the hour of the President's visit draws near. Adding to the dramatic effect is the exploration of Baron's twisted psychological state, and how he views this job just like any other hit that he has been paid to carry out. Ellen Benson comes to recognize Shaw's true bravery and heroic qualities, and young Peter learns the great responsibility and power that come with using a firearm. The recurring use of the clock, counting down the time until the arrival of the train and the expected showdown, reminded me of HIGH NOON (1952), in which the ever-present clocks reminded us of Sheriff Gary Cooper's pending confrontation with the outlaws who are coming in to town by train. SUDDENLY uses the element of time to create a similarly tense and suspenseful mood throughout.

I could watch Sterling Hayden in just about anything -- he's one of those great stars who is always fascinating to watch. Here, he is in the unique position of not being given a great deal of action or dialogue, but his strong screen presence keeps him central to the viewer's attention throughout.

The real standout, though, is Sinatra. He proves once again what a truly great actor he was. This is the kind of role that, in many ways, is a difficult one to play -- especially for a star of his magnitude and popularity -- because it is an almost entirely unsympathetic one. Even though the psychological aspects of his character are explored, we're never asked to pity Baron -- it's made clear that he has been transformed into a heartless, cold-blooded killer who views murder as a job. It's a bold role for a pop music star and recent Oscar winner like Sinatra to take, but it also demonstrates his versatility and talent in taking on challenging new roles, rather than resting on his laurels.

Frank Sinatra as John Baron in SUDDENLY (1954)

The curious thing about SUDDENLY is that -- for the top-tier talent involved -- it appears to have a been a pretty low-budget production. It was produced by a company called Libra Productions, and released by United Artists. The action is confined largely to the Benson house, with some location exteriors of the train station and town grocery store. The film's director, Lewis Allen, worked primarily in television, which is evident in his economic choice of shots and staging here. The music score is by David Raksin, one of the top film score composers of this era, especially with the hit theme song from the 1944 Film Noir classic LAURA.

The explosive subject matter of SUDDENLY proved, tragically, to be a little too prescient, and the film was withdrawn from circulation following the Kennedy assassination in 1963, which also resulted in its eventually slipping into the public domain (a similar fate befell Sinatra's later film THE MANCHURIAN CANDIDATE, dealing with the same subject, but that film remained under copyright and was re-released to great acclaim in the late 1980s, while SUDDENLY has remained relatively obscure). As with many films in the public domain, its lack of copyright status has meant that it often circulates in inferior copies and has not benefited from the care and preservation that it deserves. The upside to this situation is that SUDDENLY can be freely shown and, as mentioned above, it frequently turns up in collections of classic films, waiting to be discovered by new generations of movie fans.

There's so much to recommend SUDDENLY, from its tense script and gripping suspense, to its great acting turns by stars Frank Sinatra and Sterling Hayden. It packs a lot in to its 75 minute running time and is a great example of lean, economic but powerfully effective film making.

A Guy Named Joe (1943)

Beautifully-made romantic drama about a fighter pilot (Spencer Tracy) who dies in combat and returns as a spiritual guide to a young aviator who happens to fall in love with the woman whom Tracy left behind. Directed with real sincerity and understated but powerful emotion by Victor Fleming. Tracy never hits a false note in his performance and the entire film works in large part thanks to his masterful skill.

Annie Oakley (1935)

Barbara Stanwyck as ANNIE OAKLEY (1935)

The life of sharpshooter Annie Oakley is an interesting subject for a biopic, although it's made routine and predictable with the fictionalized, imposed romance plot that drives this picture. Barbara Stanwyck is excellent in the title role, however, and brings the right mix of charm and energy to the film that helps carry it through its dull moments. The supporting cast includes Preston Foster as her sharpshooter lover, Melvyn Douglas as the "other man", and Moroni Olsen in a colorful performance as Buffalo Bill.

It's in the Bag (1945)

Adapted from Ilf and Petrov's story about a fortune hidden inside one of a set of chairs. Fred Allen is a flea circus owner who comes in to a fortune -- but he has to find it first, and sets out on a mad hunt through New York City to locate the chair containing the money. Typical of Allen's acerbic, absurdist style of comedy. Contains fun cameos including his old radio rival Jack Benny.

My Ebook "Return to the Kingdom of Shadows" is Now Available

I realize that things have been pretty quiet on this blog for the past few months. That's because I've been working on putting together my first ebook, "Return to the Kingdom of Shadows", a collection of my writing on film that I have done over the years from this blog and other outlets that I have written for. After almost 15 years of writing about film online, I decided it was time to collect a selection of my favorite writings in one place.

This book is a celebration of cinema, from the earliest experiments of Edison and the Lumiere Brothers, to the independent cinema of today. Among the pieces collected in this book are selected film reviews, essays and articles I have written for various online outlets over the years, as well as this blog. With an eye toward both film history and the new directions in which the art of cinema is continually evolving, this book is a tribute to some of my favorite films -- movies that continue to inspire and entertain.

The ebook can be purchased at Lulu, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Apple, and Kobo.

I was recently interviewed by Zekefilm about my book, in which I talk about the importance of early film, studying film history, and the significance of the book's title. You can listen to the interview here.

20,000 Years in Sing Sing (1932)

In the early ‘30s, the Warner Bros. studio was establishing itself as Hollywood’s premier place for hard-edged, social realist dramas that reflected the conditions and attitudes of Depression-era America. Among these films to emerge from Warner Bros. in this period were Wild Boys of the Road, I Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang, Black Fury, and The Petrified Forest. In addition, the Depression-era wish fulfillment of the gangster films, most famously Little Caesar and The Public Enemy, and the backstage musicals of Busby Berkeley, including 42nd Street, Gold Diggers of 1933 and Footlight Parade, continued in this tradition of dealing with the social issues facing the nation during the Depression at the studio presided over by the pro-Roosevelt, pro-New Deal movie mogul Jack L. Warner.

Out of this milieu came 20,000 Years in Sing Sing, in 1932, a tough pre-Code drama starring Spencer Tracy and Bette Davis in their only picture together. The screenplay was based on the novel of the same name by Warden Lewis E. Lawes. It tells the story of a high-profile, big-time New York criminal (Tracy) who is handed a stiff sentence and sent up the river. His experiences in prison are much tougher than expected, although he gradually comes to respect the stern but benevolent warden. When Tracy learns that his sweetheart, Fay (Bette Davis) is in critical condition and may not have long to live, the warden allows Tracy to take leave from the prison on the honor system and go visit Fay so that they can spend their final hours together. The situation becomes complicated when Tracy learns that it was his friend, Finn (Louis Calhern), who was responsible for his Fay’s injuries, and has plans to double-cross him.

20,000 Years in Sing Sing is stylishly directed by Michael Curtiz, who made so many pictures for Warner Bros. during the ‘30s and really had a chance to hone his craft on film after film. Here, he makes a series of interesting choices that leave an indelible impression, such as prototypical-Noirish use of shadows created by the prison bars, which create a claustrophobic and imposing effect. Another brilliant choice is the use of on-screen text, superimposed above each of the prisoners marching through the prison,indicating the number of years for which they have been sentenced. This device creates a harrowing effect by highlighting the amount of time that these men will be spending behind bars. As a result of Curtiz’s expert direction, the taut and economic storytelling and crackerjack plotting, there is not an ounce of fat on the film, not a single wasted shot or unnecessary moment.

This film offers two early starring roles for Spencer Tracy and Bette Davis, who demonstrate a remarkable chemistry together. Tracy has an excellent opportunity here to display the kind of gentle, noble qualities that he would bring to all of his screen work. He has a remarkable ability to convey so much through his expressions. His subtle and understated performance achieves a totality of tone and characterization. Davis brings just the right mix of innocence and tragedy to her role as the girl Tracy loves and had to leave behind, and it’s easy to see the qualities in her performance here that would quickly make her a top star at Warner Bros.

20,000 Years in Sing Sing is a great example of the gritty, socially-conscious films that Warner Bros. specialized in during the ‘30s. The time was definitely right for this type of film, with the nation embroiled in the depths of the Depression, of economic hopelessness and despair. Although things would soon begin to look up thanks to FDR and his New Deal, films like 20,000 Years in Sing Sing accurately captured the mood and concerns of a nation when it was at one of its all-time low points.

Moby Dick (1930)

Second version of Herman Melville's classic novel, and the second to star John Barrymore. The story had previously been filmed in 1926 as THE SEA BEAST, also starring Barrymore as Captain Ahab.

This version makes the hunt for the whale largely a minor point, instead focusing on a romance between Barrymore and a very young Joan Bennett, and adding a rivalry between Ahab and his brother over the girl's affection. And the whole story is reduced to a 77 minute film.

There is some impressive early process photography, and what had to be some pretty expensive model work with a large-scale, submersible replica of the whale. At the climax, the maniacal Ahab scurries over the back of the whale and repeatedly jams his harpoon into it, until there is a geyser of blood shooting out and spraying all over him.

 But overall, it is a good case for preferring a "faithful adaptation" -- instead of taking such a fascinating, epic story and making it into something utterly mundane.

Main Street After Dark (1945)

A family of pickpockets (including Dan Duryea and Audrey Totter) in a small port city is targeting sailors on leave, and detective Edward Arnold leads a task force with local police to bring their operation down. More of a noticeably low-budget movie than one might expect from MGM at this time, though with a good cast and some nice art direction. With its procedural format and concluding narration, it feels like a feature-length version of one of the studio's "Crime Does Not Pay" short subjects. I do enjoy movies with this kind of dark, WWII-era atmosphere.

The Merry Widow (1934)

High-class, glossy adaptation of the Lehar operetta directed with typically brilliant style by Ernst Lubitsch. The plot itself is a confectionery trifle but Lubitsch elevates it to the level of high art with his brilliant guiding hand, and the full resources of the mighty MGM behind him. Maurice Chevalier and Jeanette MacDonald are utterly charming as Danilo and Sonia, and there are many welcome appearances from such familiar faces as Edward Everett Horton, Una Merkel, George Barbier, Minna Gombell, Donald Meek and a host of other fine players.

The Dawn Patrol (1930)

Stirring action-adventure drama of the air, about the experiences of a group of British WWI aviators and the impossibly dangerous missions they must risk their lives for. Richard Barthelmess and Douglas Fairbanks Jr. are the two close friends and fellow aviators whose friendship is tested after Barthelmess is promoted to flight commander and sends Fairbanks' kid brother off on a mission from which he never returns. 

Hawks's direction keeps the pace tight and his masterful handling of the action scenes is filled with vigor and delivers some real thrills. The aerial battle scenes are some of the best of their kind ever filmed. 

AKA Flight Commander

The Wind (1928)

One of those glorious silent films that I was introduced to through Kevin Brownlow and David Gill's HOLLYWOOD series years ago.

Lillian Gish stars in one of her most stunning and brilliant performances as Letty Mason, a young woman from Virginia who travels west to live with an old family friend and finds herself plunged in to the wild, untamed landscape of the prairie with its relentless, driving, howling winds. The wind threatens to slowly drive Letty mad as she struggles to adapt and survive in this harsh new environment and to come to terms with her feelings about the man she has married.

This merciless, unforgiving environment becomes a character in its own right. Exterior scenes were filmed on location under extremely difficult conditions of sweltering heat and wind provided by a bank of airplane propellers. Gish oversaw every aspect of the film, choosing the great Swedish director Victor Sjostrom to helm the production, and acclaimed Swedish star Lars Hanson as her leading man.

One of the truly great American silent films. See the Photoplay restoration with an inspired score by Carl Davis.

Directed by Victor Sjostrom. Written by Frances Marion from the novel by Dorothy Scarborough. Photographed by John Arnold. Released by MGM, 1928. With Lillian Gish, Lars Hanson, Montagu Love

Stan and Ollie (2019)

Saw the wonderful STAN AND OLLIE today. It really captures the warm spirit of their comedy through the fine performances of Steve Coogan and John C. Reilly.

I loved the re-creations of scenes from their films and music hall tours, which had me laughing harder than anything I've seen in theaters for a long time.

Some of the imposed dramatic conflict feels forced and a little too convenient, but this is a minor criticism.

The films of Laurel and Hardy mean more to me than any others, and I thoroughly enjoyed this loving and affectionate tribute to the team. It will bring up a lot of great memories for long-time Laurel and Hardy fans and hopefully help introduce some new viewers to their timeless comedy.

Pearl White

One of the first major stars of the American cinema when the film industry was still based on Fort Lee, NJ. She became an internationally-famous star in over 200 films and established her legacy as an American film pioneer and a true immortal of the silver screen, all without ever setting foot in Hollywood.

She starred in many serials including The Perils of Pauline (1914), The Exploits of Elaine (1914-1915), The New Exploits of Elaine (1915), The Romance of Elaine (1915), The Iron Claw (1916), Pearl of the Army (1916-1917), The Fatal Ring (1917), The House of Hate (1918), The Lightening Raider (1919) and The Black Secret (1919-1920).

Following her successful screen career in America, White re-located to Paris, acting on stage & film and investing in resorts, casinos and real estate. After becoming involved with Greek businessman Theodore Cossika, the two moved to Cairo and spent much time traveling through Asia and the Middle East. Rumors of a screen comeback never materialized, likely due in part due to failing health, as she passed in 1938 at the age of 49.

Her starring role in the iconic Perils of Pauline and her status as one of the world's first internationally-famous movie stars cemented her legacy as one of the true immortals of the silver screen.

They Shall Not Grow Old (2018)

I managed to find a theater yesterday that still had available seats for Peter Jackson's WWI documentary THEY SHALL NOT GROW OLD. It was being presented as a special event, in select cinemas with a limited number of showtimes, and every theater I checked was sold out. I finally managed to find one, over an hour away, that had seats available. I'm glad I made the effort, because THEY SHALL NOT GROW OLD is possibly the best film I've seen this year...certainly the most powerful.

The story behind this is that the Imperial War Museum commissioned Jackson (who is a huge WWI history buff) to make a documentary culled from their more than 100 hours of archival footage and 600 hours of interviews with British veterans.

They give him carte blanche to use whatever he wanted, however he wanted, and to tell whatever story about the war he wanted. Their only stipulation was that he had to use the footage in some unique or original way.

His solution was to use the footage as the starting off point to create a totally immersive experience that would put the viewer straight into history. He used state-of-the-art technology to stabilize, restore, and even colorize the footage, and added sound made up of new recordings of authentic artillery (again, culled from his personal collection of vintage WWI artillery) and hiring lip readers to translate visible on-screen speaking, which was then dubbed by English actors in the correct regional accents based on where the regiment hailed from.

Aside from the occasional dubbing, he made the decision not to use any narrator or historian voice over, and instead to use only the interview audio of actual veterans.

What an amazing film, capturing the experiences of WWI and told by the men who lived them. What Jackson does with the archival materials immerses you right into history.

The Ballad of Buster Scruggs (2018)

This is a great collection of Western Tall Tales, as only the Coen brothers could tell them. There are no other directors working today with their obvious love of storytelling for its own sake. Here, they've crafted six unique stories set in a mythical version of the Old West, tied together by their exploration of the theme of death, ranging from the comic ("The Ballad of Buster Scruggs") to the ironic ("The Gal Who Got Rattled") to the downright morbid ("Meal Ticket"). 

The Coens have an incredible gift for creating richly-drawn characters, and these stories are populated by the types who are the stuff of Western legend, acted by a talented cast including Tim Blake Nelson, James Franco, Stephen Root, Liam Neeson, Harry Melling, Zoe Kazan, Tom Waits, Tyne Daily, and Saul Rubinek, among others. 

Visually, the film is stunning, with breathtaking cinematography by Bruno Delbonnel rendering the sprawling scale of the Western landscapes with painterly detail. There are some shots, particularly in the segment "All Gold Canyon", that are so rich that the images seem to pop right off the screen, aided by vibrant color that recalls the lush tones of the classic Hollywood Westerns of the 1950s. Also harking back to the classic Westerns is the rousing score by Carter Burwell, which perfectly evokes the majesty and epic qualities of the West.

There is some unevenness between the stories, which is understandable given that the project was initially commissioned by Netflix as a series. At some point, the decision was made to bring all of the segments together to create an anthology film, a kind of cinematic storybook. This approach works well enough, with each story given its own chapter in an on-screen book with accompanying illustrations to represent each tale. At a total running time of almost two-and-a-quarter hours, the segments could also be enjoyed individually, just as one might read a collection of short stories.

The Mule (2018)

I have not seen a new Clint Eastwood film since his last starring vehicle, GRAN TORINO, back in 2009. Almost a decade later comes his return as a star in this drama about a 90-year-old man who has fallen on hard times due to the economic collapse, and becomes a drug runner for a cartel in order to earn some cash.

If this plot sounds a bit far-fetched, keep in mind it was based on a true story that appeared in a NY Times Magazine article, so Eastwood's choice of this role is not entirely an exercise in vanity. It's just unfortunate, as is often the case with Hollywood films, that this incident, which reflects the difficulty of our times and the lengths that desperate people will go to in order to survive, is whittled down to its most trite, cliched, and predictable elements in the name of good storytelling.

The premise is that Eastwood has been an absent husband and father (missing seemingly every milestone in his family's lives) due to his passion for horticulture. It's never really explored at all why he couldn't find room for both in his life, or whether his love of horticulture was a stand-in for an inability to love and connect with those closest to him.

It is his fractured relationship with his family that sets the plot in motion, in one of the film's many highly-contrived scenes. Showing up at his granddaughter's engagement party, an argument erupts when his ex-wife and daughter find out he has been invited. Before he leaves, one of the guests -- a young man with family connections to a drug cartel -- senses that Eastwood is in financial trouble, and tells him of an opportunity to earn some money as a "mule", driving drug shipments for a cartel. Next thing you know, Eastwood is pulling into the garage that the dealers operate out of (in broad daylight, in what appears to be the middle of a busy suburban commercial area), in order to pick up his first load.

Everything goes well. A little too well, in fact, because eventually, Eastwood attracts the attention and respect of the cartel leader (who even brings him to his estate in Mexico for a big celebration). The problems begin when the cartel leader is assassinated, and Eastwood's new "handlers" have no patience for his rogue methods. On top of which, the FBI has been following these developments, and is zeroing in on their target and getting ready to drop the net.

These kinds of plot developments are typical of the film's problems, that rather than letting any situations develop at their own pace, every scene feels shoehorned to serve the narrative, and the growing implausibilities of the situations work against any kind of investment in the material. One aspect of Eastwood's character, never really explored, has him revealing his casual racism and sexism, and imply that perhaps his character is growing based on his interactions with different kinds of people for the first time.

However, some of these situations, such as his encounter with a black family stranded on the side of the road during one of his many trips, strain credibility that he could be quite so out-of-touch. As a result, his interaction with them feels false and hollow, there only to serve the purpose of some vague "character development" that comes from nowhere and goes nowhere. (Also straining credibility are two scenes in which Eastwood's character engages in threesomes with women who appear to be a quarter of his age).

Still, Eastwood's sincere affection for his working-class characters is rare in American cinema. There is an interesting moment when he attends his granddaughter's graduation ceremony, but she is graduating from a cosmetics school rather than a university (in Hollywood, everyone seems to graduate from either Harvard or Yale). This fact is presented entirely without comment, and it's refreshing to see the pride and accomplishment of the graduates as they walk up to collect their certificates rather than being treated like a punchline. Similarly, a scene where Eastwood has paid for the renovation of the VFW hall for his fellow veterans and they come together in celebration, is touching.

That seems to be the central issue in THE MULE. Eastwood uses the severe economic plight of 2010s America as a backdrop for this Robin Hood story of a man who will do anything to provide for himself and set things right with his family, but does seem to be interested in the bigger picture of how conditions got to this point in the first place.

The Other Side of the Wind (2018)

I've been meaning to write my thoughts down on this really remarkable film, which I saw on Netflix when it premiered back on November 2 of this year. It is a film that I feel I would need to re-visit in order to catch everything that is going on it, but I wanted to record these initial impressions before the end of the year.

It's very much a film of its moment (it's an evocative snapshot of Hollywood circa 1970 -- with cameos by the likes of Claude Chabrol, Dennis Hopper, Paul Mazursky, Henry Jaglom, and others), but also incredibly fresh and vibrant. It was also very "experimental" for Welles, I thought -- there were some psychedelic fantasy sequences that were absolutely mind-blowing, particularly in the film-within-a-film starring Oja Kodar. There were moments reminiscent of what Welles does in THE LADY FROM SHANGHAI. It was also very Altmanesque in terms of how Welles uses the ensemble cast converging on one location. Welles uses some familiar faces to great effect, fine character actors like Edmond O'Brien, Paul Stewart, Cameron Mitchell, Mercedes McCambridge, Lilli Palmer and, in one of the film's real revelations, an incredibly poignant performance by Norman Foster as the aging producer.

John Huston plays a hard-living, hard-drinking macho director of the old school, who is making a new film to demonstrate how "with it" he is in the Hollywood of the early '70s. The implication, revealed throughout the course of the film, is that Huston may be attracted to the handsome young male star of his film, and deals with Huston's frustration and resentment at being rebuffed by the young star, who walks off the picture and declines to attend Huston's 70th birthday party. Also explored is the relationship between Huston and a film critic-turned-successful director (played by Peter Bogdanovich), whose own success in this New Hollywood has surpassed that of his aging mentor, resulting in some very complicated frictions between the two of them (especially when Huston is forced to ask him for money to help complete his film).

Guiding some of these character dynamics is a female critic modeled on Kael, brilliantly played by Susan Strasberg. The men denigrate and deride her, but she sees past their macho posturings.

 I've been thinking about the film ever since I watched it, and it's remarkable just how layered and complex it is. Even more remarkable is how well all the threads come together for a film that was in limbo for so long.

Cleo Madison

Cleo Madison (1883-1964), pioneering film actress, screenwriter, producer, and director of 16 shorts and two features for Universal Pictures in 1915-16.

 Key films include Her Defiance (1916), Eleanor's Catch (1916), and Triumph of Truth (1916).

Lule Warrenton

Pioneering filmmaker and actress Lule Warrenton (1862-1932) -- after a career on the stage, she began directing for Universal in 1916 where she had her own studio and gained a reputation as a strong director of children's films. She worked for Universal from 1913-1917 as both a director and actress (including several films with director Cleo Madison), and had a brief stint as an independent filmmaker before returning to acting at Universal. Warrenton left Universal in 1922 to join the San Diego Conservatory of Music and reportedly organized an all-female film company in San Diego.

Her son, Gilbert Warrenton, became one of Universal's top cameramen in the 1920s.

Key Films: PIE, WHEN LITTLE LINDY SANG, US KIDS (1916), THE VALLEY OF BEAUTIFUL THINGS, A BIT O' HEAVEN (1917)

Ernestine Jones in WHEN LITTLE LINDY SANG (1916)