Hero (2002)

I also had a chance this past weekend to revisit Hero. This was the second time I had seen the film – the first being when it was initially released in American theaters in 2004. My reaction now was virtually identical to what it was then. It’s a great film, beautiful and complex; however, when compared to 2000’s Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (which, it seems, is the inevitable comparison), Hero falls short of its esteemed predecessor. (Perhaps I should break in with a brief caveat at this point: Crouching Tiger is one of my favorite films. I feel it blends narrative and style perfectly, and that it has a whole lot of everything cinema aspires to be. Needless to say, the bar is set pretty high when I start comparing other films to it.) The film has an impressive cast, not only starring the two Chinese actors most recognized by American audiences – Jet Li and Zhang Ziyi – but also Maggie Cheung and Tony Leung Chiu Wai, two of China’s stars who came to the world’s attention in In the Mood for Love and 2046. Hero follows Nameless (Li), a prefect whose slayings of the King of Qin’s greatest enemies permit him to hold royal audience within ten paces of the ruler. The king, however, begins to suspect that the supposed slayings never actually occured but rather were faked in order to bring Nameless within striking distance for a potential assassination attempt. A series of conflicting narratives unfold, and the film keeps you guessing until the very end as to what really happened.

Like both Crouching Tiger and House of the Flying Daggers, Hero is a modern-day wuxia film (a Chinese genre blending martial arts, chivalry, and philosophy) that utilizes wire technology for its impressive and beautiful action scenes. Though used all over the world now, the wire technology and its aesthetics seem particularly appropriate in these Asian films, where there is no definitive boundary between art and the martial arts (Hero, not coincidentally, compares swordplay to both music and calligraphy). The use of this wire technology, the breezy cinematography, and the colorful scenery are all hallmarks of these films, which use them to brilliant effect. Unlike Crouching Tiger, however, Hero has a tendency to overuse these elements. Director Yimou Zhang occasionally becomes so enamored with the colors and landscapes that they seem to preempt the story – which is the real heart of the film. As transfixing as the visuals are, their excess threatens to transform the film into one of those cases of “too much of a good thing.” This really is the only problem I have with Hero, and I certainly intend it as only a minor complaint.

On the other hand, the script is undeniably good. As Nameless gets closer to the king, not only are the viewers coming closer to the truth of the story, but as it turns out, they are getting closer to understanding the heart of the king himself. The complexity and texture of the narrative make Hero one of those films you can watch over and over again and still discover something new with each viewing. Not only that, but the quality of the acting and the film’s overall aesthetic appeal (though, as I said, it can be a bit much at times) mean that repeat viewings are hardly tedious. Overall, Hero is just another fine example of why China’s contemporary wuxia films have gathered such a following worldwide. I highly recommend it.

Wife Versus Secretary (1936)

For date night this past weekend, me and the Mrs. decided to check out Wife Versus Secretary, a smart, stylish classic that seemed appropriate for the occasion. The film has three of the 1930s’ biggest stars in their heyday – Clark Gable, Myrna Loy, and Jean Harlow – and also features a young Jimmy Stewart in one of his first roles. The plot basically revolves around Van Stanhope (Gable), a successful businessman who is happily married to Linda (Loy). In business, Van relies heavily upon his beautiful secretary Whitey Wilson (Harlow), who happens to be engaged to Dave (Stewart). When a proposed purchase of a rival company necessitates Van and Whitey to start working long hours in private, their significant others begin to get suspicious, and jealousy runs rampant.

This was one of those nice little surprises where we really hadn’t heard much about it beforehand, but it turned out to be a rather good film. The sets are some of those great, lavish affairs of the 30s that make you feel nostalgic. The script is good, as is the directing. It’s the acting, though, that steals the show. The cast is as good as advertised, and the chemistry between the stars works well. After so long associating Myrna Loy with William Powell, I was surprised by how well the Gable/Loy combination worked (which probably explains why they made eight movies together). Of course, there was also the noted great chemistry between Gable and Harlow, who collaborated on six movies together before her death at 26. You can also recognize the talent of Jimmy Stewart, and it’s easy to see why he wasn’t given such small roles for long. It really is the acting, in my opinion, that makes this film work. (On a side note, I’m cautiously optimistic that I’m slowly ridding my wife of her anti-Gable bias by convincing her he’s so much more than just Rhett Butler.)

Although technically, this film fits the general definition of a screwball comedy, it deviates significantly from the quintessential examples of the genre (much like the screwball comedy that supposedly marks the starting point of the genre – It Happened One Night, also starring Gable). It is much more serious in nature than most screwballs, and it lacks some of that zaniness that tends to make the genre so fun.  In fact, despite the overall brevity of the film, there are one or two stretches where the film moves slowly and is not overly engaging. For that reason, I would be somewhat reluctant to recommend this film to someone who is new to classics (I’ve found the pacing of these old films to be the most common turn-off to contemporary sensibilities). To those lucky ones already indoctrinated into the world of black and white, however, this showcase of some legendary 30s talents is one of those often overlooked films that you might be happy to discover. It’s not perfect, but it’s still very good.

Arsenic and Old Lace (1944)

The biggest Cary Grant fan I know, my wife, has never been a big fan of Arsenic and Old Lace. Thus, this is the only instance that I am aware of where I actually like one of his films more than she does. Before last night, I had seen it only once and that was several years ago, so I was happy to get a chance to watch it again and to see if it was as good as I remembered. I was not disappointed.

Directed by the legendary Frank Capra and based on a hit Broadway play, Arsenic and Old Lace is a classic screwball comedy where Mortimer Brewster (Grant) discovers his kindly aunts are actually poisoning elderly men (not out of spite, mind you, but out of charity) and burying their corpses in the cellar. Before he can run away with his new bride, Mortimer must try to sort out this mess, while also dealing with his crazy Uncle ”Teddy” (who believes himself to be Theodore Roosevelt) and the return of his convict brother, Jonathon (Raymond Massey), who resembles Boris Karloff and would like nothing more than to murder his sibling. Superbly written, these subplots intertwine into a farcical masterpiece full of surprises and some truly funny moments.

Grant’s the only real big-time star, but the rest of the cast is full of recognizable faces from classic Hollywood (Peter Lorre, Priscilla Lane, Jack Carson). The film seems perfectly cast, with each actor playing his or her role just right. The versatility of Cary Grant never ceases to amaze me. That a person who can brings such depth and emotion to his serious roles (in films like Notorious) can also excel at physical comedy to the degree displayed in this film is just mind-boggling. One can say something similar about the directing of Capra, who not only can bring to life such touching films as It’s a Wonderful Life, but in the case of Arsenic, he shows a remarkable understanding of the comedic timing and energy needed to make such a topsy-turvy plot work.

While I still enjoyed it, I must admit that I liked the film more the first time I saw it. I think first-time viewers of this film are more taken aback and amused by the whole ridiculousness of the plot. This time through, I knew what was coming and, with so many subplots being introduced into the story, the film seemed to drag a bit long as it tried to resolve all the loose ends (this is somewhat characteristic of Capra – though he’s one of my favorite directors, he does tend to run his films a little longer than they need be). Nonetheless, there’s no denying this film’s status as a classic, and I will laugh at many of these scenes no matter how many times I see them. It’s also worth noting that while I may have liked the film slightly less this time around, my wife liked it somewhat more. Thus we seem to be overcoming our stubborn, contrarian viewpoints in order to find some unlikely, but endearing, middle ground that will ultimately promote our domestic harmony. This oddly seems an appropriate way to end a discussion about a screwball comedy.

Key Largo (1948)

One thing that will become evident as this blog continues is that I am a big Humphrey Bogart fan. I was thus understandably excited the other week when I came across one of his more underrated films – Key Largo - on sale for a very good price. The film is the only one that pairs Bogie with both the costar (Lauren Bacall) and the director (John Huston) with whom he is most closely associated. Not only that, but the rest of the cast is stellar, with Edward G. Robinson, Lionel Barrymore, and Claire Trevor. The basic story follows Frank McCloud (Bogart) a WWII veteran who travels to a hotel in Key Largo to visit Frank and Nora Temple (Barrymore and Bacall), the surviving father and widow of one of his deceased war buddies. The hotel, however, is overrun by a group of gangsters (led by Johnny Rocco – played by Robinson), and McCloud and the Temples must survive a night trapped in the building threatened by both the gangsters and an approaching hurricane.

Key Largo is one of those great films that makes me nostalgic for a previous era of filmmaking. I always seem to like classic films that are based on plays. Their reliance upon well-written, intelligent scripts usually ensures quality productions. And even though stage origins may limit such films geographically, they also typically give these films a strong sense of place that often seems lacking in today’s efforts. This is certainly the case with Key Largo. Not only does it have a quality script, but it has a top-notch ensemble capable of bringing it to life, with Claire Trevor actually stealing the show from her bigger-name costars. The bottom-line is that this is a well done classic film.

And yet, even having said this, I think there is something that keeps the film an ever-so-slight tier below the truly top-flight classics of the genre. This is odd, considering I can think of very little that is wrong with the film (besides some awkwardly dated Native American scenes). If anything, I would say that, good as it is, the script is thin in certain areas, particularly in that it doesn’t give Bogart ample opportunity to explore the ambiguities of McCloud’s character. Rather than exploring the subtle depths of these ambiguities, the script seems more content to simply note the changes in McCloud’s character and then use them as a way of conveniently moving the plot along. I’m not sure if the character was written this way in Maxwell Anderson’s play or if something was lost in the heavily-modified adaptation, but regardless, I feel Bogart ended up being shortchanged of a potentially rich role that he could have done well with. But I’m nitpicking. Even on a very bad day, John Huston directing a cast like this is worth checking out.

It’s interesting to note that many people view this film against the backdrop of Bogart, Robinson, Huston, and others speaking out against McCarthyism and the House Unamerican Activities Committee. In such an interepretation, Johnny Rocco represents a totalitarian bully who dictates how people should live, and Frank McCloud becomes a man who must overcome his fears and stand up to do what’s right. The hurricane adds another dimension to the drama, demonstrating that one man, no matter how powerful he thinks he is, is no match for the power of nature.

Harakiri (1962)

Good as it is, Harakiri is probably not a film for just anybody. There are probably even fans of the classic samurai movies who might not like it (in fact, the genre’s signature swordplay isn’t even present until about three-quarters of the way through the film). Essentially, Harakiri is an epistemological film, presenting two men’s contrasting storylines together, leaving it to the viewer to judge for him/herself what really happened. As such, it relies heavily on narrative and dialogue. As aesthetically pleasing as the classic Japanese film-making style is - with its beautiful scenery; its crisp, clean shots; and its slow, drawn-out takes – it can make for some admittedly slow-paced viewing when there’s no action to move the story along. The fact that all the dialogue is in a language as flat and unaccentuated as Japanese does nothing to alleviate this problem.

And yet, attentive viewers who give this film a chance will find their efforts rewarded with a complex, richly textured narrative that becomes increasingly engaging as each new piece of the tale is unveiled. The basic plot involves some down-on-their-luck samurai who, unable to find work due to the reigning peace, start showing up at the gates of some feudal lords and begging for permission to commit harakiri (ritual suicide) in their courtyards. The film follows the case of a particular elder samurai who comes to a lord to make such a request. His request is granted, but before he commits harakiri, he decides to tell the house about his background. Without giving too much away, suffice it to say that both the samurai and the feudal house are connected by certain past events. Their interpretation of these events, however, are decidedly different.

The film certainly delivers an anti-authoritarian message, critizing the way the powerful rewrite the events of history in order to justify its rule and how it disguises its wrongdoing behind a facade of honor. I do not know as much as I should about modern Japanese history, but I really wondered to what extent this film was made in response to WWII. Filmed less than two decades after the War’s close, its message could easily be aimed at those leaders who justified fighting the War for their own glory, meanwhile ignoring the hardships it caused its people. Indeed, it seemed like more than just a coincidence that the dispossessed samurai were originally from a clan located in Hiroshima. I haven’t looked into this, but I would be interested to find out more in this regard.

Without a doubt, Harakiri is one of the best written Japanese films I’ve seen. Not only that, but it is beautifully shot and showcases the acting of some of the legendary stars of the Japanese cinema. It’s an intellectually demanding and sometimes slow film, and thus might not be everybody’s cup of tea. Yet, the potential rewards to be attained from its viewing certainly make it a film worthy of the effort.

Gun Crazy (1949)

To give a fair assement of Gun Crazy, one needs first to get past the initial 10 minutes of the film – not an easy feat considering it starts with all the melodramatic hokeyness of an afterschool special. But be patient: it redeems itself, improving as it goes along and eventually rewarding viewers with a top-tier film noir.

Seen as a forerunner of Bonnie and Clyde, Gun Crazy follows the adventures of married couple Annie Laurie Starr and Bart Tare as they travel crosscountry in an exciting string of robberies. The film makes up for the rather simple storyline through focusing on the moral composition and development of the characters. Is Annie truly the ruthless and unfeeling femme fatale she seems to be, manipulating Bart’s feelings only for financial gain (it’s interesting to note that the film’s original title was Deadly is the Female)? Or is there really depth in her actions, and can we actually believe the excuses she presents for killing innocent people? Bart’s character is even more interesting. Torn between his love for his girl and his desire to go straight, he becomes involved in a game of brinksmanship with Annie, who pushes him to see just how far he will bend his principles in order to prove his love for her. Trying to determine the true nature of these characters is further complicated by the interesting twist given by the film’s surprising ending. The magnetism and fatalistic quality of the couple’s relationship gives it a star-crossed-lover quality that really propels the story forward.

There is a b-movie quality about the production. While in some areas this proves a liability, overall it seems only to enhance (as it often does with the noir genre) the direct and visceral atmosphere of the film. The script and pacing of the film do have some problems, getting bogged down in uninteresting, irrelevant details, while glossing over seemingly pivotal events. Also, the acting is solid but not exceptional. Probably the strongest aspect of the film is Joseph Lewis’s energetic and engaging direction. Many of the shots (including the film’s famous bank-robbery scene that was shot in one extra-long take) are innovative and revealing.

I highly recommend this film to any film noir fans (by the way, fans of the genre might want to check out the Film Noir Classic Collection, Vol. 1, which contains not only this film, but other classics such as The Asphalt Jungle and Out of the Past - looks like a great deal). The film is somewhat unique to the genre in that it relies so heavily upon character development for its substance and is so minimal in the area of plot. I’d be interested to hear the thoughts of any other people who have seen this film, so please feel free to post your opinion.

The Quiet Man (1952)

Directed by the legendary John Ford, The Quiet Man is considered by many as a bonafide classic and has been recommended to me on more than one occasion. Thus, last night, I finally took the time to sit down and watch it. The cast is headlined by John Wayne in the role of Sean Thorton – a boxer who leaves America to return to his native Ireland after killing a man in the ring. Thorton wishes to lead a peaceful life and hopes to settle down with Mary Kate Danaher (Maureen O’Hara – in a role subject to some of the most frequent mood swings in cinematic history). Unfortunately, her brother objects to the union, and Thorton must choose between fighting for the woman he loves and his hopes for a peaceful life.

This 1952 film was made at a time when studios were making big epics – sprawling movies showcasing such innovations as Cinescope and Technicolor. The Quiet Man resembles one of these films, with Ford using the lush, scenic countryside as a backdrop for his celebration of Irish culture. Unlike his later westerns (e.g., The Man Who Shot Liberty Valence, The Searchers), Ford doesn’t narrow his focus and highlight a tightly-rendered storyline. Rather, he falls into a trap common at the time and allows his story to become as expansive and rambling as the scenery. Nowhere did this seem more evident than with the ending. The majority of the film carefully sets up several poignant themes – Thorton’s inner conflict, the counteracting restrictiveness and necessity of a culture’s traditions, etc. Yet, these themes are never satisfactorily resolved, but are instead simply trumped by a romping, jubilant melee through the streets of Innisfree. Ford seems to be saying that, despite all its problems, or maybe even because of them, Irish culture continues to flourish and to unite its people with its sense of hope and happiness. I found, however, that the film’s ending simply undermined its potential seiousness and left many important points oddly unresolved.

Although I was a little disappointed in Ford’s direction, I was impressed with Wayne’s performance. I think it’s easy for many people in my generation to underestimate John Wayne. Having not grown up with the man, our social conscience instead has adopted a certain popular image of him as a staggering, drawling behemoth of an actor who has an annoying tendancy to say “pilgrim” every other sentence. Only through witnessing some of these more nuanced performances are we able to shed this one-dimensional caricatured image and understand the true depth he can bring to the roles he plays.

Overall, I think The Quiet Man is a decent film, and there are, indeed, many people who would say it’s a great film. It’s a well acted film with beautiful scenery and some great moments of comic relief. I simply believe there are too many holes in the final product to really make it a first-rate classic. I’m glad I saw it once, but it’s probably not a film I plan to revisit often.

The Nights of Cabiria (1957)

 One characteristic of the Italian cinema that I’ve noticed is a pervading sense of sadness in so many of its great films. It seems almost every great Italian film, whether classics (The Bicycle Thief, L’Avventura) or more recent (Cinema Paradiso, Il Postino), all seem to contain an underlying regret or yearning that motivates the principle characters and propels the movement of the film. The Nights of Cabiria (Le Notte di Cabiria), written and directed by Federico Fellini, is certainly no exception to this trend. 

Nights follows the exploits of a woman named Cabiria, a seemingly hardened prostitute who remains intent on finding true love and escaping her life on the streets. Despite her exterior show of stoicism, Cabiria seeks a sense of purity and love that Fellini continually portrays as merely illusory throughout the film. Nights came out in 1957 and is the earliest Fellini film I’ve seen. I was thus struck by how different it was from the films I had already seen. It lacked a lot of the inner psychology and symbolistic dreamscapes you find in something like 8 1/2. Nonetheless, several of the scenes, such as the one of Cabiria praying for the Madonna’s miraculous intervention on her behalf, are vintage Fellini.

A pivotal and highly moving scene in the film involves Cabiria being brought up on stage by a magician who hypnotizes her and has her believe she has just met her true love. As she drops her guard and dances around the stage, the hypnotist makes a comment along the lines that even for fully-grown, jaded adults, a childlike innocence remains inside us all. Whether or not this question is true is what the film explores, as Cabiria continues to return to her belief that true love can exist - even though she finds this belief consistently and mercilessly undermined in her own life.

I really enjoyed this film and would recommend it to anybody interested in Fellini or Italian films in general. It’s not Fellini’s best directing effort, but the script is fantastic and Guilietta Masina (she was Fellini’s wife in real life) acts superbly. The film does not seem at all dated. In fact, its questions of whether or not true love exists seems just as poignant in our age of Internet romances and rampant divorces as it did when it first came out nearly 50 years ago.

New blog

Thanks for checking out my new blog. I’m planning on using this site as a forum of discussion on various films – mostly of the foreign, classic, and indie variety. It should be updated fairly regularly, depending on how much time I have (initially, I’m shooting for at least weekly updates).

I enjoy getting to know new people and hearing their opinions, so feel free to speak your mind and leave any feedback. Thanks.