Beyond a Reasonable Doubt

"Beyond a Reasonable Doubt" is a film so twisted, so improbable, so bungled in its execution, that it's little wonder it’s the last film its director, Fritz Lang, made before returning to Germany. Dana Andrews' gives a strangely offbeat performance, while the rest of the cast is completely forgettable. The story, written by Douglas Morrow, sounds interesting enough: A writer, under pressure to come up with interesting material before a deadline, takes the suggestion of a wealthy and highly-respected newspaper publisher to frame himself for a murder he didn't commit in order to prove how easy it is to sentence the wrong man to capital punishment. Dana Andrews gives his performance the necessary amount of staid, calm steadfastness and earnestness, willing to go to extreme lengths to get his story. Lang also sets up nicely the tension between the district attorney Thompson, so eager to push for the maximum penalty, and the newspaper publisher, whose anti-capital punishment stance has made him unpopular with Thompson. To complicate matters, Andrews is engaged to the publisher’s daughter, so her reaction is understandably one of shock and disappointment when her fiancé steps up to take the blame for the murder of a stripper. The premise is full of holes-if Andrews and publisher Sidney Blackmer plant the evidence so thoroughly and carefully, why should it be so unreasonable when he's convicted? But this is only the beginning of the complete illogic that ruins this picture, which must rank as one of the worst in the career of its director, Fritz Lang.

The film would appear to be a story of fate, of unplanned intervention preventing the successful triumph of the protagonist. The initial premise could have delivered, but the film fails to live up to its interesting idea and instead inverts on itself through an incredibly inconceivable plot point that, worse than being merely far-fetched and even impossible within the context of the story, actually results in a less satisfying picture.

I cannot reveal the further illogic of the story without giving away the ending, but my initial reaction upon seeing the film was that it represented a moving away from the core of the pessimistic themes of film noir into a territory of standard crime drama. Lang’s best work has always focused on the victimization of a flawed individual; in this case, he offers a variation on that theme which fails to work.

The characterizations are so shallow that it’s little wonder we find it hard to identify, let alone care, about their actions and consequences. Joan Fontaine gives a strangely hollow and, at times, contradictory performance as Andrews’ fiancée, one minute standing steadfastly by his side, and the next being completely willing to accuse of the murder. Sidney Blacker offers one of the only performances in the film that stands out at all, that of the publisher with a strong anti-capital punishment stance. Special mention should go to Philip Bourneuf, who gives the role of Thompson the necessary amount of cold-heartedness, so willing to send a man to death row, only for political gain.

The film contains the appropriate amount of Expressionistic lighting, courtesy of cinematographer William Snyder, but overall lacks the kind of nightmarish, overbearing qualities that can be found in the best crime dramas of the period. Instead, there are many scenes that are lit like a police procedural, as if we’re watching an extended episode of “Dragnet”. These take away from the frenetic and frantic atmosphere that would serve this story best.

The anti-capital punishment angle may seem intriguing, but surprisingly (or perhaps not), Lang fails to take any stance on the subject at all. In fact, far from standing by the initial premise that an innocent man could easily be wrongly convicted and sentenced to death on circumstantial evidence, he rather seems to be saying that regardless of how much evidence or testimony or investigation is available, the guilty man always gets the chair. The illogic in the film is so overbearing, you’ll find yourself wondering what just happened when it finally ends.

At 80 minutes, the film is mercifully short, but I couldn’t help but feel the second half was still dragged out entirely too long. Almost as if there should have been more time spent in setting up the background of the Andrews character. Unfortunately, with a film such as this, it is difficult to discuss the plot in any detail without giving away crucial plot points, but suffice it to say when the true identity of the protagonist is revealed at the end, you’ll find it improbable, to say the least.

It’s interesting to compare the theme of this story with the film that in many ways defined Lang’s style, his 1931 German masterpiece, M. In that film, Lang gave us a character whose thoroughly despicable actions were countered by genuine psychological distress and torment, offering a much more convincing kind of moral gray area in which to judge the character. He would have done well to repeat that idea here. Stylistically, too, M has more in common with the films noir of the 1940s and 50s.

Lang and screenwriter Douglas Morrow have crafted an unlikely story out of an interesting premise which fails to deliver on its potential. Stylistically, Lang has created a film which at times violates its own sense of atmosphere and tone established at other points of the film. Finally, the film is a disappointment at almost every level, failing to engage and maintain concerns for any of its characters, and hitting the audience with an ending so unpredictable you’ll feel as if Lang was simply cheating.

"Thirty Years of the Rockford Files" by Ed Robertson

My review of Ed Robertson's excellent new book, "Thirty Years of the Rockford Files", has been a long time coming, mainly because of my schedule over the last month and the sheer volume of information he includes in this wonderful look into one of the best TV shows of the 1970s.

Anyone familiar with "The Rockford Files" will remember the spirit of fun that James Garner brought to the series, and Robertson's book captures that perfectly. In addition to serving as a history of the TV show, the book also serves as a tribute to its charming, personable star. Garner brought a kind of self-deprecating humor to his performance which is undoubtedly what helped make it so popular.

Robertson takes an episode-by-episode approach to the show's history. His writing style captures the feel of the show as he offers plot synopses and "behind-the-scenes" history of each episode. It's interesting to realize the significant place that "The Rockford Files" holds in TV history. In many ways, it was a one-of-a-kind show. The early 70s in particular brought series like "MacMillan and Wife", "Columbo", and "McCloud", staples of NBC's "Million Dollar Mystery" program. "The Rockford Files" continued somewhat in this vein but added the incomparable Garner into the mix, playing a different kind of role that ushered in a new style of leading man.

Robertson also looks at the surprisingly large number of guest stars who made appearances on the show during its run. The trivia and behind-the-scenes facts are thoroughly researched and make this book a treasure trove for any "Rockford" fan.

This book comes with my highest recommendation, as well as the recommendations of several other long-time "Rockford" fans with whom I shared it.

The Big Sleep

I've come to the realization that Humphrey Bogart is my favorite actor. I know that sounds like an incredible blanket statement. I've often professed my deepest admiration for Laurence Olivier as the supreme artist of screen acting, but Bogart has the "movie star" quality that puts him over into the supreme position in my book.

With this in mind, I finally got to re-watch THE BIG SLEEP (1946) for the first time in probably close to ten years. I recently purchased the Warners DVD of the film, which includes the 1945 pre-release version, with a more solid plotline and less of Bogart and Bacall. I have watched a short documentary on the comparisons between the two versions, but have not yet watched the 1945 version, probably because the mythology of the "1946 version" (the theatrical version that has been in circulation for over 60 years) has created such an impression on me that I'm still not ready to look at the alternate cut.

THE BIG SLEEP is not a great film. Bogart had the good fortune of being cast in three truly great American films made in the 1940s-THE MALTESE FALCON, CASABLANCA, and THE TREASURE OF THE SIERRA MADRE. These profound films make up the iconic image we have of Bogart today. THE BIG SLEEP, however, is a very good film. It was based on the novel (one of my favorite detective books) written by Raymond Chandler, who concocted a story so dense, impenetrable, and downright complicated that even the author himself professed not to know what was going on in it. Indeed (and I don't think this is a plot spoiler) the mystery itself is never solved in the film, very unusual for a detective story. It moves with none of the slickness of "The Kennel Murder Case" (possibly the best 'whodunnit' film made in Hollywood), but still manages to keep suspense throughout the proceedings, because Marlowe (Bogart) seems to exist in a world in which no one can be trusted, and everyone has the potential to turn on him at the drop of a hat.

The plot is fairly straightforward-Private eye Philip Marlowe is brought in by elderly millionaire Sternwood to find his chauffeur's killer. After that point, things get pretty disjointed, and trying to follow the development of the plot after that point is simply pointless, except to say that Marlowe soon finds himself involved with Sternwood's daughter (Bacall), and things get heated up from there.

The film is so much fun, there's really no need to dwell on its plot. It's all about style and performance here, and that's where the film scores a knockout. Bogart looks great in every shot-his suits and fedora are particularly nice (I would love to get that suit for myself).

THE BIG SLEEP delivers a fun mystery and great performances done in brilliant Hollywood style, directed by Howard Hawks.

Los Olvidados

Now here is an interesting film.

It's not often I get so hooked on a film after one viewing, but this was certainly the case with Luis Bunuel's excellent study of poverty and crime among the youth in post-war Mexico City.

I can't think of another film that is so overwhelmed by genuine poverty and terrible conditions, with the possible exception of some of the Italian neorealist films on which this film was patterned. But whereas, say, DeSica's BICYCLE THIEVES contains a ray of optimism and even redemption (backed by a beautiful score), Bunuel's films is relentlessly bleak, terrifying and depressing.

There are scenes of shocking violence which back the themes of the story well. It is essentially about a poor Mexican boy, Pedro, who becomes an accomplice to a murder when a teenage gangmember he used to know, called Jaibo, breaks out of juvenile hall and returns to his town to wreak havoc. The boy is blackmailed by Jaibo, who abuses him and weilds frightening power over the poor boy until he finally cracks.

The cinematography is strangely beautiful, yet never loses sight of its gritty purpose. The cast is uniformly excellent.

This film stands out in Bunuel's body of work as an example of heightened realism, although surrealistic stylings turn up in the dream sequences.

Having seen the majority of Bunuel's work, certainly all of his critically acclaimed works, I feel that LOS OLVIDADOS stands out as his finest achievements.

Shane and The Psychological Western

As the Western progressed out of its pulp roots, which had been firmly established in the movies' earliest days, a new view point, a mythical, legendary perspective of the genre developed. The first film to really portray the Western on an epic scale was James Cruze's 1923 film "The Covered Wagon", followed the following year by John Ford's epic of the building of the transatlantic railroad, "The Iron Horse". Over the decade, there were numerous other epic Westerns, including William S. Hart's "Tumbleweeds" (1925) and Raoul Walsh's "The Big Trail" (1930). Because of the cost and logistics of the location work involved, the Western took a dramatic downturn in the early '3os, and spent most of that decade as the lowest form of Saturday morning kiddie fare, much as the science fiction film would in the 1950s. Cecil B. DeMille's "The Plainsman", which appeared in 1937, represented a triumph for the Western, but it was John Ford who, with his "Stagecoach" in 1939, revolutionized and re-energized the genre to the level of art. Ford's Westerns, along with those of other notable directors such as Anthony Mann, Budd Boetticher, Howard Hawks, and others took a genre that had become completely set in conventions to the point of tedium, and took it to new heights combining the use of psychological elements, character development and strong story to elevate the genre to a new glory.

The films of these directors took root during the 1960s and 70s due to the interest of auteurist critics, who admired the consistency of themes and style from film to film. Ford's best Westerns stand out among the genre. As fine entertainment, Hawks' "Red River" and "Rio Bravo" stand out, but for me, lack the psychological depth that marks my three favorite Westerns.

The three that I admire the most are "The Ox-Bow Incident" (William A. Wellman, 1943), "High Noon" (Fred Zinnemann, 1952), and "Shane" (George Stevens, 1953). Of these, "Shane" stands out for me as the ultimate achievement within the genre.

"Shane" tells the tale of Shane, a flawed White Knight of a gunfighter (Alan Ladd) who comes in off the plains and offers support to a small ranching community under constant threat from a gang of ranchers who want to re-claim the land for themselves. Mr. Starrett (Van Heflin) and his wife (Jean Arthur) don't know what to make of this stranger, but their son (Brandon de Wilde) takes an instant sense of friendship to him, and sees him as a sort of guardian figure in some ways. Shane touches their lives, and stands off against the villainous rancher (Emile Meyer) and his chief henchman, Wilson (Jack Palance).

For me, "Shane" represents a Western with heart and a psychological element that works on several levels. It explores the relationship between Shane and Mrs. Starrett, saying so little yet conveying so much; it examines the relationship between Shane and the Starrett's son, who comes to see him as a tragic hero; and finally, between right and wrong, in interestingly gray terms for an American Western: in one scene, we hear an explanation as to why the rancher (Emile Meyer) wants to drive off the new settlers, and it makes the audience understand his point of view.

Visually, the film is beautiful, and takes place in a slightly different "West" than is often portrayed in Hollywood films. The Westerns usually take place in the dry, desert climates of such locations as Monument Valley and other far Western locales. But "Shane" is beautifully photographed by Loyal Griggs in the mountains and plains of Wyoming, in gorgeous Technicolor. It is a pity that the film was not made just a year or two later, as it would have probably been photographed in widescreen, which would have contributed greatly to the scenery. "Shane" has been criticized as being too neat and tidy for a Western, but I would disagree. The costuming is well-researched and accurate, despite the criticisms of some. And the performances have a certain beauty to them that add great depth to the characterizations.

The "Psychological" western fascinates me endlessly, and I will offer up more on it after re-watching both "High Noon" and "The Ox-Bow Incident".

"Nanook of the North" (1922)

For those very few filmgoers who are unfamiliar with it, "Nanook" tells the story of an Eskimo and his family as they struggle for survival in the frozen tundra. It is very much a "documentary" in that it documents the day-to-day life and process of survival, including the building of an igloo and a seal hunt.
But it is in these more "spectacular" scenes that the film earned its detractors. Take for example the interior shots of the igloo. Due to the intensity of the heat generated by lighting equipment necessary in 1922, the shots had to be faked using a "set", half an igloo with one side completely open for natural light to allow for filming, not unlike the open-air stages that permeated Hollywood in the early silent days. The seal hunt, too, is not entirely truthful-in fact, an already-dead seal is substituted for a live one in order to allow Nanook more freedom in his "performance" of spearing the seal and dragging it to the surface of the ice. In addition, the film presents the Eskimos performing rather ancient hunting and survival rituals, not exactly as advanced as genuine Inuit culture of 1920.

Flaherty's film remains the seminal, landmark film in the documentary genre. Flaherty himself was later denounced after facts regarding the fictionalization of certain scenes in "Nanook" came to light. Eventually stripped of his credibility among documentarians, film historians continued to appreciate his sophisticated use of location photography, which often produced beautiful and poetic results. By the end of his life, in 1951, Flaherty found renewed appreciation for his work by less harsh critics who found high praise for the humanism apparent in all his work, and the enthographic dedication with which Flaherty took time to learn about the cultures he was documenting. His final film, "Louisiana Story" (1948)-a tale of oil drillers in rural Louisiana-combined a narrative with documentary techniques, and for many years was frequently cited as one of the ten great films in the history of the medium.

Perhaps no other filmmaker has seen his reputation plummet more than Flaherty; once one of world cinema's most respected and highly praised artists on the level of Chaplin, Eisenstein, DeSica, etc., he is now a name in the footnotes of film history texts. Sadly, his work is in danger of neglect to the point of extinction from the cultural consciousness. The annual Flaherty Seminars keep his spirit of humanism in documentary film alive, however. Perhaps Flaherty's work will enjoy a renewed appreciation as more and more serious study toward documentary films comes into being.

A Face in the Crowd (1957)

Elia Kazan, I should state, is not one of my favorite directors. That is to say, his films do not draw me to them because of his name alone. Nothing about his style, or his technique, or even his common themes, draw me to his work consistently. Because Kazan's style is so strong, I find it hard to be indifferent to his work the way I would with an ordinary, pedestrian filmmaker. With Kazan, one could say you either love him or hate him.

Without wishing to sound uncommitted, I would say there are certain Kazan films I admire for what they are. His adaptation of "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn" is a nice adaptation of the book, which I enjoy. "A Streetcar Named Desire" is a fine filming of that Tennessee Williams play, and introduced the Method acting of Marlon Brando. "Baby Doll" is as bizarre a film as you're likely to see. And my personal favorite of Kazan's films is the wonderfully atmospheric "On the Waterfront", which I admit I love for purely personal reasons-my grandfather worked in the docks of Baltimore City in the same type of environment at the time the film was made, and it is strongly reminscent of the descriptions he gave of the days and nights working on the waterfront.

To my list of Kazan films that I enjoyed, I can now add the most recent film I have watched, "A Face in the Crowd", one of those indictments of mass media (especially television) that was so popular in the 1950s. With it's no-holds-barred approach to expose style filmmaking, "A Face in the Crowd" tells the story of Lonesome Rhodes (Andy Griffith, in a career-defining performance), an ex-con and guitar picker who finds himself a huge superstar overnight thanks to some appearances on local radio and television. As his fame increases, he hurts those around him and sinks into a decay of booze, drugs and sex.

The casting of this film is quite interesting. Andy Griffith portrays the disgusting, crude Rhodes, and Patricia Neal is the woman who loves him. We have the screen debut of Lee Remick as Griffith's teenage bride, and Walter Matthau in an early role as the introspective TV producer. That fine silent film director Marshall Neilan even turns up in a supporting role as a Senator who takes Griffith under his wing. It is interesting to see Griffith in this brilliant performance before he became typecast as Andy of Mayberry and Matlock. He proves himself one of the finest actors of his generation, along with Marlon Brando, James Dean, Montgomery Clift and Ernest Borgnine.

The film moves at a good pace, bridged by fades, and really paints a believable image of Griffith's rise to fame within the story. Too often, "rise to fame" sequences are handled with a montage of screaming fans and newspaper headlines, but this film does an excellent job of making it believable and interesting. Griffith's character becomes a beloved teddy bear persona, but holds his many adoring fans beneath contempt (this proves to be his downfall). The film is rather unclear about who precisely is at fault here-on the one hand, the media is blamed as a corrupting influence, but at the same time, the adoring fans are seen as being somewhat stupid, easily-led sheep.

As always in my reviews, I don't want to harp on the story. I encourage viewers to seek the film out and watch it for themselves. I tend to focus on the film in the context of the "bigger picture", as it were. "A Face in the Crowd" reminded me, in a roundabout way, of "Sweet Smell of Success", another 1957 picture that demonized the power and corruption of the media. In the 1950s, there was clearly a sort of paranoia about the power of the media, and part of that may have been due to the increasing competition between the film and television mediums. I'm reminded of the scene in Douglas Sirk's "All that Heaven Allows" in which Jane Wyman, in an effort to emphasize her character's lonliness and sense of isolation, is presented with a brand new TV set as a present. In another prophetic moment in "A Face in the Crowd", Griffith develops a "reaction machine" consisting of playback options of canned laughter, applause, etc. This immediately calls to mind the scene in "Annie Hall" were Woody Allen admonishes Tony Roberts for using such a machine to bump up the laughs on his sitcom.

"A Face in the Crowd" holds up quite well today. It may very well be required viewing for anyone studying popular presentations of American media, along with such films as "Network", "All the President's Men", "Sweet Smell of Success", "His Girl Friday", and "Ace in the Hole".

The Treasure of the Sierra Madre and the Importance of Location

The other night I watched a classic film that I have to admit I had not yet seen; "The Treasure of the Sierra Madre" (1948), released by Warner Bros., and directed by John Huston.

I will not give a review of the film here; instead, I wanted to comment on the aspect of the film that perhaps struck me more than any other: its use of location. Location is an often overlooked aspect of filmmaking. Too often, a good location has to be sacrificed because of cost, time, permission or other external factors often beyond the producer's control. Thankfully, and perhaps remarkably, "The Treasure of the Sierra Madre" must stand as one of the finest examples of location work committed to film.

At first I was uncertain where the film was photographed. I assumed it was a combination of location work within driving distance of Burbank, and backlot work done at the Burbank Studio. However, there was a convincing atmosphere to it that made it very impressive and after some research, I found that the film was in fact shot extensively on location in Mexico.

The use of authentic Mexican locations adds immeasurably to the film. For those unfamiliar with it, the film tells the story of Fred Dobbs (Humphrey Bogart), an unemployed American stranded in Mexico, who, along with a fellow American (Tim Holt) and a grizzled old prospector (Walter Huston), takes to the mountains to pan for gold. Jealousy, greed and fear soon consume the group before events turn ugly. To give a sense of the isolation and destitution of Bogart's character, the authenticity of the grimy, gritty Mexican town provide a perfect backdrop. Those mountains where the trio goes prospecting are so perfectly chosen, so completely atmospheric, that it is easy to forget one is watching a fictional, "studio" film.

Location work was still rather uncommon even in 1948. Despite the increased demand for "realism" in the years following World War II, Hollywood films were often still shot on sound stages and backlots. This made economic sense, after all. Even though the production financing of films now had to come from more independent sources (since the studio-owned theatre chains which generated a constant cycle of profit had been broken up in anti-trust rulings in 1946), the studios still called most of the shots, and in many cases, films were shot entirely at the studios just as they had been in the "studio era", even using all the staff technicians on studio payroll. Location photography was used for bigger budget productions, but during the 1930s and 40s, it seems that many producers forgot that natural locations were one of the first major differences between cinema and theatre, which first caught the attention of audiences 30 and 40 years earlier.

"The Treasure of the Sierra Madre" represents a major step forward in American filmmaking. It goes beyond its use of locations, of course, but these are at the heart of its innovations and significance. One can look at the film as a step forward in a sort of "maturation" process that Hollywood was undergoing. It can be seen, too, as a representative film of the increasing power that certain directors were able to exert over their productions. During this period following World War II, more and more directors were able to make artistic decisions that had previously been made at the sole discretion of the studio heads. Huston was one of the most instrumental directors in effecting this change. Along with fellow directors William Wyler and George Stevens, he represents the "old guard' directors who were able to successfully make the transition to the post-war era while becoming more independent as artists.

It is ashame, indeed, that more filmmakers do not pay attention to locations the way Huston did in this film. As it is, "The Treasure of the Sierra Madre" remains a benchmark film, and its locations still emphasize the power of setting in the cinema.

Hands Up (1926)

With all the work of the major silent comedians so readily available, it's easy to forget about the other, less-known clowns whose work isn't as easy to find. Raymond Griffith falls under this category, because so much of his work is lost, and what does survive isn't that easy to see.

What struck me immediately was the endless parade of sight gags in the film. The opening scene with Abraham Lincoln meeting with his cabinet set up a serious tone that is delightfully contrasted in the very next scene, when Ray Griffith rides up to visit General Lee. The sight gags begin immediately, and in this scene reminded me of similar battlefield gags in DUCK SOUP (shells flying through the window, etc). Thankfully, the rest of the film kept up the ingenuity and clever gags found in this scene.Griffith himself is a very fun performer to watch. His characterization of the unruffled gentleman in the silk hat played very well against the overall zaniness of the film. I would really enjoy seeing more of his work. Mack Swain, always great, turned in a memorable supporting appearance here.

The length of the film is perfect for a comedy. It's one thing that pre-WWII comedies had as a major advantage-that they could end after 60 or 70 minutes and not have to hang on a lot of exposition and plot wrap-up for the mandatory 90 minute-plus running time of today.

The Naked City (1948)

Finally saw this film after reading much about it, and I have to admit I was rather disappointed in it. I heard that it was based on a photo spread by Weegee detailing New York crime scene photos, and that it was shot entirely on location in the streets and apartments of New York. For some reason, I have also heard this film frequently touted as one of the best film noirs, though I couldn't see anything in it that resembled any of the characteristics of noir.

My biggest disappointment was that it opened with that terrible narration (by the producer, no less) that the better filmmakers were already trying to avoid at that point. It's that smarmy, cutesy narration that ruins the atmosphere. I would have found a Sterling Hayden-type voice much more appropriate if narration were needed at all, which I'm not actually sure it was-it appeared at times that the narration was only used to further the story when the filmmakers had to shoot without sound because of the locations (mostly the exteriors).

Barry Fitzgerald (whom I love) was good but seemed entirely out of place. He would have seemed much more "at home" in a studio-bound Hollywood film, in which his slightly exaggerated performance would have felt much more natural. As it is, he comes across as giving far too much a "performance" when the gritty setting seems to call for a more naturalistic performance. The rest of the cast is okay, not particularly memorable, although some of the performances (especially the housekeeper of the murder victim, who bursts into tears every five minutes) seem entirely over-the-top, and again, at odds with the film's more naturalistic settings. There's also an annoying tendency to insert cute and comical relief bits that add nothing to the film and only seem unnatural and forced, further killing the effect that the film was supposedly striving for.

I've read that Stanley Kubrick worked as a still photographer on this film, and I can't help but think what he could have done with the material (I've enjoyed his "Killer's Kiss" and "The Killing" very much).I wouldn't be so critical except that the film went out of its way to be something different but was so ordinary in every aspect other than its use of locations that it hardly seemed worth it. I would be very interested to know why this film is frequently cited as an example of film noir (it's a crime drama, yes, but really more along the lines of a "Dragnet"-style police instructional). I see that Criterion is releasing the film soon, and in their notes call it a benchmark of film noir too. Dassin's "Night and the City" (a genuine noir) is far superior, in my opinion.

Harry Langdon: The Fourth Genius?

I think if the criteria included success in feature films, it's reasonable that Langdon was given the position he was. I think he did reach the same level of brilliance as Chaplin/Lloyd/Keaton but only for a very brief time. He did not sustain himself the way they did. In other words, he had the comic strength but not the endurance. But I really feel that it was his success in features, however brief, that afforded him this "fourth clown" spot in critical evaluations. Ray Griffith is another comedian who worked well in features, but I would argue not as successfully as Langdon, plus a lot of his work is missing so it's hard to have a complete picture. W.C. Fields also made some very good features, but it's hard to judge since so much is lost. What survives is very funny and clever, but for me at least, doesn't approach the sublime brilliance of the Chaplin/Keaton/Lloyd films that Langdon managed to reach. Based on this criteria alone, I don't think Langdon is being overrated but I would argue that there's something to be said for sustaining brilliance in the craft over an entire decade or more the way Chaplin, Keaton and Lloyd were able to.That being said, if feature films did not enter into the equation, there are a number of other comedians who worked exclusively, or at least primarily, in shorts, who did sustain themselves much better. If you take short films into the equation, it's a whole different situation. Arbuckle, of course, was one of the very best-a comic talent on par with the best of them. While he did make some features, these seem to be more in the genteel tradition, although I did enjoy LEAP YEAR quite a lot. His numerous short films from 1913-onwards are simply amazing (thanks to the recent releases of his Comique films, I am convinced he could have made some feature films that would have even topped Keaton in the breathtaking "How did they do that?" department). Charley Chase is another brilliant comic master, and thanks to the increased availability of the Laurel and Hardy silents, we can see how completely they mastered and matured artistically in the silent medium. Max Linder is another clown, brilliantly creative both in front of and behind the camera, who consistently sustained himself and grew artistically over a long period of time.

Harry Langdon: The Tragic Clown

In discussing the hierarchy of the silent clowns, there is a tendency to keep referring back to a sort of holy trinity of clowns that critics have set in stone as the cream of the cinematic crop: Charles Chaplin, Buster Keaton, and Harold Lloyd.

Interestingly, one clown whose name has been disappearing from such God-like status in recent years is Harry Langdon, perhaps the most misunderstood of the major silent clowns. He slowed comedy down, making it more deliberate and subtle, just as Chaplin did in 1915 when he left Keystone studios to pursue his own brand of humor at Essanay. Langdon's work is considerably slower paced and more deliberate than that of even Chaplin, Keaton or Lloyd. Langdon (1884-1944) at one time rivalled Chaplin both critically and commercially, yet two years later was virtually forgotten and being wasted in B-grade short subjects. Why is this?

To answer what went wrong with Langdon's career, we would need to go back to about 1924, when Langdon, already a vaudeville veteran of more than twenty years, accepted an offer to make motion picture short comedies for producer Mack Sennett. Sennett, or someone on his staff, had seen Langdon's act, and even had it filmed so that the writers could re-watch it and get a good feel for the type of comedy that they'd be writing for Langdon. The three men most closely associated with Langdon's film career are Harry Edwards, Arthur Ripley, and a young gag man named Frank Capra.

Whether or not Capra was with the writing team from the beginning has become a point of debate. Capra, in his later years, claimed not only to have been instrumental in Langdon's success as a filmmaker, but also claimed to have created Langdon's character. We now know, thanks to photographs of Langdon's stage show, that the character Langdon played, the "Baby", was already fairly well-established in his early vaudeville days. Capra also expressed a sort of backhanded concern for Langdon in later interviews, frequently referring to the comedian as pitiful, sad, and pathetic.

Capra's claims have become the stuff of intense, heated debate among film scholars. Capra of course went on to become one of America's finest and most personal filmmakers, directing such masterpieces as IT HAPPENED ONE NIGHT (1934), MR. DEEDS GOES TO TOWN (1936), MR. SMITH GOES TO WASHINGTON (1939), and IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE (1946). From this lofty perch, it was easy to make these rather extravagant claims about his instrumental role in the career of Harry Langdon. But a look at how their relationship ended provides insight not only into the reasoning behind Capra's attitude toward Langdon, but also why Langdon's career came to a dead halt just a year after his peak of popularity.

In 1926, Langdon was signed by First National to appear in feature films. Leaving Mack Sennett's studio, he brought his gag men (Edwards, Ripley and Capra) with him. The first feature, TRAMP TRAMP TRAMP, was a resounding success, and seemed to establish Langdon in the highest ranks of screen comics. His popularity was almost unequaled at this point. The next feature, released in early 1927, was THE STRONG MAN, which did even better than TRAMP TRAMP TRAMP. THE STRONG MAN, which historian Kevin Brownlow considers the finest silent comedy ever made, is a fine showcase for Langdon's talents. It also happens to be the feature film directorial debut of Frank Capra. Capra remained at the helm for LONG PANTS, Langdon's next film. But while making THREE'S A CROWD, Capra was fired by Langdon. Capra later claimed that Langdon had "gone Hollywood" and began to think of himself as a virtuoso genius like Chaplin, whom the critics frequently compared him to. Langdon, it seems, fired his director and writing staff in a burst of creative egomania.

The truth behind this is open to debate. Capra's later comments about Langdon may very well have been nothing more than sour grapes over getting canned by the comedian. While it's true that Langdon perhaps overestimated his own virtuosity as filmmaker and actor, Capra's claims remain suspect. This is not to dismiss Capra's contributions. Any comic filmmaker of the 1920s would have agreed that it was a team effort that got these films made with the level of quality they maintained, and indeed, Langdon's career did downturn very quickly after Capra's departure.

This debate turns into a sort of chicken-or-the-egg rhetoric. What can be seen, though, is that as Langdon's career spiraled downward, Capra's took off.

After two more features in 1928, Langdon's star burned out. He appeared in some talkie shorts for Hal Roach before spiralling off into low budget fare unworthy of his talent. Capra, directing a series of action pictures and dramas, at the same time set himself up as America's premier director of social comedies championing the little guy. Capra's training as a gag man served him well, and he continued to show flourishes of his silent comedy background throughout his career.

Langdon, unfortunately, had few memorable jobs left. Career highpoints included a supporting role in the Al Jolson musical HALLELUJAH I'M A BUM (1933), and a co-starring role opposite Oliver Hardy in ZENOBIA (1939). Aside from a string of two-reelers for Columbia's short subject division, Langdon did some gag writing for Laurel and Hardy before dying, rather sad and broken, in 1944.

Langdon's legacy was championed by James Agee, who profiled Langdon in his excellent Life magazine essay, "Comedy's Greatest Era" (1949). Langdon enjoyed a fair amount of exposure in the Robert Youngson compilations of the 1960s, and was written about with great love and respect in Walter Kerr's book, "The Silent Clowns" which, for better or worse, has become a sort of bible for comedy aficionados.

As the work of other silent comedians becomes available, especially that of Roscoe Arbuckle, Charley Chase, Max Linder, to say nothing of the silent Laurel and Hardy shorts, Langdon has seen his reputation wane somewhat. While critics initially praised his pantomime ability, the evidence shows there were a number of other comedians who equalled him in ability. Langdon, perhaps, will always be remembered as the "Baby" character, and his films offer delights for those willing to watch them in context.

Chaplin (1992)

I pulled out my old video of this and watched it again last night. Unfortunately, it seems like every time I watch it, I like it less and less.

What I can't understand is, what went wrong? The talent, both in front of and behind the camera, was top notch. For the subject of the film, they had one of the most interesting lives of the 20th century, based on two books, including the autobiography, as well as perhaps the definitive biography of the man.Yet for some reason, the film overall is rather dull, excrutiatingly so at times. A major part of this was the decision to portray Chaplin in such a consistently morose and brooding mood throughout the entire film. What about the Chaplin we see in the home movies, clowning around at Pickfair, pulling faces for the camera, doing impromptu bits of business? We see none of this side of Chaplin in the film. In fact, aside from the Karno sketch and the debut film at Keystone, we actually see Chaplin do very little comic business at all. In fact, the film only seems to bring up his films when there is some sort of social commentary connected with it.

Robert Downey Jr.'s portrayal of Chaplin is nothing less than brilliant. His ability to mimic Chaplin's mannerisms without seeming like a mere impersonator are quite good. The rest of the cast is equally good, but the problems seem to lie more in how certain characters were written. J. Edgar Hoover, for instance, as played by Kevin Dunn, seems at times to have come right out of the Ford Sterling school for over-the-top villainy.There also seems to be an inordinate amount of time spent on Chaplin's love life. While this undoubtedly deserves considerable attention in telling his life story, I felt there were just a few too many long scenes that went nowhere.Given how much of Chaplin's amazing life story they decided to ignore completely, its surprising how the film moves just too quickly much of the time in order to establish any depth. Too many of the characters come across as one-dimensional, due to the script.The film starts off quite promisingly, with a good re-creation of the English music halls and the South London that Chaplin grew up in. However, even in these early scenes, there is an example of a technique used in this film that bothered me to no end: the decision to portray some very serious moments in Chaplin's life in the manner of a silent comedy.The first scene I notice this in is during young Charlie's attempted escape from the London workhouse. As two lines of officials come charging down two seperate hallways that converge, Charlie ducks behind a wall, causing the two groups to collide like the Keystone Cops. The workhouse scenes could have been very effective ways of conveying the immense difficulties that shaped Chaplin for the rest of his life; instead, we get this scene that is reminiscent of his later work in slapstick. This technique comes up again later in the film.

Chaplin's first love, Hetty Kelly, is portrayed well, but again, more depth should have been given to it, as this was a crucial moment in Chaplin's life that in many ways seemed to influence his relationships, some of which got him in to a great deal of trouble.The Karno scenes are good; Downey does an admirable job recreating the "Mumming Birds"-type sketch. From these scenes, the film shifts to America, with some breathtaking vistas of the American West.

We catch up with Chaplin in Butte, Montana. Now, here is a part of the film which has always bothered me. It makes it look as though this is the first time Chaplin has seen a motion picture. Surely, he would have encountered them sooner than 1913, especially since movies became a fairly regular part of music hall (and vaudeville) bills in the early years of the century. In fact, it's quite likely that Chaplin encountered the work of Max Linder some time earlier than 1913, certainly. At any rate, this scene is given an extra dose of absurdity by having none other than Stan Laurel just happen to come at that moment with a telegram inviting Charlie to Hollywood to make movies. This scene is straight out of the corniest 1940s biopics. This scene also contains my biggest pet peeve of screen biographies, when a character (in this case, Stan Laurel) is introduced who is well known to the audience but not to the other characters in the film (the recent version of THE ALAMO was filled with this).

The Keystone scenes are my favorite of the film. There is some reasonably good re-creations of what Keystone must have been like. The silent-comedy technique presents itself again in the scene where Chaplin puts together his costume for the first time. There is also a bit of special effects in which the old Chaplin character romanticizes a bit about the tramp character "calling" to him. This silly bit is really unnecessary, and contains some rather outdated special effects (the "glowing" derby, for instance) that serve no purpose other than to be cute.Now, the Keystone segment also presents the biggest outrage in the film: the presentation of Mabel Normand as a loud mouth bimbo who "actually thinks she can direct". This scene is plain insulting to this brilliant comedienne, and a real disservice to her memory. Let's not forget that she was a talented performer and director, and far from being out to get Chaplin, she actually was one of his biggest supporters at the studio. The whole presentation of the character is just so wrong it defies description. I'm sure she and Chaplin clashed creatively, but then again, two unique and brilliant talents working together often do. The line given to Mack Sennett, "She actually thinks she can direct", is an insult. There is also an annoying little error-the cameraman at Keystone is referred to as "Rollie" (as in Totheroh). Surely they could have at least bothered to bring Chaplin's most prolific and valuable collaborator in to the story in at least the right time period (more should have been made of Totheroh's collaboration throughout Chaplin's career in general, really).

From here, I lose all interest in the film. Some major points I have issue with are the virtual dismissal of the Lita Grey divorce trial, which visibly aged Chaplin and was perhaps one of the first major public episodes that changed peoples' opinion of him. In the presentation of the Mildred Harris affair, the "Salt Lake City" episode, which was perhaps one of the worst experiences of Chaplin's creative and personal life, is presented as a silly, sped-up silent comedy replete with slapping and comic policeman, straight out of "Fractured Flickers" or the old Pete Smith "Goofy Movies".Chaplin's increasingly morose attitude just becomes depressing. For a guy who remained brilliantly funny through many trying times and public scandals, he is portrayed as increasingly gloomy and bitter. There should have also been mention made of Chaplin's wonderful family, who obviously kept him very young in spirit into old age. The pictures of the old Chaplin, in his 80s, cavorting with his children and wife on the lawn of their mansion in Switzerland, are some of the most serene moments I have ever seen. The film totally glosses over this.

It would have been nice to portray the fact that Chaplin's life wasn't all scandal and public outcry all the time. Even his brother Syd, one of his most loyal and trustworthy supporters, is presented as someone mean spirited towards Charlie, exploding on him during planning THE GREAT DICTATOR. In fact, Syd was a huge supporter, and it seems that, at least regarding THE GREAT DICTATOR, Chaplin was surrounded by a loyal crew who knew they were making something controversial.There were a lot of other triumphs in Chaplin's life that the film manages to ignore as well. At least the film ends with his return to the Academy Awards.Overall, the film has a lot of faults mainly as a result of the script. It feels rushed, one dimensional, incomplete, and often aimless. Perhaps one day Chaplin's life will receive a screen biography treatment that does his remarkable life story better service.

Clean (2004)

As part of the Charles Theatre's Cinema Sundays program, I attended a screening of the new Olivier Assayas film CLEAN, starring Maggie Cheung and Nick Nolte. What follows is my review of the film.

I went in to see CLEAN not knowing anything about the film. In fact, I had only heard the title of the film a mere ten minutes before it began. If ever I have sat down to watch a film with absolutely no pre-conceived notions, this was it.

The film is a look into a woman, played by Cheung, who is struggling with a heroin addiction and attempting to launch a singing career. After her lover dies of an overdose, she sets about trying to straighten her life out and re-unite with her son, living with his grandparents in Vancouver.

The film weaves in and out between the different incidents in Cheung's life on the path to recovery. I did not find the depiction of addiction to be "harrowing", in the same way that films such as THE LOST WEEKEND depict it. Instead, it was simply matter-of-fact, filled with small touches to help the audience sympathize with the main character.

In the Q & A following the screening, it was commented on that many audiences have responded to the film feeling that Cheung's performance is the best thing about it. That may or may not be true; director Assayas keeps the pace moving with fluid cinematography and, on a number of occasions, Godardian jump-cuts. (Assayas, a former editor with Cahiers du Cinema, was obviously heavily influenced by Godard.) Aside from Nolte, in an interesting role as Cheung's father-in-law, the secondary cast is not given much to do, and their characters do not feel developed fully.

There is also a David Cronenberg-like objectivity with which Assayas paints his characters. He shows their faults as well as their strengths, and this works particularly well in the scenes later in the film, which could have bordered on schmaltzy but are kept quite effective by their matter-of-factness.

The film benefits from location work; San Francisco is glimpsed briefly in the film's final shot, and Canada is used effectively in the early sections, but the best locations, London and Paris, are used for the majority of the film.

Overall, I would rate this film **1/2 out of ****; it felt like an average film, with an excellent lead performance, that left me somewhat detached from its center and secondary characters.

Abel Gance's NAPOLEON

Few films in the history of the medium have trumpeted the technical innovations of the art form in quite the same way Abel Gance's NAPOLEON did.

NAPOLEON could quite possibly qualify as the single most innovative motion picture ever made, in that it put on display a number of techniques that had not really been seen before, or at least, not used within the context of a narrative feature film. Yet, the film is not merely a technical demonstration a la THIS IS CINERAMA, nor is it a film that is only remembered today for having introduced some new process, such as THE JAZZ SINGER or BECKY SHARP.

Rather, NAPOLEON is one of the great human epics of all time. It is a controversial film, to be sure. Many resent Gance's deification of the Little Emperor who conquered much of Europe in an attempt to create a centralized French culture. Regardless of one's political views, I maintain that the film must be viewed objectively, and in doing so, will increase one's appreciation of the masterpiece that it is.

Few epics before or since have had such a strong central figure. Napoleon is portrayed by Albert Dieudonne, who seems to be channeling an intensity in his performance that sweeps the audience away in his passion and fervor. Dieudonne is not terribly well known for any other film performances, so in a sense, he really immortalized himself as Napoleon in this film. Certainly, it is one of the most impressive, career-defining performances an actor has ever delivered.

In his introduction to the cast and crew before filming commenced, Gance called for complete devotion and commitment to the project, even suggesting that they keep in mind the very drive that their ancestors had in bringing about the Revolution and applying it to the making of the film.

The film itself begins with Napleon's boyhood at the Brienne school, where he displays military strategy at an early age in a large scale snowball fight. Napoleon is shown as an intense youth, devoted to his studies, and to his homeland, the island of Corsica. The film continues with his political victory in Corsica over Pozzo Di Borgo, and his military victory in the Battle of Toulon. Rising tensions lead to the triumphant Italian Campaign of 1796, where the film ends. In the currently available US version, running three hours and fifty-four minutes, the story moves briskly and with an epic scale that never backs down.

Among the technical innovations referred to earlier are a rapid-cutting editing style, unlike anything seen before or since, in which images last only for a frame at a time; a split screen that breaks off into a number of different cubes; a camera mounted on horseback to photograph an exciting point of view shot for the chase across the marshes; a camera mounted on a pendulum, swinging dizzyingly over the hectic and chaotic National Convention; and finally, the famous "Triptych" technique used during the Italian Campaign sequence, a widescreen process predating Cinerama by about 25 years, and with multiple images on each of the three screens.

NAPOLEON was a very difficult film to see for a long time. Gance himself re-cut the film a number of times, including a 1934 version that is said to have been the first film to use a stereophonic soundtrack (actually, it was more an approximation of stereo-there was a mono track that was controlled through different speakers to create a dynamic effect), as well as a 1971 version that would be his final film. The original 1927 version ran close to 7 hours-about 6 of which have so far been restored by British historian Kevin Brownlow.

Brownlow's restoration project began in the 1960s, and by 1979, he had put together a comprehensible version running close to four hours. At the premiere, Brownlow telephoned Gance in his hotel room to let him listen to the thunderous applause of the audience. American distribution rights were handled by Francis Ford Coppola, who insisted on letting his father write the score (replacing the Brownlow-commissioned Carl Davis score, that is still used for European showings). Perhaps more crudely, Coppola insisted the film be cut to just under four hours to prevent having to pay overtime to musicians hired to play the score at live performances. The "Coppola" version is still the only one available in the US, despite Brownlow's current restoration running more than two hours longer.

Much has been said about the re-vitalization effect the NAPOLEON re-release had on silent film. It is hard to say whether it was NAPOLEON or the advent of video cassettes around the same time that really led to the massive re-interest in silent films, but regardless, NAPOLEON's place in cinematic history became a certainty with its restoration and new presentation.

Gance lived just long enough to see massive re-appreciation for his most famous and personal achievement. At the time of his death, he was working on a film on the life of Christopher Columbus, that was never completed.

Gance made many other films (LA ROUE and LUCREZA BORGA among them), of course. But with the possible exception of Jean Vigo, it is rather difficult to think of another filmmaker whose career rests so solidly, and whose reputation is ranked as highly, as Abel Gance, deservedly so, on the basis of a single film.

Billy Wilder's THE FRONT PAGE (1974)

Just picked this up on DVD, since I always find Wilder's films so interesting. I wasn't expecting too much from it, but I really enjoyed it more than I expected.

It was the only one of Wilder's post-"Some Like it Hot" films that I had not seen yet. For me, his post-"...Hot" period is interesting if not always successful. I did not care for IRMA LA DOUCE much (well, Lou Jacobi was great in it, though), and really disliked KISS ME, STUPID (just crude and unfunny, in my opinion). I actually really liked THE FORTUNE COOKIE, PRIVATE LIFE OF SHERLOCK HOLMES and AVANTI! (this one was a real treat). As for FEDORA, I found it interesting but I can't say it was one of the better Wilder films I've seen (especially compared to the work he was doing 20 years earlier). As for BUDDY BUDDY, it was amazing to see that the man who began his Hollywood career writing films like NINOTCHKA, and directed films as classy and witty as SOME LIKE IT HOT, THE APARTMENT and ONE TWO THREE would end his career directing something on the level of AMERICAN PIE. It's a long way from "Nobody's perfect" and "Shut up and deal" to "Are you out of your f**king mind?" every other sentence. But still, BUDDY BUDDY was just one crude joke after another, and seemed at times that its only purpose was to see how crude it could get (the pot joke felt especially forced, in my opinion). Of course, Jack Lemmon and Walter Matthau still did their best with the material they were given and its always a pleasure to see them in films together.

Which brings me to THE FRONT PAGE. From what I'd read, I was expecting something like a rip-off of THE STING, played with loads of late '20s nostalgia but highly dated now. I was wrong. I actually found the film to be highly enjoyable, and very funny. Not a "classic" of course, but enjoyable for what it was. I also noticed the film was made by Universal Pictures rather than through the Mirisch Company, suggesting perhaps that Wilder was brought in by the studio for this project rather than developing the entire project on his own, as he often did with his other independent films with I.A.L. Diamond. Wilder and Diamond, however, did write the new script for "Front Page", and it seemed like a great vehicle for Lemmon and Matthau. It was also really well-photographed and the music score was alot of fun if not great.
The dialogue exchanges weren't on the same level as "His Girl Friday" (no surprise there), but I found it to be better paced than the 1931 version (a movie I *really* wanted to like, but couldn't quite get into for some reason. O'Brien and especially Menjou were great in it, but I almost felt distracted by the overly-mobile cinematography in alot of scenes. I understand this was trying to offer an alternative to the static photography of many early talkies but sometimes I personally found it distracting).

As with alot of Wilder's films, one of the best parts is the supporting cast. Surprisingly, I didn't find Carol Burnett to be at her best in this film but that was really more a problem with the script. However, Austin Pendleton was incredible as Earl Williams. It was a treat to see Charles Durning as one of the newspapermen and Harold Gould as the Mayor (the casting here might have been a nod to their appearances in THE STING?). Vincent Gardenia was hilarious as the Sheriff. He was a great character actor in the right roles.

Overall, I enjoyed the film very much, found it both well-written and well-paced, and I feel it overcame the low expectations I had of it being another remake.

Retrospective: Harold Lloyd's "Speedy"

From my review of the 2004 Maryland Film Festival:

Review: SPEEDY (1928) by Matt Barry 5/9/04
For me, the highlight of the 2004 Maryland Film Festival was the presentation of a pristine new 35mm print of SPEEDY (courtesy of the Harold Lloyd Trust) with a rousing score performed live by the Alloy Orchestra.

The film: SPEEDY is considered by many to be Harold Lloyd's all-round best film. It contains too many hilarious and well-executed gag sequences to count, wonderful characters, excellent location scenes, and a certain element of just sheer, plain fun that is impossible to re-capture in films today. You really *believe* that Harold and Ann and Babe Ruth and everyone else were genuinely having a ball making this film. Hard to imagine the amount of painstaking preparation and work put into creating that sense of fun, but that's what these guys did best, and why the silent comedies still continue to delight audiences while even some of the best comedies of the sound era can seem just a bit stale to modern audiences.

I was heavily impressed with the technical skill of the filmmaking. SPEEDY was obviously a big-budget production, and it showed that Lloyd really took cares in making it a polished, technically well-made picture. Even the visual effects sequences during the final chase were well-done and used very sparingly; the majority of the chase sequence was filmed entirely on the spot.
I really don't have any negative comments on the film itself. I felt that every gag sequence worked perfectly (as evidenced by the near non-stop laughter of the audience). The performances were excellent, the technical aspects were state-of-the-art for their time. I would rank SPEEDY **** out of ****. Truly a laugh-a-minute comedy.

The Presentation:
The film was presented in a newly restored, pristine 35mm print courtesy of the Harold Lloyd Trust and was hosted by Jed Dietz, director of the Maryland Film Festival. Unfortunately, several segments of the film (most likely the stock footage sequences) were noticably scratchy. The other segments were crystal-clear however, and the print overall was stunning.
The musical score was composed and performed by the Alloy Orchestra. It was an incredibly accomplishment; the score was brilliant in and of itself yet never called attention to itself or detracted from the focus of the film. I understand the Alloy has its admirers and its detractors; to be fair, I have only hear several of their film scores (including a live presentation of THE BLACK PIRATE), but I can say without doubt that their score for SPEEDY was perfectly suited to the mood and tone of the film. For those attending a silent film with accompaniment by the Alloy...do not be put off by the unusual instrumentation of the group. The music they created was perfectly suited to the film.

My only real complaint of the presentation was that a small portion of the left side of the screen was masked off. I could not be certain whether this was the fault of the projectionist, or perhaps the black curtain that masks the rest of the screen needed to be adjusted. This proved quite frustrating during the opening credits because the titles got cut off slightly on the left side of the screen, and the titles during the first minute or so were also affected similarly but after this it seemed not to affect the titles anymore, although the formatting remained uncorrected for the duration of the film.

Overall the presentation was a complete success, and I applaud the Alloy Orchestra for their amazing and effective score, and the Harold Lloyd Trust for lending the beautiful 35mm print of the film. Hopefully the positive response of this event will lead to more live-music presentations with silent films.

Matt Barry

The Man Who Knew Too Much comparison

Having recently watched both the 1934 and 1956 versions of THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH, I have to admit I prefer the 1934 well over the remake.

It has nothing to do with the fact that its the "original" version. I feel that Hitchcock told the story in a more effective manner, especially using the visuals to tell the story over what felt like unnecessarily extended dialogue in certain scenes in the remake.

I felt that that length of the remake was too long, plain and simple. Hitchcock told the story in 1934 in 78 very tight, very effective minutes. The remake runs two hours. The exposition in the remake went on entirely too long for me. There was even a feeling that Hitchcock felt compelled to make the most of the foreign filming location, to provide all the detail he possibly could out of the setting, which did not add anything to the story for me, at least, and which felt entirely too long.

There is a tightness to the storytelling of the early British Hitchcocks, and I feel that its beneficial in this case. Also, I recently re-watched THE 39 STEPS, which is both immensely entertaining and incredibly brilliant without the techniques calling too much attention to themselves.

The Tramp and the Dictator (2002)

From Usenet, 23 December 2004

In watching THE TRAMP AND THE DICTATOR again since the first time it aired on TCM a couple years ago, I'm struck by what a loose concept this was to build a whole documentary around.
Initially, it sounded interesting enough. My main reason for seeing this documentary was to get a look at the color home movie footage shot on the set by Syd Chaplin.
When the first Warner/Mk2 DVD was released, I picked it up, not even realizing that THE GREAT DICTATOR disc included the documentary, plus the complete 25 minutes of home movie footage, as special features. Now that the home movies are available as a stand alone feature, I wanted to watch the documentary again, a little more objectively.
Having seen it, I cannot understand why Brownlow really thought that this was a good idea. I mean, yes, there are the coincidental similarities between Chaplin and Hitler, but to build an entire 55 minute film around it seems disjointed. I understand that in the last 10 years or so, Brownlow has become as interested in documenting European history as he is about film history. This first became apparent with CINEMA EUROPE (1995), and later with UNIVERSAL HORROR (1998) and even LON CHANEY: 1000 FACES (2000). However, it became overwhelming in this film. My biggest problem was it really offers nothing new about either men, mainly because it can't very well spend much time on either of them individually.
I much preferred Brownlow's next film, CECIL B. DEMILLE: AMERICAN EPIC (2004), which focused only on one person and one topic. Compared to the DeMille documentary, TRAMP AND THE DICTATOR felt rushed, disjointed and lacking real focus, in my opinion. Perhaps Brownlow should have focused strictly on the making of THE GREAT DICTATOR; then again, that might not have provided enough material for a 55 minute film.
At any rate, Brownlow just released another documentary, BUSTER KEATON: SO FUNNY IT HURT. While below his usual standards of complexity and depth, it stills offers a brief but interesting look at a comic genius.

The Lost Weekend (1945)

One of the most graphic depictions of what it means to be addicted, The Lost Weekend has lost none of its power 60 years after its release.

Billy Wilder's 1945 film is one of the first mature films to come out of Hollywood after the end of the second World War. It falls somewhere between the categories of "social drama", the type of film that was typified by William Wyler's The Best Years of Our Lives-films that reflected social realities in film for the first time, inspired by the harsh realities of war, and the newly imported Neo-Realist films from Italy, such as Open City, Paisan, and of course Bicycle Thieves. Wilder, as astute an observer of American society as anyone, wrote this film with Charles Brackett, from a novel by Charles Jackson. The script takes us through the weekend of a terrible alcoholic, a failed writer, played to Oscar-winning perfection by Ray Milland. Over the course of this solitary weekend, we learn the causes and symptoms of his drinking, and see the devastating depths he falls to.

The film carries a strong visual motif throughout, however, as well as a thematic one, both of which link it to the film noir genre of the period. Lost Weekend does not necessarily carry the usual genre elements of noir, but stylistically, it could be classified as such. There is a definite dark mood to the entire film, complete with high contrast lighting and deep cinematography. But to watch Lost Weekend for the film noir aspects is to miss out on the incredible drama and great performances, not to mention the story, which really grips the attention of the audience, bringing each new scene in with a certain level of anticipation and even curiosity.

Director Wilder, who won an Academy Award here, would later become most famous for his series of cynical comedies, most notably Some Like it Hot, The Apartment, and One, Two, Three. But in his early American period (roughly 1942-1950), he directed several darker films that show his unique range. Regular readers of my reviews will know that I consider Wilder to be an outstanding artist on the grounds that he mastered so many different genres, and could adapt so well while always maintaining his own style. This film in particular exemplifies that. There is a memorable running gag in the film with Milland always sticking his cigarette into his mouth backward, and having to reverse it before lighting it. A subtle touch, but it adds so much to the characters.

As mentioned before, there is a definite noir atmosphere about the whole film. This is perhaps most evident in the chilling sequence where Milland wakes up in Bellevue (this was the first film allowed to film scenes inside Bellevue). Milland is forced to listen to the raving and screaming of his fellow patients experiencing DTs. This sequence still tingles the spine to watch and leaves a decided feeling of dread long after it is over.

Wilder avoids preaching to the audience. This film does not attempt to do for alcohol what Reefer Madness did for marijuana-that is, make it seem dangerously fun. Using the alcoholism as an all-controlling force, Wilder creates an interesting antagonistic force that exists within the alcohol himself. By avoiding the outright social statements that would have been easy to fall back on, Wilder presents the film as an entertainment, but one that is not likely to be forgotten or taken lightly by anyone who watches it.