Monthly Archives: May 2009

StinkyLulu’s Smackdown: 1992

I was once again charmed with the opportunity to participate in StinkyLulu’s excellent Supporting Actress Smackdown series, and this year was a great one: 1992. Don’t remember it off the top of your head? Two words: Marisa Tomei. You have to go read the comments and reviews on StinkyLulu’s post! This is one of the best entries in an always-outstanding series. Alex’s video is great, too, as always. So stop reading here and go there!

So, for good or ill (probably ill) I have some theories about why Tomei won in 1992. And these theories don’t involve a drunken Jack Palance.

As Stinkylulu said, it’s surprising that Tomei was nominated, but not surprising she won. I completely agree, and I think that is the most apt thing anyone has ever said about this controversial win. I can’t tell you why she was nominated. I have no clue. But when looking at the other nominees, it seems as though most of them had a “reason” for losing. “Reason” is in quotes because I don’t think the Oscars have ever been about performances alone, they’ve been about image and politics and favorites, and the reasoning behind half of their awards eludes me to the point that I sometimes think there was no reason at all.

Joan Plowright in “Enchanted April” gave a good performance, but this was a pretty light film that started out as a made-for-TV film in the UK. The Academy hates the stink of television on their precious movies. Plowright was never going to win.

Judy Davis in “Husbands and Wives” gave a terrific performance, but she was nominated in a film that rather uncomfortably recalled Allen’s own current scandal involving Farrow’s very young adopted daughter. The voters probably avoided voting for Allen simply out of principle; recall that Elizabeth Taylor didn’t win for “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof” because of the Eddie Fisher scandal.

Miranda Richardson in “Damage” was great, but it was a small part and she was partly miscast by being so obviously too young for the role. She was huge in 1992 but I can see the Academy thinking she was overexposed. Plus, “Damage” was originally NC-17 for all the boring sex scenes and, honestly, it’s a big ol’ plodding snooze of a film. Richardson would have won, but never ever ever for “Damage”.

So that leaves Tomei and Vanessa Redgrave in “Howard’s End”. It’s a bit of a problem. Redgrave’s role was tailor made for a Supporting Actress Oscar, it’s a lovely performance in a surprising movie, but I think perhaps it’s a little too perfect. Redgrave had already won an Oscar before, she’s been controversial her entire career (and once used the Academy Awards to make her own political statement, which they hate), plus the Academy always favors the Americans over actors from other countries. It really must have been a toss-up between Redgrave and Tomei, and a fresh-faced, cute, likable Tomei surely seemed like a shoe-in for Academy members who cringed at the thought of a British actress or a Woody Allen film winning anything.

Let me say, though, that I think Tomei is a fine actress. I first realized this when I saw “Four Rooms” of all things – this woman is a professional. She may not have deserved the Oscar for “My Cousin Vinny”, but she is definitely an Oscar-calibre actress.

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Bette Davis Project #4: Bordertown (1935)

Bordertown (1935)

Paul Muni is Johnny Ramirez, a poor Latino living in L.A. who has just earned his law degree by spending 5 years in night school. His first real case comes when an elderly neighbor is hit by a drunk driver, the exceptionally racist and spoiled Dale Ewell (Margaret Lindsay) and her boyfriend lawyer, who was also in the car at the time. The boyfriend lawyer and judge in the case are classist, racist jerks — as is Dale, who sketches Johnny during the trial and titles the drawing “savage” — and Johnny loses the case, more out of bigotry than his inexperience. When the boyfriend lawyer continues to insult him, Johnny loses his temper and decks him. The judge and boyfriend make sure that Johnny is immediately disbarred.

Johnny (and the movie) decide that the problem wasn’t racism, it was money, so Johnny heads south to Bordertown to become rich and powerful in revenge. At first he works as a bouncer for Charlie Roark (Eugene Pallette) but quickly becomes indispensable and a partner in the casino. Meanwhile Charlie’s wife, Marie (Bette Davis), has eyes for Johnny, but he doesn’t reciprocate.

Bette does the best with what she is given in this film, which seems to be par for the course in many of the movies before “Dangerous”. Despite her critically acclaimed performance in “Of Human Bondage” she didn’t seem to get many solid roles. She spends most of her time off screen but positively exploding when she appears, which makes this a very uneven movie. Muni and Lindsay are bland and boring, but Bette and Eugene Pallette are vibrant and energetic in contrast.

“Bordertown” is a film I have watched once, but it somehow became part of this odd half-memory that confused me enough that I felt I needed to see the film again. This half-memory was one of those weird little things you almost remember but which gets muddled after a reading dozens of film books and watching thousands of movies, interviews, and documentaries. Bette, I think on Dick Cavett’s show, mentioned that “Beyond the Forest” was a disaster not just because she was too old for the part, but because no one would believe a lady would be desperate to leave handsome Joseph Cotten. She remarked that she wanted another actor in the role that would be convincing to leave, and I think she said Eugene Pallette. I am not entirely sure (half-remembered!) but at the time I remember thinking Pallette had once played her husband before, here in “Bordertown”. At that point, something in my memory went a little nutty and I have since confused “Bordertown” with “Beyond the Forest”, and probably always will.

Bette’s look in the film is striking. She’s a little bloated, pale, unsteady on her feet, and just odd enough in her early mannerisms that you hardly perceive it but, when she starts to go mad, you aren’t surprised. Her wardrobe helps with her look, as she has some really nice clothes but they’re all a little off. The hat is too small, the lingerie is pretty but still dowdy, the black gown too vampy for the opening night of a bright new restaurant and casino. Bette’s character Marie is trapped in Bordertown in the middle of a desert with nothing to do. She’s a woman who is bored, dissatisfied, tired, and hungry for something new.

Out of frustration and, when the right set of circumstances comes along, Marie kills her husband Charlie and makes it look like an accident. Johnny takes the opportunity to use Marie’s inherited money to build a glamorous place where the old casino used to be, and Marie expects him to be very grateful for the chance. He isn’t, and the night the new upscale casino opens, the bitch… er, I mean Dale, shows up unexpectedly. Johnny is attracted to her and she returns the sentiment, all while calling him “savage” and “prehistoric” and fetishizing him in a really revolting way.

Marie discovers she’s even more trapped after killing Charlie. In an effective scene where she paces the house, wanting to leave but too freaked after committing murder, she runs to Johnny again. He has no interest in her and, in a scene which I’m positive was written for Bette to capitalize on the similar famous scene in “Of Human Bondage”, Marie decides to get revenge. She tells Johnny she killed Charlie for him, and Johnny — who has been portrayed as a good citizen, good lawyer, and nice guy — threatens to kill her if she tells anyone. Now that he knows Charlie’s death wasn’t an accident, he apparently feels no need to turn her in to the police, and would rather use the blood money to open the casino and get rich.

A few days later Marie lies to the police that Johnny forced her to kill Charlie, but at the trial she has a complete breakdown and the case is dismissed. Johnny returns to Dale who is glad enough to see him, but when he proposes, flatly says they can’t marry: “We’re from two different tribes, savage.” Johnny shakes her and screams at her in anger, causing her to run away from him and right into a moving car, which kills her. And everyone cheers! Go away, Margaret Lindsay, nobody likes you!

Johnny sells the casino and goes back to L.A. In his own words, he’s learned his lesson and should “go back to my own people.”

Booooo! Hssssssss!

“Bordertown” was shown on TCM as part of the Latino Images in Film series, and according to Professor Chon Noriega who hosted the film, the original script had over 50 instances of the word “greaser”. Can you imagine? This racist, condescending dreck was the improved, more enlightened version. The film is obviously trying to elevate the image of Latinos while simultaneously making sure Latinos are portrayed as stereotypically as possible.

It’s frustrating and uncomfortable and downright sad to see such images in film, and I struggle constantly with how to approach films like this. There’s such a spectrum of opinions, ranging from those (white people) who think the outright racism of several decades ago was the right way to handle race relations, to those who say “things were different then so it’s no big deal”, to those who do not watch classic films at all because they think those outdated values need to be put away for good. I still don’t know where I fit on the spectrum. I may never know. It’s also upsetting to me in a selfish film geek way because Bette and Pallette’s performances are lost in the middle of a very problematic film; isolated, their performances are worthwhile and entertaining.

Given the last few films, this project is going to be much harder than I thought. However, the next several movies I’ll be watching are ones my good ‘net friend Louie sent me, and I can’t wait!

Somewhere online I found a bunch of “Bordertown” lobby cards, which I include for your deep, personal enjoyment.

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Bette Davis Project #3: Housewife (1934)

Housewife (1934):

Bill Reynolds (George Brent) and wife Nan (Ann Dvorak) are happily married but struggling financially and quite frustrated with everyday irritations. Nan tries to get Bill to apply for better jobs because she’s disappointed that he is such a milquetoast, and of course this attitude strains their marriage further. Bill’s new, highly-paid supervisor Patricia (Bette Davis) had been friends with Bill and Nan in high school. Bill had been BMOC and Patricia admired him, then left town heartbroken when he married Nan. Several years later she’s made a name for herself and is back in the old hometown, while Bill is still in a go-nowhere job and refusing to take risks.

Ironically, Alfred E Green, who directed this film and many other 1930s Bette Davis films, always seemed the kind of director who never tried new things. He wasn’t the kind of guy to take a risk and improve himself, at least not that I can tell in his films. Green’s films are forgettable unless a performance or something specific in the material stands out from his reliable, unimaginative direction; “Central Airport” is a good example of the forgettable, while “Baby Face” is a good example of the performances raising the quality of the film despite the director.

Considering the contrast between Bill’s lack of ambition in this film and Patricia’s exciting, upwardly-mobile career, I wonder if Patricia’s arrival was supposed to trigger Bill’s desire to better himself. It’s not specifically played that way, though, so we’ll never know. Also, Bill’s wife Nan is the one with the conniving idea that helps him steal a large account away from his former boss. The account means more money, more clients, and Patricia now on Bill’s payroll.

Patricia and Bill begin a blatant affair while scorning Nan as being nothing more than a provincial housewife, but Nan has no intention of letting Bill go. But go he does, running over their little boy with his car as he drives off. Oh, honestly, this little addition to the plot to make Bill even more evil than before was unnecessary. At least it was also hysterical.

More months pass! The little boy is healed, but hasn’t aged a day during this whole film, which is completely freaky. The divorce between Bill and Nan is about to be finalized, but during court testimony Nan shows herself to be such a kind woman and terrific housewife that Bill can’t leave her, so they reconcile everyone’s happy the end. Bleah!

There is some tacky, thoughtless dialogue in this film, especially when Nan and Dora compare being housewives to being slaves and decide the housewives were “sensibly” not freed. It’s played as a joke, but man, talk about disturbing. The blackface radio actors are offensive as well, but they are at least shown as offensive and tasteless.

Ultimately, “Housewife” is pretty boring. There is never any doubt as to where the plot will go. Dvorak’s performance is stiff and trite, and she often plays an entire scene by standing around with her hands on her hips like a fashion mannequin. In the first scene in their new luxurious home, she stands around like a fashion model with her back to the camera. It’s the strangest movie blocking I’ve ever seen in a professional film released by a well-known studio.

Brent could at times give shallow, one-note performances, but around Davis he really grew as an actor. Davis is gorgeous in her tight gowns and blonde hair, done a lot more tastefully than in “Fashions of 1934″. The role of Patricia is good only in theory, as we never see her working her high-powered job. Davis carries the role well, although does look uncomfortable in moments where she’s expected to react but not say anything. I’m sure part of that was ego, but I’m sure Davis knew by 1934 that the meat of these movies was in the strong female characters, and to be thwarted by some conservative women-belong-in-the-home plotline must have been frustrating.

At the time, Kay Francis was the queen of WB. It’s interesting to note that the film I watched immediately before this one was Francis’ “Stranded”, also from 1934 and also starring George Brent. In “Stranded”, Brent is a screaming hairy jerk, trying to force Francis to marry him to keep her from having a career. He learns his lesson and realizes Francis should be allowed to have both husband and career. Yet iIn “Housewife”, he learns his lesson and realizes women are best when in the kitchen instead of the office. Was this how WB doled out the good roles? Did they mandate that only the top actresses got to be strong women, while lesser and/or supporting actresses were made wives or homewreckers? I honestly don’t know, but I’m going to have to pay more attention to these early to mid 1930s WB films and see if there’s a pattern.

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Counting Down the Zeroes: Gosford Park (2001)

Ibetolis at Film for the Soul is more than just a gifted blogger with an ambitious project, he is also the model of patience. As part of the Counting Down the Zeroes series, I was fortunate enough to again participate with a post about “Gosford Park” (2001) — a post that was a solid week late, thanks to family issues and my struggle to figure out just what I thought about Altman’s film.

Below is my review for “Gosford Park”, as originally appeared at Film for the Soul. While you’re there, take time to read the rest of the wonderful reviews for the years 2000 and 2001. You’ll see why Counting Down the Zeroes was nominated as Best Blog-a-thon/Meme for the 2009 LAMMYs.

***

“Gosford Park” isn’t an immediately impressive film. When released, publicity called it an English murder mystery turned upside down, made into something it never had been before. I knew the English manor house mystery genre well and was excited at the prospect of a new take on an old friend. After so much anticipation, I watched the film and found myself frustrated and sad when the entire experience was flat and dull.

In the intervening years I’d decided it was a film I needed to view again. I was so sure I’d missed the big Something that “Gosford Park” had wowed everyone else with. But now I know that, for good or ill, that big Something was only a phantom.

There is no reason to go into depth regarding the plot of “Gosford Park”. It’s simply not important. All you need to know is that it’s 1932, a group of rich people get together at an estate home for a weekend, they bring their servants, a murder happens, and we discover almost everyone has a secret. By the end of the film we understand the substance and the nature of many of the people who holidayed at Gosford Park that weekend.

“Gosford Park” is a solid film, immensely entertaining and gorgeous to look at. The location sets are stunning and the costuming is nearly perfect. The cast, of course, is one for the ages. Alan Bates was sheer perfection in a role that subtly held the entire film together. Emily Watson was also amazing, hitting the notes of this period piece perfectly. While the film was obviously intended to be an ensemble piece, Bates and Watson were the cornerstones and the film could not have succeeded without them.

Yet there were several false notes in the film. Ryan Phillippe’s character was poorly realized, and frankly Phillippe didn’t have the presence or talent to elevate or layer the role. The character of Isobel struck entirely the wrong tone; the unkempt hair and sullen expression were simplistic cliches straight out of high school theatre, unfortunate in a performance that required complexity. Every character in this film was regarded at a distance, which is a defining point of Altman’s ensemble casts, but the characters of Mr Blonde and Mr Standish were so vague that it muddied the plot to an unnecessary degree. It didn’t help that Mr Standish, from a distance, looked just like Mr Nesbitt. Great for the plot, terrible for the viewer.

Maybe it’s these minor missteps that make me feel the film is flat, that there is some piece of the Altman puzzle that never lands in its proper place. It’s borne from the insistence of Altman, writer Julian Fellows, and contemporary reviewers that “Gosford Park” did something to the standard English manor house murder mystery that had never been done before. Yet everyone says “Gosford Park” is “Upstairs, Downstairs” meets Agatha Christie, and it is. How do you reconcile these two facts? How can the film be a retread of decades-old formats and at the same time be unique?

The manor house murder mystery is a genre that has been alive and well for decades; it’s a subgenre of the standard mystery, which emerged roughly 150 years ago. It’s obvious that Altman knew all about the murder mystery genre. He cast a crew of actors — most notably Michael Gambon, Helen Mirren, Derek Jacobi, Maggie Smith, Geraldine Somerville and Clive Owen — who starred or featured in famous television murder mysteries. References to mysteries abound: Stephen Fry’s Inspector Thompson is every befuddled, trenchcoated inspector rolled into one (and topped off with M. Hulot’s pipe). Henry Denton is as Maigret as one can be without sharing the same name. The movie Weissman is making is a Charlie Chan film, and there are so many Agatha Christie references that the movie might as well have been written by her.

Further, the “Upstairs, Downstairs” aspect is acknowledged with the characters named Stockbridge, and with the casting of Eileen Atkins (Mrs. Croft), who co-created “Upstairs, Downstairs”. Elements of other films, such as the aforementioned M Hulot and influences from Renoir’s “The Rules of the Game”, are used intentionally.

However, there are many things Altman himself said were done to specifically create a unique take on a murder mystery. For example, he layered the story with dozens of characters who are seen only for a moment here and there, with simultaneous dialogue and vague relationships with each other. That’s his signature style, of course, and the film is hailed as being remarkable simply because it is a murder mystery in the inimitable Altman style. Altman also said that he wanted to show this story from the servant’s point of view because it had not been done before. He also famously admitted that he added eight “fucks” to the dialogue to make sure it got an R rating and kids wouldn’t come into the theatre to see it. Lastly, the real movie “Charlie Chan in London” was added as a plot point, and the real movie star Ivor Novello was added as a character.

All of these things circled in my head while I pondered at the why of “Gosford Park”. Why was it made? And why did I need to know? No other movie has made me so curious as to how it sprang into existence. I couldn’t reconcile Altman’s obvious deep knowledge of the genre with the fact that the film was intended to be an exceptional, novel approach. I wanted to know why so many details about a real film and a real movie star were included, especially since some of the incidental bits mentioned about the film were patently untrue. A film buff would catch the references, but would also know some of those references were wrong. And how could Altman say that focusing on the servants had never been done before when he, at the same time, said he was influenced by “The Rules of the Game”?

I believe that Altman fell into the trap, the same trap every mystery movie director and writer has fallen into over the past 150 years, the one where they think they’ve created a story that no one has ever done before. Reinventing the mousetrap, setting the locked-door puzzle on its ear. I’ve seen it a million times before. When it comes to murder mysteries, the wheel is never reinvented, it’s always just as round as when we started.

But I also think he was aware enough to know that a murder mystery buff is going to solve the crime immediately, that a film buff is going to catch his references, that a star-studded cast had been done before. Because of this, he tried to make the journey through the film the focus, not the solution to the crime. That’s what all murder mysteries do nowadays. We don’t watch Poirot because we want to find out who the murderer is, we want to see Hercule and Hastings banter with each other, we want to see the fabulous art deco buildings used for locations.

Ultimately, though, there were enough flaws to prevent “Gosford Park” from being the revelation it should have been. While Altman’s famous simultaneous dialogue was impeccable, it simply didn’t fit the story. The atmosphere of the film just didn’t mix with the clever little nods to mystery cliches. The constantly-moving camerawork kept one on edge, but there was no release at the finale, and the viewer is left wondering why this tension was created in the first place.

“Gosford Park” may not be the staggeringly singular genre-bender it was hailed as, but it is a love letter to murder mysteries. A sumptuous setting and wardrobe, a cast that one has never seen before or since, a fun story line, and the joy everyone felt while working on the film was palpable. And that’s more than enough.

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Bette Davis Project #2: The Bad Sister (1931)

The Bad Sister (1931)

Bette Davis attended John Murray Anderson‘s acting school in her early 20s and hit Broadway in 1929 at the ripe old age of 21, where she was quickly discovered by Universal. The studio realized it had no idea what to do with her, however, and after a few films did not renew her contract. “The Bad Sister” in 1931 was her first film, and she plays the supporting female lead to Sidney Fox,the bad sister of the title.

This is Bette’s first film, so of course I had to see it, but you have no idea how hard it is to find. Well, actually, a lot of you probably do. But the copy I had was seriously stinky, thus there is only one screencap. Sorry. As you can see, the film had French subtitles which were more interesting than the film.

Like 99.44% of all early talkies, this film was an adaptation of a stage play, which means it moves at a glacial pace and has almost no set changes. The story of the world’s most irritating family and the trials it goes through because of the “bad sister” is a real snooze. Mom dotes on Marianne (Sidney Fox) with apparently no knowledge that the girl is spoiled. Look, Marianne has 6 large portraits of herself above her bed — clue in, moms. The maid (Zasu Pitts) knows Marianne is a spoiled little twit, but because she’s always Zasuing around — Zasu Pitts does nothing but Zasu around in every film — no one takes notice of her. Dad is a pushover, sister Laura (Bette Davis) is meek and bland, and little brother Hedrick is a damned brat. Look at this screencap and tell me you don’t want to smack his bratty little behind.

Oh, and that’s Bette in the back left. She looks pretty bad in this film, partly because she’s all dowdied up, but partly because, in 1931, stars weren’t just born, they were made. Not only did her acting improve but her hair, nose, figure, and fashion all went through quite a change in the next couple of years, and by “Waterloo Bridge” a few months later, she‘s the Bette we know and love. (The screencap makes it look like Bette has a Doonesbury nose, but she doesn’t. It’s still not the same nose she has a few months later, and whether her later look was achived by makeup, those prosthetic things like Judy Garland wore, or surgery, I don’t know.)

Marianne is dating Dr. Dick (Conrad Nagel), but runs into a handsome stranger Valentine Corliss (Humphrey Bogart, who also hasn’t quite learned how to act yet) while on a date. Like the tramp she is, she dumps Dick for Corliss by pretending to know who Corliss is, all because Corliss has a car and Dick doesn’t have his with him.

Laura (Bette Davis) mopes around because even Wade (Bert Roach) likes Marianne better than her.

Corliss returns to Marianne’s house a few days later for family dinner, and promises Dad and his business associates that he’s building a huge company in their growing town and gets them to invest in it. Meanwhile, the obligatory love triangle brews when Laura loves Dr. Dick but he’s hopelessly in love with the selfish Marianne, who herself is in lust with Corliss.

Dr. Dick is really a wet blanket in this film. Nagel wears so much makeup that I quite seriously considered naming my new personal blog “Conrad Nagel Needs More Makeup”. Also, when addressing Dr. Dick, everyone in the family has to say his name in every sentence uttered. The dialogue is ridiculous: “Dick, have you seen Marianne?” “Why didn’t she with you, Dick?” “Well, Dick, shouldn’t you go look for her?” “Is there a problem, Dick?” Just Dick Dick Dick Dick Dick.

Marianne is a slut, and we know this because she wears lace undies. Scandalous! I wish I could have gotten a screencap of the laundry scene where Laura is hanging up underwear. Hedrick asks why Laura wears plain old cotton granny undies, and this is made funnier by the fact that the granny pants she hangs on the laundry line are huge! You could fit 3 Bettes into one pair of those granny thunderpants. Best part of the movie.

Everything goes to hell when the eldest sister (an uncredited Grace Cunard) and her husband move in, but the sister soon dies. Dad becomes seriously ill, Corliss turns out to be a scam artist — and in no way am I spoiling this for you, it’s so painfully, terribly obvious that you’re embarrassed for the whole cast that they have to pretend they believe him. Marianne helped Corliss in the scam (and in other things if you know what I mean and I think you do), and Dr. Dick discovers Laura loves him. Yes, it’s an action-packed 60-odd minutes, and the resolution to all this nonsense is as trite as you imagine.

Bette has so little to do in this film. All she does is mope around about not being as pretty and loved as Marianne. Which, honestly, Marianne is not exactly a gorgeous flapper, so it’s got to sting that everyone wants Marianne and thinks of Laura as their consolation prize. Bette does show a lot of promise in this film, though one gets the feeling that she was almost set up to lose by being given such a bland, thankless role.

An early Universal promotional picture of Bette.