Encore’s Birthday Marathon: Day 20

So, the marathon ends and with it comes my gift to you, which is about as selfish as I can get – review of my favourite film. It functions as a gift, though, an incredibly late one – but alas. C’est la vie.

Despite its massive running time (the film covers about two and a half hours) The English Patient is the type of film where every line and moment seems like a potential pivotal revelation. In a near confrontation with Willem Dafoe’s Caravaggio Juliette Binoche’s nurse tearfully explains that her patient is in love with ghosts. It doesn’t stand out as expressly revelatory because the film, a well-timed dance between the past and present, depends on memory. Yet, even though it is the memories of Almasy which acts as the foundation on which the film lays the entire film is about the characters and their ghosts. Some are moving forward, some are stuck in transit – but they’ve all got their mind on the ghosts in their past.

            

For the longest while, whenever someone asked me to name my favourite film – the first thing that flashed through my head were those images of the sandy desert and the mysterious caves. For, despite the many stories, and the overlapping themes – that is what The English Patient begins and ends with….endless sand…The English Patient is, after all, a story about the war even though it never goes directly to the front like Saving Private Ryan. It is one story divided in two. The prologue is in the desert – Count Almasy’s International Sand Club, and the epilogue is in Italy, that of the eponymous patient, his nurse – Hana and her Sikh lover and the film cleverly opens with the plane crash in the air which unites the two – prologue and epilogue – to make a glorious whole.
        
The English Patient depends on Ralph Fiennes to be the centre of the story. It is his story afterwards. The Count seems to be the role that fits him perfectly – a coldness that is not apathy but just stillness. He spends half of the film in extensive makeup existing as his extensive burns, and yet he never plays the Patient as a victim. Fiennes has always been an extensively subtle actor (sometimes misconstrued as blandness) and thus, the role of Almasy fits him like a glove. We see him raise his voice only twice – the first time at a drunken dinner, the second after a fateful run-in with some soldiers. It’s this very sereneness that draws Katherine to him. Her first words to him are, “I wanted to meet the man who could write such a long paper with so few adjectives.” He’s so obviously disconcerted by being under scrutiny, and he winces almost imperceptibly. Then he replies, “A thing is still a thing, no matter what you put in front of it. Fast car, slow car, chauffer driven car…still a car.” Katherine’s combative argument? “Love. Romantic love, filial love, platonic love. Quite different things, surely?” We’re being given clues this early on; it’s Almasay’s inability to distinguish between things which becomes the cause of his undoing, and for Katherine it’s her over attention to detail which becomes hers.
       
It’s an expansive cast, and I’m especially partial to Juliette Binoche (one of my two favourite supporting actress winners) but a significant portion of the film depends on the rapport between Kristin Scott Thomas and Ralph Fiennes. They both exude that, somewhat trite, stiff upper lip that comes to be considered akin with Britons. I’m susceptible to the british, most of you know that, but that’s not why I think that Katherine Clifton and Laszlo de Almasy are encapsulation of Scott Thomas and Fiennes at their best. They evoke a quiet tenderness that immediately zeroes in on the profundity of this relationship, even before it begins. There’s a beautiful scene where the two are trapped in a vehicle during a sandstorm. Almasy doesn’t whisper sweet nothings in her ears, instead he’s telling her about African meteorology. But the moment is marked by a softness that you feel like you can reach out and touch; and in one of the film’s most understatedly beautiful and devastating moments Katharine reaches out to the paint on the window as we segue into the patient’s face and it’s almost as if she’s reaching across time. That’s how powerful their relationship seems, that’s how real the images evoked seem.
         
There’s something incredibly tactile about the production of The English Patient. I’m wary of using a word like masterpiece, because I know that I’m hardly the least nepotistic critic – I have an agenda here, after all. But, it’s important for that illusion of the film’s setting seeming corporeal because the grief that bounds the characters together must seem as palpable. It’s anyone’s guess why the concept of love stories have become so reviled, but The English Patient is a love story although the kind of love is debatable. Just as Katherine ruminates on the aspects of love so the film depends on moments of affection – sometimes lost in pain. There’s so much delicacy with the way in which Juliette Binoche plays Hana as almost a revelatory open person but she’s carrying those battle scars with her. Her act of caring for the wounded is only a way to eschew her own troubles. There’s almost franticness evident in the way she plays hopscotch alone or chops off her hair without even paying attention. The sweetness of that first meeting with Kip (Naveen Andrews is perfect here), which is easily one of the film’s most natural moments, conceals the desperation in this woman who literally laughs at the promise of death.

Maybe I love The English Patient so much because it’s saturated with subtext upon subtext. It is a story of love, but it is also a story of war. “It’s a war, when it’s a war where you are becomes important” – it’s another of those lines that’s easily ignored but if anything it’s one of the biggest clues as to the Patient’s countenance when he replies, “I hate that.” Minghella is often accused of pushing his agendas through film, and perhaps it’s not absent here since the film closes with Katherine’s lovely We are the real countries not the boundaries drawn on maps monologue. The idiosyncrasies of the characters are what makes them perfect for each other, and unable to exist in unison. Minghella (he writes the screenplay as well as directs it) is careful to not paint any party as villainous. Even as Katharine and Almasy luxuriate in their romance, her husband waits in the car for a forgotten anniversary dinner. Everything shifts when you put it into different perspective so that the ostensible importance of “world affairs” seems skewed. It’s why I have faith in Minghella’s sincerity. “Betrayals in war are childlike compared with betrayals during peace. New lovers are nervous and tender but smash everything, for the heart is an organ of fire.”
So true, and so beautiful.

Happy 101 (…or An Evening with Sondheim)

I’m having a terrible day, so it’s as good a time as any to take note of the meme that has not been floating around the blogosphere. It’s all about happiness, my general nature is being generally acerbic…but I’m not above happiness. I’m doing something slightly different with the titles…you’ll realise what at the end. Click on the links…if you care to.

         

“Being Alive” from Company

Life

I’m prone to the occasional bout of what we could refer to as an existentialist crisis…nonetheless; I’m generally pleased to be alive. Sure, horrible things abound but in the larger picture the good outweighs the bad and there’s really no point in worrying, is there?

“Our Little World” from Into the Woods

The Blogosphere

I still struggle at times to make the distinction between the real world, and the blogging one. Recently the real one’s been looking rather dismal, to be honest. I still don’t approach blogging as a job, regardless of what the rules say, and in its own way it’s been a big part of keeping me occupied and cheerful during my current vacation from jail school.

          

“Who’s That Woman?” from Follies

Actresses

I’ll always be more interested in the fairer sex with it comes to motion pictures and such. I’m more likely to go see a movie for Cate Blanchett alone than for Jude Law alone (two of my favourites in their generation). Case in point: I’ve seen Robin Hood but I’ve not seen Repo Men. I don’t know…there’s just something great about seeing an actress doing her stuff on the screen, big or small, and yes – I think they’re more talented performers too.

         

“The Day Off” from Sunday in the Park with George

Wasting Time

Though I get neurotic when it’s time for me to do something, I prefer when I have nothing to do. Of course, doing “nothing” for me means wasting time on the internet, listening to music, watching movies or reading anything I can get my hands on. For me that’s the ultimate day off. Few things could make me happier.

         

“I Read” from Passion

Books

They deserve their own spot on the list because I’ll always be particularly indebted to them. They were my first passion (no pun intended). I still prefer them (slightly) to movies, even though watching a movie is relatively simpler. Even though I would hate having to choose between the two I wish books weren’t considered to be so pedantic all the time.

        

“(Children & ) Art” from Sunday in the Park With George

But not in that order

Actually, by children I mean my nephew. I’m an young Scrooge, truth be told, children exasperate me…but I have a softspot for my nephew – for obvious reasons. The art bit is more important – painting, writing, film, whatever. Creation is good and worthy of adulation.

“Everybody Says Don’t” from Anyone Can Whistle

Breaking All the Rules

I like digressing from the norm. I’m not a convict – or a convict in training. I’m rather good at keeping my deviant urges hidden, for the most part. But I hate following the rules. I have a definitive aversion to authority figures.

      

“My Friends” from Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street

In the real world and cyberspace

Do I really need to explain this?

        

“Do I Hear A Waltz” from Do I Hear A Waltz

Music

Lovely music. If you’re astute when it comes to theatre, you’ll notice each of the titles was from a Stephen Sondheim song. I’m a big fan of the man and of music in general. It was a bit inevitable, my father is a musician so we children grew up with it. I have little talent for music (I can’t remember to play the piano or the flute) but I do like listening to it. I’m open to all genres…music is just lovely.

        

And there you have it: ten things (and songs) that make me happy. Am I less dour than when the day started…yes, but that doesn’t say much. I’m not tagging anyone, I don’t know who. I really would like to see what makes some of you happy though…do if it you care to, that would make me happy too (no pics, I'm tired).

“My, It Was Yare”

I’m not a demanding movie watcher, so I don’t insist that my movies immediately begin in some eccentric manner. Nevertheless, I’m always pleased when a beginning is particularly solid and off the top of my head the opening of The Philadelphia Story is definitely somewhere in my top 3 favourite openings. It’s as concise, simple and funny as some films throughout and all without a single word being uttered. Cary Grant comes out of a house, ostensibly dressed for work with his briefcase in hand. Katharine Hepburn comes out soon after – the devoted wife, perhaps? She carries his golf clubs to him, and after a moment’s hesitation breaks it over her knees and saunters back to the door, followed by Cary who with just the slightest pause takes his hand and – with an open palm, mind you – proceeds to sock her. That’s just the beginning, just the beginning….

You can’t help but get nostalgic when you watch The Philadelphia Story; hell, I wasn’t alive in the forties but the mood evoked is so “classic” we have no choice. I’m sounding incoherent; Jose of the kick-ass Movies Kick Ass tells it better:

“They say that the movies you love grow old with you. When I saw The Philadelphia Story for the first time I was a kid who was falling in love with the movies; therefore, George Cukor’s elegant take on the screwball comedy seduced me in the most unexpected ways. I couldn’t believe people as beautiful as Kate Hepburn, Cary Grant and James Stewart could also be “earthly” and feel accessible in the way your wildest dreams can’t help but feel real when you wake up. A few years later as a socially conscious teenager I couldn’t help but admire the smart way in which the screenplay addresses the irregularities of class difference and the term “intellectual snob” became a pet cause of mine.

In that way the movie has gone from being a stress reliever to a handbook in how to handle society parties, a cruel essay about the human heart and a lesson in how to dress for every occasion. Just yesterday as I watched it again it became something new to me; for the first time I identified myself with Tracy Lord and her quest to become a human being. I couldn’t believe that a movie I’d seen countless times before was addressing something I’ve just discovered about myself. I’m honestly thrilled to discover what it tells to me the next time.”

I do love that evaluation on it. It’s one of the great things aboutThe Philadelphia Story. There’s so much going on in it that watching again doesn’t dilute its inherent brilliance. The Philadelphia Story is easily the best comedy I’ve seen, and perhaps will ever see, it is smart and yet silly and for all the serious issues addressed it’s not afraid to be self-deprecating either.

     

I’m always interested when plays are adapted to screen. It’s anyone’s guess how it will turn out. Will it be as “judicious” as Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf or Closer? – Or will it be more adventurous – a Cabaret or Cat On A Hot Tin Roof? After all – the stage is not the cinema and in adapting The Philadelphia Story Donald Ogden Stewart seems acutely aware of that. The Philadelphia Story is driven by words, and yet the characters are never relegated to talking heads even with a story that could seem convoluted to the careless viewer. Tracy is getting married to George (a nouveau riche) after divorcing a C. K. Dexter Haven (old money). Tracy’s father is shacking up with some flamenco dancer of sorts and a newspaper is editor is intent on highlighting the scandal; something the affable (yet despicable) Haven is keen on stopping. Enter reporter Mike Conner and his photographer – a Ms. Imbrie. And we haven’t even touched on Tracy’s family yet – her precocious sister, her imprudent Uncle Willie and her careless mother. It’s enough to make even the most confident screenwriter balk, yet Stewart handles it brilliantly, since The Philadelphia Story – above all else, is an actors’ showcase.
My bilingual friend from Oxford, Anahita of My Life In Film (currently on vacation) is smitten with this oldie too.

“For me, the highlight of The Philadelphia story has to be its strong cast and incredibly witty script (OK, so cast and script are usually the two most important. Still. It goes doubly for this film. Stay with me). Cast-wise – there is just utter perfection. Jimmy Stewart – one of my favourite actors – utterly shines as newspaper reporter Mike Connor, he has perfect comic timing – even making Cary Grant laugh by accident in the scene where he is utterly drunk – yet shows also a great deal of heart and sweetness, making his character a wonderful blend of sharp humour and kindness. Cary Grant is also fabulous as the ex-husband, his one-liners and answering-backs are just hilarious, especially when he plays off Virginia Weidler’s Dinah Lord, showing him just to be a big child, albeit again one who has a soft side, namely his love for Tracy (Hepburn). And speaking of, Katharine Hepburn as always is sublime – among the best two actors of the time (yes they are. Don’t argue) it would have been so easy to get lost and fade into the background, especially as a woman at the time, yet she holds her own, and creates a memorable character out of Tracy Lord. The script is peppered with funny moments – so original, sharp and witty that it’s just mind-blowing who thought of all of this hilarity – and the actors push it even further into perfection. I just love it.”

Yes, those quotable quotes. I could rattle them all off, but there’s so many. The eternal question is asked, who is the best in show? The best in show is whoever’s speaking at the moment.
A favourite scene of mine (and there are many) occurs when Mike and Liz first meet Tracy. Not the real Tracy, but the fabricated one she keeps for the press. As she laments in an affected French accent and saunters around in deplorable fashion I could only imagine Katharine Hepburn laughing her head off inside. Phillip Barry did fashion Tracy after the first lady of cinema. Consider this with another side of Tracy – which we can’t really call the “real” Tracy either. It’s probably the film’s most iconic scene. As Mike and she drunkenly wander about the pool the romanticism of it all is intoxicating. It’s the best I’ve seen Kate (pre-1950) and the best I’ve seen Jimmy Stewart. Everyone’s on their game in The Philadelphia Story, but there’s something especial about the scenes those two share together. They do make a good couple. Yet, it’s a testimony to the two that the scene never feels like too much. Call me a blasphemer, but I prefer these moments with Stewart to the moments with Grant – which are excellent, nevertheless. It actually took me multiple viewings to realise subtle moments of intelligence in the film. As lovely as they seem to exist together, it’s obvious that Tracy and Mike are too similar. Both are too unforgiving of the world around them, and it’s up to Liz and C. K to “whip them into shape” – humanise those intellectual snobs. And the reunion with C. K. Dexter Haven is just right, it is as witty and well played as anything we’d have on screen today. Scratch that – more witty, and probably better played too.
The thing about it is that the entire of The Philadelphia Story feels like so much fun. I always remark that Ocean’s Eleven (and Twelve) was proof that a cast of good actors were willing to come together and have fun and though The Philadelphia Story’s cast is not as extensive it does it even better. It’s the sort of film where you want each cast member to be singled out for their contribution. Like Virginia Weidler’s intelligent Dinah. Preciousness in children on screen is a dime a dozen but Virginia Weidler still manages to be particularly inviting without falling into the usual traps (the newspapers were full of “innundo”), Roland Young’s Uncle Willie is a source of some throwaway humour and no one plays better off these moments than Ruth Hussey. I’m almost a bit miffed when persons don’t appreciate her as they ought. Her comedic prowess is in opposition to Kate’s and it works so well in the grand scheme. Her Liz is the source of constant delight as she refuses to be a fourth wheel to the unholy trinity of Grant/Hepburn/Stewart. And they really are an exceptional trinity aren’t they? I have no problems with Stewart’s win; he even manages to outdo Grant who I will admit should have earned a nomination, though. And the marvellous Kate…what’s to say that hasn’t already been uttered? She’s absolutely perfect. – And then some. Luke of Journalistic Skepticism continues on sharing the love for The Philadelphia Story.

“Headlined by one of the greatest casts ever assembled, The Philadelphia Story is a truly perfect comedy. The cast chemistry is through the roof from Katharine Hepburn’s entitled socialite Tracy Lords to Jimmy Stewart’s impeccable performance as reporter Macaulay Connors to Ruth Hussey’s droll take on Liz, Connors’ devoted photographer. It’s a virtual smorgasbord of zany antics paired with New English society banter – a match made in 1940s heaven.”

        
Yet, I really can’t ignore some of my issues with The Philadelphia Story when I get retrospective. Why must George be relegated to almost villainous proportions at the film’s end? Simply because he’s the only one not comfortable with the class he was born into and wishing to be upwardly mobile? And why must Tracy be punished for her father’s indiscretions? That arc of the film never fails to exasperate me…And it gets funnier – why does Tracy choose Liz as her last minute matron-of-honour? Wouldn’t she have had one for the wedding that already supposed to be in progress? But when I tell you that I don’t care, you can understand just how much I love this movie. Right? It is #4 on my list of favourites…and my favourite Kate flick… and because I’m too lazy to MEME today I’ll just mention that this is my favourite black-and-white film.

“Murder in the middle of the night, a lot of guests for the weekend, everyone's a suspect.”

Although it’s not my favourite film, I often think of Gosford Park as the sleekest films I know. I know it sounds perverse but was it a person; I think I’d be moved to seduce it. It’s even stranger when I consider the fact that there’s little that’s erotic about it. I cited it as my favourite ensemble of the last decade, and I’d probably call it the best ensemble if I included the nineties and eighties, too. Gosford Park is a film concerning class boundaries. A group of aristocrats, along with a film producer and actor, make their way to the eponymous Gosford Park (though it’s never referred to by name) for hunting, and other activities of the elite, for a few days. With all these genteel folks come their servants. In the midst of the second night, a murder occurs – the host. But this is not a Clue inspired piece; neither it is an Agatha Christie thriller. Certainly, a significant amount of beauty derives from a moving confession concerning the murderer, but Gosford Park is less concerned with who and more about how and why…and not just the how and why of the murder, but the lives of our characters – all of them. In this way, Gosford Park sets itself up for something almost akin to failure. The cast is expansive and Altman has to manoeuvre upstairs, downstairs, and back again and all this must be done whilst keeping the narrative taut, but maintaining sedateness that’s necessary. I feel it succeeds on all counts – it’s curious how Gosford Park doesn’t only improve on subsequent viewings but still manages to thrill just as much as the first time.

Alex (who adeptly juggles two blogs of note: Alex in Movieland and My Last Oscar Film) weighs in it and his words sum it up so perfectly:         

“It is by far my favourite Robert Altman! Even that says enough; and what could be more interesting than seeing the flawless product of a director at the height of his career? Nobody else could have directed this: the casting is great and the acting beyond words, probably Helen Mirren’s best performance (E/N: true dat). Gosford Park gathers comedy and mystery and drama and romance and wraps it all up in that touch of arrogance and glamour that just makes me wanna ask for more.”

I’m glad Alex touched on the genre shifting that’s occurring. I really can’t say how impressive it is that Gosford Park manages to touch on all that while still maintaining that austere brilliance. There’s a fluidity to Gosford Park even in its demarcated plotlines. I never think of it in pieces, but as one continuous narrative. The entire thing just flies by…It’s interesting though; I think of Kristin Scott Thomas first when I think of the actual film, for many reasons. She’s not my preferred performer in it (*that is she*), but she’s second. Sometimes I’m even more thrilled by her Sylvia McCordle than her Katherine Clifton, and considering how much I’m smitten with the latter – that’s no mean feat. There’s a marvellous dinner moment that always pleases me, I end up rewinding each time. Truthfully, it depends just as much on Emily Watson (her career best in my opinion) and Michael Gambon (deliciously wicked, here).

SYLVIA McCORDLE: Well, I know you're interested in money and fiddling with your guns. But I admit it: when it comes to anything else, I'm stumped.

The moment has more value than Elsie’s out-of-turn response. Kristin puts so much emotion into that single line reading and she’s such a steely hostess we rarely get to see her true feelings. Sure, she’s a bit of bitch but she’s an affable bitch despite the ostensibly cold exterior. She’s a strange woman, really. Her scintillating chemistry with Philippe is replaced with a frosty shoulder the next morning. Then there’s a moment that confuses me, I’m not sure if it’s Sylvia or Kristin caught unawares. When Henry Denton has the hot coffee spilt in his lap she releases an almost inauspicious titter that I never see coming no matter how I often I watch the film. It’s another reason why Gosford Park works so well, everything is just so realistic. And on that note of realism consider Yojimbo (of the sage Let’s Not Talk About Movies) and his thoughts…

“Robert Altman’s films are never tidy. They seem to happen “in media res,” as if he just turned on the camera and was filming events as they happened, and they were going to happen, camera or no, with no regard to film-making “rules.” People cluster in odd groups, talking over each other, the camera sometimes seeing nothing while over-hearing in its journey, sometimes separated from the crux of a scene by glass, by terrain, and by happenstance. It’s Robert Altman’s party, and we’re the wall-flowers, impotent, capable of doing nothing but observing and reacting. We are almost-innocent by-standers, detached, but complicit.

So, when Altman does a British family drawing room murder (and why anyone would be surprised that Altman would do such a film is itself a mystery, as he was eager to subvert all genres), it cannot end in a burst of connected dots and logic. It involves family, after all, and all families have secrets, as all houses have closets. And the foundation is shaky enough (the crises here being financial) that when one closet door closes, another opens. Families aren’t tidy, either, even after the blood stains get cleaned, the culprit is safely carted off in the Black Maria, and Altman turns off his camera. Murders, like families, are messy things, mysteries within puzzles within conundrums. As such, they are Altman’s natural turf.”

You could probably take his words and let me just shut up (but I’ve never been one to have a word filter…). It’s those intricacies that define Gosford Park. Blink and you’ll miss them, but pay attention and you’re in for an embarrassment of rewards. Gosford Park manages to seem ridiculously sagacious and yet still relatable. No we don’t live England where the class system is dying but we are people and take them from their setting and everyone at Gosford Park is a real person capable of all the human emotions we can imagine (from the grossest vices to the oddest bouts kindness). It’s the things like the fact that Sylvia can seem so austere but the slightest chink in her armour is obvious when her husband (inadvertently?) chooses her sister over her. Or the weirdest way in which Mabel is almost sickeningly enamoured with the movie guest – Jeffrey Northam who has the unenviable task of being both participant and voyeur in the film. Then there are the quotable lines which every actor milks (but not too much) but none more than Maggie Smith who’s line readings (I haven’t a snobbish bone in my body) – she manages to make any line turn into a scintillating example in caustic brilliance.

I’m never sure if Altman and Fellowes want us to feel that those downstairs are nobler than those upstairs, because they’re all quite wicked. Kelly MacDonald gets to play our ingénue and as a servant we get more insight into the workings of their minds. Emily Watson’s Elsie is in the same register as Scott Thomas’ cold Sylvia – of course the only thing that divides them is that one’s a maid and one’s a lady. It seems more than accident that our not-so-benevolent host is sleeping with them both (he is sleeping with his wife…right?) Then, all the hilarious if innocuous plot points are threatened when the emotional core takes precedent – that’s another part of Gosford Park that you’re unprepared for. Helen Mirren is just too excellent for words that I never can get over the highway robbery concerning her and that little golden man. Altman almost stifles us with one beautiful exposition after another, further enhancing the fluidity of the narrative. It’s more than that, though. Helen moves from the brilliance aloofness in her scene against McDonald to being compellingly moving without a word as she cries in the bedroom with Eileen Atkins. And speaking of Eileen Atkins… It’s weird how so few lines seem so weighty when a talented performer gets them – “Don’t cry, they’ll hear you.” It’s chilling.

The thing is, at the end of the day it wouldn’t be wrong to single out its style as Gosford Park’s saving grace. Strip it bare and what we have is the tale of the poor struggling in the world of rich (and the rich unhappy even though they’ve got it “all”) – it’s a world where the poor either strive for idealistic escape or succumb to their lives. It’s not that Altman and Fellowes cover up this simple ideology with fluff – nothing in the film could be termed as such. What they seem to realise is that life is made up of more than the black-and-white and the beauty in Gosford Park is watching these shades of the gray as the minutes go by, the beauty in reading a script that’s too perfect for words, the excellence in watching Altman submit his magnum opus and it’s the brilliance in seeing every single actor in the cast turn in an excellent performance (the most deserved SAG win I can remember). Here it appears at #5 on my list of favourites.

          

What (or who) would you single out as Gosford Park’s saving grace?

“What Family Doesn’t Have Their Ups and Downs?”

“What is truth in art? What is truth in cinema? If by truth you look for accuracy and period detail then The Lion in Winter will not be for you. If, on the other hand, you look for that deeper truth of the Human Condition then few films get closer to identifying it. Writer James Goldman takes a warring family with 20th century feelings and responses and places it firmly into the context 12th century royal politics. It’s an extraordinary achievement aided by a superb cast (Hepburn, O’Toole, Hopkins all at the top of their game), convincingly low key design and a terrific quasi-monastic score.”

Ben, of the irreverently named Runs Like A Gay wrote the above. He’s actually been lucky enough to take part in a production of the excellent play and I couldn’t agree more with his summation. As far as history dramas go The Lion in Winter may be little more than farce, but if it’s farce – it’s irresistible farce.

“What a desolation!”

               

Were one to line up the reasons – rationally as possible – as to the pros and cons of Anthony Harvey’s 1968 drama, the sound question one would be moved to ask is how the film managed to be a success. The fact is, The Lion in Winter has more going against it that for it. First off, it’s a historical drama. It’s nowhere near as expansive (thematically) as A Man For All Seasons and this Henry isn’t the one that most history buffs are interested in. Secondly, in the mere few days the film covers nothing particularly pertinent happens. In fact, were we moved to ask what any particular character has accomplished during the film’s runtime we may end up answering – nothing. And conversely, while the action is sparse the film is very “talk-y”, not exactly a prerequisite for a good (or enjoyable) film about the 12th century. Yet, The Lion in Winter defies these odds. The original stage production wasn’t much to shout about (or so I heard), but perhaps it’s the inclusion of our Lady Kate, Peter O’Toole and a newly discovered Anthony Hopkins that makes it such a success. Perhaps, the story was just more suited for the film. I don’t know. Whatever it is, I always marvel at it.

It’s some time during the 12th century and Henry is on the throne. His wife, Eleanor of Aquitaine, is imprisoned in Salisbury Tower. Henry has three sons (on screen; historically there were more) and he’s uncertain whom should be his successor. There’s the lion hearted Richard, the duplicitous but sage Geoffrey and the petulant John. It’s Christmas, though, and thus the family reunites for a few days. Unfortunately, festivity is low as Prince Philip is coming to Chignon to demand that this sister be married to the heir of the throne (whomever that may be) or returned to France. Princess Alais has been in England for some time, now acting as a concubine to the King – but a marriage, to anyone, seems dubious. Thus lies the state of affairs as The Lion in Winter opens. It would be a thorny task to say what happens within the next 120 minutes, and I don’t think I’d care to explain either. Lies will be told, games will be played, knives will be drawn (as will curtains, too), persons will be duped and of course it ends with goodbyes (yet, curiously, no tears). From the inception, the atmosphere of it all is striking. Look at the earlier incarnation of Henry’s life (the 1964 Becket). This set is not the same. Unlike its predecessors the courts of this incarnation are not spotless, but soiled and unkempt – like we’d expect from the period. The Queen’s robes are majestic, but not unblemished and unlike the 1964 piece the court is pervaded by the presence of animals – domestic and otherwise. It’s not the typical period piece, and it shows.

Tom of the eclectic Reinvention: The Journal of a Dog Lover, Book Reader, Movie Goer and Writer shares his thoughts on the film.

“At the heart of this deliciously medieval drama is Katharine Hepburn as Eleanor of Aquitaine, imprisoned queen of tempestuous Henry II (the roaring Peter O'Toole). This is the consummate portrayal by one of cinema's most brilliant actresses. Hepburn demonstrates a stunning ability to speak volumes with a word, a look, a tremble of emotion. In a single scene, sometimes with a single line of dialog, she goes from beautiful and vulnerable to ironic and witty to cunning and calculating.

Director Anthony Harvey and Screenwriter James Goldman provide Hepburn with the right environment and the beautiful language for Hepburn to play at her most wonderful. The Lion in Winter is at once a mystical and haunting historical epic, domestic comedy/drama, and pageant. Harvey lights his sets and moves his camera and creates a picture unique even among historical epics. Goldman's playful script switches moods and allegiances on a dime, and often winks at us with the comparisons between this royal family and modern soap opera. (Favorite line: Oh well, what family doesn't have its ups and downs?) This film is rich in dialog and intrigue, and is worth a fortnight of viewings.

One need not be familiar with the historical origins of this story. Details are deftly filled in, so that we may enjoy the battles between king and queen and their three power-hungry sons, as well as the rich detail of the design, and the soaring and beautiful musical score.”

In the same way that the 1968 Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf is a tug-of-war where one cannot choose between Burton’s quiet sadism or Liz’s loud fury one should not choose between Hepburn and O’Toole (although, naturally, I do). The two are evenly matched in this battle, in words and in talent and it’s no surprise that The Lion in Winter reaches its peak in these moment. Yet, what makes The Lion in Winter stand apart of any other film with two leads is that it’s backed up by an excellent excellent cast, each intent on having his day in the sun (or at least destroying a family member). The first words on screen? …come for me. It’s too easy for me to consider it incidental, for The Lion in Winter is really all about everyone intent on outmanoeuvring their peers. I’ll get it out of the way now, Jane Merrow’s Alais presents the film’s only clunker, the less said about her – the better. It’s more than her obvious inadequacy when measured against our Lady Kate but her foppishness makes the film just a little sluggish when she takes centre stage. But she’s surrounded by masters (or at least novices doing a good job of pretending – and isn’t that the same?), so it doesn’t hurt us much. I continue to marvel at the wondrous thing that was John Castle’s performance at the middle – Geoffrey. I still remain confused as to why this performance is so forgotten, and even more flummoxed as to Castle’s inability to make a large mark on film hereafter. Nigel Terry and a young Anthony Hopkins round out the trinity, with Hopkins being particularly moving opposite his Ms. Hepburn. His steely elegance reminds me of Russell Crow circa Gladiator.

               

Yojimbo, of Let’s Not Talk About Movies opines:

“This is red meat material, chewy and sinewy and full of juice and played by a cast of gourmands who relish the consuming—even Katherine Hepburn, who knew the value of stillness, knew when to tuck in and tear away at a juicy part. The cast, including a debuting Timothy Dalton whose entrance always evokes a smile (with his first ebullient shot not only does he show he deserves to play a King, but also play against Peter O’Toole!) makes the most of rich, if maybe a shade too contemporary, material by James Goldman-his personal best. That the film is so rich is due to the delicious script, and actors, as the other films of director Anthony Harvey are relatively bloodless. It’s an event film, with both Peter O’Toole and Hepburn at the top of their roaring games, and Anthony Hopkins, young bull that he was, giving a glimpse of the glowering powers he would bring to the screen.”

Like him, I too appreciate the script as one of the film’s highlight. If I had to single out a script as the best of all time – I’d single out The Lion in Winter in a heartbeat. The lines roll off the tongue like syrup, anachronistic at times but striking nonetheless. As we continue on the journey through the top ten we reach films where the faults are less and less, and ultimately I forgive Jane Merrow’s poor showing in the film because she sells her final pieces with O’Toole so sincerely I wonder if it took time for her to find her talent (or perhaps convection of talent from O’Toole and Hepburn),. But then, when I remember I return to the man and his wife. O’Toole and Hepburn give my two favourite performances of the decade and the film is a masterpiece. When it ends he turns to his queen and says “I hope we never die.” She answers without sentiment, “So do I.” With these performances I warrant that they won’t. It falls at #6 on my list of favourites.

What are your thoughts on Kate and Peter here? Are you a fan of the script? ...of the movie?

"What's the matter, smartass, you don't know any fuckin' Shakespeare?"

You can’t help but feel self conscious about the movies you like sometimes, and with The Departed I’m not sure if it’s me being self conscious about liking the movie (because most everyone seems to like it) or if as someone who’s quite fond of Scorsese I’m either not as fond of (or not versed in) his older work – which all the “important” people agree is his best stuff. Thus, I always feel a little uncertain when I say that The Departed is my favourite Scorsese film. It’s a weird feeling. I’m simultaneously embarrassed because it seems like a peculiar choice and yet it seems generic. It’s odd because it’s new and everyone says new films can’t be classic, and it feels generic because those unversed in Scorsese often cite The Departed as his greatest because they don’t have patience for his earlier “meandering” (their words) narratives. I mean, I have seen the essentials ones (the boxing one, the gangster one, the Christian one and the New York one) but strangely it’s the Bostonian interpretation of a Chinese adaptation that has my allegiance. But why should I worry? The internet is the place for unfounded allegiances, no?

It’s no wonder I get psyched when people praise it effusively, Heather, of Movie Mobsters; the original gangster of them all (blogging wise and otherwise-wise) approves of it:

"The Departed brings us what I’d consider another piece of movie immortality. Scorsese is known for his affinity for the gangster genre, and not since his Goodfellas has one so remarkable been made. The score and soundtrack where characters of their own, while coupled with a cinematography that was gritty and abrasive with an expected edge. Every once in awhile you take a trip to the theatre and are lucky enough to have an actual experience. This was one of those rare occasions."

And, really, if the mob approves I must be on to something.

I feel as if I’ve already reviewed The Departed…even though all I did was write extensively on DiCaprio’s Costigan. It’s weird, with The Aviator I reviewed it once, twice, and then wrote even more – just for good measure. But with The Departed it’s the opposite, I’m strangely closemouthed about it*. In praising The Departed, Scorsese’s direction skill is as much on focus as Thelma Schoomaker’s excellent editing. The woman is really a credit to her trade and oddly her work is more excellent here even more than in The Aviator where it seems more necessary. The Departed is rooted in its aggressive schizophrenia of sorts and it’s crafted as such. The thing is, even as it goes about claiming that its intent is on the thin line between the good guys and the bad guys (and who the hell are the good guys?) The Departed completes it narratives touching on everything else – and often with even more alacrity than the professed main theme. Yet, I don’t feel as if it’s shirking the issue either. Is Madolyn’s question to Collin “If they don’t do their jobs (i.e. criminals) you don’t have one.” a serious sociological enquiry, or is it just ill placed dinner table banter? And the obvious cycle of violence is too noticeable to be incidental. Maybe I go easy on Scorsese, because I love him so; he does get a little gratuitous sometimes – but then, I end up wondering if I’m missing something. Is there a larger reason as to why Queenan’s death is so bloody? It’s the only time I’m angry at the film (okay fine, that and Costigan’s death – I can’t quit: I know) but I’m acutely aware that his death is necessary. It’s almost like Shakespeare’s penchant for killing the innocent first (Ophelia, Cordelia, Desdemona, Banquo) but Sheen’s so good I’m just annoyed he doesn’t get the chance to do more.

If there’s one thing that’s become a bit of a trademark with Scorsese, regardless of his story, it’s not so much the inherent violent tension in his films but it’s the tendency to leave questions unanswered. It’s the same when I think of my favourite Scorsese pic that doesn’t make it into the actual top 100 – New York / New York. Despite its ostensibly tedious length Marty is always a little reticent in making judgements on his characters. It’s a bit similar with the people we touch on here. Marty is so careful not to make Costigan an unfailing hero – other than DiCaprio’s Amsterdam (and perhaps, him too) he’s always intent on using troubled men as the catalyst for his drama. Billy is not quite as perverse as Travis he has just the touch of nuanced badness – which is one the same level with badassery. He’s just as psychologically conflicted as Newland, Henry and yes even Christ. Call it consistency, or call it unoriginality or blame it on Monahan and make DiCaprio culpable, but it’s a running thread I admire and one that transcends to the supporting characters as well, although with a little less…ummm, subtlety. The intuitive M. Carter from M. Carter at the Movies brings up such salient points in reminding why this is such a good film…

"In the Scorsese gangster canon, GoodFellas tends to reign supreme. And yet there’s another film he’s made that’s every bit as edgy, brutal and grimly funny as that de facto classic. With its talent-heavy, all-star cast (DiCaprio and Damon hold their own against Jack Nicholson), The Departed, Scorsese’s twisty Infernal Affairs remake, is an exhilarating mix of find-the-rat stunts, mind games, gang rivalries, dirty politics, storylines that bend back on themselves and two deaths so shocking they keep smarting days, even weeks, later. And because it’s Scorsese, everything is set perfectly to a soundtrack that funnels complex emotions into songs."

I’m glad I’m not the only one smarting at those two deaths, and kudos to Meredith for bringing up the music which is so often forgotten – and it’s not subtle, so I don’t know why…And, I know – dear God, I know – that The Departed doesn’t exactly thrive on any subtlety in particular, especially when anyone named Baldwin, Wahlberg or Nicholson is on screen but with so many characters to sort out we don’t have time for subtlety even if I still question the relevance of that hazy scene with Costello and the prostitutes… (I find the actual scene almost as funny as Monahan’s screenplay which reads “Costigan fucks…and fucks weird”. Okay then)…. But, still, amidst all its obvious weird obviousness I like how The Departed is dedicated to using every detail it brings up. Like the envelope for “citizins” turning up later, or even the simpler things like the cranberry juice quip – what, are you getting your period? I like how even French is in on the joke. It’s a lucidity (in the face of obvious lunacy) that’s a bit satisfying when you consider that besides Madolyn and Queenan every character is more than a little disturbed. And to be honest, who’s to say they’re not either? There is little that’s particularly hilarious about this gritty film, but Scorsese has such a talent for finding the humour in the strangest places. Sure, it derives from Monahan’s script but Scorsese milks it just right without going overboard. It’s like that scene where Billy shoots the guy in the knee and he starts screaming, “I thought I was supposed to go into shock. I’m not in shock. It fucking hurts. It fucking hurts.” Excise that scene and you could put it in any offbeat violent comedy. The Departed isn’t willing to fall into the boundaries of what it should be, Monahan’s too atypical for that and Scorsese too wise, and thus when I hear it referred to as a crime drama, I’m not too sure that that’s the subgenre it would fall into.

Maybe I do feel the slightest bit of dissonance when I say it’s my favourite Scorsese, but ultimately I’m not really that bothered. Especially when the refreshingly honest Darren from The M0vie Blog has this to say:

"I'll provoke the ire of Scorsese fans for saying this - but I think this can stand tall and be counted amongst the best of his impressive filmography. I'm also very pleased with Shutter Island, though, so what do I know? At once a return to the mean streets that defined the early part of his career and yet strangely a more stylised film, this is the movie I watch once a year with my girlfriend. The first time we watched it, she had missed it in the cinema, so I booked a large room on campus, a projector, some popcorn buckets and drinks holders from a cinema, and surprised her for Valentines Day with a screening. Casino Royale may have been the film we saw on our first date, but I think The Departed will always be "our" film."

Although I’m a little dubious of Darren’s choice of it as a film to gain the title of a couple’s film (really Darren, isn’t that just a little umm, sadist?) his words do make my thoughts a little less "dissonant"... All his films aren’t made equal, but Oscar or no Oscar The Departed is good one from Marty.

                    

We’re getting closer to the top, The Departed is #7. How does it stack up against Scorsese's other works for you? How much do you like it either way?

             

*I guess I wasn’t as closemouthed as I thought I would be; this turned into quite a ramble – it’s the longest of the reviews yet.

“It's a cold world out there.”

I always look back in surprise that The Big Chill did so well at the 1983 Oscars. In addition to the Supporting Actress nomination for Glenn Close, it also picked nods for its screenplay and Best Picture. Of course I feel it deserved more, but for a film so self-effacing I’m still surprised it managed to gain even these laurels. From the general sense it seems the jury’s still out on the longevity of The Big Chill since in so many ways it’s a film that exists completely in its time – the eighties. But for someone who was neither alive then, nor an American, I like to think that The Big Chill exists as more than some misguided hammy ode to idealism for the baby boomers’ generation from Kasdan. It’s my bias, of course. But is it too naïve of me to see The Big Chill as it ostensibly sets itself up to be – a commemoration of that charming thing called friendship?

Obviously the lovely Meredith from M. Carter at the Movies doesn’t think I am too naïve, her words are quite perceptive, as usual.

"Too many people insist that The Big Chill is just a movie about some Baby Boomers – former college pals including Tom Berenger, Mary Kay Place, William Hurt and more – whining about their problems while reconnecting after the suicide of their roommate. These people have missed the point. The Big Chill is both timely and timeless in its central message: The dead zone years between college and middle age are rough for everyone, a period of self-discovery marked by highs and lows, the realization that no one, really, ever aces his own life. There’s something wonderfully comforting about that."

That perfectly encompasses a great deal of the film’s charm…the ability it has to comfort…

The setup is simple. A group of friends spend a weekend together when one of their original group members – Alex – commits suicide. It’s the simplest of plots. A wedding, a funeral, a reunion – all are ideal ways to get a group of persons together. Kevin Kline and Glenn Close play the generically “good” couple. It’s their house we spend the weekend at, but the film depends on all - Mary Kay Place, Jeff Goldblum, Tom Berenger, Meg Tilly, JoBeth Williams and the man of the eighties William Hurt. We will learn a number of things over the next two days. We’ll learn who had an affair with Alex, who’s having problems in their marriage – the usual things we detect when we haven’t seen friends in a while. In this way, the normalcy of The Big Chill is obvious, but it’s a normalcy that is never rudimentary. Chemistry is something that cannot be forced, and even some excellent actors are unable to forge an authentic onscreen relationship. With The Big Chill the lot of actors working together is never affected, but always genuine. It’s, by far, the most appealing thing about the film. We’re willing to buy the slight conceits of the plot because we’re so willing to believe that these people did have a life, a friendship, together not so long ago. And what happens when friends come together? Music.  

                  

Yojimbo contributes a mere line, but it says much: “Best soundtrack evah.” Not sure if I’d call it the best “evah” but it’s somewhere near the top and its as nostalgic, cool, smooth and sweet as necessary….and I do love music.

Walter Hollman of the very diverse Silver Screening Room is another fan of the ensemble dramedy (hate that word, but it applies):

"Call me a sucker for ensemble films (I am), or an unabashed lover of all things Close or Hurt (guilty), but I love this movie. Glenn Close, of course, is great in her nominated role, but I always come back to Mary Kay Place and William Hurt, two vulnerable performances that become the most relatable. What I really love, really, is that, despite centering around a suicide, the film is rarely dreary and often funny. Great soundtrack, and the fact that they actually manage to make that absurd pregnancy subplot not awkward is a credit to the actors and Kasdan."

Walter hits on another sentient. Mary Kay Place tells us that the world is cold, it is, but like friendship The Big Chill gives us that cathartic embrace that makes us forget - temporarily, perhaps - but that's enough. Zeitgeist? Probably...but not any less for it...   
                           

Nonetheless, I’d warrant that the chemistry of the cast is just a notch above Kasdan’s script. Even though it’s easy to craft a film around a group of people meeting, it’s often quite uninspiring. I would not doubt that The Big Chill sits in my top ten as one of those “you had to be there” experiences – but, then, isn’t that the very principle of making a list of favourite films? The words are potent not because they exist as brilliant reflections on life and its subsistence I always smile (although the joke is more of an in-joke) at the easiness with which Kasdan decides to craft their meeting.

I am vastly aware that my love of The Big Chill is greatly driven by emotion, but yet it remains laudable. It’s not so much that it has low standards, but Kasdan is conscious that sometimes there is beauty in the modest. Never does it deign to tell us how life should be, or what it should represent. It’s always well aware of its aims – a look into the lives of people you’re more than likely to meet sometime in your life. It’s a diffidence that charms me throughout even as there are moments that are obviously “cinematic”. Sometimes, the pithiness does protrude as an obvious tenet of the trade, but The Big Chill succeeds so much in its quest for calmness it’s easy for us to leave it forgetting that these friends haven’t solved their issues, and if so – only tenuously. But it’s Kasdan’s flair for normalcy – like life nothing is settled and no even is seismic, but life must go on. As the credits prepare to roll and the friends set up impromptu camp in the kitchen and Jeff Goldblum utters the line we took a secret vote. We're not leaving. We're never leaving. I always smile. It’s the same way I feel – I’m never prepared for something so charmingly human, but so beautifully soothing to finish. And, ultimately few things are more attractive in a film because sometimes we forget that the things that are most interesting in the world are people just like us.

                             

The countdown continues with The Big Chill appearing at #8. Coming up next is a recent one from the last decade…does The Big Chill make you feel warm and fuzzy too...?

“I'm just drifting...”

It’s so strange how we end up getting our own ideas of what films really mean. Even when it’s not some giant mindf*** like Von Trier or Lynch film there’s still – quite often – no telling who’s “right” and “who’s wrong” in the argument of what X film is about. The Graduate is the kind of film that could imply much. In 500 Days of Summer Tom confessed to a complete misreading of the film – and judging from his character, I suppose we can all assume what that was. Still, I’m never sure if The Graduate is as wholly cynical as it sometimes pretends to be.

Emmy winning sound-designer (I know, right?) Yojimbo of Let’s Not Talk About Movies offers some insight below.

"40 years after the fact, The Graduate is a better film than when first released. Taken apart from the flush of the “Summer of Love” and a naïve association with “revolutionary” “stick-it-to-the-Establishment” behavior, it can now be seen for what it is: two kids in the process of becoming their parents. Elaine Robinson, the object of Ben’s ADD affection, is the product of a marriage of convenience, her Mother abandoning her dreams for domesticity, and now Ben Braddock has whisked her off in a similar moment of heat without thought. Meet the new beau, same as the old beau. Brilliantly, Nichols holds on that last shot of the two rebels as the adrenaline seeps away and the 'Now what’s' sink in. The Graduate is better—and more relevant--than ever."

That’s a reading I wasn’t going to come up with by little own self, though that “now what” look at the end always roused me. Even in the original review for The Graduate I was harping on it. But, it’s the uncertainty – of their looks, and the meanings – that adds to the specialness of the ending. I really am whimsical and I like to think a little more positively than Yojimbo there. All evidence seems to imply that the two are headed down a loveless marriage, and then I think “Who knows?” Maybe they will be the unlikely success, and no better way to try that than away from their toxic parents. It’s weird that I end up starting with the ending, though. It’s not the first thing that’s thought of when persons hear of the The Graduate – is it?

It’s weird how Anne Bancroft has become, in a de facto way, the thing that many persons associate The Graduate with. That leg covered in that stocking (which wasn’t even hers to begin with) is certainly alluring, but as strong a performance as she gives Bancroft is just one of the many supporting characters revolving around Dustin Hoffman’s Benjamin Braddock. 

Doesn’t that name read like something we’d get out of a comic book, a la Archie Andrews or Jughead Jones? I’ll always think of Benjamin as Hoffman’s magnum opus (we’ll be discussing the 67 race at the end of the month for The Actor Factor) Still, if I’m to take the words of the fellow cinephiles who’ve admitted to loving the The Graduate into account, it would seem that their thoughts are not far off from mine. The Mad Hatter of the consistently intuitive The Dark of the Matinee weighs in, and his thoughts are not a far cry from Yojimbo.

"What The Graduate does best, is tap into the restlessness that seeps into our conscience when we’re unsure of our next move. From a very young age, we’re taught the road map of life: 'Go to college, get a job, get married, have kids.'

The problem is, if we complete one of those steps and find ourselves unsure of what to do next, we get antsy…and prone to some very bad decision-making. That’s what drives young Benjamin in this movie, and you can tell even he isn’t certain that he’s doing the right this. He drifts from scene-to-scene with a scared expression, and doesn’t live his life so much as he navigates it.

The Graduate wants to teach us that there’s nothing wrong with not knowing the answer. Many of us get to one of these milestones in life – graduation, wedding, kids – and find ourselves thinking “now what?” (For a great example of this, pay attention to the final shot of the film). The trick is to take a moment to ourselves, and think things through. This introspection is what the film wants us to remember, and it’s something young Benjamin never seems to want to do."

I like Hatter’s thoughts on the film’s introspection. I’d still claim it as one of cinema’s brilliant comedies even if it’s more of a “things done funnily” that a “funny things done” situation. In fact, if you get too introspective you might find that The Graduate is too wistful underneath its wan setting and ridiculous characters. Nichols is probably not one we would call an auteur, but consider his film against his one from just a year before – Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf. It’s another ostensibly ridiculous piece that has some disturbing connotations beneath. Just like Martha and George are keen on attaining diversions in their lives to ignore their obvious aches Benjamin prefers to meander from place to place instead of making a conscious effort to “do” something. After all, you can’t be inadvertently guilty of a crime? When The Graduate takes that turning point (the first of many) that has Benjamin pursuing Elaine I’m reminded of a Stephen Sondheim quote “I chose and my world was shaken, so what? The choice may have been mistaken…the choosing was not.” I think it’s the same with Benjamin. I’m still unsure if Benjamin’s choice was the “right” one, but there’s some credibility to be found in the fact that he does make a decision. Despite my general moroseness I’m not intent on approaching the situation as bleak as Yojimbo. It’s probably because Dustin Hoffman is so affable, but I’m rooting for Ben all the way. Like me, Dan leaves room for either side of the coin:

Part of the appeal of Mike Nichols The Graduate comes from when you first discover it. It has a timeless sensibility - life at a crossroads - and it beautifully encompasses the almost surreal realisation of living outside the comfort zone of childhood, of school institutions, of parents and teachers instructing you what to do. The Graduate is life when the warm, safe environment of childhood has disappeared, and adulthood has suddenly been thrust upon you. I suppose, for me, I felt like Ben Braddock when I first saw The Graduate. There’s a great shot of Dustin Hoffman floating in the pool. His father asks him what he is doing. Ben replies: “Well, I would say that I’m just drifting. Here in the pool.” “Why?” asks his father. “It’s very comfortable just to drift here,” says his son. The brilliance of Mike Nichols’ film is in how he offers that guiding light to this twenty-something conundrum. Enter Mrs Robinson. 

I’ve only recently discovered Dan’s Top10Films.co.uk and it’s a blog that’s becoming a favourite. I love the way that both he and The Mad Hatter notice the drifting that’s going on with Ben. It makes me think that perhaps the jury isn’t really that split on what The Graduate is really about after all. I’m afraid I just can’t do it justice when it comes to a second review, but that doesn’t make it any less laudable. It’s still an excellent satire/comedy/social drama…or whatever the hell you want to call it.

Here it is at #9…coming closer to the top with 8 more to go. What do you remember when you think of the The Graduate?

There’s Nothing Like It: Movie-wise, Love-wise, laugh-wise or otherwise-wise

Of the two dozen and more films that Billy Wilder helmed I find it odd that the two that won the Oscar for Best Picture are often less remembered than the losers like Sunset Boulevard, Double Indemnity, The Seven Year Itch or Witness for the Prosecution. Wilder is not the only director it occurs with, and I would not exactly pledge my undying allegiance to The Lost Weekend but I find it strange that even though few would claim that The Apartment is a poor film, not enough are vociferous about it being an excellent film – which I do consider it to be. So I’m especially glad when it’s remembered…Univarn of the always funny A Life in Equinox writes…

"What makes The Apartment great isn’t just the talent involved; it’s the encompassing grandeur of the collective effort. Wilder’s natural wit and charm exude the tale of these two lost souls. While Lemmon and MacLaine entrance the viewer with their dynamic chemistry, and down to earth personas. Aided by the perfect timing of MacMurray as the evil Mr. Sheldrake. And, of course, a script so heartfelt, one could only dream of writing it."

That essentially sums it up, a script one could only dream of writing…but you know I’m wont to get loquacious. The original poster and tagline for The Apartment always amuses me (click on the picture adjacent for an enlargement - the post title is a derivative), and really it’s a claim that’s a bit brave. But, I think it’s accurate for the most part because – really – The Apartment is unlike little that appears on the screen movie-wise or otherwise-wise.

The concept of The Apartment isn’t original because of its focus on a heroine involved in an extramarital affair neither is the originality stemming from the fact that its hero isn’t as assertively “mannish” as conventions would purport. In fact, Wilder’s decision to make Shirley MacLaine’s Fran into something a suicidal simp realising the errors of her ways in the middle of the film is more compliant with societal norms of the era than dissenters were willing to admit. What makes The Apartment so revolutionary (to me, at least) is its dedication to the sort of subtle and almost incidental comedy that is unlike most things we normally see. Chances are, if The Apartment was ever remade (god forbid) producers would either turn it into an unapologetic introspective, sentimental drama or decide to do an about-face and turn it into some bawdy attempt at serious slapstick. Naturally, both attempts would be failure. Even though The Apartment seems to exist as the usual black and white comedy of manners with a penchant for melancholia its end result of discovering the sweet humour in even the most dire of circumstances is surely something worthy of praise and something unlike most of what we’d normally find on the screen – either big or small.

Still, even though every Wilder films seems to have a decidedly Wilder-esque stamp on it (it doesn’t roll of the tongue quite as nicely as Capra-esque, though) The Apartment impresses me more than even the more oft-cited Some Like It Hot. The Apartment’s humour depends to a large part, almost completely – I would say – on the success of its cast. It’s the very reason why I cited Lemmon’s performance as one for the books (even if that list was made a bit arbitrarily, the top 6 hold up). Lemmon’s Baxter is more introspective than audiences seem to remember, I’ll always cite Lemmon as the master when it comes to facial comedy – which is a dubious phrase itself, but I do prefer subtle movements of the face to the more physical stuff (which is, of course, why Chaplin is not a favourite of mine). I know Nick has his issues with Lemmon, and I’ll admit he’s more comfortable playing a specific type than he realises – I still fall hook, line and sinker for his shtick every time and no place else more unequivocally than in The Apartment. Yojimbo goes into it a little bit more with his thoughts on the films specialness.

"The situation drips with irony: an insurance company, where the exec's juggle statistics and mistresses with no moral compasses. And the hierarchy of executive structure is paralleled to the status of folks in their private lives: the mistresses are treated with contempt if they begin to interfere with the home turf. And Baxter is literally left out in the cold every night, as the executives hedonistically burn through relationships that Baxter doesn't have the roots to start. It's only when a crisis occurs that Baxter begins to grow a conscience over the moral compromises he's making and providing. It seems like a fairy-tale today with current rubber-board rooms of the business-world filled with sociopaths. But, at the tale end of the 50's and the concerns of the world moving away from our boys in khaki to the boys in grey-flannel, it was a cautionary tale. Revolutions of all sorts in the '60's and plagues, both sexual and financial, in the 70's have made the film seem...one shudders at the word... "quaint." 

But, that doesn't affect its wit, its insight, its charm, or high entertainment quotient. As a film it's a perfectly built comedic construction, a bon-bon exquisitely made and wrapped, with just a hint of bitterness at its core. And in the running gag that permeates the conversation of the film, it delivers its bellyful of laughs with no disconnect to the head, on its way to the heart, intellectually-wise."

Though I’m not one to lambast Elizabeth Taylor’s first bid for Oscar, I still wish Shirley MacLaine could have taken the prize. She has the ability to emanate that feeling of “lead actressishness” even though I’m sure that she’d be pushed into the supporting category if the film opened today. If Lemmon is responsible for keeping the comedy, MacLaine is responsible for not making it a tragedy. Her suicide attempt manages to play out (marginally, I will admit) as realistic and not some maudlin attempt at faux-sympathy. It’s because Marge isn’t intent on ensuring that we leave the film in love with her. Thus, by downplaying the very thing that’s her ace in the hole (another Wilder film I’m ignorant of) she ends up being even more attractive even if she’s self destructive – but perhaps that’s the very thing that makes her so attractive…

The Apartment becomes even more atypical when I consider that all the craziness is happening around Christmas time. It’s not exactly the seasonal picker upper we would anticipate. The Apartment is one of those films that make me feel lucky to experience the “classics”. Even though four films 1980 and before show up higher on my list of favourites, The Apartment just screams classic. And yes, there’s nothing like it – movie-wise, love-wise or otherwise-wise. It’s #10 on my list of favourites…

                  

The countdown to the top begins, The Apartment is #10…9 more to go. What do you think of Wilder's piece?