Day 145: 1973(Part 5)

The Last Detail is director Hal Ashby’s second title on the list and Jack Nicholson’s fifth. I’m pretty sure I saw it many years ago on VHS and enjoyed it, but my memory of that is so hazy that this might as well have been the first time. The story concerns two Navy lifers, “Bad ass” Buddusky(Nicholson) and “Mule” Mulhall(Otis Young) who have to recruit a wet behind the ears recruit named Meadows(Randy Quaid) across several states to a military prison. His crime is that he tried to steal $40 from a charity box. His sentence is eight years. At first, the older sailors are all business, trying to figure out how to get the kid where he’s going as quickly as possible while trying to pocket as much of their per diem as they can. But as they draw him out, they start to sympathize with him. Of course, they’re far too career conscious and aware of the consequences to even consider helping him to escape, but, mostly at Buddusky’s urging, they decide to show the kid a good time for his last few days of freedom. The journey begins modestly with getting drunk in a cheap hotel room and moves on to New York City where they meet some hippies, go to a party, and eventually take Meadows to a whorehouse where he loses his virginity. As they get closer to the end of their journey, the reality of the situation begins to set in. Meadows is so young and weak, a harsh military prison will likely break him. But they have no choice. And when Meadows makes one pathetic run for it, Buddusky doesn’t hesitate in running after him and apprehending, slapping him around a bit in the process. The only satisfaction in the end is when an officious paper pusher at the prison(Michael Moriarty) tries to hassle them about something not being in order, they viciously put him in his place and get out of the jam. Obviously, this is a bit of a hollow victory. Nicholson is great as always, playing a character significantly different than many of the previous films. Though he has an independent streak, he is, for the most part, comfortable with playing by the rules, and even seems to crave the structure that a military lifestyle provides, admitting that his addiction to the life is probably why he couldn’t stay married. Young is effective as well, but Quaid is quite a standout as a guy who towers over everyone but is completely intimidated. He’s been given a raw deal, but he’s the sort of person who is madly accepting of everything thrown his way, almost apologizing for existing. I mentioned that Ashby’s previous work, Harold and Maude, was clearly and unabashedly antiwar. If this represents Ashby’s personal views, he plays them close to his chest in this one, which is entirely appropriate. This is a much more realistic film, though also centered in its characters. It doesn’t take much to highlight the extreme absurdity of some of the things in the military, obviously with this kid’s life getting ruined for one stupid mistake as well as the ridiculous rivalry between Navy guys and Marines in one absurd sequence where they beat the shit out of some Marines in a train station bathroom just because they can. These things merely serve as the backdrop and Ashby allows all the characters truth and dignity, even allowing the hippies to look a little ridiculous. Mulhall, for instance, who is black, is grilled by a young girl at the party about the lack of black officers and his defense of it, though seemingly a rationalization, doesn’t make him look silly. One young man at the party seems determined to stand on his metaphorical soap box while a young woman(Nancy Allen) seems so bowled over by Buddusky’s raw macho charisma that she suddenly loses interest in politics. This was a highlight and I’m glad I saw it again.

Papillon is director Franklin J. Schaffner’s second title on the list, Steve McQueen’s second, and Dustin Hoffman’s fourth. I have a vague recollection of starting this movie a few times in the distant past but never getting especially far. I always attributed it to not being in the right frame of mind, or I started it too late at night, or something like that. I was actually looking forward to it. I know Steve McQueen is greatly respected and I need to see more of his films to really understand his appeal. Not that he was bad here, but I haven’t been especially fond of either of his titles on the list. Papillon is essentially a prison film, though it makes the prison in Cool Hand Luke look like a day at the beach. Ironically, there actually is a beach here as the film is set in the prison on Devil’s Island. Papillon(McQueen) and Dega(Hoffman) are two Frenchmen sent to the island prison. As Dega is small, weak, and rich, he realizes that he may not last long without protection, so he strikes a deal with Papillon. Papillon will keep Dega safe and in return, Dega will finance any escape attempts for Papillon. The rest of the film is essentially Papillon being obsessed with escape. Perhaps the most interesting part in all of this is his long period in solitary confinement as it truly underscores the brutality of the place. At one point late in the film, they seem to realize they’re repeating themselves and speed up the storytelling process. At one point we’re treated to a montage in which it appears he’s succeeded and then he’s caught again. He goes back into solitary and, rather than show us again, it skips to him getting out. At this point he’s given a cottage with relative freedom very near Dega. They’re both pretty broken by the process at this point and seem to be shuffling and a bit senile. Dega has basically accepted his lot, but Papillon is still obsessed with escape. He comes up with a plan that essentially comes down to jumping off a cliff into the water and floating on a burlap sack filled with coconuts to a free island. Dega can’t go through with it, but Papillon insists that it will work. The last shot of the film has Papillon floating on his coconuts and cackling that he “beat the bastards.” Of course, this all looks so absurd that the assumption is that he will drown or get caught. But we’re told by a postscript that Papillon indeed floated to safety and lived the rest of his life a free man. I didn’t know whether to feel cheated or just lied to. Apparently, this is somewhat based on a true story, though there have been elements to this story that have been challenged. But, ultimately, I don’t care about the veracity of the story as much as whether the movie can make me believe it. And it didn’t. If this ending really happened the movie owes it to me to make it more plausible or to show me how it happened. After taking me through two and a half hours of this man struggling through adversity, don’t you owe it to me to show me the triumphant escape rather than present it like some halfassed last minute tacked on happy ending? Guess I didn’t care for this one much. I’ve liked the work of many involved with this film. Just not this one.

I’ve mentioned before that I’m an admirer of Roger Ebert’s writing style. Though this project has made me more aware of the times I violently disagree with him, I always find him informative and interesting. His review of Sleeper also added an element of time capsule in the fact that it highlights something I had somehow not noticed. As amazing a time as this period was for film, it was not especially fruitful for comedy. Though this would change significantly in 1974, it was certainly true in 1973. His review states, “Sleeper establishes Woody Allen as the best comic director and actor in America, a distinction that would mean more if there were more comedies being made…Mel Brooks only seems to get geared up every three years or so, but Allen is prolific as well as funny.” Of course, this would change with two classic Brooks films in 1974 as well as a group from England called Monty Python, but this really put things in perspective. When I told some friends about the list early on, some openly scoffed at some of the Allen titles, and I’ve acknowledged that the previous title was a little uneven, but in this context it makes a little more sense. Sleeper concerns Miles Monroe(Allen), who went into St. Vincent’s Hospital in 1973 for a common operation, and for some reason, was cryogenically frozen and finds himself being revived in 2173. It turns out that 2173 is a totalitarian society of some sort where everyone is catalogued, so he’s being defrosted by rebels in an effort to use him because the government has no record of him. And I think I’ll stop with the plot description there, because what I’ve written already makes it sound much more complicated than it is. This is Allen in his silly phase, but that doesn’t mean the film doesn’t have a point or two. The authorities are oppressive, but of course the resistance takes itself too seriously. As Miles navigates this landscape, he serves as somewhat of a commentator on the human condition and the absurdity of political cycles. There are a number of hilarious scenes, some of them an homage to silent cinema, but for some reason, I was struck by one scene where, in an attempt to acclimate Miles to his new environment, they attempt to recreate dinner with his parents. Miles takes a left turn and starts thinking he’s Blanche DuBois. While following the “don’t wake the sleepwalker” rule, they start improving a scene from A Streetcar Named Desire with Diane Keaton doing an impression of Marlon Brando as Stanley Kowalski. If anyone is reading this and doesn’t get these references, I think that’s kind of my point. And I think you’ll still find the scene funny.

Day 134: 1973(Part 4)

1973(Part 4) I’ve made no secret in previous entries about a bias I have held with regard to some artists. In this case I’m referring specifically to Robert Redford and his frequent collaborator, director Sydney Pollack. But I’ve been trying very hard to keep an open mind and, even when I find the work lacking, to mention positives and be respectful in my criticism. Because even in work that is not to my taste, I have to respect at the very least their effort and body of work. That being said, I freely confess that I was not looking forward to The Way We Were. I’m pretty sure I saw it years ago, probably in high school, and on broadcast TV. I may have even dozed through parts of it. Admittedly I had low expectations. I’m happy to say, though it may sound like faint praise, that The Way We Were, though not without its flaws, wildly exceeded my expectations. The film follows our main characters, Hubbell(Redford) and Katie(Barbara Streisand), beginning in college prior to World War II and leading them into adulthood into the post war McCarthy Red Scare era in Hollywood. Katie is a rabble rousing Jewish Marxist activist and Hubble is a laid back WASP. Initially, she’s wary of him, assuming that with his privilege comes arrogance. She assumes his relaxed demeanour is indicative of smug apathy. But he actually admires her passion and is drawn to her. Katie was written for Streisand by Arthur Laurents and the character contains many of the traits that her right wing critics use to this day to tear her apart personally. She is quite strident and often humorless. A moment that sticks with me is Hubbell recounting a speech she gave at a demonstration where she caught his eye. In the midst of the speech, where she appeared to have the crowd in the palm of her hand, she’s interrupted by a childish prank insulting her. She immediately loses her cool and the crowd. Hubbell points out to her that she could have kept them if she’d just laughed. Katie just doesn’t get it. The only response she can give is, “But it wasn’t funny.” Apparently, Pollack worked hard with Laurents to flesh out Hubbell’s character. After all, if he’s nothing but teeth and hair, half of the story seems pointless and Katie seems shallow for loving him. Though Hubbell doesn’t share Katie’s passion, he certainly admires her for it, but perhaps the undoing of their relationship is that two people with such different dynamics ultimately can’t live together. Though they certainly try. Though some accounts criticize the story for being only marginally political and merely using it as a backdrop, I think it was probably an ingenious way to introduce such ideas to a mainstream audience, albeit in a soft pedaled way. I would be hard pressed to imagine any other film I’ve ever seen where the lead character, unless the film is more about politics than a love story, would be allowed to be an open unashamed Communist. The supplemental materials include some deleted scenes and refreshingly honest moments from Streisand and Laurents. A couple of scenes were cut that indicated that the primary reason Katie and Hubbell split up near the end of the film and immediately after the birth of their daughter is because her past is going to destroy his career. Laurents laments that without these scenes it appears that they part as a result of an infidelity committed by Hubbell. I have to admit, from an objective point of view, that I disagree with Laurents. Having no knowledge of the missing material, it seemed to me that this was an example of two people who loved each other deeply, cared for each other, and respected each other. But they eventually realized that their fundamental differences made it impossible to live together. In this way, the deletions make it more universal. I will also concede that I was a little puzzled by the epilogue when Katie and Hubbell randomly meet in New York years after the split and it becomes clear that he’s completely uninvolved in his daughter’s life. I suppose that the circumstances they originally split under would make that make more sense. But that’s a minor quibble. I probably won’t seek this one out again. But I’m not sorry for the experience.

As noted before, 1973 is easily the most prolific year on the list. Sidney Lumet’s Serpico begins December 1973, the most prolific month on the list with seven titles altogether. Serpico is Lumet’s third of six list titles and actor Al Pacino’s second of four. Though it’s Lumet’s first appearance on the list in nearly a decade since The Pawnbroker, he’s lost none of his edge and, in fact, stands toe to toe with the best vibrant younger directors of this era. Though anyone as prolific as Lumet is bound to have a misstep now and again, I’ve always been impressed that, not only in this era, but even today manages to seem not only fresh and relevant but vital. I’ve mentioned before my penchant for NYC location shooting, but this one is incredible in its depth and breadth of the city. Not only are there dozens of locations throughout four of the five boroughs(Staten Island might as well be New Jersey anyway), but I have an even more personal association than usual. One scene is shot on the N train platform at the Ditmars Blvd. stop which is steps from my apartment, as is Astoria Park, where a scene is shot under the infamous Hellgate Bridge. I’m well aware that there is a degree of narcissism in enjoying things that remind me of my life, but there you have it. Baggage declared. Pacino plays the title role in the real life story of NYC cop Frank Serpico. Serpico is an honest cop. Pathologically so, one might say, though at the risk of making it sound negative. Unfortunately, being a cop with ethics makes it very difficult for him to get along. Corruption runs so deep that he sees examples of it his very first day as a beat cop, such as the local deli owner who gives them free food in exchange for special treatment. Frank tries to look the other way. He tries to abstain. But everywhere he turns he’s drowning in dirty cops and, as a clean cop, becomes a pariah. Eventually, it becomes too much for him and he tries to do something about it. One superior asks him to gather information but never seems to do anything about it. Another has a friend at the mayor’s office but can’t seem to get anything going. Serpico sometimes seems to have the fervor of what it must have been like to be an abolitionist in pre Civil War America. Sure, plenty of people agree with him that the system’s awful, but the overwhelming attitude seems to be “what can you do about it?” In his stringent form of idealism, Serpico bears a lot of resemblance to Katie in The Way We Were, making this a curious companion piece, albeit executed in an entirely different fashion. They both are so passionate as well as being right that they wind up alienating even those who agree with them. Serpico keeps fighting his battles until he’s shot in the line of duty under somewhat mysterious circumstances, shown in the immediate aftermath in the film’s opening and the actual circumstances much later in the film. Serpico survives and is served with a promotion while recovering in the hospital. His response is to resign and move to Europe. In researching this, I came across some more recent information about Serpico. According to the Village Voice, he came back a few years ago to testify about something and spent a little time with the current NYPD. According to him, nothing has changed significantly and it appears that the name Serpico is still a dirty word to cops today. Pacino’s performance is passionate and riveting. On the surface, he has some similarities to Michael Corleone from The Godfather. They both consider themselves to be men of honor. But Serpico is someone truly worthy of admiration. Michael has one encounter with a dirty cop and abandons law and order entirely to loyalty to his family. And, of course, in doing so, becomes increasingly ethically challenged. But Serpico, though it costs him professionally and personally in various and sundry countless untold ways, he sticks to what is actually right rather than retreat to the world of situational ethics. Lumet has a tremendous naturalistic and gritty style that really makes New York in the ‘70’s come alive. My only complaint was that the score, though not overused, tended a bit towards the overbearing. So it was no surprise to me to find that Lumet wanted to do it with no score, but producer Dino DeLaurentiis insisted. Lumet, fearful of having final cut taken away from him, hired Mikis Theodorakis, who agreed that it should have no score, so he tried to be minimal. He didn’t quite succeed, but the effort is appreciated. It doesn’t ruin the movie either, it would just be better if it wasn’t there.

Lynne joined me for Nicolas Roeg’s Don’t Look Now. I think it’s important for perspective to keep these entries in chronological order, but I feel I should point out that I actually saw this after The Exorcist. I only bring it up because I may find it necessary to compare the two. John and Laura Baxter(Donald Sutherland and Julie Christie) are a couple living in England. In the first scene of the film, their young daughter accidentally drowns in a stream behind their house. In this eerie sequence, John seems to have a premonition of what is going on, but he finds her lifeless submerged body moments too late. The film then moves to Venice where it remains. John is an architect and is supervising the restoration of a cathedral. Laura is with him and it’s clear they’re still processing their daughter’s death. I mentioned his premonition in the earlier scene because it’s a theme that is carried persistently and subtly throughout. Early on, they meet two elderly ladies, one of whom is blind and claims to be a psychic. Laura believes them absolutely when she’s told that their little girl is on the “other side” and wants them to be happy. The woman also has premonitions that John is in danger and, indeed, has the gift of second sight as well. John indeed has visions, but is in so much denial about it he can’t tell the difference between the visions and reality, which is what leads him to the predicted danger and his demise. I realize that these details seem a little vague and perhaps even a bit preposterous. But what makes it work is the subtlety. Unlike The Exorcist, with its tremendous(and undeniably effective) special effects show as it approaches the climax, Don’t Look Now portrays the supernatural in an entirely psychological way, which is why John’s visions are so confusing to him. For instance, he has a flash of his Laura at his funeral procession, which confuses him because he thinks she’s out of town. Now that sounded silly. Trust me, the mood Roeg creates for this film is spellbinding and unnerving. I just realized I almost forgot to mention the intensely erotic and fairly explicit love scene between Sutherland and Christie early in the film, parts of it rivaling Last Tango in Paris with regard to content. As the scene unfolds, Roeg starts juxtaposing these shots with shots of them getting dressed, perhaps showing the dichotomy of how intimate they are while being closed off to each other as well. Okay, that intellectual thing I just said is true, but I’d be lying if I didn’t also admit that the scene is really hot. I think I caught part of this film at a friend’s house on cable or something back in the late ‘80’s and am pretty sure it’s part of what got me to start paying attention to the name Nicolas Roeg. Oddly, in America this one doesn’t have the cult status of some of his better known films like Walkabout or The Man Who Fell to Earth. In England, however, this was named as the #8 film by the British Film Institute of top 100 British films as well as #18 of greatest of all time by the London Times. Maybe it got lost in the shuffle in December of 1973 in the U.S. I will also add that Lynne had never seen The Exorcist and was anticipating it with much more enthusiasm than this film. We watched them essentially back to back. Days later, Don’t Look Now was the one she was still talking about.

Day 131: 1973(Part 3)

I know I saw Bang the Drum Slowly years ago on VHS. I remember thinking it was all right, but I felt like I was missing something. Watching it again years later clarified this for me but not for the better. Before I speak my mind on this film, I should say I tried to unearth the appeal of it. I got various responses from my friend Matt B. and found a few interesting avenues from Ebert’s original review. To paraphrase a bit, Matt thought it was a simple story of friendship, as well as a study to deal with slow death, and of course featured some good performances. Ebert points out that it was the first time we really got a backstage look at what life on the road was for a professional sports team. I must admit I also found it interesting to see how much things have changed with regard to the economic structure of baseball. There’s a great contract negotiation scene where the central character, Henry(Michael Moriarty), has to settle for a salary infinitely smaller than today’s counterparts and even has to sell insurance in the off season to make ends meet. It is also notable that this is Robert DeNiro’s first appearance on the list and that he delivers a memorable performance as Bruce, Henry’s uncouth hick of a roommate who, at the start of the film is diagnosed with Hodgkin’s disease. Overall, I just found the tone of the film to be disingenuous. The film is framed with Henry in voiceover. The opening bit, paraphrased more than a little for comedic and clarification purposes, goes something like this, “I never liked Bruce. He was stupid, smelled bad, and pissed in the sink. And he was a terrible ballplayer. But then I found out he was dying so I decided to be his best friend.” This is basically the trajectory of the film. The rest of the team essentially viewed Bruce the way Henry used to, but as they slowly discover his secret, they start coming together as a team by being nice to him. This new coming together brings the team victory and they have a winning season. The closing scene has Henry at Bruce’s funeral, telling us in voiceover what he’s learned and that he never “ragged” anyone ever again. So essentially we have a team full of asshole jocks who need one of their teammates dying to be reminded to be decent human beings. And then they’re richly rewarded merely for a normal act of human kindness. I’m reminded of a Chris Rock routine about certain people who boast about doing things that common sense dictates all decent human beings should do, ending with the refrain, “That’s what you’re supposed to do!” Henry’s voiceover is reminiscent of a pushy born again Christian who likes to tell you in detail what a sinner he was in great detail before he came to Jesus. I have to admit, I also have a difficult time watching Moriarty without thinking of his peculiar decline over the years. He developed a reputation for himself, both on stage and screen, and was in the original cast of the long running series Law and Order, appearing in the first 88 episodes. But in the early years of the Clinton administration, he famously had a meltdown, ranting about how Attorney General Janet Reno was trying to shut his show down and shortly after left the show claiming he was fired for his politics. Apparently, he’s continued to work, though in more low profile projects including what appears to be a passion project, a film he wrote and starred in called Hitler Meets Christ(he played Hitler). Of course, Jon Voight is also known for being a bit of a batshit conservative and, though he continues to work in more high profile projects, arguably fell from a higher perch. I can’t help wonder if there are secret meetings between Voight, Moriarty, and others of their ilk who get together, smoke cigars, play poker, and bitch about the conspiracy in liberal Hollywood that robbed them of their careers. What was my point? Oh yeah. Bang the Drum Slowly is not my favorite film of 1973. And I guess I didn’t learn the lesson of be nice to people because they might die. Oh well. On to more worthy subjects.

Mean Streets marks director Martin Scorsese’s first appearance on the list. Thanks to Lynne for joining me. I’m a big fan of Scorsese, though this one took some patience for me to really appreciate. I saw it on VHS many years ago and at the Film Forum sometime in the last 10 or so. The titular streets of this film are located in present day New York City, specifically the Little Italy neighborhood of Lower Manhattan where Scorsese grew up. Though many characters seem like throwbacks to an earlier era, we’re quite clearly we’re in 1973 when, in one of the opening scenes, we see a hippie shooting up in a bar washroom and subsequently being chased away. Perhaps this is a metaphor for these people, clinging to old world values, chasing away the inevitable. But, of course, the people speaking nostalgically of a simpler time are hardly innocents. They may dress well and speak in a courtly manner, but their idea of a more innocent time is hardly the one we saw in American Graffiti. Scorsese was greatly influenced by the verite style of John Cassavetes, though the style is clearly filtered through the lens of Scorsese’s experience. Though there are arcs to characters, story takes a back seat to characters and showing how they exist in this world from day to day. The story, such as it is, focuses on Charlie(Harvey Keitel) and his struggle to find his way in life. Though there are people in the film who are clearly what might be defined as mobsters in a more traditional gangster film, they’re more about atmosphere to define this world. They’re always around, the main characters show them respect or don’t if they’re not bright, but this film isn’t about the movers and the shakers. Charlie has a good relationship with one of them, but he doesn’t appear to have ambitions to be one of them. He just wants to be set up in a restaurant. The biggest thing potentially standing in his way seem to be his friend Johnny Boy(Robert DeNiro) and Johnny’s sister Teresa(Amy Robinson). Johnny Boy is a loose cannon who owes money to everyone in town including Michael(Richard Romanus) who seems to be losing patience. Charlie has a secret relationship with Teresa, an epileptic, an affliction the old timer who can help Charlie refers to as “sick in the head.” As Charlie wrestles with his ambitions and his torn loyalties, we follow him and his friends through some incredible location shooting in New York. I was shocked to read that most of the interiors were shot in L.A. and that New York location shooting was all done during one chaotic week. Scorsese makes it all fit together in a remarkably realistic and naturalistic setting. The first time I saw this, I think I found it a little difficult to absorb, due to my youth and the smaller screen. The second time I definitely appreciated it more, but found myself more viscerally connected with Scorsese’s later work. Truthfully, that’s probably still the case to some degree, but this one definitely grows on me more every time. It’s very exciting seeing Keitel and DeNiro here, with the tremendous energy they have individually as well as the chemistry they have together. Lynne and I were both particularly taken with an early scene in the back room of the bar where DeNiro is explaining to Keitel why he hasn’t paid his debts. The whole film is great, but the scenes between the two of them stand apart. I can’t say enough good things about this one. I’m very glad Scorsese finally made it to the list. Looking forward to revisiting his other contributions.

Lynne also joined me for Terence Malick’s Badlands, his first feature length film. His second was five years later. His third didn’t turn up until 1998, 25 years after his debut. I know I’ve read stories about the reasons behind this gap, but I’m unable to access them specifically right now. Apparently, he was and is very meticulous, taking two years to edit his second film. As that was released near the end of this fertile period of creativity in Hollywood, it seems that the 1980’s either had no use for Malick or he had no use for the 1980’s as it existed in Hollywood. Much like Orson Welles, he’s an auteur with a grand vision that, when indulged, can hardly subsist on a shoestring. According to some accounts he overshoots tremendously and then finds the film in the editing room. The good news is that he’s back to releasing a film every few years, including the upcoming Tree of Life. I first saw Badlands some time ago on VHS and was happy to revisit it. Loosely based on a real life murder spree perpetrated by Charles Starkweather and Caril Fugate in 1958, Malick changed the names of the characters to avoid a potential lawsuit. This also allowed him creative freedom to shape the story how he wished. I don’t know how 1973 audiences viewed the film, but, having little specific knowledge of it, I never really thought about what was real and what was fabricated as I had no difficulty accepting the reality of the film for what it was. Sissy Spacek and Martin Sheen play Holly and Kit, the standins for Starkweather and Fugate. The story is fairly simple. Kit, a troubled 25 year old romances Holly, a not especially bright 15 year old. Her father(Warren Oates) disapproves and Kit kills him. They leave town, hiding in various cities, killing whoever gets in their way, always narrated by Spacek’s flat emotionless voiceover. Sometimes characters who do terrible things are played as over the top cartoon villains. Some, as mentioned many times in these entries, are occasionally portrayed in sympathetic ways or at least in ways that try to get us to understand their point of view. But Kit and Holly, especially Holly, just seem kind of disconnected. Kit likes to come up with justifications with why he has to kill people, but when Holly begins to object, it seems less out of distaste or horror and more that she’s grown tired of the routine. This portrayal, rather than demonizing or romanticizing, just lets it speak for itself. It’s a far cry from Bonnie and Clyde. Sheen and Spacek are great. I saw this in early February, but am writing it just as Sheen’s son, Charlie, is having a famous meltdown, giving bizarre self-confident rants about how various self-destructive and erratic behaviors he’s been engaging in are perfectly sensible. I can’t help seeing a similarity between that and his father’s portrayal of Kit, who always has some odd version of “I meant to do that” in everything he does. I would be remiss in not mentioning how beautifully shot the film is. A long section of the film has Kit and Holly essentially reverting to childhood and living in a treehouse which includes many beautiful shots of the pastoral setting scored primarily to Carl Orff’s “Gassenhauer,” used prominently in many subsequent films, such as the early ‘90’s young lovers on the run film, True Romance. Malick really is a visionary and though I can’t always wrap my head around his visions, this made me want to revisit some of his other films.

Day 121: 1973(Part 2)

Peter Bogdanovich’s Paper Moon was released in May of 1973 and featured real life father and daughter Ryan and Tatum O’Neal as Depression era, con artist team, and possible father and daughter Mose Pray and Addie Loggins. It was one of two films that year that featured remarkable performances by young girls, in fact Linda Blair of The Exorcist(to be covered shortly in another entry) and O’Neal were both nominated for Oscars. O’Neal won and, in fact, was the youngest winner in history in a competitive category. It was also one of two high profile films about con artists in the Depression, but The Sting(also to be covered later) was the big winner. As mentioned before, I’m a big fan of Bogdanovich’s The Last Picture Show and wish more of his work lived up to the promise of that film. I know I’ve seen bits and pieces of this film, but sitting down to watch it I realized I hadn’t ever really seen it. Though it didn’t strike the same chord with me as Picture Show, I certainly enjoyed this film a great deal and appreciated its artistry. Mose is a fairly small time con man. His main scam is posing as a door to door Bible salesman, convincing recent widows that their late husbands had placed orders for personally embossed editions. Through a quirk of circumstance, he is recruited into driving recently orphaned 10 year old Addie across country. As it turns out, not only does she serve as a more than adequate prop for his schemes, she seems to have better instincts for the game than he does, though she’s also inclined to take bigger risks. There’s not much story beyond that. On paper it’s pretty much a formula road picture. Two mismatched people forced together through circumstance to spend time together until an arbitrary task is completed. Over the course of the story they develop a begrudging affection for each other and discover that, though neither will admit it, they actually need each other. What makes it unique is the approach towards telling a Depression era story. In his insightful review, Roger Ebert points out that most stories of this era are either just about the Depression or ignore it altogether in favor of escapism. Paper Moon combines the two by taking a standard formula that we know but not ignoring the tragedies around them, including the untimely death of Addie’s mother that sets the plot in motion. We even see that Addie, ruthless as she is, will not take advantage of a mark that has been left with multiple mouths to feed. And when Trixie Delight(Madeline Kahn) enters the story as a love interest for Mose, she’s accompanied by a young African American girl named Imogene(P.J. Johnson) who, due to circumstances, 70 years after the Civil War, is for all practical purposes her slave. These reality checks aside, Paper Moon is still a great deal of fun. Though I’ve never been especially fond of the elder O’Neal, he’s effective here and has great chemistry with his daughter. Bogdanovich is fond of long unbroken shots here which require enormous discipline from his actors. This makes Tatum O’Neal’s performance that much more remarkable. She avoids many of the pitfalls that child actors fall into but for a 10 year old to play a multiple page scene from beginning to end a feat in and of itself. The film is beautifully shot in black and white by Laszlo Kovacs, though not the cinematographer for Picture Show, a frequent collaborator with Bogdanovich and cinematographer for a number of other films on this list. It’s been speculated that Bogdanovich’s ex wife, Polly Platt, though credited mainly with production design and costume design for his films, was a collaborator of sorts and was in part responsible for the success in the early part of his career. Though their marriage broke up during Picture Show when he left her for Cybill Shepherd, she continued to work with him through Paper Moon, perhaps even convincing him that a father daughter story would be a good choice as they had two daughters together. One wonders what other great works would have come of the partnership if they’d continued to work together.

I’m pretty sure I had heard of The Day of the Jackal. At least I’d heard the title. Beyond that, it was completely off my radar, and so I must thank Mr. Clooney for bringing me to it. It starts, in perhaps a too lengthy voiceover, by telling us the circumstances we’ve been brought to in 1973 France. A homegrown terrorist organization has formed opposed to President DeGaulle’s policy in Algeria. After showing us some of their general mayhem and how well financed and organized they are, a presidential assassination plot is hatched. They’re to bring in a foreign mercenary(Edward Fox) with a good track record as he’s most likely to stay under the radar. Under the code name “The Jackal,” we see him methodically plotting his course, planning various false passports, disguises, etc. Eventually, the police catch wind of his scheme, bring in their own expert and, just as methodically, begin hunting him down. The film takes its time and doesn’t resort to tricks or gimmicks to build suspense, but rather takes an almost documentary style approach in letting events unfold. The Jackal, though seductive when necessary, doesn’t operate in a particularly sexy way. He’s just very thorough as is his policeman counterpart in France, Inspector Thomas(Tony Britton). At one point, Thomas uncovers a leak in the police department as a result of a phone tap, he’s asked by one of his colleagues, “How did you know it was him?” Thomas responds that he didn’t. He just had all of their phones tapped. And, yet despite his thoroughness, staying on his trail at almost every twist and turn, the plan almost comes off. The naturalistic documentary style makes the film all the more chilling, making it seem that if one were determined and resourceful enough, someone could not only pull off an assassination of this magnitude and get away with it. I can only imagine how this might have seemed to audiences in 1973 after the spate of high profile assassinations in the ‘60’s beginning with JFK in ’63. The film is actually set in summer of ’63, several months prior. The Day of the Jackal has a lot in common stylistically with The French Connection as well as Z, to some degree. Not only do they have stylistic similarities, but they all show how difficult it is for good people in the system to make sure that right will out. Though Z is more about internal corruption, they all show how what is rotten within can always sabotage even the best policework with the most noble of intentions.

George Lucas and Steven Spielberg are often cited as bringing an end to the New Hollywood era. Or at least Star Wars and Jaws are. They ushered in the summer event film that opened wide and made it more difficult for smaller director driven films. Though when I call these films small, I’m using the lexicon of today’s cinema as many of these films, though seemingly small and idiosyncratic, were financed by studios and were huge hits, both critically and commercially. In any case, Spielberg and Lucas were certainly part of this movement and Jaws, which will be discussed later, is actually on the list. Lucas, though today he is best known for the sci fi and special effects empire that Star Wars created, made a small film in 1973 with a cast of mostly relative unknowns about teenagers in a small town called American Graffiti. I saw this film years ago on VHS and remembered most of the plot points. It takes place on one evening in late summer of 1962 as two friends, Curt(Richard Dreyfuss) and Steve(Ron Howard), are preparing to go off to college on the other side of the country. The date seems to have been chosen as the moment before American innocence. There was barely a glimmer of what Vietnam was to become and it was more than a year before the Kennedy assassination. In a small California town, 1962 was less the beginning of the ‘60’s than the end of the ‘50’s. The plot is scarcely worth recounting as it’s essentially a slice of life film. Though against the backdrop of the loss of America’s supposed innocence, it’s more specifically about the characters as they all feel on the precipice of moving on with the next stage of their lives, some resisting and some pushing too hard, but emerging the next morning feeling a profound shift, though no doubt the faux profundity the cloak of night provides will fade somewhat with the dawn, for some more than others. This film was essentially as I remembered it and I enjoyed it. As with several titles on this list, it took the trend of using popular songs of the era rather than a traditional score to a whole new level, though some of the supplemental material provided with the disc oddly takes credit for inventing this approach that had been around at least since Easy Rider. There are also a lot of good natural performances here, notably the first really significant role for Dreyfuss. I realize I’m struggling at this point because as much as I admire the work here and think that it achieved what it set out to do, I guess it didn’t especially move me. This is more due to personal taste, though, as well as recent viewings of films with similar themes that I liked better, specifically, a film I’m risking over fetishizing, The Last Picture Show, and in a more peripheral way, the upcoming Mean Streets. American Graffiti digs just as deep as it intends to and in a different mood or a different setting I might appreciate it more. I certainly wouldn’t avoid seeing it again. But I’m unlikely to seek it out.

Day 110: 1973(Part 1)

As I write this, I’ve made my way through just over half of the films of 1973. Though still the most prolific year on the list, there are 16 rather than 17 films. Thanks to Matt B. for catching my error. One of the first things that struck me as I started to work my way through these selections is that there seemed to be a large number of period films, some nostalgic and some more realistic than had been seen during the era they represent. It has been said, though, that films of a certain era often reflect the era they were shot in whether or not they are set in it. A perusal of the remaining titles reveal, an eclectic mix of past, present(1973’s present that is), and even the future. Enough stalling. Here’s 1973.

The Long Goodbye is the third Robert Altman title on the list. I saw this a few years back, as I recall, on a substandard VHS copy and have been curious to revisit it ever since. Though technically not a period film, it essentially places a character from another time into the present. I don’t mean it’s a time travel film, but the lead character just doesn’t seem to fit in 1973. Based on the Raymond Chandler novel of the same name, The Long Goodbye features the character Philip Marlowe(Elliott Gould), a character that from 1944 to 2007 has been featured in 15 films and television shows, perhaps most notoriously played by Humphrey Bogart in The Big Sleep, but also by Robert Mitchum, Dick Powell, and Powers Boothe to name a few. Not surprisingly, Altman’s take on Marlowe is like no other. He keeps the character’s basic style and attitude from the ‘40’s but places him in Los Angeles in1973. Marlowe is the kind of guy who puts on a tie to go buy cat food at three in the morning. When he returns, he discovers a friend of his who says he needs a ride. Right away. To Mexico. Marlowe obliges, no questions asked, and returns to be greeted by two cops questioning him about the murder of his friend’s wife. This and several other factors lead Marlowe to investigate the murder, eventually leading to what is almost a twist ending in the fact that the murderer is the obvious choice. But, as usual with Altman, the story isn’t the main attraction. He continues the improvisational feel, the sense that we’re eavesdropping rather than being invited in, and the usual overlapping conversations. I’ve read that, in McCabe and Mrs. Miller, Altman wanted Warren Beatty to be constantly muttering to himself, sometimes unintelligibly. Beatty indulged him for a time, but eventually dropped it as he felt it was silly, which is why it’s rather inconsistent in that film. He has Gould do a similar thing here, but it’s carried throughout the film. In the traditional Marlowe films, there’s usually a recurring voiceover, telling us what the man of few words is thinking and guiding us through the labyrinthine plot. This serves as somewhat of an alternative to the traditional voiceover in the fact that we hear his voice almost continuously but is more illuminating of his personality than of the plot. There are a number of good performances here, but I was especially struck by Sterling Hayden, a figure from the old Hollywood days, but making his third list appearance, having previously appeared in Dr. Strangelove and The Godfather. Here he plays a towering blustery bearded writer somewhat reminiscent of Hemingway. One of the most memorable moments is when he’s revealed to be all bark and no bite. In another memorable performance, Henry Gibson plays his psychiatrist who shows up at a party demanding to be paid what Hayden owes him in front of all his guests. To bring his point across, Gibson, a slight man seemingly half Hayden’s size, slaps him in the face. Hayden instantly crumbles and retreats to get his checkbook. Altman also does an interesting thing with the score. It’s essentially one song with the same title as the film. It’s not unusual to have different versions of the same theme. Just watch any episode of The Brady Bunch. Or Entertainment Tonight, when they play the mournful version of their peppy theme when listing celebrity deaths. But this film takes it a step further. Nearly, if not all of the occurrences of the theme are ambient sound, from a character listening to it on the radio to the pianist at a dive bar. Lynne watched this with me and pointed out to me that one version was sung by Jack Sheldon, known for his skill as a singer and trumpet player, of course, though admittedly probably best known to our generation as the voice of the “Conjunction Junction” train conductor. But perhaps the most unique version was a passing marching band in Mexico. Altman’s articulation of this idea doesn’t seem to be much more than he thought it might be interesting. And it is.

High Plains Drifter is the only Clint Eastwood title on the list. Eastwood and Burt Reynolds were both curious figures when I was coming of age in the ‘80’s. They both came of age around the same time doing television and both developed personas that became iconic in their own way. But, due in part to my own prejudices and to some of their unfortunate career choices when I was first discovering cinema, neither was someone I would be first in line to see on opening weekend. More about Reynolds when I get to The Longest Yard on the list. I gave Eastwood a chance eventually with Pale Rider, which I found perfectly respectable and I also saw his directorial debut, Play Misty For Me at the revival house in Dayton I’ve mentioned before. It was well made and an interesting story, especially as I believe I saw it after Fatal Attraction, so it was interesting to see the parallels. But mostly my impression of Eastwood at the time(the only time I really knew) was that he was a limited actor who had gone to the Dirty Harry well one too many times. I’m glad to say that as Eastwood, though occasionally acting in films, has eclipsed his acting career as a renowned director. Maybe eclipsed isn’t the right word. But he’s rightly acclaimed as a director and if someone from another planet were introduced to his work strictly as a director, that career is much more nuanced and, though sometimes uneven, prolific, sometimes brilliant, and completely stands on its own. I’m also glad to say that I’ve come around to realize his gifts. High Plains Drifter, though only his second film as a director, shows that he must have been paying attention to the great directors he’d worked with. It’s been a long time since I saw Misty, but this film seems to have a much more assured directorial hand. Of course, his familiarity with the genre no doubt helped him relax, but this is hardly a standard genre piece. In fact, in its own way, it’s almost a subversion of the genre, though in a very different way than his 1992 film, Unforgiven. The Stranger(Eastwood) quietly comes into a small town in the Old West, the townspeople eyeing him suspiciously as he rides his horse down the thoroughfare. First stopping by the saloon and then the barber’s, he shoots three men who attempt to ambush him and shortly after rapes a woman in the stables. The sheriff comes to see him the next day, not to charge him for his crimes, but to hire him to protect the town from some criminals who have just been released from prison and are out for revenge. The Stranger resists until he is told he can have anything he wants. Thus begins the downward spiral where he essentially destroys the town in the guise of saving it. He loots all the merchants saying he needs supplies. He makes Mordecai(Billy Curtis), the town outcast because he is a little person, sheriff and mayor. He eventually does brutally murder the three criminals, but destroys the town to do so. The three men had whipped their previous sheriff to death while the town watched and did nothing, some of them having actively participated in this, others complicit in their inaction. In any case, the Stranger seems to have been sent to punish all those responsible. As the Stranger leaves town, Mordecai says to him, “I don’t believe I know your name.” The Stranger responds, “Yes you do,” and rides off as the camera pulls in for a closeup of the dead sheriff’s tombstone, perhaps implying the Stranger has the same name. Apparently, the original screenplay explicitly named him as the sheriff’s brother, but Eastwood changed it to keep it deliberately vague, implying a supernatural element. I must admit, making the character an avenging ghost or demon works best for me. Only such a figure would be imbued with the knowledge he seems to possess about what these people deserve, particularly where it comes to the rape scenes. But maybe that’s just my 2011 mentality. After watching this, I mentioned in an online forum how much I liked it. A childhood acquaintance, Matt L., who apparently identifies as conservative, ribbed me for my affinity towards the film, suggesting that I might be leaning right in my dotage. This struck me as odd because, though filled with Old Testament style vengeance, it really takes a low view of the residents of what could be seen as small town America. When Lars Von Trier covered similar ground in Dogville, he was accused in many quarters as being anti-American. After all, doesn’t Sarah Palin tell us that those who live in small towns are supposed to be more noble and represent the “real America?” All this made me realize the film was even better than I thought. Perhaps even a bit of a Rohrschach test of sorts where people of all different political persuasions think it’s speaking to them. Though John Wayne apparently didn’t think so. For years, Eastwood had wanted to do a western with him, but Wayne reportedly refused to after seeing this film. According to reports, he disapproved as this wasn’t what the Old West was supposed to be about, or words to that effect. As Eastwood was taken by surprise, it makes me think that the political overtones are merely happenstance. He was just trying to tell a good story and succeeded magnificently.

Day 100: 1972(Part 3)

Lynne and I sat down to screen Jeremiah Johnson as the second of a daylong triple feature on Day 86 of this project. Directed by Sydney Pollack and starring Robert Redford in the title role, this beautifully shot film is based on the true story of a man drawn to the wilderness and the life of a mountain man in the mid 1800s. He learns how to survive and thrive in the environment and, at first, lives in peace with the native Americans, but eventually becomes their bitter enemy. This is a curious example of how the western was, depending on whose perspective you follow, in its death throes or evolving. The original cowboy and Indian western always depicted the Indians as cartoonish savages. Eventually, we came around to films like Dances with Wolves, depicting the other extreme where all the natives are noble and precious. The latter interpretation is, of course, well intentioned, springing from justified cultural guilt, but almost does the natives a disservice by deifying them rather than depicting them as real people who are sometimes noble and sometimes savage, just as their oppressors are, though, admittedly, the European invaders certainly bested them when it came to savagery. Jeremiah Johnson is a curious connective tissue between these extremes. We see their nobility and we see their unforgiving savagery when their trust is violated. Jeremiah’s reaction to this is to come back at them with savagery ten times over, in what seems like the destiny of any white man entering into this situation. He may begin with the noblest intentions. Or even less perhaps. Maybe he just wants to live off the land peaceably and be left alone. But invariably he gets sucked into the conflict that his forefathers started and, all too predictably, when push comes to shove, takes the side of those with the skin that matches his. One might say his actions are justified, but really, when it comes down to it, he never should have been there in the first place. Though this academic reading of the film is fascinating, I found the film to be less than compelling. As noted before, the scenery is breathtaking, but the actual execution of the film is less than compelling and reminds me of what I like least about Redford and Pollack in other works. No matter how much of a beard he’s sporting(which he shaves off at one time for reasons that left me scratching my head), he always seems just a little too coiffed for his surroundings. On top of that, we both felt that, aside from the situation, there was nothing inherently interesting about Jeremiah himself. Periodically he would run across other colorful characters who would enliven the situation for a few scenes and then go away, leaving us with sullen dull Jeremiah again. One thing I found curious about the films of 1972, at first, was that films with intermissions seemed to be going out of style. Though every title on the list previous to this year with a long running time had an intermission, The Godfather, with a running time of two hours and fifty one minutes, did not. Jeremiah Johnson, on the other hand was just under two hours with an intermission. And it felt like it needed it. The repetitive nature of the story combined with the lack of a compelling central character just left me wanting more. That being said, I appreciate the contribution this makes to the evolution of the genre, and I look forward to seeing other works on the list by Redford and Pollack that I’m able to connect with more.

The King of Marvin Gardens reunites the BBS team from Five Easy Pieces of director Bob Rafelson and Jack Nicholson as David Staebler, a mild mannered Philadelphia based radio personality. One day, he gets a call from his brother Jason(Bruce Dern) about some kind of a deal that he needs his help with, but he needs him to come to Atlantic City. David reluctantly goes and finds that his brother, a fast talking hustler, is keeping company with some questionable types(himself included) with regard to business and shacking up with Sally(Ellen Burstyn) and her young stepdaughter Jessica(Julia Anne Robinson). It becomes clear early on that Jason’s schemes are less than he makes them out to be and things continue to spiral downward and eventually lead to tragedy. I’m not being vague to protect plot points, but because the plot really isn’t the point. In a sense this is a continuation of the antiheroes featured in many of these films, or perhaps a subset of the category I’ve heard referred to as “beautiful losers,” which may or may not be a reference to the book by Leonard Cohen. These are characters that have little going for them, are perhaps leading lives of quiet desperation or worse, and things at the end of the journey are either less well off or basically the same as where we came in. But because of the actors who inhabit them, they are always compelling, a word I may be on the verge of overusing. Though perhaps not as continually engaging as Five Easy Pieces, this is film is definitely worth seeing for a number of reasons. Nicholson was apparently originally on deck to play Jason, but he and Rafelson wisely chose to have him play the more introspective and quiet character, not only to further showcase his range but to put someone intrinsically interesting in the role. While viewing this, I was trying to figure out what it is about Nicholson that makes him so watchable, whether he’s playing someone openly volatile or someone notably less choleric. I think it has something to do with his intelligence. It’s what all the characters seem to have in common. Even when he’s not saying much there seems to be a lot going on. He is given a few key scenes where we’re able to get just enough insight into what makes him tick without spelling everything out. Primarily it’s in scenes with him at work, delivering confessional monologues over the radio, but there’s also one great scene where we find out he really does believe in his brother. Or at least he wants to. Dern is also great and immediately recognizable as that manic guy who always has a million great ideas and may have a few that actually have potential, but he oversells it so much that it all sounds like bullshit. To continue with the beautiful loser theme, the entire film is set in Atlantic City during the off season. All the tourists are gone and the entire boardwalk seems to be sparsely populated by desperate people like Jason and Sally, punctuated by the occasional busload of elderly daytrippers. This one requires a bit of patience, but is worth the investment of time.

I was glad to have Lynne join me for Last Tango in Paris as I’d seen it fairly recently and appreciated the fresh eyes(she hadn’t seen it). I’ve actually seen this on twice on the big screen, first, some 20 odd years ago in Dayton, and most recently in 2008 on my 40th birthday at the Film Forum. Marlon Brando is Paul, a troubled man who has just lost his wife to suicide. He meets Jeanne(Maria Schneider), a young woman who seems to be at a crossroads herself. The film chronicles their brief, intimate, and anonymous relationship. Lynne expressed surprise and acquired increased respect for the film to discover how much more there was to it than the sex scenes. Indeed, the frank depiction of sexuality in the film, particularly the sequence often referred to as “the butter scene” has frequently overshadowed the reputation of a beautiful and thoughtful film featuring what is one of Brando’s best performances in a career filled with great performances. Paul and Jeanne get to know each other intimately, both physically and emotionally, while keeping all details of their personal lives secret. The world they create is a small and precious one containing only two inhabitants with a unique existence that only they share. One of the advantages to watching these films in chronological order is that I had never put two and two together and realized that this and The Godfather came out the same year. If one never saw A Streetcar Named Desire or Apocalypse Now or any of his other work and only saw these two films, the sense of the breadth of Brando’s talent would be conveyed. Schneider is quite compelling as well, but it’s more Paul’s story. I mentioned before that the characters connect emotionally despite their anonymity. Though perhaps it’s not despite, but rather because of the anonymity. When we strip away our names, our backgrounds, our professions, our professed beliefs, everything we’ve been led to believe defines us or how we struggle to define ourselves, aren’t we more likely to get at our emotional cores? Of course there’s always the possibility that removing one mask reveals not one’s true face but merely another mask beneath it. In addition to the great acting and photography, both interior and exterior, of Paris, Gato Barbieri’s score is unforgettable. Though it occasionally toys with becoming overbearing, it’s generally quite complementary without ever telling us what to feel. When watching it I found it to often sound quite traditional and occasionally even veering into what I’d expect from a Bernard Herrmann Hitchcock score. I’m now playing the film in the background as I write this and I’m noticing other elements including jazz. Though this may sound schizophrenic it all fits. I’m struggling to find any more words of my own, so I’m going to shift to an oft referenced source in this forum, Roger Ebert. I’ve gotten away from referencing him because I’ve been a little disappointed at his less than glowing reviews of some of my favorite films, particularly in 1972. I don’t know why the feeling should be disappointed, but there it is. So in the same sense, I was very pleased to know that he shared my fondness for this one, enough to have written about it in 1972, 1995, and 2004, each time revising and refining his opinion, his esteem rising with each revision. I think that’s all I have for this one.

The Life and Times of Judge Roy Bean is the only title in this last chunk that Lynne didn’t join me for. I was looking forward to this as I was unfamiliar with it, had Paul Newman as the main character, who I’ve been enjoying a great deal in this venture, and was directed by John Huston, whose work I’ve always enjoyed. I saw this one by myself, but got a little bit of insight about it from my friend Darryl in an online forum. I wanted to like this one more than I did. It had an irreverent spirit and a quirky sense of humor. In a sense it highlights, through a lens of frontier life, the contradictory, arbitrary, hypocritical, and sometimes entirely subjective approach to what is supposed to be impartial justice. Roy Bean(Newman), a thief, comes into a town bragging of his haul in a recent bank robbery. The residents of the tavern/brothel brutally attack him and leave him for dead. He returns, slaughters all of them, and decides to set up house and declare himself Judge. He will seek out criminals, confiscate their booty, hang them, and live off the proceeds. Along the way he reforms a gang and makes them his marshals, among them Ned Beatty and Bill McKinney, previously seen in Deliverance as rape victim and rapist, respectively. Here they’re on the same team. He also hooks up with a young Mexican girl(Victoria Principal), who eventually has his baby, who is eventually played by Jacqueline Bisset. Periodically, “guest stars”(as they’re listed in the opening credits) drop by to have a colorful scene and leave, such as Anthony Perkins, Stacy Keach(particularly memorable), Tab Hunter, and Ava Gardner as Lilly Langtree. Huston himself even drops in to play a cameo as Grizzly Adams and to saddle the Judge with a beloved pet bear. I mentioned oddly anachronistic song choices in some of these films. The bear leads to a peculiar montage with Newman, Principal, and the bear frolicking about in the woods, sharing a picnic, giving the bear a bath, all while Andy Williams croons “Marmalade, Molasses, and Honey.” I swear I’m not joking. Clearly the scene is not to be taken seriously. It may even be a jab at the similar scene in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid with “Raindrops Keep Fallin’ on My Head.” I guess what I found tricky about this film is that it felt a little scattershot and uneven. Sometimes it seemed to be flat out silly comedy. Sometimes it almost bordered on a serious action film. Other times a satire on frontier justice. Ultimately, I felt it took too sentimental a turn at the end. In a coda of sorts, Lilly Langtree, the Judge’s idol, whom he never got to meet, visits the town years after the Judge is dead, while his former disciple(Beatty) is essentially the caretaker of the Judge Roy Bean Museum. It seems to simultaneously mourn our loss of innocence while acknowledging that the times it mourned weren’t as innocent as we’d like to believe. In a sense, big business and corporate America are the true villains shown running roughshod over the frontier, but Roy Bean’s America isn’t one I’d particularly like to live in either. Darryl supplied me with the following quote from John Huston, “"It was in the fine old American tradition of The Tall Tale, the Whopper, the yarn. At the same time it said something important about frontier life and the loss of America's innocence…There was a breadth and a generosity and carelessness about it that I fostered in the picture. It was an allegory, and the vengeance of the past was interesting to me.... I loved the audacity of the film.” I certainly see this spirit in the film, but I suppose the carelessness, which could be seen as a fresh anarchic spirit, is what resulted in my mixed reaction to the film. By having Beatty, who, in a series of narrators, essentially takes over the narration once he enters the film, speak in a reverent tone about the Judge, I feel Huston is telling the viewer that we should feel reverently toward him as well. It may have a scattershot style, but moments like this felt heavyhanded. I do appreciate the evolution of the comic western, though. Between this and Cat Ballou, I see a direct link to Blazing Saddles, coming up on the list in 1974. Perhaps this is on the list to show the progression.

I’m putting this one out there on Day 100, which was my original very loose goal to finish this project. I would like to be further along, but I’m glad to be past the halfway point. I have a few goals as to when I’d like to have it done by, but I’ve always felt that the best way to sabotage a plan is to say it out loud. I have an intense aversion to having concrete evidence of failed intentions. Anyway, I’m looking forward to the second half of this, especially as I’m entering the most prolific year on the list, 1973, with 17 films, seven released in December alone. Thanks to all who have stuck by this so far and to all those who I may pick up along the way from here to the end. 1973 awaits!

Day 98 1972(Part 2)

I was joined by Lynne for all but one of the remaining seven titles in 1972, giving her the new record for screenings attended. Congratulations, Lynne. The Candidate is the second Redford title of ’72 and is very well suited to his talents. This is also the first of three films directed by Michael Ritchie and the 50th title on the list, officially bringing me to the halfway point on the list. Bill McKay(Robert Redford) is a liberal activist who also happens to come from a wealthy political family. Marvin Lucas(Peter Boyle) is a Democratic strategist looking to make a name for himself. He needs someone to run against a popular incumbent Republican senator. It’s a foregone conclusion that he will lose. But if he picks a good candidate and makes a decent showing it will probably advance his career. So he approaches McKay and talks him into running, essentially telling him that because he’s going to lose he can tell the truth and shine a light on important issues. Things start out well enough. But as the campaign progresses, Lucas is troubled that they’re going to lose by a landslide which could cause him immeasurable embarrassment. Slowly he seduces McKay into losing his soul. Positions are tweaked. Controversial opinions, while not abandoned, are smoothed into palatable sound bites. The numbers get better. Then the unthinkable happens. He wins. The final moments of the film have McKay and Lucas wondering, “what now?” The Candidate is a remarkably sharp and incisive look into the ugliness and shallowness of politics. As the stakes get higher, more and more attention is paid to photo ops, creating good television, etc. I was particularly taken by the debate scene where both candidates are asked about their opinions on abortion. McKay is clearly pro choice. His opponent, Crocker Jarmon(Don Porter) is clearly the opposite. Yet their choice of words is so cleverly crafted that pro choice voters hear enough language to think that McKay’s on their side, anti choice voters hear enough to think Jarmon’s on their side, and people uncomfortable with the issue hear enough nuance to not hear a strong position either way. I wasn’t surprised to see that screenwriter Jeremy Larner worked in politics as a speechwriter for Eugene McCarthy. There’s an authenticity to this film that some may call cynical, but sadly, feels all too real. I hope my comments regarding Redford in previous posts haven’t come across as too critical. I hope they reveal more about my previously held notions than about his abilities. Because I can’t imagine anyone more pitch perfect for the role. He’s attractive, charming, and intelligent, which makes him perfect to play a Kennedyesque politician on the eve of being discovered. Ronald Reagan, at this point, had been governor of California for several years, so the idea of using a charismatic actor for politics was nothing new. In fact, due to his activism, it wouldn’t surprise me at all if Redford has been urged by some to enter politics over the years. I read somewhere(apologies for lack of specific sources) that he had a lot to do with the development of the project so I salute him for his savvy and intelligence in bringing it to fruition. I should also point out that, when I say he loses his soul, the film is very subtle. He doesn’t lose his soul entirely. He changes his message just enough that he believes his core message is still there. But when his activist friends meet up with him late in the film, they congratulate him reservedly, as if he’s infiltrated the system by aping the “bullshit” that they all mocked. Apropos of nothing, I also really liked the way the film implied that McKay was cheating on his wife with very subtle touches. A woman is seen in three separate scenes, always in public, and with no dialogue. There’s no doubt as to the implication, but the film doesn’t need to spell it out. This one is added to my list of welcome discoveries and I thank Mr. Clooney for bringing me to it.

I’ve seen Deliverance a few times. The first time was probably 20 or more years ago on VHS, the next time was likely a few years later, probably on hotel HBO, and the most recent time was likely in the last 10 years on standard DVD. It’s one of my all time favorites and I was looking forward to it and was glad to have Lynne, a first time viewer, join me. Lewis(Burt Reynolds), Ed(Jon Voight), Bobby(Ned Beatty), and Drew(Ronny Cox), are four Atlanta businessmen who decide to take a weekend white water rafting trip. Due to construction projects, the river is about to be unalterably changed, so they view this as their last chance to experience unspoiled nature. The first day, though not without its snags, is basically what they expected, but a sequence of events leaves one of them dead, one sexually assaulted, one maimed, and the other a murderer. All right, the maimed one kills someone too, but it’s a little more clearly justified. In any case, civilization does battle with the elements and, though civilization emerges victorious, it does so with permanent scars. I remember when I saw this before thinking that the characters seemed to break down into archetypes and this notion stayed with me. Lewis is the primitive man, Drew is civilized man, Bobby, though his own archetype of privileged snob, is essentially catalyst for the action, and Ed is everyman. That is, he is the audience surrogate. He has fewer preconceived notions and has to decide how to react. He’s fallible and unsure, even at the end, if his actions are justified. I found this film just as riveting as ever. Say what you will about the 2011 version of him(and I could say plenty), it’s very exciting to see Jon Voight emerging in this period as a true talent. His work in this one is vastly different but equally compelling as Joe Buck in Midnight Cowboy, not to mention his work in Catch 22(despite my misgivings about that film I thought he was very good in it). Burt Reynolds is perhaps the best he ever was, before or since. Ned Beatty and Ronny Cox, essentially unknowns at the time, distinguish themselves as well. It’s a fascinating story and beautifully shot. Having never seen it on the big screen, it was great seeing the Bluray disc in sharp definition as big as I’ve ever seen it and in proper proportion. Anything I say beyond this feels superfluous. It’s a great film.

It had been a long time since I’d seen Woody Allen’s Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex(But Were Afraid To Ask). Again, probably many years ago on VHS. Don’t know that I’ve seen it since. I think I was first drawn to Woody Allen after he’d passed his silly period and had entered into more serious work. I think I was more drawn to Manhattan, enjoyed Annie Hall, but thought that it was a little overrated, and thought those that complained that they missed his early funny work were a bit misguided. I don’t think my attitude’s changed much over the years, though I should probably give Annie Hall another chance(I should say there are parts of it I loved and have quoted over the years), and like some of his more overtly funny films that hint at his emerging maturity. This one isn’t quite there but is a lot of fun, if a bit uneven. Thanks to Lynne for joining me for this one as well. This is ostensibly an adaptation of the popular sex advice book of the same name, but is essentially just an excuse to comically riff on sexual themes as well as an excuse for Allen to lampoon a number of styles, from the chamber period film to Fellini to science fiction horror(among others). One of the funniest is a sequence that has Dr. Doug Ross(Gene Wilder), coincidentally(?) the name of George Clooney's character on ER, falling in love with a sheep, though puzzlingly, this is included as a lesson on sodomy rather than bestiality. Not so puzzlingly I suppose. As I said before, there seems to be no rhyme or reason to the structure, but it appears to be purposefully so. Clooney clearly has a place in his heart for silly humor and this is a good example, not only of this category, but as a great cultural marker with regard to the acceptable boundaries of humor as they evolved through this period. There are future endeavours that are perhaps more consistent, but this one serves as a good example of the progression.