1975(Part 1)

The first title in 1975 is Shampoo, directed by Hal Ashby, written by Robert Towne and Warren Beatty, and starring Beatty. Though this project has given me great appreciation for Ashby’s somewhat unsung talent, this was probably my least favorite. Harold and Maude is one of my all time favorites. The Last Detail, though to a lesser extent, was also great, and the upcoming Bound For Glory(1976) is also quite memorable. But Shampoo just didn’t really do it for me. I wasn’t surprised to read that, according to some sources, Ashby had less control over this film than his others. His star was falling somewhat and by getting involved in a Beatty project, he gave his career new vitality. But whereas Altman seemed to take delight in battling with Beatty, Ashby seemed to succumb. Ashby was the director, but Beatty pretty much ran the show, at least according to the account in Peter Biskind’s Easy Riders Raging Bulls. There were a number of good performances and it serves as a good time capsule and…well…honestly I’m having a hard time remembering exactly what I thought of it. This was over four months ago and I mostly recall trying to like it, but eventually growing weary. In approaching this writing, I found myself wanting to write about something else, so tonight I watched Ashby’s debut, 1970’s The Landlord. I wish Clooney had put this one on the list. It stars Beau Bridges as a wealthy young man who buys a tenement building in Park Slope. One of my favorite unintentionally funny lines in the film was, “Park Slope? Isn’t that a colored neighborhood?” If you don’t know why that is funny, ask someone from New York. What starts out looking like a caricature of both rich whites and poor blacks and then looks like it might segue into a heartwarming tale of unity winds up being neither. By taking elements of both genres and twisting it into an honest unflinching portrait of race relations in the 70’s it becomes something truly unique and truthful. Bridges’ character, Elgar, who believes he is enlightened, enters this world with the best of intentions and still ultimately winds up behaving, to some degree, like a plantation owner. But that’s not the extent of his character. What’s remarkable about this film is that the end somehow doesn’t sugarcoat the truth. Everyone hasn’t magically learned to live in peace and harmony. But there does seem to be a slight muted note of guarded optimism. Ashby had worked as Norman Jewison’s editor and got this project as a result of Jewison handing it off to him when he wasn’t able to direct. They apparently clashed over the ending, but congratulations to Jewison for launching this brilliant and too brief directorial career. And if Shampoo isn’t my cup of tea, it can, at the very least, claim credit for giving him the commercial success he needed to move forward.

I know I first saw Monty Python and the Holy Grail, oh, probably some time back in the ‘80’s on VHS. I’ve probably seen it once or twice since, perhaps once on the big screen. Even the first time I saw it, so many bits were iconic that I’d heard them countless times. I greatly envy those who saw it in theaters in 1975 with none of this baggage. And yet, despite all this, despite the recognition of large portions of the film, I think I enjoyed it more than any other time I’d seen it. This film has never stopped playing. Midnight screenings have played on college campuses continuously as well as alternative houses. Though I didn’t partake due to timing issues, its even played in one or more venues locally since I’ve been writing this. A musical version ran for a significant time on Broadway and is likely still touring the country. If anyone runs across this posting and hasn’t seen this film, I’d be doing you a disservice by disseminating any further details. Be it my previously stated rule that comedy suffers by deconstruction or the fact that there’s nothing new to say about this film, I’m going to stop here. If you’ve seen it you know what I mean. If you haven’t, see it and enjoy it.

I’ve devoted a lot of space to singing the praises of Robert Altman, and Nashville is always a title cited as one of his masterpieces. It deserves the reputation. As noted, well, sometime back around six months or so ago, this was a film I first saw before I truly appreciated how much repeated viewings deepened the Altman experience, as part of a large ingestion of Altman films at a screening room at the University of Dayton. I saw it again a few years later on VHS. Altman only achieved perfection with this style a few times, most notably with this film and with Short Cuts. He took a number of stories that likely could have each been their own films and spread them across a canvas, intertwining them. Often characters with a larger story might do a walk on in someone else’s story. The reason Altman’s films often revealed more on repeated viewings is that once one knows what the basic story is, it’s easier to experience the subtle naturalistic interplay between characters. The smaller revealing moments are much more fascinating than the machinations of the plot. In recent years I’ve thought that Alabama congressman Jeff Sessions is merely a riff on Henry Gibson’s character in this film. After seeing this again, I believe I need to restate that. Gibson’s character, the preening, conservative, miniature country version of Liberace, Haven Hamilton, has a great deal more dignity. I could go on and on about this film. It stands on its own and has so many hallmarks of what was best about Altman. It has a remarkable amount of good acting. I’m not a fan of country music, but I found the music compelling, entertaining, and illustrative. And of course, there’s an undercurrent of political satire that is omnipresent and yet somewhat subtle. Thanks for steering me back to this one, George. It won’t be the last time.

Jaws is a film that is often cited as the end of the auteurist movement of this period. It, along with Star Wars, ushered in the era of the summer tent pole film. The exciting and thrilling movie that everyone wants to see and now opens on thousands of screens after being talked about endlessly spurred on by a ubiquitous media blitz. I’ve never seen this film in a theater. The first time was sometime back in the early ‘90’s on a color TV set that could only display in black and white. The next time was maybe five or more years ago on DVD. This time on a 42” plasma was likely the closest I’d ever gotten to the big screen experience. I have to say that I found this film quite enjoyable. Directed by Steven Spielberg and starring Roy Scheider, Richard Dreyfuss, and Robert Shaw, Jaws lives up to the hype. The film is, of course, about a shark that surfaces on the beaches of a small New England town. The mayor wants to keep the beaches open. The sheriff(Scheider, who doesn’t like the water), wants to close them. It all ends up in a massive battle between man and shark. But the greatest moments of the film are in the character conflict. Shaw is a grizzled working class sort who thinks he’s better than everyone else, especially Dreyfuss, a spoiled rich kid who also happens to be a brilliant scientist. Scheider just came to this town because he wanted to escape the excitement of the big city and though he wants to do the right thing, probably thought this job would be a cakewalk. No doubt a big part of the concentration on character was because the special effects didn’t always work as they should. But the end result is thrilling. Often the best movie villains are those least seen as they build up in the audience’s expectation. Despite the films and the trends it would inspire, Jaws is an exciting, well crafted, and eminently watchable film.

1975, 1976, and it’s time to wrap this up already

I’m going to do my best to stay away from self-flagellation here but I still need to be honest. Its been awhile since I finished all the titles on the list. The final 16 titles on the list were viewed from late February through early April. It’s now late July. While it’s true that I have trouble finishing things, there may be something more here. I think when it comes down to it, I just like watching films and discussing films more than I like writing about them into what more often than not feels like a vacuum. That being said, I appreciate the positive feedback I’ve gotten from some of you. That, coupled with the fact that I need to finish this is why I’m going to struggle through. Some of this are all time favorites of mine that I’ve seen multiple times. Some I’m lukewarm about. Some I barely remember. In the spirit of this experiment being what it is and striving to be no more, I will conclude this project by sharing all of the following entries with the circumstances under which they were watched and under the extreme delay I’ve approached to writing about them. I’m not going to try to find something that links these together. I’m not going to handicap the Oscars for the two years in question. I’m just going to finish this in whatever method I can. I recently started and finished Tina Fey’s memoir Bossypants. In it, she says that Saturday Night Live executive producer, enigma, and sometime cryptic Buddha figure Lorne Michaels has a saying which I’m going to paraphrase and most likely butcher. “The show(SNL) doesn’t go on because it’s ready. It goes on because it’s 11:30.” I don’t know if any of this is ready. But it’s well past 11:30. Here goes.

1974(Part III)

I first saw Lenny, director Bob Fosse’s biopic of iconic comedian Lenny Bruce, written by Julian Barry(based on his play of the same name) and starring Dustin Hoffman in the title role, oh, probably around 20 years ago on VHS and recall liking it very much, though this was mostly a new experience that Lynne joined me for. I think this one has improved with age as many of the reviews of the time, those I’ve been able to unearth anyway, seem to be rather limited in their praise. I don’t find much not to like here, starting with the beautifully black and white photography, sure direction by Fosse, and a brilliant performance by Hoffman. If there’s one thread that connects Fosse’s work, it seems to be show business. But, as noted in my entry on Cabaret, there’s nothing stagy about his film work. The connective tissue for the film is pseudo documentary style “interviews” with(among others) Bruce’s wife Honey(Valerie Perrine) and mother Sally(Jan Miner) as well as Hoffman recreating Bruce’s routines. As a note on the trivial side, many will recognize Miner as Madge from the Palmolive commercials(“You’re soaking in it!”). By juxtaposing these scenes with the dramatized situations, we see that we’re being led by a number of unreliable narrators. Hoffman does a wonderful job of showing us a very flawed yet charming man, most charming in his stand up, and most flawed in his personal life. He talks his wife into group sex and then treats her like a whore for enjoying it. Fortunately, it shies away from making Honey a martyr either as they’re certainly both willing participants in their descent into drug abuse, a habit Honey embraces more eagerly at times. So despite Lenny’s semi deification due to his groundbreaking controversial material and early death, Fosse doesn’t show us saints and villains(with the exception of the U.S. courts who hounded him mercilessly), but instead he shows us flawed human beings. Though most of the standup bits serve to advance the story or introduce chapters, one in particular stands out. Hoffman apparently got an audiotape of an actual particularly embarrassing incident and performed it verbatim. Fosse chose to portray it in one long wide take, the camera staying static for the vast majority of the scene. Not only does it show remarkable discipline on the part of Hoffman, but by essentially keeping the point of view from the back row of the club, Fosse chose a daring but ultimately mesmerizing approach.

Thanks to Matt B. for loaning me his copy of director Sidney Lumet’s adaptation of Agatha Christie’s Murder on the Orient Express. I’ve often waxed rhapsodic about Lumet’s talents, but I’ll candidly say that this is not high on my list of his films. That being said, this film is exactly what it sets out to be. It’s a soufflé of an entertainment, as Lumet himself acknowledges. I did enjoy most of the performances and found the film to be entertaining, though I think perhaps the information in the supplementary materials a little more intriguing. Much of Lumet’s work is, for better or worse, very serious, sometimes lacking in humor. He states in one of the interviews that he appreciated the challenge of doing something a little lighter and, in fact, that 1976’s Network( a film to be discussed more thoroughly at a later point) would not have been as humorous as it was if he had not made this film. If that is indeed true, I’m glad this film exists for that reason alone. Murder on the Orient Express presents a large ensemble star studded cast, many of whom barely have more than a scene or two, making this almost a highbrow very special episode of the Love Boat. Of course the emphasis is on highbrow and most of the cast is in top form. For me, the only exception was Albert Finney. I’m generally a big fan, but his work here was so mannered and broad that I found it somewhat distracting. I kept trying to like it and understand it, but he just didn’t do it for me. I must acknowledge that Lumet truly did create a soufflé, especially in the sense that if I try to deconstruct it too much, this light entertainment could easily transform into an endorsement for vigilantism and ritualized murder with all on board serving as willing participants and/or accomplices. So I guess I won’t. Much.

I’m a big fan of Martin Scorsese, so it was a little bit of a surprise to me when I realized that I’m pretty sure I had never seen Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore in its entirety. I had seen clips from it, I had seen significant sections of it on television broadcasts, but I’d never seen it all front to back. Thanks to Lynne for joining me for this one. This is the second of three Scorsese films on the list and Ellen Burstyn’s fourth. At the time she was a bigger star and essentially had her pick of directors. Though he had doubts about his abilities to direct a film with at woman at the center of it, Burstyn, basing her opinion partly on advice and partly on what she had seen in Mean Streets, figured that someone who could deliver gritty realism could bring it to whatever project he worked on. Though this power imbalance between director and star reportedly caused tension from time to time, the end result was quite good. Alice starts the film entrenched in housewife drudgery, married to a man who, though not a monster, is certainly lacking in some regard. Early in the film he dies in a car accident and Alice is left on her own with her young son Tommy(Alfred Lutter III). They start on a road trip with a planned destination of Monterey where Alice believes she is going to make a fresh start as a singer, a dream she’s had since childhood. Along the way she makes several detours, first with a regrettable choice of romantic partner(Harvey Keitel) and eventually a good hearted though flawed lug(Kris Kristofferson). Burstyn was apparently determined that Alice not make her next choice based on the man in her life and, due to some improvised dialogue by Kristofferson, managed an ambiguous ending. Alice doesn’t give up her dreams, but she may have found a man who won’t repress them. In the end, she may not have made the radical change she was hoping for, but she may have evolved a little into establishing her own identity. Scorsese achieves a real naturalism here and the scenes between Alice and Tommy are a huge highlight. Often, child actors are just made to look cute and say smartass lines, but Scorsese just let the kid be a kid, apparently often relying on improvisation, most notably in a scene where Tommy repeatedly tells a joke that I still don’t understand. Keitel is in fine form as always, especially in a scene where he frightens Alice into leaving town just to get away from him. Apparently, she was so unprepared to deal with Keitel’s intensity that Burstyn burst into tears following the scene. I wouldn’t necessarily put this in my absolute favorites with regard to Scorsese, but it’s definitely a significant footnote in his development.

I will freely admit that I’m intimidated to write about The Godfather Part II. I first saw it years ago on VHS and then not again until October of 2008 at the Film Forum as part of a double feature. So I can’t say it was exactly a new experience. But I enjoyed revisiting it regardless. Most sequels are unnecessary. They’re essentially remakes hitting all the main points of the original and, though many find them unsatisfying, they frequently make more money than the original due to name recognition. As a result, they’re deemed a success by the Hollywood machine, which is why they continually spew them out. In fact, sequels are so frequently bad, that when they are discussed, there are generally three exceptions that are cited where part twos actually exceed the quality of part one. Those exceptions are Superman II, The Empire Strikes Back and, well, you know. The Godfather Part II moves us forward to the late 1950s. Michael is still in charge, but the family’s moved out of New York to Lake Tahoe. As with the first film, we open with a celebration and with the godfather entertaining requests, but as we shortly thereafter witness an assassination attempt in the Corleone compound, it becomes clear that things are far from calm. This story is juxtaposed with the back story of Vito Corleone, first as a young boy in Italy and then in turn of the century New York, played mostly by Robert DeNiro. One of the interest in the contrast between the two stories is that, in many ways, Vito doesn’t seem to have much of a choice. That is, his choice is to be brutalized and maybe be killed by mob thugs, or to become one, and hopefully be more of a man of honor than those he replaced. As a result, he develops more of a moral compass than his sons do in his wake. Yes, he still engages in unethical behavior, but somehow he really seems to be operating from a core of decency. Michael, on the other hand, seems to always be trying to prove that he’s his late father’s equal, and repeatedly proves that he isn’t. He somehow managed to inherit a ruthlessness to his character, but his steadfast unforgiving nature means that he alienates all around him. In attempting to keep the principles of the family alive, he finds himself alone. There is ample reason to suspect that Michael has deep seated psychological flaws to begin with. After all, he started by deliberately distancing himself from his family by resisting his father’s attempt to protect him from the draft and enlisting. This need to have something to prove persists in his character throughout. But perhaps ultimately, what Vito built, though he tried to build it from a place of honor, was always rotten to the core because it was built on intimidation, murder, and thievery. I’ve read that Coppola wanted to deglamorize the romantic notions that many took away from the first film. Whether or not he intended to, he also seems to have created, in his portrayal of this family in the late 50s and early 60s, a metaphor for the disillusionment and decay of 1970s America. Vito seemed to represent the promise of the founding fathers and Michael is the caretaker as the chickens come home to roost. Vito did what he did for survival while Michael alienates those around him by trying to maintain something that is crumbling because it was never actually built on a solid foundation.

Lightning seems to have struck twice in two places in 1974, first with Coppola’s two films, and then with Mel Brooks one two punch concluding with Young Frankenstein. I saw this years ago on VHS, perhaps not paying proper attention to it. Then, after years of hearing people rave about it as well as seeing clips, I revisited it a few years ago, as noted before, on a double bill with Blazing Saddles at the Film Forum. I’m inclined to think that all Brooks’ films work better when viewed with an audience, as it spoke to me more in that setting than any other I’ve experienced. This one has quite the plethora of gags but, unlike Saddles, it delivers them in a more restrained and disciplined fashion. As a result, when a vaudeville or borscht belt sensibility emerges, the contrast is even funnier. They’re still hilarious, but Brooks seemed determined to truly honor the source material by shooting it in black and white and even utilizing some of the original sets. Not only does Brooks do an admirable job, but Wilder as Frankenstein(who also cowrote the script with Brooks) turns in a fearless and hilarious performance. The disc comes with a number of supplements, including interviews with contemporary comedians, one of whom points out that Frankenstein is a huge prick, engaging in all kinds of horrible behavior, but Wilder still manages to make it funny. And now I find myself tongue tied again while trying to deconstruct comedy so I’ll just end with a list of the standout performers that tied it all together. Teri Garr, Peter Boyle, Cloris Leachman, Madeline Kahn, Kenneth Mars, and Marty Feldman as Igor. And that concludes 1974.

1974(Part II)

I first encountered Alan J. Pakula’s The Parallax View maybe 10 years ago at the Film Forum on a double bill with the original The Manchurian Candidate. I don’t recall precisely, but it must have been some sort of paranoia double feature, which would be appropriate as this one is considered by some to be part two of Pakula’s trilogy of paranoia, bookended by Klute and All the President’s Men. Whereas The Manchurian Candidate is a satire of all the McCarthy era Red Scare nonsense, running with the idea that Soviet agents are brainwashing Americans and turning them into assassins, The Parallax View, if not a better film, takes the more frightening premise that such projects are actually undertaken by a homegrown shadow government. I was joined by Matt B. on this viewing who was very curious as he’d never seen it before. Warren Beatty plays Joseph Frady, a rebellious reporter who just happened to witness a political assassination, an event portrayed in the opening moments of the film in a prologue which concludes with an ominous Warren Commission like body concluding that it had been the work of a single troubled man and that there were no others involved, despite rumors to the contrary. And yet, as the action of the film begins to unfold six years later, more and more witnesses seem to be dying under mysterious circumstances. When someone close to him succumbs to such circumstances, Frady, no doubt acting out of equal parts self-preservation and curiosity, decides to investigate. Not only does he find ample evidence to fuel his suspicions, he stumbles across an organization called The Parallax Corporation, a group seemingly in the business of recruiting assassins. Frady manages to infiltrate the group and manages to repeatedly stay two steps ahead of them. Unfortunately, they usually manage to stay five steps ahead of him, and his mission is ultimately doomed. The film ends with another proclamation from the mysterious commission, stating similar findings that we, as the audience know, is patently a smokescreen. In context, this film actually follows similar patterns as Gatsby. Whereas Gatsby takes what we literally know, that the U.S. is run by the people who have always had the money and power and there’s no way to get into the club unless you’re born into it, films like The Parallax View go a step further, indicating that a shadow government, presumably run by similar folk, is actually in charge of everything. They pull the strings that need to be pulled to get their appointed candidates into office, and when someone unappointed or unanointed gets in, they have ways of making things balance out. And what we don’t fully realize until the end of the film is that we have only seen the tip of the iceberg. We’ve only viewed the process of how patsies are created. Pakula creates a great tone here. Early on, we get a barroom brawl and a car chase that seem a little hackneyed, but once the film settles into its trajectory, it’s hypnotic. Beatty is at his best here as well, which I don’t mean as a lefthanded compliment. When the great films of this era are mentioned, this one usually gets left out, which is a shame as it’s a hidden gem.

I don’t remember the first time I saw Roman Polanski’s Chinatown, but I’m pretty sure this was only the second time. Whenever I saw it previously, it was most likely on VHS, certainly never on the big screen, and, as such, seeing it in a way that felt almost like the first time on a 42 inch plasma screen was certainly a treat. The film is shot beautifully, but it’s also a brilliantly acted absorbing film. Much has been made of where this film came in Polanski’s career and whether his personal life had an effect on the darkness of the story. Personally, I think his work was awfully dark before but, for the uninitiated, here are the details of his life that may or may not have scarred him in a way that turned him into a brilliant filmmaker. As a boy, he lived in WWII occupied Poland where his mother was murdered by Nazis. Only a few years before this film, his pregnant wife was murdered in his own house in Los Angeles by the Manson Family. I won’t get into his legal troubles as that all happened after this film. At the very least, he certainly seems capable of telling a story where one can’t depend on those whose job it is to protect us from evil in the world. In many ways, this is a faithful genre piece, set in the ‘40’s and, if you knew nothing about Polanski’s troubles or that the U.S. was going through a period where the authorities seemed less and less deserving of trust, it would stand on its own against all the best Philip Marlowe, Sam Spade, etc. hard boiled detective movies. And yet, within this frame, the film always feels vital and alive. At the center of this great film is yet another brilliant Jack Nicholson performance. Nicholson is Jake Gittes, the aforementioned private dick at the center of all stories like this. A plot synopsis would be both too time consuming for me and likely confusing for anyone reading this. But that doesn’t mean it’s not fascinating. Polanski wisely chose to excise the voiceover that was in Robert Towne’s original script. Though it may be a convention of the genre, the removal of it allows for a more intelligent audience, one that can figure things out along with Jake rather than having Jake spell it out for us. Polanski reportedly clashed with Towne over the ending, lobbying for a happy ending. Some accounts blame Polanski’s personal tragedies on the ending, but I’m inclined to believe that his brilliance and truth as a filmmaker very well might have driven him to push for the ending he gave us. The powers that be, represented in John Huston’s richer and more powerful than God character, Noah Cross, emerges at the end of the film victorious, while his daughter Evelyn(Faye Dunaway), who bore his incestuous daughter/ granddaughter dies, leaving her sister/ daughter to likely the same fate. As Jake wanders out of the wreckage, a friend mutters to him the now famous line, “Forget it, Jake. It’s Chinatown.” The fatalism matches the genre, Polanski, and post Camelot Vietnam era America.

I’m not going to spend a lot of time with The Longest Yard. It’s very likely one of the best performances Burt Reynolds has ever given. It may even be, as many have said, the best football film ever made. It just wasn’t for me. I’ll admit that I don’t like sports. And maybe I should have someone like my friend Daniel to help me with this one and explain to me why I should like it more. I have actually seen a number of films in the world of sports that I found very watchable and enjoyable. But this one wasn’t one of them. I should also add that it’s a prison movie, and, on the Clooney list spectrum, not as entertaining as Cool Hand Luke and likely more entertaining than Papillon. It is certainly much higher quality than some of the other cheese Reynolds became known for later into the decade and beyond, but the writing and direction overall just seemed mostly adequate. Also, it seemed like the final game consumed something like the last 40 minutes of the film. I could do somersaults and twist myself in knots cherry picking the merits this film has, which it no doubt does. I just don’t feel up to it. I’m fine with this being all I have to say about it.

Matt B. not only joined me for The Taking of Pelham 123, he was kind enough to bring along his own personal copy of it. I had never seen it, but was certainly aware of it, especially as there was a big budget Hollywood remake of it only a few years ago. This is another film with great NYC locations and takes what would seem to be an absurd premise. What if someone hijacked a New York City subway car? The movie moves along at a great pace and, though the humor sometimes borders on cheesy, is a great deal of fun. Walter Matthau plays the transit cop trying to get to the bottom of it all and Robert Shaw is the mastermind behind the heist. The film is filled with great and believable performances but I’m going to focus on these two. I mentioned earlier that Shaw has been a real find for me on this list. He’s a much smarter character here than he was in The Sting and, most likely, more dangerous. He doesn’t have to say much or even really raise his voice for you to know that he is to be taken seriously. This is Matthau’s third of four performances on the list, but his span from the beginning to the end. His performance here is solid and holds the movie together and is really responsible for selling the final moment of the film when he figures everything out. Ultimately, though this certainly shows the seedier side of New York when it was at its seediest, Matthau actually is convincing as a good New York cop who takes his job seriously and makes justice prevail.

1974(Part 1)

If anyone’s actually paying attention to such things, my apologies for the delay. I have no excuse but my own procrastination and poor time management skills. Wow. All those big words sound so much better than lazy. So on to 1974.

1974 brings us twelve titles, many with familiar names to those who have been reading this or, indeed, anyone who loves cinema. All but three directors for this year have appeared on the list before, two of whom appear twice each and delivered what to this day are considered some of the finest works of their respective careers. At the time of this writing, its been over three months since I’ve seen some of these, so I think I’m going to abbreviate the pithy ruminations and just dive right in. Not that I’m not up to the task, but I’m eager to get started.

Blazing Saddles was released in February of 1974 and is director Mel Brooks’ second appearance on the list. My earliest recollection of this film is an edited for television version. If you’ve ever seen this film, you can well understand that this hardly counts. I think the first time I saw it in its full glory was at the Victory Theatre(for more on that venue see my Lion in Winter entry from 12/25/10). That was probably around 1986 or 1987. I also saw it a few(more than five and less than ten) years ago at the Film Forum on a double bill with Young Frankenstein(more on that later). Lynne joined me for this one. She had fond memories of viewing it repeatedly in her youth on an early home video device. She was so familiar with it she was practically giggling before the gags in anticipation. And, of course, Blazing Saddles is full of gags. I often think that really good comedy doesn’t benefit from a great deal of deconstruction. What always impresses me the most about this film is its anarchic spirit. Brooks constantly plays with form, throwing in anachronisms, having characters occasionally address the camera directly, and eventually turning the entire town into a set. I think I’m actually going to leave it there as I’m feeling very selfconscious about finding anything original to say about it. But it’s always an enormous pleasure revisiting this one.

I’d never seen this or any other adaptation of The Great Gatsby, released in March, starring Robert Redford in the title role, directed by Jack Clayton, and adapted by Francis Ford Coppola. I remember being assigned to read the book in high school, never really connecting with it, and, as I wasn’t a Redford fan at the time, having no desire to see a film of an overrated novel starring an overrated actor. Now, I have much more respect for the actor and, having seen the film, a keen interest in revisiting the novel. Though I have to admit, I found the film, though watchable, somewhat unremarkable. Months later, I’m a little fuzzy on why. Mediocrity is always harder to pinpoint than extremes. I should, however, give the film credit for at least giving me some idea as to why the book is so popular. It certainly didn’t ruin the story. With all the beautiful photography and the elegant settings, I think that some may gloss over the fact that Gatsby is, at heart, an exposure of the fallacy of the American dream. Gatsby, or Gatz as we later find out is his real name, is a selfmade millionaire. From the time he was born to a small rural family, he was determined to transcend his station. And when he fell in love with a rich girl named Daisy Buchanan(Mia Farrow), he became even more determined, learning how to talk like them, dress like them, eventually throwing lavish parties that they all attend just to catch her attention. Though she married someone more of her station, the two reconnect and resume their romance. All the while her husband Tom(Bruce Dern), is having an affair with a woman beneath his station(Karen Black). Eventually everything goes sour when Farrow runs over Black with Gatsby’s car and lets everyone believe it was Gatsby. Tom then spreads this myth to Black’s grief stricken husband, who finds Gatsby, shoots him, and then turns the gun on himself. Having let the lower classes take care of each other, Tom and Daisy are free to continue to be terrible shallow rich people and will continue to destroy lives of those lesser than them. Not limiting these attitudes to merely Tom and Daisy, all those who were more than happy to come to Gatsby’s parties, drink his booze, eat his food, and partake in the merriment, none of them showed up at his funeral. I especially liked the touch that Gatsby retained his soul throughout. When his country father shows up, he doesn’t have a harsh word to say about him, indicating that Gatsby was kind to the end and took care of his family. My friend Matt B. mentioned to me that his take on it after reading it recently was that it was the story of a man moving heaven and earth for a woman who wasn’t worth it. He’s not wrong. But it seemed to me that Daisy was a metaphor for something larger. We want to believe that Americans can pull themselves up by their bootstraps and become anything they want, but the truth is that the true power is wielded by the ones who were born into it. You can acquire as much wealth and property and business as you want. You can even be elected President of the United States. They might even go to your parties and invite you to theirs. But unless you were born into their club, they’ll never truly forget that you’re not one of them, and, in fact, are always eager to point out evidence that you’re not. This may be the “land of opportunity,” but make no mistake, there are limits.

Lynne joined me for The Conversation, a film that started off a remarkable year for Francis Ford Coppola. It’s remarkable not just as an achievement of filmmaking, but as a demonstration of what promise and versatility Coppola seemed to contain. The Conversation adds to the theme of paranoia in the ‘70’s where everyone is trying to eavesdrop on everyone else and everyone assumes they’re being eavesdropped on. In this world, they’re usually right. Unlike Klute, which was a character study masquerading as a thriller, this is a character study with a genuinely thrilling plot. According to Ebert’s review, Coppola said he was influenced by Antonioni’s Blow Up, where a photographer obsessively studies his photos for clues. In this film, a professional surveillance expert repeatedly goes over the details of an audio recording in a similarly obsessive manner. Said expert is Harry Caul(Gene Hackman, in a brilliant performance), who has been hired by a powerful eccentric to follow two people and record their conversation. Over the course of the film, we follow Harry as he tries to piece together the mystery, and as he does, we get to know this tightly wound, sometimes unassuming, and deeply troubled individual. The character study aspect is somewhat slowly paced and requires patience. Fortunately, Hackman is always fascinating to watch. From their previous work, both Coppola and Hackman certainly well known for showier work, most notably for The Godfather and The French Connection, respectively, so its great to see how skilled they both are at something more subtle. As noted before, the plot pays off as well. I lost count of how many times the titular conversation is repeated, as it’s often fragmented. It’s heard so many times that one might think that the context and meaning is absolutely clear. But the end brings a twist that puts everything into an entirely different context and, indeed, made me want to watch it again right away. I didn’t, but I wanted to. Not surprisingly, this was nominated for Best Picture but lost out to Godfather II. Surprisingly, it lost Best Sound to Earthquake. And even though I’ve never seen that film, I will buy anyone a beer who convincingly makes a case for me that Earthquake was a greater achievement in sound. Ah, the Academy.

Update

I’ve decided to become less focused on numbers. Not that I’m saying goodbye to them altogether, but this will likely be the last where they are referred to as much. This project began on October 19, 2010. That was 165 days ago. The project was 100 films. I screened the 100th title on the 155th day. Which brought me to 99 titles due to a delay in shipping. The title that brought me to 100 was 91 on the list which I screened on the 163rd day. I’ve written about 72 titles and have 28 to go, some dating back more than 40 days ago. I still have every intention of writing about all of these titles but if my memory or interest seems fuzzy, I intend to be upfront and clear about that. After all, the rule I still cling to the most is that there are no rules. A few of you have asked me what’s next. I don’t know. At present, I certainly have no plans for nearly anything as structured. Unless, of course, someone offers me a challenge that I find compelling. At the moment I’m more focused on getting through the end of this one. And, as it’s early April, finishing my taxes. But I will get to 1974 when I get to it. And I’ll get to the rest as well. Sometime afterwards. Thank you for your patience. And if you’re really impatient you’ve probably stopped reading this. And why on earth would I write to someone who’s not reading?

Day 146, 1973(Part 6 of 6)

I think I’ve seen bits and pieces of The Sting over the years, on television and such. In any case, not enough for this not to feel like a new experience. I knew that it was about con men, which is something I generally enjoy. And I remember that it repopularized ragtime music, specifically Scott Joplin’s “The Entertainer.” I’m pretty sure there’s a direct link between this film and the fact that my cell phone came with that particular ring tone. This is Robert Redford’s sixth appearance on the list, Paul Newman’s fourth, and reunites them with their Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid director, George Roy Hill. Overall, I found this to be a very pleasant film and more consistently entertaining than Butch and Sundance. Though, with all the truly great films of 1973, I was a little surprised to find it was the big winner at the Oscars that year. Redford plays Hooker, a small time con man, who inadvertently stumbles across a big score, which in turn gets him into deep trouble. Through various connections he gets hooked up with Orndorff(Newman), who takes him under his wing, hides him, and introduces him to grifting on an altogether higher and more elaborate plane. The plot is not so complicated that its difficult to follow, but it would take entirely too much effort to summarize it here in greater detail than I have already. Their mark is Doyle Lonnegan(Robert Shaw), a temperamental and powerful Irish mobster with a violent temper. Watching this made me realize I’d seen very little of Shaw’s work. Perhaps his memorable turn in Jaws(to be addressed later) made me think I’d seen more. In any case, his presence and intensity is undeniable. In every scene he’s in, I found him both utterly watchable and terrifying, as he suffuses every line and facial expression with the sense that he could explode at any moment. This makes his scenes with Newman especially delightful as Newman is completely fearless and deliberately pushes his buttons. I also really enjoyed the scenes where they were putting the operation together, the most elaborate set piece being a gambling parlor, where everyone but Shaw is essentially an actor, including the announcer narrating the races(Ray Walston). As they were setting it up, it was reminiscent of putting a play or a film together, with the sets being built, the costumes distributed, and the roles being cast. I especially remember chuckling a bit when one man, after interviewing for a “role” and being “cast,” is told, “Go pick out a suit,” and he goes to what is essentially a large costume rack. It’s all a great deal of fun even when I was able to see certain twists coming. Though I mentioned that it may not be on a par artistically with some of the other achievements of 1973, it’s great entertainment and certainly worth checking out.

As I mentioned before, Lynne joined me for the final title from 1973, The Exorcist. I’ve seen this one a few times, at least once or twice on video, as well as the extended version several years ago at the (sadly now closed) Astor Plaza theater in midtown Manhattan. So I was glad to have some fresh eyes with me as Lynne had never seen it and had, in fact, built it up in her mind a great deal. The Exorcist is the story of a young girl named Regan(Linda Blair), the daughter of Chris MacNeil(Ellen Burstyn), a movie star shooting a film on location in the Washingtom D.C. area. Subtly at first, Regan starts displaying erratic behavior that blossoms into full blown demonic possession and is subsequently in need of an exorcist. Father Merrin(Max Von Sydow) and Father Karras(Jason Miller), are brought in to free her of the demon. They succeed, but at the expense of Karras’ life. What I found particularly remarkable about the film was the realistic tone it takes. I listened to a bit of William Peter Blatty’s(who wrote the book and subsequent screenplay) commentary on the creative process. Though there were no doubt creative embellishments, this story has its basis in an actual case. The embellishments were mostly due to the extreme secrecy of the Catholic Church and their refusal to assist him in a non-fiction book he wanted to write about the case. It’s clear that Blatty is a believer, but the documentary approach he takes to the subject matter speaks to a rational world that either believes such things don’t happen or that they only happened in Biblical times. As such, both believers and non believers can appreciate the film. Believers should appreciate and recognize the world they live in and what would happen if such a thing happened in present day. Non believers should be able to suspend their disbelief as the world of the film is rooted in reality. Even Father Karras, the younger of the two priests, doesn’t seem to believe that such a thing could be possible. There is such a buildup that, aside from a prologue set in and shot in Iraq, Merrin, the exorcist of the title, doesn’t show up until the last half hour to perform the ceremony. The scenes of Blair in full possession mode are so powerful and shocking its easy to forget how little of the running time they actually consume. William Friedkin directed this one, his second on the list after The French Connection. He’s another director who, though it seems he’s never really stopped working, never really lived up to the achievement of these two titles, though these two contributions alone certainly give him a notable place in cinematic history. This is Burstyn’s third appearance on the list, though she’s always so memorable it feels like more. I mentioned previously that Lynne, though she enjoyed this film, had been expecting something more shocking. I’m inclined to think that she’d seen the most gruesome stuff on clip shows over the years and had assumed that what she hadn’t seen was much worse and more prevalent in the film. I’m envious of the people who saw this film having no idea what to expect. All that being said, I think the film certainly packs a punch. Though this would probably sound strange to audiences in 1973, it seems admirable in its restraint compared to the typical gorefest horror films today. The scenes of a little girl in horrendous blistered makeup projectile vomiting and spewing out lines like, “Fuck me Jesus” and “Your mother sucks cocks in hell” would have been numbing if used in excess.

Well, that’s 1973. I’m ridiculously backed up on this. I’m a week or so away from finishing the viewing process, but I have a backlog of about 17 titles that I haven’t written about. Ah well. It happens as it happens. Part of the process I suppose. I hope to get back here with part one of 1974 soon.