It Should Happen to You at The High

This past Saturday I ventured up to Atlanta's High Museum of Art for the “Modern Masters of Film” screening of It Should Happen to You (George Cukor, 1954). Boyfriend in tow, I was surprised by the crowd (assuming that not everyone loves 1950s cinema as much as I do). Although I found Judy Holliday to be shrill and mostly annoying, the overall story concept was inventive. Holliday plays Gladys Glover, a young girl trying to make it big in New York City with no talent to speak of, but she dreams of seeing her name in lights. She laments to Peter, an aspiring film-maker played by young and dapper Jack Lemmon, that she yearns to be “above the crowd.” The rest of the film follows her spiral into fame after she pays to have her name displayed on a giant billboard on Columbus Circle. Gladys must navigate boardroom tycoons and advertising businessmen who want her billboard space and are willing to do anything to get it. Although It Should reads as light romantic comedy, feminist themes of domesticity and women's position in the home and workforce bubble up to the surface. Gladys’ ambiguous position in the male-centered business world as well as her struggle between domestic normalcy versus financial independence and fame illustrate the post war sentiment and the feelings of women in 1950s America.

George Cukor’s work is instrumental in the foundations of Classical Hollywood Cinema. His films from Camille (1936) to Gaslight (1944) feature great stars such as Greta Garbo and Ingrid Bergman. Starting in 1944 and well into the 1950s, he directed Judy Holliday in what we would today call romantic comedies. It Should is shot on location in New York City and jumps between animate shots in Central Park with sunlit paths and rustling leaves to Gladys’ chintzy cramped apartment. Cukor has a unique shooting style with his heavy use of close ups and pans. We are introduced to Gladys literally feet first. Cukor’s camera pans up from her feet to her face as she meets love interest Peter. Cukor returns to Gladys’ feet later in the film when she watches Peter’s documentary. The rest of the film is shot in classical Hollywood style, but the return to Gladys’ feet is an oddity worth mentioning.

It Should follows Peter and Gladys’ relationship as she becomes increasingly famous. Peter disapproves of Gladys wasting her money on the billboards, but her mind is made up; she purchases the billboard space and secures her celeb status through TV appearances and an ad campaign. She proves her business savvy and ability to create her own future. However, by the end of the film, Gladys decides Peter was right and chooses him over a career that could lead to more fame and fortune. She pivots from independent career woman back to a normative position in the home alongside the male. Like many films of the 1950s post war era, the female character exudes an independence, be it wealth or personality, but in the end it is subjugated by the man as she takes up the traditional position as wife/lover.

Although we get our classical Hollywood ending – Gladys and Peter happy and in love, I can’t help but feel unsettled and disappointed by her choice. It makes me wonder, would a woman in the audience in 1954 feel the same?  

The Artist

The Artist begins with an intertexual nod to our hero’s predicament. We see a silent film shown in a grand movie house. The scene unfolds as the villain tortures the hero with electrocution commanding him to “SPEAK!” through intertitles. George Valentin, dynamically portrayed by Jean Dujardin, refuses to speak quite literally. He won’t give up his secrets to the villain, and he cannot accept the change in Hollywood from silent to sound cinema “talkies.” Written, directed, and edited by Michael Hazanavicus, the film follows Valentin on an almost fatale trajectory and traces his decline from successful star to forgotten beggar due to his pride, hubris and inability to accept change.

I am instantly reminded of Murnau’s Sunrise (1927), Crossland’s The Jazz Singer (1927), and all things Chaplin as The Artist begins. The references to early Classical Hollywood Cinema are endless. The high key lighting, intertitles, and mickey-mousing effects are artfully and temporally incorporated into the film. The extreme close-ups and over dramatized facial movements are all reminiscent of the late silent period of Hollywood cinema. Historically, many silent film actors experienced difficulty switching to sound, and their public often had a hard time accepting their new “voice.” For example, an actor’s voice might not match with their projected silent screen persona. Valentin is unwilling to conform to the change as young actors and actresses easily embrace sound.

From the beginning we see Valentin as cocky and fame hungry. An early shot shows Valentin in the foreground dwarfed by his own monumental image on the screen - he is bigger than life.  As the actor du jour, girls swoon in his path and one such girl is Peppy Miller played by Bernice Bejo, the real hero of the film. Her tenacious attitude skyrockets her to fame, but throughout her rise she constantly tries to help Valentin as he becomes increasingly obsolete.

The interactions between Peppy and Valentin are tender and show an immediate attraction that they cannot act on. Alone in his dressing room, Peppy slips her hand into his coat, miming an embrace. Valentin is married, but takes Peppy under his wing and encourages her to act. An actual silent film star from the 1930s, Penelope Ann Miller, plays Valentin’s wife Doris. The demise of their marriage starts over the breakfast table, an overt homage to Citizen Kane (Welles, 1941). They grow increasingly distant as she seethes over coffee and takes her pen to his screen bills giving him black teeth and devil horns.

The film only disappoints in its predictability. The plot unfolds, and we expectedly see Peppy become the star and Valentin fall. He physically begins to resemble The Tramp, Charlie Chaplin’s signature character. His wife leaves him, he squanders his money on a failing silent movie, and he auctions off his possessions to pay for his drinking and smoking. All Valentin has left is his dog, another hero of the story. Ever the cinephile, Hazanavicus echoes the Italian neorealist film Umberto D. (De Sica, 1952) that also follows the story of a disillusioned old man and his dog.

Hazanavicus’ integration of sound into the film marks a change for Valentin as he starts to doubt his place in Hollywood, and he begins to dream in sound. The sound editing is ingenious; we hear the clink of the glass on the table, the dog barking, and all the other diagetic sounds of his dressing room. And then in a surreal moment, a feather falls to the ground making a “boom” noise. These small surreal moments are scattered throughout the film and bring an innovative edge to a redone silent classic.

The Oscar nods are well deserved.

My Week with Marilyn: Wait to Rent

Monroe in the 1957 film

Although Michelle Williams impeccably portrays the late, great Marilyn Monroe, there’s no need to rush to the theaters to see this one. It’s a light and mostly comical story about Marilyn Monroe shooting The Prince and the Showgirl in England in 1957. Based on the memoirs of Colin Clark (The Prince, the Showgirl and Me), the film is narrated by Colin (Edie Redmayne). He plays the third assistant on the movie set and imagines he can restore Monroe's self-confidence and dilute her profound sadness. If you look at stills from The Prince and the Showgirl, the resemblance of costumes and sets is uncanny; the film is markedly accurate in its portrayal. True to the tail, Laurence Olivier acts and directs the film. Kenneth Branagh is commanding as Olivier, seething at Monroe when she shows up late to set, but in love with the idea of her. 

The film opens with Monroe on stage, performing a musical number. As the camera pulls away, we see that it’s a cinemaplex with a large audience watching her on screen. In fact, Monroe doesn’t make an actual appearance in the film until the 20 minute mark when she debarks from the plane with the paparazzi’s bulbs flashing away. We are introduced to Monroe as an enigma, a star on stage always performing as “Ms. Monroe” for her public. She says sadly of her 3 failed marriages that people always want to be with "Marilyn" and when they find out its just her, they run. Monroe is a brand that sells well. The film also ends with Monroe on stage, performing again for her public.

I’ve seen a lot of Monroe films, and William’s portrayal of the actress is spot on with every affect. Her humor and lilting voice exude sex with every slow blink of her eyes. With excellent acting and a stellar soundtrack, it’s a nice film to rent at home but lacks the drama and force to pull you into the theater.

Melancholia

Denmark auteur Lars von Trier’s latest film, Melancholia, begins with a poetic overture filled with images that foreshadow what is to come at the end of the film.  The breathtaking mis-en-scene photographed by Manuel Claro captures an austere Victorian air starting with a lavish wedding and ending with the end of the world, literally. Von Trier takes us through the rapidly unraveling world of Justine who, it would seem, battles a crippling case of depression, although it’s not all together clear why she’s so upset. Played by Kristen Dunst, Justine is very good at faking happiness but soon spirals into palpable misery. Alexander Skarsgard plays the groom with only a few lines and departs half way through the film due Justine’s lack of faithfulness and faith in general. The rest of the story follows Justine and her sister’s family (sister adeptly played by Charlotte Gainsbourg) as they count down the days as the blue planet Melancholia plummets towards earth.

Von Trier’s creation starts with a visually stunning overture. The beginning opens with a slowly cranked montage of scenes set to Wagner’s operatic score Tristan and Isolde. Images of Justine laid out as Ophelia in her wedding dress floating in a river are paired with the perfectly laid out gardens of the family estate, an homage perhaps to Alain Resnais’ Last Year at Marienbad (1961). This immediately creates a juxtaposition of nature and civilization laying the thematic foundation.  Von Trier’s camera focuses in and out, blurring the people around the room creating a documentary feel to the film. He also uses a highly intrusive camera with extreme close-ups during conversations between various characters.  The overture includes planets moving like Kubrick’s 2001 – a bit tired after already sitting through 3 hours of Terrance Malick’s Tree of Life earlier this year. The camera lingers on the solar system, floating, and then cuts to various characters standing in the garden also aligned like planets. Again von Trier visually establishes the nature/civilization dichotomy.

Throughout the film we see confrontation between the characters and the natural world - the archetypal struggle between man and nature. Claire’s husband John (Keifer Sutherland) is obsessed with watching the planet rise and pass by Earth, and he swears that everyone will be safe. As the planet draws near, John doubts their safety, abandons his family, and commits suicide, panicking in the face of doom. On the other hand, the sisters bravely confront the impending end of the world. Von Trier’s story illustrates how each person deals with their reality in different ways. The narrative set up of the film is 2 acts – Justine’s and Claire’s – that mirror Wagner’s operatic score. We see the hysteria transfer from Justine to Claire as the point of narrator changes. Justine is stunted by her depression and cannot even get into the bath, but when death approaches, she is calm. Claire, on the other hand, has everything in control, until she cannot change what is going to happen -  she cannot stop the planet from coming. She clutches her son as the hail hammers down, and there is nowhere for her to run. Nature is uncontrollable; even the cars won’t start.  

The film as a whole is broken into two parts: the wedding reception and then sometime later when the planet is about to hit Earth. The first half is the society and institutions that we as humans have created which are thrown away in the face of death. There are slow images of Justine in her wedding dress running as roots attempt to pull her down. The second part conveys the true nature of all the characters. Justine stays calm and faces her fear; Claire lets herself be emotional and fight for her child’s life; and John, the coward, gives up out of fear. It is as if nature will eventually show the true “human nature” of us all.

For auteurists and cinephiles alike, this film is worth seeing and a nice respite from von Trier’s other works that involve over the top violence. On a side note, watch closely: the images at the beginning of the film are only semi-complete. Later in the film, the images are different, as von Trier fills in the rest of the scene, particularly the rider-less horse.

Queue it up!

Add this to your Netflix queue: King Arthur, 2004. Just popped in this 2004 classic and loved it. Granted I'm in a bit of a Game of Thrones mood as I'm reading the saga, but the film was a quintessential Arthurian tale that hit all the high points of young Arthur's first years as a knight (pre-Camelot). Clive Owen as Arthur partners with Merlin to defeat the Saxons - led by none other than Stellan Skarsgard (Pirates of the Caribbean) who with every whispered battle command the volume on the TV must be turned up.

The photography takes on a noir effect with blue hues, especially on Guinevere (Keira Knightly) who first meets Arthur in this tale. It's hard to believe that Guinevere is a feared Woad (the wildling group that later fights alongside Arthur), and seeing her run around the battlefield with two belts as a shirt does not paint the picture of our classic lady fair.

The cast of Arthur’s knights of the round table is impressive, and the battle scenes will have you gripping the edge of your seat with the best sword fighting I’ve seen in a while. However, some scenes wane over-dramatic with Arthur yelling to God and asking why....why, are his knights dying. Well, this is war, Arthur. There are other scenes that have Clive Owen displaying his stage presence with goosebump raising vigor, stating things like "There is no worse death than the end of hope." So it’s a trade off.

All things said, if you like knights, kings, and maiden's fair, this is a great film to put in your Netflix queue. The lack of CGI and animitronics that we have today lends a realistic effect to the film. A particularly harrowing battle is fought on a frozen lake that begins to shatter and take the enemy into its icy depths. The film is shot on location across Ireland and Britain. Also, as a horse lover, seeing the gorgeous breeds from that area is an extra treat galloping across the screen. The soundtrack is uber-dramatic but just right for the content, making you want to jump on a horse yourself and help Arthur out. If you can ignore the cheesy chivalry that peeks through at opportune moments, its certainly worth the 2.5 hours.

The Ides of March

George Clooney has tried his hand at directing again with The Ides of March. Based on the 2008 play, Farragut North by Beau Willimon, the name was fittingly changed to reflect Ceasar’s days of betrayal as well as Shakespeare’s great work Julius Caesar. Clever Clooney puts many literary allusions to work. The plot, in short, focuses on a political race for the democratic seat where the real players are the men behind the scenes calling all the shots. On a larger scale, the film is a psychological drama set in a political arena that revolves around thematic ideals of loyalty and allegiance - but at what cost to individual honor? The opening scene shows Stephen, the young campaign manager played by Gosling, as he checks the stage and microphone for the Governor’s (Clooney) debate already suggesting that he is the puppet master. The film continues with the fight for the democratic seat, as the moral ambiguity of the central characters (played by Gosling, Clooney, Hoffman and Giamatti – all finely acted, we already know they are good at their craft) creates a thrilling power struggle until the end. It also makes us question who the good guy is and who the bad guy is as ideals and allegiances change.

The film contains realistic character studies of people in the political realm which will strike close to home with the upcoming elections in Washington. Aside from the political jargon that might float over your head, Clooney and his team did a great job with the script adaptation and dramatic dialogue. But the climax of the film that shifts the choice and path of the characters has holes. The intern, a title that already makes one think “sex scandal,” played by Evan Rachel Wood, lacks character development. Her eventual situation with the governor and tragic demise (however Ophelia-esque it might be, since Clooney is clearly thinking of Shakespeare) lacks credibility. We don’t know enough about her past to make her actions realistic, which unfortunately leads to plot holes, and takes away from the film at a pivotal moment.

The visuals and camera work border on corny, and Phedon Papamichael’s cinematography plays it safe. The camera lingers too long on Gosling silhouetted by the giant American flag that takes up the screen. In another emotional moment, he cries as the rain beats down on the windshield. The lack of subtlety leaves nothing to the imagination. However, I did like the close ups on intimate conversations. For example, the shot of Gosling and Wood flirting in the bar draws us in and suggests the secrecy of politics in general; the framing is suggestive and dangerous. The musical score creates a jarring turn that reflects the anger and revenge Gosling feels towards the Governor. But other musical moments, for example the random jazz song that gets too much camera time in the bar, seem out of place and without reason.

At the end of the film Gosling confronts Clooney in the shadowed kitchen of a closed restaurant – an almost mafia moment – where he proclaims “you don’t fuck the intern.” This political cloak and dagger again alludes to Shakespeare’s play and shifts the power back to Gosling. For him, the end will justify the means even if it calls for blackmail. The final shot is a slow zoom to an extreme close up on Goslings face, with his ear piece, as the face of the governor’s campaign. He now has all the power, but we are left to wonder what he will do with it.

Garage Projects - film screening Friday night

What: Film screening - BRANDED TO KILL (Suzuki, 1967)

When: 8 PM, Friday Oct. 14

Where: Castleberry Hill - Garage Projects- 261 Peters St.

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