Welcome back for Day 4 of our Clint Eastwood Spotlight Series! Today I have the privilege of discussing with you (what I consider to be) the greatest modern western made to date: Unforgiven (1992).
According to Eastwood at the time, Unforgiven would be the last western he made, because he did not want to risk repeating himself or imitating someone else’s work. Boy, did he go out of the genre in style.
Not only did the film win Best Picture that year, but it also earned Eastwood his first win for Best Director. He wasn’t exactly working with untested unknowns–when a cast includes Morgan Freeman, Gene Hackman, and Richard Harris as supporting characters, you know the movie cannot possibly be subpar– but you can still feel Eastwood’s distinctive hand guiding the film. It has all his signature touches: the underdog vs. the many, the visceral pull of the scenery, the minimalistic (yet lovely) musical score, the rawness of the emotion his characters feel. Eastwood’s films stay with you long after the credits have rolled, and Unforgiven is a perfect example.
It’s a movie about reputation in all its forms, and the questions posed remind me of that internet meme that was in circulation for a while: What My Mom Thinks I do, What My Friends Think I do, What Society Thinks I Do, What I Actually Do, etc. The film is unapologetic with regard to what these characters have already done, but it also explores the idea of whether or not people can change. When you’ve already done a thing hundreds of times, can you really give it up? If you do give it up, will people let you forget about it? What toll has it already taken on you, and when you look in the mirror are you ever fully free of what society thinks?
Eastwood’s character, the grizzled and timeworn William Munny, grapples with the weight of his own legend throughout the entirety of the film. He’s haunted by the evil deeds of his youth, and the fact that all anyone remembers or wants to talk about is his reputation for murder and meanness. He wants desperately for people to see him, not as he was, but how he currently is. In classic Western fashion, he’s been remade by the love of a good woman– he’s abandoned the whiskey, the killing, the ruthlessness. Now, he’s a solemn widower, looking after his two children and a pig farm in the wake of his wife’s death from smallpox. He lives a simple life, and he’s grateful for the change, but when the much-younger Schofield Kid rides into town one day, promising him a hefty reward for partnership in one final killing, Munny can’t help but accept. His farm is limping along at best, and he needs the money to provide for his children’s future. Not to mention, the lethal justice at hand will be in retribution for two men viciously slashing a woman’s face to shreds after she giggled at the size of one’s penis. So…yeah. It’s probably not going to keep him up at night.
Another interesting angle to the storyline (and further evidence to support Eastwood’s love of the underdog) is that the woman whose face was slashed, as well as the collective group of women offering the reward, are prostitutes. The “madam” of the operation, Strawberry Alice (Frances Fisher), is so enraged by the sheriff’s tepid, initial punishment of the offenders, that she pools the girls’ money and offers up a $1,000 reward to anyone who will kill the two cowboys responsible. Usually, and this is especially the case in Westerns, ladies of the evening aren’t necessarily part of the protagonist set. They play minor roles, or they tempt the wholesome cowboys to ruin. Yet, strangely, the gaggle of prostitutes and the craggy, old cowboys are the heroes of this movie. I love it. It drives home the fact that Clint Eastwood was constantly searching for ways to freshen and reinvestigate old cliches. He didn’t make a movie about women “keeping their place” and allowing injustices to be perpetrated around them; he didn’t even make a movie about two white men attempting to get away with harming a prostitute. He made a movie about two humans harming other humans, and getting their just deserts.
If you think you’re not a big fan of Westerns in general, I highly recommend that you seek out this movie and give it a chance. It’s poignant, beautiful…dare I say majestic? No matter what other adjectives you put in front of it, it’s just a good, good movie. One of Eastwood’s best, and deserving of the Oscar win.
Tomorrow, join me again as we take a look at Eastwood’s softer side in the Meryl Streep weepie, The Bridges of Madison County (1995). You won’t want to miss it!
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Welcome back to Day 3 of our Clint Eastwood spotlight where we’re talking about Dirty Harry from 1971.
It’s hard to imagine a more iconic role for an actor, but it’s just one of many for Mr. Eastwood in his long and illustrious career. And even though it would eventually become cliched through many knockoffs and bad movies, his anti-hero renegade cop character really broke the mold here.
The movie follows that title character as he tries to stop a serial killer named “Scorpio” in San Francisco. It’s loosely inspired by the real life serial killer “Zodiac” (which was more meticulously followed in David Fincher’s great film), but unlike in real life, we know who this killer is almost from the get-go. It takes away much of the potential suspense and inherent drama, and I think it’s to the determent of this film. It also doesn’t help that Scorpio is rather mundane and not especially powerful or menacing. He seems to stumble and get away on technicalities or by just dumb luck, and it makes much of the movie seem especially dated and laughable.
But that’s why the movie isn’t called “Scorpio,” I suppose.
To that end, Harry Callahan is great and very entertaining to watch. He has so many quotes, but perhaps the most famous one is the “Do you feel lucky, punk?” line. It’s fairly early on in the movie and unfortunately, it’s probably also the film’s best moment. The rest of the movie is mostly him being hampered by routine police work and being blamed for everything that goes wrong. It’s pretty tedious after awhile.
Still, for his character alone, I’m giving this movie three stars.
Come back here tomorrow when Kelley reviews the modern western Unforgiven.
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Welcome back for Day 2 of our Spotlight Series on Clint Eastwood! Today we’ll be discussing Mr. Eastwood’s directorial debut: a fascinating, eye-poppingly uncomfortable little thriller called Play Misty For Me (1971).
I use the word uncomfortable, not because the acting or directing is poor, but because Jessica Walter (whom you may recognize from Arrested Development) is REALLY good at playing a woman unhinged. Her character, Evelyn Draper, calls to mind Glenn Close cooking rabbits in Fatal Attraction, and even possesses shades of the hapless Barbra Streisand in The Way We Were (guess it’s a good thing K-K-K-Katie wasn’t a p-p-p-psychopath). It’s just…eesh.
But, alas, I’m getting ahead of myself.
Misty opens with the effortlessly cool Eastwood cruising along a gorgeous, rocky stretch of California coastline. His character, Dave Garver, is a disc jockey for a local jazz radio station (which, by the way, I’d totally believe with a voice like his), where he whisperingly croons poetry and takes on-air calls in between spinning Duke Ellington records. Garver is, in many ways, a typical Eastwood character: wolfishly handsome, aloof, a loner by day and…not a loner by night. He fills his midnight hours with women, and yet he still finds himself pining for one so-called “nice girl” that no amount of recreational love can replace. Shortly after reflecting upon these secret dreams of monogamy, his ex-girlfriend and archetypal One That Got Away, Tobie (Donna Mills), suddenly breezes back into his life– but not before Dave unwittingly becomes involved with a beautiful female fan of his show.
Evelyn Draper, the aforementioned craz-o, meets Dave one night (ostensibly by chance) in one of his favorite bars. She’s attractive, he’s attracted, and before you know it they’re stoking a fire and sipping whiskey cocktails at his place. She coyly drops a few hints, and Dave correctly guesses that Evelyn is the woman who has been calling the radio station every night, requesting he play the Errol Garner classic, “Misty”. This is the first in a litany of red flags, but it’s also a perfect example of what Barney Stinson (Neil Patrick Harris) refers to as the “Hot/Crazy Scale” on the show How I Met Your Mother. According to this scale, a woman can be a certain amount of crazy, as long as she is correspondingly hot. Evelyn is pretty hot, so, unfortunately for Dave, she gets away with a lot of seriously questionable behaviors that I suspect she would not have pulled off with slightly less enticing lounging pajamas.
From this point onward in the story, things get a bit hairy. Evelyn takes their casual sexcapades to mean that they are now romantically entwined forevermore. Dave, on the other hand, tries to brush Evelyn off in favor of pursuing a real relationship with Tobie, to which, as you might guess, Evelyn does not respond well. She’s been teetering on the precipice of a complete mental breakdown for some time, and when she spies Dave growing googly over Tobie’s icy blue eyes and Carol Brady hair…well, it’s curtains for Tobie, and anyone else who stands in her way. Cue Psycho stabbing music.
Here’s the thing about Play Misty For Me. It’s not a great movie–some of the dialogue is a little stilted, the blood isn’t the least bit realistic, and I think the chemistry between Eastwood and Mills as Tobie could have been better–but it IS very suspenseful and well worth your time. It’s obvious that Eastwood has a natural understanding of the camera, and he knows how to set up his shots well. Particularly for a first crack at directing, it’s a really good movie. I’ve seen it multiple times now, and each time I have to watch certain scenes in between my fingers. As I mentioned before, Jessica Walter is downright compelling as the scorned-woman-turned-killer, and it is hard to look away from any scene she is in. There are scares a-plenty, and if you’re looking for a good, eerie slasher flick on a Saturday night, this one’s a great choice (especially if you’re interested in exploring Eastwood’s early career).
Tomorrow, Charles will be reviewing perhaps Eastwood’s most well-remembered and quotable role, in the film that launched the “rogue cop” genre: Dirty Harry (1971). Be sure to come back and check that one out, as well as the rest of our 7 essential Clint Eastwood movies for this month’s Spotlight Series!
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Welcome back for the second monthly Spotlight Series from ItsJustAwesome.com! This week, to honor his birthday on May 31st, we’ll be reviewing 7 essential films starring everybody’s favorite outlaw: the inimitable Clint Eastwood.
Kicking things off in style, today we’ll be discussing one of Eastwood’s most iconic roles in the Sergio Leone classic, The Good, the Bad & the Ugly (1966).
The Good, the Bad & the Ugly is the third, and arguably the most famous, installment in Leone’s “Man with No Name” trilogy. Throughout the trilogy, Eastwood’s character is never named– he is identified only by nicknames others have given him. In this film, he’s referred to simply as “Blondie” by his reluctant frenemy, Tuco Ramirez (Eli Wallach). Don’t let that fool you; what he lacks in personal identification and elaborate backstory, Blondie via Eastwood embodies a new kind of American cowboy. He is the clear protagonist of the story, but he is somewhat morally ambiguous himself. Unlike many of the more common cowboy archetypes we’re accustomed to, Blondie is not necessarily goodness incarnate. It’s more like he’s good…ish. He shows himself to be compassionate towards his fellow man on more than one occasion, BUT he is also a bit of a mercenary, and has no problem with shooting first and asking questions later. It’s a fascinating combination of traits that makes Blondie much more an anti-hero than a traditional hero, and this type of role would become the trademark of Eastwood’s career.
Sergio Leone loved his sprawling, Western epics, and GBU is no exception. Clocking in at a whopping 2 hours and 58 minutes, this is not a brief film. It manages, however, to captivate the viewer’s interest right from the opening credits, aided spectacularly by an amazing original score from Ennio Morricone. Truly, this movie has one of the best, most iconic scores of all time–right up there with The Godfather, Gone with the Wind, The Third Man, and basically everything penned by John Williams. The music is almost a character in and of itself, and it supports the rest of the film with unforgettable panache. Listen to the clip below, and I guarantee you’ll immediately recognize the main theme, even if you haven’t seen the actual movie:
The Good, the Bad & the Ugly is set against a backdrop of the American Civil War, and focuses on the tenuous partnership between Tuco (the “Ugly”) and Blondie (the “Good”), who each possess one half of a secret. Before dying, a fugitive named Bill Carson bequeaths an enormous cache of stolen Confederate gold to Tuco (a tidy sum of $2,000), which he has buried somewhere in the desert. Unfortunately for Tuco, Carson only tells him one piece of the puzzle to the gold’s location– he tells Blondie the other. Realizing that neither of the two outlaws will be able to find the gold without the other, they warily strike up an alliance. Along the way, they encounter a brutal, sociopathic Union officer known as Angel Eyes (the “Bad”, played by Lee Van Cleef), who is also attempting to track down Carson’s illicit fortune. Tensions mount as the bizarre trio essentially race each other to the remote cemetery where the gold is buried, culminating in a three-way duel and one of the best movie endings I can recall seeing in quite some time.
This is a great movie, despite some minor stylistic quirks inherent to Spaghetti Westerns. For instance, because it was filmed in Spain and Italy with mostly non-English-speaking actors, much of the dialogue is actually dubbed over in English. It’s a bit jarring at first, but surprisingly it doesn’t really bother you for long. The story, the cinematography, the Ennio Morricone score, and even the gunfighting scenes are all so well-done that it’s easy to let yourself get sucked into Leone’s world, forgetting all about the weird dubbing.
It goes without saying that Eastwood’s performance here is a classic…but I’ll say it anyway, because it is. His trademarks are all there: the squint (apparently a sexy, sexy byproduct of his horse allergy mixed with the ever-present cigarillo), the laconic wit, the gravelly voice, the quiet confidence. Eli Wallach does chew his share of scenery as Tuco Ramirez, but it’s Eastwood’s picture from the get-go. If you haven’t already, check this movie out– it’s a much snappier take on the Western, and it’s easy to see why the “Man with No Name” trilogy is credited with reinvigorating the entire genre.
Tomorrow, I’ll be back again with Eastwood’s first foray into the world of directing: Play Misty For Me (1971). Be sure to join me for that one, because who would want to miss Eastwood dodging the knife-waving antics of a deranged Jessica Walter?!
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Welcome to our final day of our study in the life and work of Marlon Brando. Today we look into the film Apocalypse Now…that word film doesn’t truly describe Apocalypse Now though. It is more of an experience. It has surpassed the realm of mere movie and more a thing of obsession for many people. Trust me…you can go way too far down the rabbit hole with this thing! Not only is there the theatrical version of “Apocalypse Now” but there is also a “Redux” cut which is longer and denser AND there is a full making of documentary. Not to mention the original source material “Heart of Darkness” and countless reviews and dissections of this film (add one to the list).
The plot is very simple: During the height of Vietnam, Captain Willard (Martin Sheen) is sent on a mission to take a small platoon on a boat into the thick of Cambodia to assassinate a defective Colonel Kurtz (Brando). To simplify it even more: it’s like the Saving Private Ryan if they were setting out to kill Ryan. But of course along the journey, the platoon encounters numerous morally-grey situations and tragedies befall. As they get deeper in the jungle, the darker their interactions become and the darker their souls turn. A common comparison/theory I have heard many times is that the journey is similar to Dante’s Inferno and the seven layers of Hell.
Like the “Godfather“, the film has so many iconic moments you almost forget they are all from Apocalypse Now. Wagner’s Flight of the Valkaries playing over the speakers of the helicopters, Sheen’s almost dismal narration through out the film, “I love the smell of napalm in the morning” are so parodied its almost unrecognizable as original when watching the movie. And, of course, the superb acting of Brando as the melodramatic, philosophical, and humid Col. Kurtz. I defy you to not be rapt by his droning (even non-sensical) monologue in the sparsely lit, “ladle-drenching” scene in which Willard is captured and finally meets the mysterious Col. Kurtz. The way he elongates his thoughts is mesmerizing.
“You are an errand boy…sent by grocery clerks…to collect a bill.”
This statement alone sums up not only Kurtz’s philosophy on the U.S. military but also his apathy toward his soon-to-be-murderer and his own mortality. Although, Brando is sparsely used in the movie, the build up to the grandeur of Col. Kurtz could not be executed by any other actor working at the time.
Even more interesting than the film itself is the infamous chaos surrounding it. The first line of the documentary Heart of Darkness is a quote from Francis Ford Coppola:
“This movie is not a film about Vietnam…it was Vietnam.”
Among the typhoons, disease and Martin Sheen almost dying (no lie y’all), in steps Brando and his diva-like personality. For starters, when the casting for Col. Kurtz began, he was described to be a formidable man both of stature and personality. Think A Street Car Named Desire but with salt and pepper hair. So it was much to everyone’s surprise when off steps the plane a chubby, unkempt Brando. He also refused to work with the originally written scenes, requiring he and Coppola to hide themselves away in a trailer for two days as they hammered out the lines that are in the film today. As infuriating as this must have been at the time, the results are perfect for this story.
This concludes our look into the great Marlon Brando! What are your thoughts on our picks? Did we leave one out? Did you go into Superman (1978) dying to see his take on Jor-El (I mean who doesn’t love floating-head Brando)? Are you a fan of Apocalypse Now>The Island of Dr. Moreau? Are you the only one who likes that movie? If so, let us know! You can check us out on FaceBook and Twitter! If you have any suggestions for who we should Spotlight next – actor, director, writer, cinematographer, composer – let us know that too!
Thanks, y’all!
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Welcome back! For Day 6 of our Marlon Brando spotlight series, we’ll be talking about the racy, NC-17 film from director Bernardo Bertolucci: Last Tango in Paris (1972).
You may be wondering why a movie we’ve named as one of Brando’s 7 most essential would garner a measly two-star rating from me (which is a fair question). In my defense, I found this film is incredibly difficult to rate. I think it deserves to be included in the list for its sheer infamy, and because Brando’s acting really does sear itself onto the back of your brain here. AND YET.
I have to be honest– I kind of hate this movie. Hate may be too strong a word, but I just…don’t get its appeal. Yes, I understand that Bertolucci is known for his raw, voyeuristic shooting style, and that there’s something to be said for the uniqueness and gutsiness of the concept. I can even appreciate the artfulness of it (though whether it is “high art” or “low art”, I am still unsure). But, those things aside, it’s just gross. Not in a prudish, “gasp, they’re naked!” kind of way, either; it’s legitimately disturbing. Unspeakable, butter-related moments aside (I don’t know if I can even bring myself to comment directly on that), the relationship between Paul and Jeanne is just plain abusive. Brando, as usual, gives a bold performance filled with gravitas and gusto, but I loathe his character.
But let me back up. Paul (Brando), an American expatriate living in Paris, finds himself swimming in rage and confusion after the tragic suicide of his wife, Rosa. She’s left him utterly alone, struggling with the knowledge of her previous affair with a man living in their hotel. They seem to have had, at best, an unconventional marriage, but in the wake of Rosa’s death, Paul is so shaken that he seems to blame all of womankind for his wife’s transgressions. This is one of the aspects I do appreciate about Last Tango— Brando pours himself into the role, as he always does, and it’s really quite chilling. Excuse for his actions or not, this is a sad, sad person. It is at this point, during the height of his depression, that Paul encounters a young Parisienne (about 25 years his junior), Jeanne, with whom he strikes up an immediate, carnal relationship.
I have to admit, Brando still looks great in this movie, despite pushing 50 and being so much older than his female co-star (Maria Schneider). At first, you can understand why Jeanne would be magnetically attracted to Paul– he’s sexy, he’s mysterious, and then there’s the Florence Nightingale-flavored desire to be the balm for his tortured soul. So, I get it. I really do. BUT it’s at this point that the film starts to lose me.
By the way, Jeanne is engaged to an extremely goofy, aspiring filmmaker. I don’t even remember what his name is, and I’m not going to bother looking it up because he’s such a blip on the plot radar. Clearly, he’s the kind of weak romantic rival that is supposed to make us sympathetic to the fact that she’s cheating on him with Brando. “Who wouldn’t?”, they imply. “His biceps are so scrawny!”, says Bertolucci.
At any rate, it’s just awkward. Whatshisname is shooting some kind of strange, ambiguous biopic about Jeanne– an idea which she could not be less into. There are so many scenes where he’s chasing her around a shrubbery, or dramatically following her as she traipses, listless, through an empty apartment. To me, the movie could have easily been solely about Jeanne and Paul (there is more than enough conflict to spare), and The Fiancé wouldn’t have been needed at all. But, I digress.
As Jeanne silently confronts her sexual dissatisfaction with Monsieur Filmmaker, she is presented with his polar opposite in Paul/Brando. The perhaps too-virile Paul tells her repeatedly that their relationship will based exclusively on sex. They will meet in this dingy apartment, they will hop on the good foot and do the bad thing, and they will UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES reveal their names, or anything personal, to each other. It’s hypocrisy at its finest, because 20 seconds after shrieking at Jeanne for accidentally mentioning something about HER childhood, Paul launches into a five-minute monologue about his OWN childhood. He yells at her, he shoves her naked body onto the revolting mattress; he so clearly uses her as a physical outlet for his own pain. He doesn’t want to hear what she has to say, he doesn’t want to venture outside the apartment together, but he DOES want her available to serve as the vessel for his every perverted whim. He violently curses at her, and rape is a regular occurrence in their “relationship”. It’s disgusting and inexcusable, no matter what personal turmoil he’s going through.
Bertolucci tries to counter these horrifying scenes of abuse with bizarre moments of levity: Brando and Schneider cackle and caper around the room like patients of an insane asylum. They make zoo animal noises to each other, and we get the distinct sense that it’s supposed to be funny and heartwarming. Maybe it is for some, but it didn’t land at all for me– it just comes across as weird and uncomfortable.
So…I don’t know. I don’t know what to do with this movie. Robert Pattinson cited Last Tango in Paris as one of the films he repeatedly watched to get into the role of Edward for the Twilight series, and to that I say: You would. Before I watched this movie, I just thought he was being pretentious, but now that I’ve seen it all I can do is laugh nervously to myself.
What are your thoughts about Last Tango? Do you agree? Disagree? I’d love for you to let me know in the comments below.
Tomorrow, we will be closing out our Brando spotlight series with a review from Micah on the wartime classic, Apocalypse Now (1979). Be sure to check that one out, and stay tuned for more Spotlight Classics at ItsJustAwesome.com!!
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It’s Day 5 on our Marlon Brando spotlight and we’re talking about one of the best, if not the best, film of all time, The Godfather!!
It’s the story of an Italian-American crime family (led by Brando’s Don Vito Corleone) and a war that breaks out between them and the other “families” of New York. It’s about the American Dream, family, Hollywood, corruption, capitalism and so much more.
Scene after scene is fantastic, with each one somehow topping the last.
Here’s the opening one that sets up the story so perfectly:
Currently, it sits at #2 on IMDB’s Top 250 list (with The Shawshank Redemption at #1) while its sequel is right behind it at #3. It was nominated for 11 Academy Awards and won 3 of them, including Best Picture. It also connected well with audiences and was the highest grossing film of 1972.
To say it was an unmitigated success would be an understatement.
But, of course, as many of you already know, the production was oftentimes a nightmare and very chaotic. The studio didn’t want Al Pacino or Marlon Brando and they fought with director Francis Ford Coppola constantly over them as well as nearly every other issue they could find.
It seemed no one thought the movie would be a success.
At the time, Brando was definitely in a career slump. Despite all his accolades, he had become better known for his antics and behind-the-scene quarrels than for his performances and as a result, there were very few people that wanted anything to do with him. The studio only reluctantly agreed to hire him if he met three conditions, as explained by Coppola:
https://youtu.be/r49QSsGxNtk?t=44s
These were insulting to him, no doubt, but he ended up playing what would become one of cinema’s all time great characters and giving one of the best acting performances in the history of film. The rest of the cast is great (perfect, actually) but Brando steals the show and gives the movie its much needed emotional core. That you can root for the Coreleone family is a testament to his acting. Many of you may think of him as being older when this film was made, but it’s only because of the incredible makeup he wore for the part; in fact, he was only 47 years old during production. That makes the performance even better, even more nuanced.
This is Brando at his finest, and his career was resurrected.
We’re winding down our Spotlight, but Kelley will return tomorrow with one of her favorite Brando films, Last Tango in Paris. Or is that one of her least favorite Brando films? I can never remember.
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Welcome back for Day 4 of our Marlon Brando spotlight series! Today we’ll be talking about one of my favorite movies, the film that earned Brando his first Oscar win: Elia Kazan’s On the Waterfront (1954).
I waxed on about the merits of A Streetcar Named Desire in Day 1 (another Kazan/Brando pairing–clearly they knew how to complement each other’s strengths) and Waterfront is just as good, albeit for different reasons.
In a role completely different from the hot-headed Stanley Kowalski, Brando’s Terry Malloy is quiet, introspective, and only fights when he’s pushed to his limits. Malloy is a former boxer, and was largely “sponsored” in his short career by the shady dealings of his older brother, Charlie The Gent, and the corrupt boss of the dock-worker’s union (laughably nicknamed Johnny Friendly). Charlie is Friendly’s right-hand man, and together the duo controls the cash flow of imports/exports along the waterfront. As the story unfolds, we learn that Malloy’s boxing career was incredibly promising until Charlie and Friendly started paying him to take dives in his fights. Friendly’s greed is limitless, and unfortunately, what Friendly wants, Friendly gets. You’ve all probably heard some portion of Brando’s “I coulda had class, I coulda been a contender!” speech (*chills*), chastising Charlie for choosing Friendly over family. As a result of the mob’s betting, Malloy’s rising talent is wasted and he resigns himself to working on the waterfront as a longshoreman: bitter and alone.
Despite his own personal misgivings, Malloy can’t seem to shake the influence of Friendly and the mob. They essentially run the town, and particularly with his brother’s lofty position in the ranks, Malloy remains a reluctant participant in their schemes. To that effect, the film opens with Malloy unwittingly leading a young longshoreman, Joey, to his death at the hands of Friendly’s flunkies. He thinks they merely plan to rough Joey up a bit (to keep him from testifying to the group’s unsavory activities in court), but much to his horror, Joey is pushed from the rooftop in cold blood.
While he’s still processing his own role in the murder, Malloy meets Joey’s sister, Edie (played touchingly by Eva Marie-Saint). This is a turning point for him, and while the “I coulda been a contender!” speech is indeed fantastic, I think the best part of the movie for me is the burgeoning on-screen relationship between Brando and Saint. One of my favorite classic movie bloggers, Anne Helen Petersen, perfectly describes the change that comes over Edie during the course of the movie: “A woman made of Catholicism, shrillness, pointy edges, and buttoned up jackets becomes sexy before our eyes. Part of the transformation can be credited to good directing, lighting, costuming, etc., but as Brando falls in love with her, the way he looks at her — all lusty with those eyelids that fold over on themselves — somehow becomes the way we look at her.” It’s SO true, and you can see a glimpse of the transformation in the clip below:
Brando’s friendship and tender attentions soften her, and while they don’t diminish her thirst for justice on her brother’s behalf, they do open her eyes to the fact that situations in life are rarely black and white.
With the help of Edie and a local priest named Father Barry (Karl Malden, who also co-starred with Brando in Streetcar), Malloy finally gathers the grit and the courage he’s needed to take on Friendly’s organization. He knows the cost of such an action, but he’s come too far to turn back now–redemption awaits by doing the right thing.
The final scene of this movie is one of the most powerful in all of cinema, and makes On the Waterfront a must-see classic (along with, you know, all the other amazing things about it). If you haven’t come across it before, seek it out. Now. Today. Right this minute. It’s one of Brando’s absolute best, and exemplifies the subtle, emotive acting that made him such a one-in-a-million star.
Tomorrow, Charles will be reviewing another stone-cold classic: Francis Ford Coppola’s The Godfather (1972). I can already hear the mandolins. Don’t miss it!
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For Day 3 of our Spotlight on Marlon Brando, we’ll be discussing The Wild One from 1953.
Brando plays Johnny, the rough-and-tough leader of a motorcycle gang. They ride from town to town and cause all kinds of ruckus and mayhem, though generally, they leave before it gets too crazy. In one particularly small town, however, a rival gang shows up and tensions begin to mount. That gang’s leader, Chino (played by Lee Marvin), has a history with Johnny and after a brawl in the street between them, Chino ends up being arrested. At this point, all Hell breaks loose. Both gangs are destroying the city in retaliation for the arrest, while Johnny is torn because he’s fallen for the sheriff’s daughter, Kathie (Mary Murphy), and he can’t quite decide whether to do the right thing and help or just leave the city behind like he always does. It’s the classic question of can the “good girl” tame the “bad boy.”
This is one of those movies that I feel straddles the line between popular and being lost to the ages. It certainly feels like it should be well known, but it hasn’t aged well at all. There’s a certain amount of sensationalism that may have been shocking in the 50s, but comes across as mild and… dare I say… cheesy. The opening even has a title card that reads:
“This is a shocking story. It could never take place in most American towns – but it did in this one. It is a public challenge not to let it happen again.”
Knowing this is a 50s movie, my natural proclivity is to roll my eyes and expect a ridiculously campy story with strong morals and bad effects. “A public challenge??” Yes, I have a certain amount of disdain for this kind of high judgement thing, and the opening narration that immediately begins after certainly doesn’t help (especially since there’s no other narration throughout the rest of the film):
So, why am I still giving this movie 3 stars?
Well, Brando, of course (though, to be fair, I do also love that the motorcycle almost hits the camera in that opening shot. Not sure if that was on purpose or not, but it did temporarily make me think the movie might actually be, you know, shocking).
Brando alone makes this movie worth watching. He plays Johnny as a kind soul, someone who knows right from wrong, someone who is introspective and thoughtful, but doesn’t always allow himself to do the right thing. He’s had bad experiences with cops and that has tainted so much of his life that even when the best solution is staring him in the face, he can’t force himself to compromise on silly stubborn ideal he’s created for himself. But Kathie is more than just the average girl to him, and he can see that she really wants to get out of the town, too. For her, it’s too small and too suffocating. She’s certainly a big fish in a small pond and that presents an interesting dynamic because she is shown to be strong and knows exactly what she wants out of life. Johnny, on the other hand, is apparently rebelling just to rebel, unsure of what he’s doing with his life.
That, of course, is one of the movie’s most famous lines (and maybe the only famous line from it) making it perhaps Brando’s version of Rebel Without a Cause (which is ironic because he auditioned for that movie and didn’t get the part).
Still, watch this one only for Brando… and maybe the restrained and nuanced ending (which actually surprised me a bit).
For Day 4 tomorrow, Kelley will be back with her review of On the Waterfront as we continue our spotlight on Marlon Brando!!
The post Day 3: The Wild One (1953) first appeared on It's Just Awesome DOT com.]]>
It’s Day 2 of our Spotlight on Marlon Brando and I have the pleasure of writing about Julius Caesar. If you can’t tell from my score up there, I love this movie.
And why not?
It’s one of Shakespeare’s greatest and most famous plays (who here didn’t have to recite Mark Antony’s speech in high school??), directed by the Oscar winning Joseph L. Mankiewicz (of All About Eve fame), and starring some of the finest actors ever, including James Mason, Deborah Kerr, and, of course, Mr. Brando.
With a pedigree like that, one would have to work especially hard to muck it up, but I suppose stranger things have happened.
Still, that is certainly not the case here.
Oddly enough, I had never before questioned the historical accuracy of the plot… and I was perfectly okay with that. Caesar’s last words just had to be “Et tu, Brute?” didn’t they?? Well, as it turns out, maybe they did. Shakespeare’s account of the betrayal and murder of Caesar by his peers and protégés is (mostly) based on Plutarch’s Lives of Noble Greeks and Romans, and while we will never know for sure, it does make it all the more impressive and all the more tragic that these events likely went down in a similar way in real life.
Brando plays Mark Antony, and though he receives top billing, his character is largely absent for the first half of the movie. But when he finally does appear, man, is it one of the most dynamic and exiting moments in all of cinema. It’s the turning point; you see, Antony was not part of the group that betrayed Caesar, and yet, for whatever reason, he is not murdered despite knowing the truth. In fact, Brutus even allows him to speak at Caesar’s funeral, a mistake that changed the course of history, because Antony is able to get all of Rome on his side in a show of solidarity for Caesar. They are united against the “noble” Brutus and war is started.
Brando is simply electric here, delievering his speech with such gusto that you’re likely to be standing up and yelling at your television by the end, cheering with the good people of Rome.
But this is actually why I’m giving the film 3.5 stars instead of 4.
Antony’s speech is easily the best part, and it never again reaches such heights. That’s not to say the rest isn’t extremely well done, but it just pales in comparison. Still, I definitely recommend this movie, especially if you’re only vaguely familiar with the play. The words really come off the screen and it remains one of Hollywood’s best Shakespeare adaptations.
Tomorrow, I’ll be returning for Day 3 with my review of The Wild One, so come back and check it out!!
The post Day 2: Julius Caesar (1953) first appeared on It's Just Awesome DOT com.]]>
On this day in history, screen legend Marlon Brando was born. The world didn’t know it then, but here was a man (/baby) who would shake up Hollywood to such an extent that the “rules” for what constituted a performance would never be the same. Brando didn’t care two figs about what was expected socially or professionally– he wore dirty jeans instead of then-fashionable high-waisted trousers, had three children with his housekeeper, bought a South Pacific island (?!)…the list goes on. In other words, he charted his own path, and steamrolled through the studio system like the bull-in-a-china-shop that he was. In later years, his hubris and laissez-faire attitude about his health and professional relationships would cause his star to dim a bit, but none of that can take away from the genius of his work.
To celebrate the life and impact of such an American movie icon, we at ItsJustAwesome decided to dedicate an entire week to reviewing (what we consider to be) his 7 most essential films. Today, on Day 1, we’ll be talking about one of Brando’s earliest triumphs: Elia Kazan’s take on the Tennessee Williams play, A Streetcar Named Desire (1951).
Aptly named, Streetcar is a sultry, sticky, bourbon-soaked doozy of a film. You can practically feel the stifling heat rising off the pavement of The Quarter, as bawdy New Orleans jazz floats through the open window of the apartment where Blanche and Stanley circle one another like cage fighters. Gone are the moonlight and magnolias of earlier Southern films like Gone With the Wind and Jezebel—Streetcar is an onion of emotional and psychological traumas, and it’s not until the final scene that we realize just how many layers must be peeled away and tearfully dissected to reach the core. Nobody can pen a seedy, disturbing family drama quite like Tennessee Williams, and, if nothing else, his story makes you thankful that you have the family you do.
This is an incredible movie, there’s no question about it. It won 4 Oscars, and was nominated for another 8. Vivien Leigh is pitch-perfect in her role as the emotionally fragile, high-minded Blanche DuBois, and she absolutely deserved her Best Actress win. If you ask me, Brando should have won for his explosive performance as Stanley Kowalski as well (sorry, Humphrey, I still love you–and The African Queen), but alas, it was not his time yet.
The film opens with Blanche arriving in New Orleans, by way of the titular streetcar named Desire. She has taken a leave of absence from her job as a high school English teacher in Auriol, Mississippi, and plans to stay in The Big Easy with her sister Stella…indefinitely. Unfortunately for Blanche, she knows nothing of Stella’s living situation before she arrives in town– or of Stella’s husband, Stanley, for that matter. As we’re caressed by a decadent horn soundtrack, we see the city of New Orleans through Blanche’s eyes: torrid, dirty, baked in sin. The aristocratic Blanche is horrified even further when she sees Stella’s graceless, ground-floor apartment in the the French Quarter. She can’t fathom why her sister would live in such a place, until she meets the equally graceless, animalistic Stanley.
Enter a sweat-soaked, T-shirt-clad Marlon Brando. Brando’s Stanley Kowalski is brutish, bull-headed, volatile…but DAMN, is he sexy. I say this because, not only is it difficult to deny as a person with eyes and the ability to see, but it is also integral to understanding the hypnotic hold he has on Stella. He shoves people around, rips his clothes under the agony of his own emotions, hurls dishes against the wall (“Oh, Stanley has always smashed things”); he’ll be tender and caressing one minute, then savagely dangerous the next. Yet, Stella has no interest in leaving him. She is utterly mesmerized by the magnitude of his sex appeal, and powerless to resist her own desire for him. This photo pretty much says it all:
In one of many examples of Streetcar‘s excellent dialogue, Blanche gets up the gumption to comment on Stella’s abusive relationship:
Blanche: You’re married to a madman.
Stella: I wish you’d stop taking it for granted that I’m in something I want to get out of.
Blanche: What you are talking about is desire– just brutal Desire. The name of that rattle-trap streetcar that bangs through the Quarter, up one old narrow street and down another.
Stella: Haven’t you ever ridden on that streetcar?
Blanche: It brought me here. Where I’m not wanted and where I’m ashamed to be.
Stella: Don’t you think your superior attitude is a little out of place?
Blanche: May I speak plainly? If you’ll forgive me, he’s common. He’s like an animal. He has an animal’s habits. There’s even something subhuman about him. Thousands of years have passed him right by, and there he is. Stanley Kowalski, survivor of the Stone Age, bearing the raw meat home from the kill in the jungle. And you– you here waiting for him. Maybe he’ll strike you or maybe grunt and kiss you, that’s if kisses have been discovered yet. His “poker night”, you call it. This party of apes.
Therein lies the central conflict of the movie. Blanche is immune to Stanley’s charms (if they can be called that), and sees him for the brute that he is. On the other hand, Stanley also sees through the carefully-crafted backstory that Blanche has invented for herself. She’s clearly hiding the true reasons she has for being in New Orleans, and he won’t rest until he has brought them into the light. At first, the cracks in her story seem innocent enough, but as time wears on and the threat of discovery looms, Blanche’s neuroses become more and more apparent. Stella, in dismay, finds herself torn between defending her husband’s actions and protecting her sister’s fragile grip on reality.
Again, this is a fantastic movie. The one con for me personally is that it feels very much like a play at times (which I guess it should, because it is), and I’m not always in the mood to watch that type of film. With that said, however, I do revisit this gem every 1-2 years, and it gets me every time. The performances from everyone involved give me chills, but I think my eyeballs would need to be surgically removed from the screen during any scene with Brando. It’s no wonder at all that this became one of the most iconic roles of his career–it’s a truly unforgettable performance.
Tomorrow, Brando trades a T-shirt for a toga in his performance as Mark Antony in Julius Caesar (1953). Be sure to come back for Charles’ review on that one, as well as the rest of our Brando reviews this week at ItsJustAwesome.com!!
The post Day 1: A Streetcar Named Desire (1951) first appeared on It's Just Awesome DOT com.]]>I’m not sure where we’re at as far as how many movies on our list could be considered NOT Christmas enough, but not only do I not care, it doesn’t apply to Elf at all anyway. This is a Christmas movie through-and-through. No ifs, ands, or butts. And not only are there are many references to classic Christmas films (including a Burl Ives inspired snowman), it’s a great original story about Santa Claus and Christmas magic as well.
But Elf is really about, well, an Elf. His name is Buddy (played with childlike wonder by Will Ferrell). As an infant, he snuck into Santa’s bag on Christmas and was a stowaway to The North Pole. Once he’s discovered there, Santa decides to keep him and raise him as an elf, and places him under the care of Papa Elf (Bob Newhart). 30 years go by and Buddy still hasn’t realized he’s not an elf, despite being terrible at all the elf jobs (and not to mention that he’s now several feet taller than all of them). As he grows more and more frustrated, Papa Elf finally tells him the truth and sends him on a journey to New York City to find his true father (James Caan). Along the way, He’ll also fall in love with Jovie (Zooey Deschanel) and help to bring the Christmas Spirit in all those around him.
I love this movie.
I consider it to be the best of the “modern” Christmas movies (and that’s a wide range of movies that includes A Christmas Story and Christmas Vacation). Having the incredible Ed Asher play Santa Claus is an inspired choice. He’s just as good as Edmund Gwenn was in Miracle on 34th Street and that’s saying a lot!! He has a mischieveious, magical twinkle and I just love his portrayal.
But casting the legendary Bob Newhart as Papa Elf just might be the icing on the cake and he is able to bring out just the right amount of emotional weight to a role that could have been overacted and forgettable. The same goes for Will Ferrell. His character, as written, could have been annoying but he’s somehow just the right blend of innocence and purity.
But what I love most about this movie is that it doesn’t try to go too raunchy like many recent Christmas films have (Bad Santa for example). There are a handful of innuendos here and there, but never pervasive. Make no mistake: This is a great family film. Buddy’s Christmas spirit is contagious and you will feel it, too. Oh, and the music is INCREDIBLE!! I love it when the reindeer fly over New York City. My heart swells every time.
Elf has become a Christmas staple at our house. It’s one of my wife’s all time favorite movies, and though my daughter is too young to fully appreciate it (it’s her first Christmas!!), we are already starting this tradition with her.
So that concludes our 12 Days of Christmas Movie Reviews. We know that we miscounted and on Christmas Eve instead of Christmas Day, but oh well. Maybe next year I’LL learn how to count (Yes, it was my fault).
But whatever you’re doing and however you celebrate this year, we hope you’ve had fun with us and we wish you a Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!!
On a side note, don’t try to eat spaghetti like Buddy does. I made that mistake once and let’s just say it wasn’t pleasant for anyone involved.
The post Day 12 (Merry Christmas!!): Elf (2003) first appeared on It's Just Awesome DOT com.]]>Depending on whether you agree with Topher’s review on White Christmas and it NOT being a “Christmas movie” or Kelley’s review of It’s a Wonderful Life and it NOT being about Christmas, Gremlins might be the third non-Christmas movie on our list. Personally, I think they’re all Christmas films, but the argument could be made that if you can replace Christmas in a film with any other holiday and have little or no change on the plot, then it’s not really about Christmas and thus not a true Christmas movie.
To me, this is akin to colorizing a black-and-white film. Sure, it can be done, and the plot doesn’t change, but that movie was specifically created to look like that, with costumes and set design that photographed best in black-and-white. In that vein, White Christmas, It’s a Wonderful Life, Gremlins and Die Hard were all written to take place during the Christmas season, and if you were to alter that, you are inherently changing the movie and what the creators envisioned (even if it might not be apparent).
So, I’ll emphatically defend Gremlins as a Christmas movie… and I guess not colorizing black-and-white movies as well.
Gremlins is the blended, twisted creation of director Joe Dante, producer Steven Spielberg, and writer Chris Columbus and their unique influence is clear throughout the entire thing. It also happens to be a fantastic film that blurs the line between being a heartwarming family movie and a gory, frightening film more suited for adults. This is, after all, one of a handful of films in the early 80s that helped lead to the creation of the “PG-13” rating in the U.S. (the other prominent one being Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. What’s up, Spielberg??).
Inventor Randall Peltzer is looking for the perfect Christmas gift for his son Billy. In an eerie and strange shop, he discovers a creature known as a “Mogwai,” but the owner of the shop doesn’t want to sell it. After some back alley dealings with the shop owner’s grandson, Randall is able to purchase the Mogwai, but is given three rules he must follow:
Naturally, not along after Billy receives the Mogwai (which he names Gizmo), he breaks all of these rules. It wouldn’t be a very good movie if all of these rules were followed and the mysterious shop owner’s foreshadowing didn’t come true, right??
The lights in the bathroom prove too bright for Gizmo, but it’s when he gets him wet that the real trouble begins. You see, when water is accidentally spilled on Gizmo, more Mogwai pop out of his back. When these other Mogwai are accidentally fed after midnight, they form a cocoon and go through a metamorphosis to become a larger creature… the Gremlin! Soon, there are hundreds, if not thousands, of them wreaking mischievous havoc all throughout the town of Kingston Falls. And only Billy, his girlfriend Kate, and Gizmo can stop them!!
I love this movie.
I love the strange homages it makes to other films and cartoons (not unlike what Dante did in The Howling). I love that Dick Miller is used to great effect, even giving the reason the creatures are named Gremlins. I love Kate’s bizarre story of how her father died (similar to her Abraham Lincoln memory in Gremlins 2) and I love how much fun it is!! A room full of Gremlins singing “Heigh Ho” while watching Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs?? I mean, what’s not to love????
Seriously, watch this movie this holiday season, especially if you’ve never seen it before!!
Tomorrow is Day 9 and Kelley will be reviewing a movie we disagree on: National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation!!
The post Day 8: Gremlins (1984) first appeared on It's Just Awesome DOT com.]]>You’ll shoot your eye out!
Remember kids – drink more Ovalteen
Look it’s Italian! Frageelé
Oh fuuuuuudge!
The interesting thing about each of the moments though are that taken out of the Christmas context could be funny any time of the year. So just as Kelley begged the question with It’s a Wonderful Life and Christopher with White Christmas, is it a Christmas movie? As far as the story is concerned I would equate it to something like The Sand Lot. A collection of memories from boyhood…that just so happen to be at Christmas.
Ralphie is a boy just trying to make it in his world full of annoying brothers, bullies, the threat of soap poison whose only aspiration in life is a a Red Ryder Carbine Action 200-shot Range Model air rifle with a compass in the stock and “this thing which tells time”. The film follows that plot line as it weaves through humorous scenes akin to stories your family tells over the years. You know, the kind of stories a family member says “We need to write theses down and put it in a book.”
There’s not really much to say about A Christmas Story. There is no brilliant storytelling, directing or acting to stop and discuss. That critique aside, it is a fun movie with great one liners and memorable moments. It’s no wonder TBS airs it for a full day (are they still doing that? seriously somebody look that up). You can jump in at anytime and laugh at the kid who gets his tongue stuck to the flag pole, or giggle at Ralphie in his bunny costume. Then you can just as easily turn it off when it’s time to go to grandma’s house or when Christmas dinner is ready. I honestly enjoy this movie and will sit and watch it anytime it’s on but I can understand why some people say they don’t care for it (which is a surprising amount).
A few years ago I was able to see A Christmas Story in a stage play – narration, kid actors and all. I have to say I appreciated the story more in that version. Then again if you have watched this thing a hundred times, you could probably act it out in your living room all the same.
Tomorrow Charles will be reviewing Gremlins from 1984. Oh Gremlins…I look forward to leaving my comments… Thanks everyone!
The post Day 7: A Christmas Story (1983) first appeared on It's Just Awesome DOT com.]]>The ever-down-trotten Charlie Brown is searching for the meaning of Christmas through all the commercialism and production that surrounds him. His best “frenemy” Lucy suggests he direct the Christmas play. Through all his efforts and his affection for a whimpy Christmas tree he still never finds the meaning of “Christmas” until Linus steers them on the correct road to understanding.
On the original air date, this adaptation of Charles Schultz popular comic strip found many road blocks in its production. The story behind that almost over shadows the film itself! One of the largest hurdles though was Charles Schultz’s stubbornness to make a standard cartoon but instead focus his effort on what he saw as a force that was demeaning the spirit of the holiday: commercialization. I despise the commercialization of Christmas. Jingle bells popping up as Jack-o-lanterns are coming down sickens me! Black Friday dictates when we should bring peace on Earth and good will toward men. This little film is in my corner in that fight.
A good 3/4 of the film follows the pattern most Peanuts animated stories do; 60 second jokes that you can imagine are lifted straight from the daily four panel comic strip with an over-arching plot line following our glum hero Charlie. All these scenes focus on how disgusted and confused he is on the purpose of Christmas. Is it just a “racket cooked up by an Eastern syndicate”? The story takes a turn though when Charlie Brown and Linus are set out to find a tree, which of course Charlie Brown gets the “Charlie Brown-iest” of all trees. In his dismay he cries out “Doesn’t anybody know the true meaning of Christmas?!” Linus answers with a Bible verse and that scene hugs my heart every time. At this point many people think Charlie Brown has been given the resolution to the problem in the plot. Although this would be the climax of the story, the true resolution comes in the last few seconds of the movie.
Now bear with me as I psycho-analyze a 50 year old children’s program! Linus sets the resolution on the right path but neither Charlie Brown or the gang still understand Christmas. In his speech Linus talks about the Christian understanding of Christmas. Essentially he is saying Christmas is about something bigger than an individual’s needs or wants. This applies to all holidays in this season: Chanukah, Christmas, Solstice, or any non-descript Holiday tradition/celebration. The holidays are about stopping selfish thought and joining in a community whether that is family, friends, faith group or just another human being.
So the true resolution is here: Charlie Brown has abandoned his tree. The gang gathers around it and together decorate it (by waving hands – if only it were that easy I wouldn’t climb a ladder in the freezing cold). Together they agree it’s not a bad tree after all. Then they begin humming together. Notice the optimal word there: TOGETHER. Up to this point every character has had their own agenda, played their part in the play their own way, misunderstood each other and even danced different dances. Side note: my favorite is the kid who just shrugs his shoulders. This is the first time they have done something in harmony. I love that there are no musical singing numbers before this scene which in modern day you would probably see in most children’s Christmas movies. This emphasizes the fact this is the first time they have been together.
What can we learn from the Peanuts gang now 50 years later. The true meaning of Christmas is about stopping to think that there is something bigger than you and we are all part of it TOGETHER. This is an important message as we wave an exhausted good bye to to 2016. Christmas is about stopping all rushing about if just for one day to decorate a tree, sing a chorus of “ooo oooo ooo “, and wish somebody who 364 days of the year you think is “just the worst”! Merry Christmas Donald Trump. Merry Christmas Hillary Clinton. Merry Christmas corporate executive. Merry Christmas welfare squatter. Merry Christmas alt-right nationalist. Merry Christmas liberal media. Merry Christmas Charlie Brown.
The post Day 6: A Charlie Brown Christmas (1965) first appeared on It's Just Awesome DOT com.]]>In this telling Rudolph is born to Donner, one of Santa’s reindeer. It quickly becomes obvious that he is different, and despite his amazing flying ability he is rejected because of his red nose. Meanwhile Hermey the elf is having trouble fitting in as well. You see elves are supposed to make all the toys Santa delivers on Christmas Eve, but Hermey just wants to be a dentist. What kid can’t relate to that? Both Rudolph and Hermey find themselves wandering the Arctic wilderness where they meet Yukon Cornelius, a prospector looking to find his fortune and driving a sled pulled by poodles and dachshunds. This trio of odd balls meet the toys on the Island of Misfit Toys, and eventually defeat the Abominable Snowman. In an effort to get Santa to help the toys on the Island of Misfit Toys Rudolph goes back to the North Pole. Once there he is called upon to use his shiny red nose to guide Santa’s sleigh through a snow storm.
Other than the classic songs and the wonderful animation, the best part of this movie is the characters. It should be obvious that most, if not all of the main characters are misfits. A red nosed reindeer, an elf with dental ambitions, a prospector with sled poodles, and of course an entire island of misfit toys. This begs the question, is the movie saying we should accept misfits, or that we are all misfits? I can’t speak for every child, but I know that I and most of my friends felt like misfits growing up. So maybe we could use this movie as a way to teach that we are all a little weird, and thats Ok.
The other perspective is of course that Rudolph isn’t a misfit at all. He is a hero, endowed with super powers, who has come to save the day. He is like so many great people throughout history that were seen as crazy or weird, but in the end prove to be gifted or even genius. This goes for all the heroes in this story. Only Rudolph could guide the sleigh, only Dr. Hermey DDS could extract all the teeth from the Abominable Snowman, and only Santa could save the toys from the Island of Misfit Toys.
So perhaps both perspectives are true. We are all weird misfits, and you never know who is going to be the hero that saves Christmas. I really hope you will watch this movie again this year, I found it to be just as charming today as it was the first time I saw it.
Tomorrow Micah will take a look at A Charlie Brown Christmas (1965). You won’t want to miss that one. Enjoy!
The post Day 5: Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer (1964) first appeared on It's Just Awesome DOT com.]]>What makes White Christmas interesting is that it isn’t really a Christmas movie. Other than the title and title song, there isn’t really much about Christmas in the whole movie. Sure it is set at Christmas and the cast even dresses in fur trimmed red velvet outfits, but not much else. Other Christmas movies tend to talk about the true meaning of Christmas, or the Christmas spirit, or something of that nature. Not White Christmas. Even the two love stories seem to be somewhat tangential to our heroes main focus. In the end this is really the story of two Army buddies trying to save their old general who they greatly respect. Oh and they really want it to snow.
The movie opens in 1944 during the war where Bob and Phil, played by Bing Crosby and Danny Kayne, are serving. Here it becomes quite obvious that their commanding general, Major General Waverly played by Dean Jagger, is a loved almost father figure to the men. Fast forward several years through the shenanigans that lead our duo to a ski lodge in Vermont, and they once again come face to with their beloved general. The general owns a ski lodge that is having a hard time making ends meet due to the lack of snow, and the general is afraid he’s going to lose it all. Bob and Phil manage to get the message out to their old outfit that they need their help, and they all come to the aid of Major General Waverly. To these two men the most important thing in their lives was the war and the men they served with, that is their true family. So from that perspective this is the story of two men trying to get the whole family together for Christmas. I’m sure someone somewhere could use this movie as a starting point to examine the deep effects of the war and PTSD on the Greatest Generation. This idea seems just as relevant today, which may be why it still holds up so well.
I don’t say any of this to diminish the amazing performances of Rosemary Clooney or Vera-Ellen, both are great in their respective roles. And don’t over look the musical aspects of this movie either, “White Christmas” sung by Bing Crosby is the best selling single of all time. And the dance numbers are great too, Vera-Ellen was one of the youngest Rockettes, and her dancing skills are amazing. But to call this movie a “Christmas Movie” and relegate it to sentimentalism that pops up once a year is selling it short. This is a movie that brings up the topics of war, growing old, exploitation in media, and what it means to be a family. This is a great movie, and I hope you will enjoy it with an open mind.
Tomorrow is Santa Claus (1959) by Kelley, hope to see you all then!
The post Day 3: White Christmas (1954) first appeared on It's Just Awesome DOT com.]]>Just so there’s no confusion, I am talking about the original 1947 classic, not the 1994 remake. And while I actually like that movie considerably, nothing holds a candle to the original.
It’s not just the best Christmas movie on our list, it’s probably the best Christmas movie ever, and one of the best movies of all time. I’m sure there’s a certain sense of nostalgia at play here, because I certainly remember watching this with my mom every Christmas when I was a boy. This film that she watched as a girl was now captivating me, and though I didn’t know it at the time, it helped foster my love for movies, and for the wonder of them and the joy they could bring.
Before I get too mushy and sentimental, here’s a summary: Macy’s Department Store quickly needs a Santa Claus replacement for their Thanksgiving Parade after their planned one shows up drunk, and who else should be there but a man named Kris Kringle (Edmund Gwenn in an Oscar-winning role). Kris is quite simply incredible and so, the Director of Special Events, Doris Walker (Maureen O’Hara), hires him to continue “playing” Santa at the store. Naturally, he’s widely successful there as well, but he’s being completely open and honest with Macy’s customers, even if that means sending them to other stores where certain Christmas gifts can be had for cheaper. Once the management find out, they’re not too happy. Tack on the fact that Kris actually believes he’s the real Santa, and they decide he needs to be institutionalized. A court case ensues, and Fred Gailey (John Payne), is the only young lawyer who will help defend him. Fred also happens to be in love with Doris, but she’s pretty emotionally distant. She’s taught her daughter, Susan (Natalie Wood), to be detached as well and to not believe in fantasy and make-believe, including Santa Claus. So, not only must Kris win his case and prove he’s the real deal, but he also must somehow convince Doris and Susan that there is magic in the world, and that miracles do exist. A tall order perhaps, but not for Kris Kringle!!
There’s a particular scene with a young Dutch girl whose adoptive mother doesn’t think will be able to speak with Santa, but lo and behold, Santa speaks her language!! But OF COURSE he does!! Even though this beautiful moment is brief, it still manages to catapult the film into another level.
Then there’s the courtroom scene with all the mail bags being brought it. I can’t help but smile each and every time I see it.
Gwenn gives the definitive portrayal of Santa Claus, in my opinion. It goes beyond an actor playing a role. It’s transcendent. He makes the audience believe in him, as well, and the Christmas joy he spreads feels genuine, and never too saccharine. There’s a magical twinkle in his eye that will live forever in celluloid, and that Christmas joy will only continue to spread as future generations embrace this movie, just like it did for me and my mom… and soon my daughter.
Tomorrow, it’s Day 3 with Topher reviewing White Christmas!!
The post Day 2: Miracle on 34th Street (1947) first appeared on It's Just Awesome DOT com.]]>This timeless, Christmas classic is a movie that is appropriate to watch all year long, because it’s really not about Christmas. It is, however, about many aspects of the human experience that we all reflect on a bit more during the holiday season. It’s about family dynamics, the karmic wonderment of selfless deeds being repaid, compassion for your fellow man…the list goes on. Frank Capra is often known for the unabashed and over-the-top wielding of sentiment in his films, but It’s a Wonderful Life tugs on your heartstrings in all the right ways.
In an “aw shucks” casting match made in heaven, Jimmy Stewart and Donna Reed (#Pearlz4Dayz) star as sweethearts George Bailey and Mary Hatch. The story mainly follows George as he grows from boy to man in the small town of Bedford Falls; Mary, too, is an integral part of both the story and George’s happiness. As their life together unfolds, we see that George is a very special person with a tender heart. He saves his brother from a deadly fall through thin ice, stops a bereaved pharmacist from accidentally pouring poison into pill capsules instead of medicine, and takes over his father’s struggling Building & Loan company even though it means putting his own college dreams on hold. Time and time again, George thinks of others before himself, but a lifetime of doing so eventually starts to wear him down.
He becomes frustrated that despite his best efforts, his family lives in a drafty house and has so little money with which to make ends meet. Meanwhile, the power-hungry Mr. Potter (who has Bedford Falls squarely in his pocket) makes money hand-over-fist by exploiting the townspeople George fights so hard to take care of. He feels defeated, insignificant, and crushed beneath the weight of a world that’s moving too quickly to appreciate him. When his uncle misplaces a large sum of money needed to balance their business accounts, George finally loses any shred of hope he had left, and believes he is worth more to his family dead than alive. He goes to a nearby bridge to jump, thinking that his debts can at least be wiped clean with his life insurance policy, but he is stopped by the appearance of his guardian angel, Clarence. George is skeptical at first, but Clarence is able to show him the life his family and friends would have had if he had never been born (suffice it to say that their Georgeless lives are much worse). Much to his surprise, George realizes just how much of an impact he has had on everyone he knows, and he urges Clarence to let him go back to living again.
It’s a Wonderful Life has been parodied and referenced frequently in pop culture over the years, but it’s impressive how well the film holds up today. There is great acting all around, and I defy you not to tear up a little when the citizens of Bedford Falls come out en masse to show George how much his friendship has meant to them. If you remain stone-faced during this final scene, I think you might be dead inside…and we probably can’t be friends anymore.
Even during the dark times, it is indeed a wonderful life, and this is a wonderful movie.
Tomorrow, be sure to join us again for Day 2 of our 12 Days of Christmas series! Charles will be reviewing another beloved family classic: Miracle on 34th Street (1947). You won’t want to miss it!
The post Day 1: It’s a Wonderful Life (1946) first appeared on It's Just Awesome DOT com.]]>Day 1: It’s A Wonderful Life (1946);
Day 2: Miracle on 34th Street (1947);
Day 3: White Christmas (1954);
Day 4: Santa Claus (1959);
Day 5: Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer (1964);
Day 6: A Charlie Brown Christmas (1965);
Day 7: A Christmas Story (1983);
Day 8: Gremlins (1984);
Day 9: National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation (1989);
Day 10: Home Alone (1990);
Day 11: How the Grinch Stole Christmas (2000);
Day 12: Elf (2003).
Jeff Goldblum and Geena Davis star in this one, and I’ll go ahead and preface my review by saying that I have not seen the original version from the ’50s. Therefore, this won’t be a comparison between the two, and any thoughts regarding the 1986 version won’t reflect positive or negative changes from the other.
With that said, I enjoyed this movie. Jeff Goldblum was a great choice to play Seth Brundle, as he fits the nerdy-but-lovable scientist mold quite well. I guess I’d never seen him in anything as early as this, though, because I had no idea his teeth were so weird. He must have had them fixed afterward, but in this movie they lend even more of a fly-like quality to pre-Brundlefly Goldblum.
Before we get into the nitty gritty, let’s do a quick synopsis:
Seth Brundle is working to pioneer a scientific concept that he believes will change the world as we know it: teleportation. He has managed to procure funding for his laboratory and experiments, but his benefactors don’t fully know what he is up to. He wants to perfect the process first, then blow the lid off the scientific community with his model of disintegration/reintegration. At first, Brundle is only able to transport inanimate objects within his pod system, but the tables turn when he meets saucy journalist, Veronica (Geena Davis). The two are instantly swept up in a whirlwind romance (complete with awkward comments about being “driven crazy” by flesh, which somehow provide Brundle with a Eureka moment as to how he might begin to teleport living matter).
Trouble brews in paradise, however, when inappropriate interferences from Veronica’s boss cause Brundle to become jealous and doubt her commitment. He attempts to drown his sorrows in champagne one night, and, awash in self-pity and lowered inhibitions, he steps into the teleportation pod himself. Unfortunately for Brundle, a fly also sneaks into the pod without his knowledge, and the computer system mistakenly fuses their DNA. As the rest of the film unfolds, strange physical and psychological changes start to overtake Brundle, and he becomes a horrifying hybrid between man and fly.
This movie has a much stronger first half than second; once Brundle plunges into the more gruesome aspects of fly fusion, things start to go off the rails for me. Personally, I wish he had either turned into MORE of a fly, or less of one. As it is, Brundle just looks like a gooey burn victim (with shades of The Thing from Fantastic Four). He does have the course insect hairs sprouting from various parts of his body, and he does use the disgusting acid-vomit thing to break down his “food”…but aside from that, there isn’t much to distinguish him as a fly. He doesn’t have wings, he doesn’t have kaleidoscope eyes–he just looks gross. Cronenberg IS known for embracing weirdness and going down questionable roads in his movies, so maybe that was what he was trying to do here. Who knows. Either way, I feel like the transformation scenes could have been a little more successful, and I really don’t like the Lifetime-esque, “I’m pregnant with a monster’s baby!” angle that they force into the ending. It’s just too much.
Overall, I’d call this a decent movie that could have been better. It makes me want to go back and watch Vincent Price’s original version, and see how the two stack up. I do think a lot of the elements Cronenberg employs in this version could/would not have been used in the ’50s, so I’m curious as to how they might differ. One way to find out!
Tomorrow, join me again as I review Bernard Rose’s Candyman (1992) to kick off the 1990s. If you haven’t already, be sure to go back and catch up on any 31 Days of Horror reviews that you might have missed, and keep on comin’ back for more as we head into the last leg of October!!
The post Day 22: The Fly (1986) first appeared on It's Just Awesome DOT com.]]>If you’ve spent much time with me, either in person or via my internet ramblings, you know that I am in a committed relationship with Classic Hollywood. We are not exclusive, per se, but let’s face it–I’m not really interested in seeing other people. Charles may take every opportunity to rib me about my love of Barbara Stanwyck (we even did an episode about her on The Good, The Bad, and the Podcast!) and other 1940s actresses of a similar ilk, but I’m #sorrynotsorry. I’m of the firm belief that they don’t make ’em like they used to, and practically no one validates that theory more than Lauren Bacall.
(I know this isn’t strictly related to The Fan, but bear with me. I’ll get to it.)
For whatever reason, Lauren Bacall doesn’t seem to be as well-remembered today as she deserves to be. She is in certain circles, of course, but I don’t know that she’s a household name like some others from her heyday are: Clark Gable, Jimmy Stewart, Bette Davis, Katharine Hepburn, etc. I would venture a guess that, even if you’re not a big classic movie person, you know who those people are. I don’t think a lot of people who aren’t into the classics know who Lauren Bacall is, and that’s a shame. I hope I’m wrong, but there it is.
If you haven’t seen any of her early movies, I want you to to take the next possible opportunity to watch To Have and Have Not (1944). It is one of my top 10 favorite movies of all time, and I don’t think I’m exaggerating when I say that it will blow your freakin’ mind. The dialogue is electric, and the chemistry between Bacall and Humphrey Bogart is the stuff of cinema legend. Take a look at the clip below, and you’ll see what I mean.
Just, wow. Bogey and Bacall went on to make 3 more movies together, all of which are great, but this one is by far my favorite. It even launched an off-screen relationship between the two stars, despite a staggering age difference (she was 19 when they met, and he was 45). Theirs was one of the few Hollywood romances that actually lasted, and they remained happily married until Bogart’s death in the late 1950s.
I suppose I’ll rein myself in now and get back to the matter at hand, but I do hope you’ll take my advice and check out some of Bacall’s other work. You won’t regret it.
So, The Fan. As you might be able to guess by this point, Lauren Bacall is my favorite thing about this movie. It’s really just an okay film, skippable in the grand scheme of things, but her performance lends enough weight to make it enjoyable if you do happen to come across it whilst channel-surfing.
Bacall stars as Sally Ross, a formerly-glamorous and still-handsome actress of 50ish, who is trying to expand her horizons by breaking onto the stage musical scene. While rehearsing for a new part, she begins to receive a steady flow of passionate letters from one Douglas Breen (Michael Biehn): her self-appointed “biggest fan”. At first, Ross isn’t even aware of the letters, because her secretary responds in her stead. The correspondence grows more and more unseemly, however, and in one racy letter Breen tells Ross that “soon they will be lovers” and he “has all the equipment to make her very, very happy”…ew.
Eventually, Breen becomes impossible to ignore. Mentally unbalanced, furious that Ross will not respond to him personally, and still convinced that they are in a mutual relationship ordained by Heaven itself, Breen commits a series of vicious attacks on Ross’s friends with a straight-razor. When she STILL will not give him the attention he craves, Breen focuses his violent wrath on Ross. If he can’t have her, neither will anybody else. DUN DUN DUN.
We’ve seen similar stories both on-screen and off. The Bodyguard, Selena, the murder of John Lennon…it’s pretty disturbing that this is the kind of thing that really happens. But despite a legitimately haunting premise, The Fan just isn’t quite as powerful as it could be. Bacall does her part, but the rest of the film is missing something–I’m not quite sure what. Even James Garner, who is usually excellent, is slightly one-dimensional here. I don’t know, I guess I just wanted more from this movie. It’s still fairly decent, but it’s better to go in with moderate to low expectations.
Tomorrow, Charles will be discussing the 1982 remake of Cat People, which should be interesting to say the least. Be sure to check that out, as well as the rest of our selections for 31 Days of Horror!!
The post Day 20: The Fan (1981) first appeared on It's Just Awesome DOT com.]]>The Shining is based on the chilling novel by Stephen King, and it is yet another movie that has permeated pop culture to such an extent that it’s impossible not to have heard of it. Even if you haven’t seen the movie, there are certain unforgettable moments in it that I’ll wager have managed to filter into your subconscious. To name only a few:
“Heeere’s JOHNNY!”
“Red rum. Red rum. RED RUM.”
“All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”
“Hello, Danny. Come and play with us. Come and play with us, Danny. Forever… and ever… and ever.”
To say that this movie is iconic would be an understatement. It’s one of the scariest horror films of all time, and also one of the best. In fact, it’s probably one of my top 20 movies in general, horror or otherwise, which is saying a great deal (I’m usually a weenie about truly scary films).
Jack Nicholson stars, in one of his best-remembered roles, as Jack Torrance–a man who is slowly overtaken by forces of unspeakable evil. The film begins with Torrance accepting a position as winter caretaker of the remote Overlook Hotel, where he hopes to find the peace he needs to work on his writing. For five snowy, isolated months, he and his family will be the hotel’s only inhabitants.
At first, the Torrances enjoy the solitary quietude of the majestic Colorado mountains, but Jack’s son Danny soon begins to be haunted by gruesome premonitions. As it turns out, the Overlook has an eerie, unsavory history (to say the least): one of the previous caretakers went mad with cabin fever, and chopped his family to pieces with an axe. Through Jack’s own gradual decline into mania, and Danny’s increasingly horrifying visions, we start to suspect that the hotel itself is evil; it envelops those who enter with a dark, malignant presence.
This movie will creep the bejeezus out of you. It’s a well-executed thriller, yes, but the creepiness is magnified times ten by the stunning visuals and profoundly jarring soundtrack. There isn’t much of a standard musical score to The Shining–instead we’re given something much more terrifying. Throughout the film, a cluster of bows scrape discordantly across their violin strings, and you’re left with the sensation that you might now know what it would sound like to hear someone’s fingernails rake down the walls of Hell. That might seem like an overly dramatic description, but the noise is REALLY FREAKIN’ UNSETTLING. It’s genius, really, because it puts the viewer immediately on edge, and doesn’t release you until the movie is over.
The one thing that I find a little silly about The Shining is minor, but worth pointing out: Shelley Duvall’s cartoonish performance as Wendy Torrance. In both appearance and general movement across the screen, she is a combination of Olive Oyl, Tim Burton’s Corpse Bride, and a baby gazelle. I guess it kind of works for a horror movie, but it’s just odd to see when every other aspect of the film is so serious. Anyway, even Duvall’s goofy running and limp-wristed knife waving can’t tarnish this movie for me–it’s that good.
Watch it, if you haven’t already…just don’t do so alone.
Tomorrow, be sure to come back and check out my review of 1981’s The Fan, which features the always-classy star of my heart, Lauren Bacall (To Have and Have Not, The Big Sleep). Until then, it’s a great time to catch up on any 31 Days of Horror reviews that you might have missed! See you tomorrow.
The post Day 19: The Shining (1980) first appeared on It's Just Awesome DOT com.]]>I have no idea how this is possible, but up until now, I’d managed to go my entire life without ever having seen this movie. It’s not that I purposely avoided it, but I’m not a huge extraterrestrial/space movie person–I suppose I just never got around to it. Suffice it to say that I’m glad I finally did.
Y’all, Alien has 8.5 stars on IMDb, and it earns every single one of them. Do you know what else has 8.5 stars on IMDb? Casablanca. Citizen Kane. Sunset Boulevard. We’re talking some of the most famous, beloved movies of all time. It is unequivocally a classic, and I’d go so far as to say that it deserves to be seen by everyone. If, like me, you’ve been lazy about renting it thus far: Go do it. Right now. I’ll wait.
Alien centers around a 7-person crew aboard the space merchant vessel, Nostromo. At the film’s opening, the crew is prematurely awakened from cryo-sleep when the vessel responds to an unknown transmission from a nearby moon. The transmission is automatically perceived as a distress call, and despite some dissension within the ranks about the proper protocol, Nostromo lands on the moon to investigate and lend aid. During exploration of the moon’s surface, the team encounters a nest of mysterious alien eggs, one of which spontaneously bursts open. The life-form within the burst egg proceeds to penetrate crewman Kane’s helmet, and attaches itself to his face…shudder.
Ellen Ripley, warrant officer of the Nostromo, is deeply concerned about bringing Kane back aboard the spacecraft in his current, compromised state, but the crew defy her orders and bring him aboard anyway (alien still attached to his face and all). After a brief comatose period, Kane ultimately awakens and the creature is nowhere to be found–much to the crew’s dismay. They eventually find the body of the crab-like alien, believing it dead; what they don’t realize, however, is that its life cycle has only just begun.
This movie is just fantastic. The practical effects are amazing, as is the acting from all parties involved. This was Sigourney Weaver’s first leading role, and it’s easy to see why it catapulted her into stardom. Not only did it bring Weaver personal acclaim, but her portrayal of Ripley challenged traditional gender roles in both science fiction and horror genres for years to come. Ripley is not a slinky seductress or a boring do-nothing; she doesn’t wear spandex or makeup, and she doesn’t die immediately following a sexy interlude with her hardier male co-star. In fact, she doesn’t even HAVE any sexy interludes in this movie. It’s not what she’s about. Unlike so many other leading ladies of Sci-fi and horror, she’s not defined by the man she’s helping–she is her own boss, damnit, and she gets things done. Ripley isn’t a simpering yes-woman, and at times she can be rude and abrasive. But, more importantly, she’s a PERSON: a real one. I love when movies give us leads who are flawed as well as heroic; it just rings truer for me. Perhaps this is part of the reason why the American Film Institute named Ripley the 8th greatest hero of all time. Her character feels authentic, and I stand in awe of that even after the movie is over.
As I said before: if you haven’t already seen this film, please, please seek it out. It’s heart-pounding suspense at its best, and I was quite literally on the edge of my seat for the entire second half of the movie (not to mention the goosebumps that refused to recede into my flesh until the credits finished rolling). You can find it on Netflix DVD and Amazon Video, and you will absolutely not be sorry. If nothing else, you’ll feel a little more a part of pop culture, and you’ll finally get about a zillion subsequent TV and movie references. Who can put a price on that?
Tomorrow, join me again as I review Stanley Kubrick’s 1980 classic, The Shining. I have a feeling many of you have already seen this one, so be sure to come back and see if our thoughts line up on Day 19, as well as the rest of our 31 Days of Horror!!
The post Day 18: Alien (1979) first appeared on It's Just Awesome DOT com.]]>Now, I suspect many of you aren’t familiar with the “Giallo” style. To be honest, I wasn’t either. But it seemed that everytime I began doing serious research into horror film history, certain movies kept popping up again and again. Suspiria is one of those films, as well as Blood and Black Lace and Deep Red.
And they’re all attributed to this Italian “Giallo” genre.
So, what were these films from Italy? And why are they constantly cited?
Well, “giallo” means “yellow” in Italian, and it refers to the color of the cover of certain crime / mystery paperback novels in Italy. These novels often shared many similar elements with these “giallo” movies, including masked killers and a certain amount of eroticism, even if the stories weren’t directly adapted into the movies. The movies themselves were usually quite gory, or at least shockingly violent, and they had a really beautiful cinematic style which included bold color palettes and creative camerawork. The music often felt disorientating because it was often juxtaposed with what was occurring on screen, meaning it might have had happy or cheerful music playing while someone was being stabbed to death. But they almost always had a mysterious killer attacking people one-by-one, and it was often women that were being attacked while particularly vulnerable (nude, for example). If that sounds familiar, it’s because these movies heavily inspired the American “slasher” film genre, in particular films like Halloween and Friday the 13th.
The plot for Deep Red falls right in line with “Giallo” films. An English musician in Italy witnesses the gruesome murder pf a clairvoyant woman (who previously had visions of the murderer) one night while he’s out with his friend. He teams up with a reporter to try and figure out who the killer is, and in doing so, the killer begins to go after both of them, while also continuing on a murder spree. Where will this murderer strike next? And can anything be done before it’s too late?
I have to say, I REALLY enjoyed this movie.
My wife and I watched it with our friend Toby, and shortly into the movie, he proclaimed it was literally one of the worst movies he’s ever seen (in his best Chris Traeger impression, no less).
Granted, it does take a while to get into it, and the music is very odd (even if it is popular) but I flat-out disagree with him.
There are moments of pure brilliance here, including some fantastic camera movements. For instance, in one particularly wide shot, we are watching a couple discuss details of a murder that had just occurred in the house they’re in. It’s all in one long take, and at the conclusion of the conversation, the lady, who is at the end of the hallway, looks up in our direction right at the camera. The camera quickly moves to the left to duck out of her view, and at that moment we realize that we have been staring through the eyes of (presumably) the killer the entire conversation. It literally gives me chills just thinking about it.
Another moment like that? When a man is playing piano at home by himself and hears someone in the other room. As he knows the killer has been after him, he continues to play while also quietly reaching for an object to hopefully defend himself. The phone suddenly goes off and he rushes to the bedroom door to slam it shut. Just as he does so, he hears the killer whispering to him from the other room that he’ll kill him another time. Eeeesh!!!
I also love that the movie messes with us. It’s revealed in a flashback that the movie actually showed us who the killer was immediately after the first murder. Since this whole thing plays out like a whodunnit (complete with a twist ending), having seen the killer’s face that early would have instantly given it away, but somehow, this movie did just that and we were none-the-wiser. I even watched it again to see if it was lying to us during that flashback, but sure enough, the killer is actually revealed and quite clearly, too. That’s confident filmmaking at its finest.
Then there’s the whole aspect of the mechanical doll that is used as a distraction. It is very clearly the inspiration for the similar device in Saw and it was amazing to see it here, nearly 30 years earlier.
So, absolutely check out this movie as well as the other “Giallo” films. They’re worth your time, especially if you already enjoy slasher movies.
On a complete side note: Why do the background extras stand perfectly still in certain scenes during Deep Red? Is there any significance to that? Because it can be quite distracting at times (and is another reason Toby didn’t like this movie). There’s even a bar in the background of one shot that resembles that Nighthawks painting by Edward Hopper… and again, the extras are all completely and eerily frozen.
Tomorrow, Kelley will be reviewing Ridley Scott’s Alien so you’ll want to be here for that as she closes out the 1970s!!
The post Day 17: Deep Red (1975) first appeared on It's Just Awesome DOT com.]]>It’s a modern-day take on the tale of Hansel and Gretel, and Shelley Winters stars as the titular Auntie Roo. Man, poor Shelley Winters. Despite a colorful, decades-long career and numerous Oscar nominations/wins, she never seems to get to play somebody whom you actually like. To me, Winters will forever be the frumpy sad-sack, Alice Tripp, getting kinda-sorta-deservingly drowned by Montgomery Clift in A Place in the Sun. Terrible, I know, but the lady does odious, second-string broads pretty darn well. She plays a kooky weirdo yet again in Auntie Roo, although I will say that she’s much more palatable than usual here.
Something I found very interesting about the role of Rosie Forrest (aka Auntie Roo) in this movie is that she doesn’t quite fit the typical mold for Hag Horror. Yes, Ms. Winters is a formerly glamorous starlet who has been relegated to the Hollywood B Team for the unthinkable crime of aging (although she’s still not very old here, just a bit less physically fabulous), BUT the categorization of the “hags” in these films usually tilts one of two ways: A. The Predatory Older Woman, or B. The Older Woman in Peril. Sometimes, both categories will be filled in the same movie (What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?, Hush…Hush, Sweet Charlotte), but such an occurrence is rare. Anyway, in Auntie Roo, the character of Mrs. Forrest does not really fall in either camp. She never actually intends the children any harm–they just THINK she does. Granted, she has some severe mental hangups about the death of her daughter that she absolutely needs to seek therapy for. But as far as being a Predatory Older Woman…I don’t think so.
Alas, I’m getting ahead of myself again. Synopsis time!
Every year, the widowed Mrs. Rosie Forrest hosts a lavish, lovely Christmas party at her mansion for a select group of neighborhood orphans. This particular year, a sweet and sandy-haired brother and sister (Christopher and Katy Coombs) tag along to the party, despite not being selected by their chilly headmistress to attend. Mrs. Forrest, however, is delighted by their courtly manners and innocent presence. She urges them to stay, and to call her “Auntie Roo”. She even ends up taking a particular shine to Katy, who reminds her of her own deceased daughter (also named Katharine).
As the story unfolds, we learn that the late Katharine Forrest died in a heart wrenching accident while sliding down the bannister–an accident from which Auntie Roo has never recovered. We also learn that Roo regularly “communicates” with Katharine in the form of seances, as well as singing lullabies to her daughter’s decayed corpse every night in the nursery. Eesh. There is even a scene towards the end of the movie where Roo lovingly strokes the powdery, skeletal face, only to have it disintegrate into ash between her fingers. Talk about being scarred for life.
The central conflict of the movie is that Roo (a little too tenaciously, I’ll admit) wants to adopt the orphaned Katy and keep her at the mansion as a replacement for the daughter she lost. Unfortunately for Roo, Katy’s brother Christopher is part of the deal, and he is wise to her kidnap-flavored plans (and all the creepy, corpse-related moments he has witnessed while spying on her). He and Katy manage to escape Forrest Grange unharmed, but (*spoiler alert, as indicated by the movie’s title*) the same cannot be said for Auntie Roo.
The main problem with conflating this movie with Hansel and Gretel is that a direct comparison is rather misleading. In this story, Roo is an extremely sympathetic character overall. Her actions are misinterpreted by the children (Christopher, especially), therefore they see her as a force of evil when she is really not. Unlike in the original Hansel and Gretel tale, Roo isn’t a crazy, malevolent witch who wants to snatch up wayward children in order to eat them for supper. She genuinely loves kids. She is sad, she is unbearably lonely, she is perhaps mentally unstable…but never ill-intentioned. It’s a pretty tragic story when you get right down to it, and one that may even have a darker ending than the original fairy tale.
I think I would give this one a solid B grade. Shelley Winters’ theatrics can be a little much at times, but on the whole it’s an interesting spin on a classic story, with decent scares and legitimate suspense. You can find Whoever Slew Auntie Roo? available to stream on Amazon Video–give it a chance and let me know what you think!
Tomorrow, Charles will continue our exploration of the ’70s with a review on 1975’s Deep Red. Be sure to come back to check it out, along with the rest of this month’s reviews for 31 Days of Horror!!
The post Day 16: Whoever Slew Auntie Roo? (1972) first appeared on It's Just Awesome DOT com.]]>First of all, this is a weird, weird movie. There is so much symbolism, and so much psychological commentary, that it leaves the viewer unsure how to separate the real from the imagined. Even after watching, I still don’t know which aspects were exclusively happening inside the main character’s mind, and which aspects legitimately occurred. I’m certain that this is intentional on the part of Mr. Polanski, but it is a bit of a negative as well as a positive for me, personally.
The film mainly revolves around the inner anguish of innocently sensual Carol LeDoux. Carol is played by Catherine Denueve, who turns in a haunting performance as the sexually confused young woman. Something ugly in Carol’s past has clearly made her abhor men (and the idea of sex that they inherently represent), but we are not given any further insight as to the exact origins of her anxiety. Be that as it may, Carol is quite attractive (albeit a little childlike), so she finds herself fending off men’s advances at practically every turn. These repeated romantic stressors, coupled with the departure of her sister (and her sister’s lover, who is a completely separate source of consternation to Carol altogether), cause her to slowly lose her grip on reality and descend into homicidal madness. It is unsettling, to say the least.
Right from the opening credit sequence, Polanski builds an atmosphere of tense expectation– an unshakeable, claustrophobic feeling that something horrifying is about to happen. He never lets that feeling slip, either. The entire hour and forty plus minutes of the film are taut, well-paced, and highly suspenseful (even if a little confusing at times). Also contributing to the sense of anticipatory horror are the subtle, eerie sounds happening in the background of every scene: flies buzzing around the raw rabbit that Carol leaves out in the kitchen; the incessantly ticking clock; water slowly dripping from the faucet; the list goes on.
Repulsion is an extremely artistic movie, and very European in tone. The soundtrack, the heavy French accents of the two leading ladies, and the crisp black and white all contribute to the overall feeling that you’re watching a foreign film. Even the vacancy of Catherine Denueve’s Carol is reminiscent of a sad and beautiful mime. All that’s missing is a bicycle, a black turtleneck sweater, and moonlit shots of the Champs-Elysses. It may sound silly, but I actually favor these technical and mood-related aspects of the film over the story itself. I believe there is such a thing as trying too hard to make a movie open to interpretation, and in my opinion, that’s what Polanski was guilty of here.
Tomorrow, please join me again as we begin the 1970s with another entry from the “hag horror” genre: Whoever Slew Auntie Roo? (1971). Thanks for reading, and keep on comin’ back for more 31 Days of Horror!!
The post Day 15: Repulsion (1965) first appeared on It's Just Awesome DOT com.]]>If you’re a listener of our podcast, then you’ll recall we’ve done an episode over Bette Davis (who is the star of this movie) and an episode over Hag Horror (which is the genre of this movie). Both of those episodes were picked by Kelley, so she’s clearly a fan. She also didn’t pick this movie as her “good” choice for that Hag Horror episode; instead, she chose What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?, which is quite surprising to me because Hush…Hush, Sweet Charlotte is far and away the better film, even if the two are very, very similar.
Oddly enough, though, Kelley wasn’t the one who added this movie to our list this year. I was, and I didn’t include it to appease or amuse Kelley, either. I added it because years ago, my good friend Buzz tried to get me and my wife to watch it as his house late one night. Having never heard of it, I was skeptical but I will pretty much watch any movie anytime, so I agreed. After the opening scene, which is quite shocking and horrific, I was hooked. My wife, however, is not a night person, and neither is Buzz, so both fell asleep not too far into the movie. I decided I would try and finish it with them later, only later never really happened. Every time it seems we’re actually going to meet up to watch it, we end up doing something else or we get sidetracked or life happens or whatever. But I take 31 Days of Horror seriously, and I knew if it was on the list, I would watch it no-matter-what, even if that meant without Buzz, and unfortunately, that’s exactly what it meant. I suppose it just wasn’t meant to be, but I still owe it to him for turning me on to this film (and I suppose for having good taste in movies in general), but I digress.
The plot revolves around a man named John who is cheating on his wife with Charlotte in 1927 Louisiana. The two plan to elope after a lavish party, but when Charlotte’s father gets wind of their plan, he is furious and privately tells John he must call it off. John reluctantly does so, and Charlotte does not take it well. The next thing he knows, he’s being attacked with a butcher knife and loses a hand… as well as his head (this is that shocking thing I mentioned earlier). Charlotte returns to the party all covered in blood, and the people there freak out, naturally. Flash forward to 1964, and the tale has become somewhat of an urban legend. Charlotte nows lives alone as a recluse at her father’s house (where the murder occurred) and except for her housekeeper Velma, she hardly ever sees anyone. Complications arise because it seems there’s a road that needs to be built where the house stands, and she apparently has no say in the matter. The whole place will be torn down, forcing her to find somewhere else to live and start fresh, though that is the exact opposite of what she wants… mostly because she has never recovered from that horrible night. And when her cousin Miriam shows up to help with the whole situation, Charlotte begins to lose touch with reality, seeing strange visions around the house.
That may not sound much like What Ever Happened to Baby Jane, but the two movies both revolve around a horrific accident that took places years earlier, leaving the title character (played by Bette Davis in both films) isolated and insane in her father’s house. They both involve a housekeeper who learns too much and eventually pays the price for it. They both play out as sort of a whodunnit with a twist ending that changes our perception of said title character. And they both nearly starred Bette Davis and Joan Crawford; in fact, Joan Crawford was originally cast to play the part of Miriam, and even shot several scenes, but for various reasons (including an illness), she was replaced with Olivia de Havilland.
I think this movie works better because Bette Davis’ Charlotte character is much more sympathetic than her character of Jane in Baby Jane, where she essentially played the villain. She may be crazy, but we in the audience knowd where she’s coming from and can feel her pain. She lost the love of her life and we’re able to go along with her spooky visions of him because we understand her sorrow. I really enjoyed her performance overall and don’t feel like she hit a wrong note, which is quite an accomplishment considering all of the crazy things going on.
Also, I think the effects are quite good, and seeing a severed hand on the floor, and a decapitated head rolling down the stairs, really caught me off guard. The film opens on that murder sequence and is able to maintain its creepiness throughout.
The one thing I did not like was Agnes Moorehead as her housekeeper. I think she’s way too over-the-top to be taken seriously, especially with her put on New Orleans accent. I may be in the minority, though, because she was nominated for an Academy Award for this!! It reminds of me of Anne Ramsey being nominated for Throw Momma from the Train. Both terrible performances that were somehow praised at the time. I suppose I’ll never understand.
For tomorrow, Kelley will close out the 1960s with her review of Roman Polanski’s Repulsion!!
The post Day 14: Hush…Hush, Sweet Charlotte (1964) first appeared on It's Just Awesome DOT com.]]>Here’s the thing about House of Usher, though: it somehow manages to both exceed and fall short of my expectations. Vincent Price is, of course, fantastic as the sinister and hyper-sensitive Roderick Usher– he’s really the main reason to watch this movie. Everyone else…meh. Myrna Fahey as Madeline Usher simply isn’t given enough to do. Her storyline is arguably the most important, but since the tale is largely told from the perspective of her fiancé, she doesn’t even have that many lines. I don’t think she has more than two facial expressions during the first hour of the movie, either (which isn’t a knock on Fahey’s acting, it’s just that for the first few acts, her on-screen purpose seems solely to be embodying a delicate combination of loveliness and rue). Mark Damon, doing his best Ricky Nelson imitation, does have the bee-stung lips and ruffled shirt going on, but even his stylish pompadour and competent axe-wielding prove no match for the evil (and structural deficiency) of the house of Usher.
I’ll keep the synopsis short and sweet: Philip Winthrop (Damon) rides all the way from Boston on horseback to spend time with his lady love, Madeline Usher (Fahey). He has never been to her estate before, and upon entering, finds himself immediately accosted by shrouds of gloom and a melodramatic, lute-playing future brother-in-law, Roderick Usher (Price). After much pessimistic hemming and hawing, Usher explains to Winthrop that both he and Madeline are under a terrible family curse, and will be dying any moment now. Their family tree, he intones, contains over 200 years of bad apples that have resulted in some very poor Usher karma indeed. Winthrop is naturally skeptical of this morbid mysticism, but can’t resist being unnerved by the COMPLETELY TERRIFYING paintings in the family portrait gallery. Seriously, I do not know who was tripping on what when these were painted, but wow. Guess I’m not sleeping tonight.
Winthrop understandably tries to remove Madeline from the house as soon as possible, but an argument with Roderick over their departure causes her to descend into a catatonic state. Roderick believes her dead (or does he?), so he quickly and efficiently buries her while still alive (!!) in the family crypt. Once Winthrop discovers this, the rest of the movie is actually quite suspenseful as he frantically tries to find and free Madeline from her sealed coffin. The scares in this film are largely confined to the latter half, but when they deliver, they deliver big-time.
House of Usher‘s visuals remind me a bit of Francis Ford Coppola’s 1992 take on Bram Stoker’s Dracula— which is to say that the colors are hyper-saturated times ten, and are practically dripping off the screen. Price wears quite possibly the reddest overcoat ever imagined by man, and everything down to the tiniest minutia seems hellbent on singeing your retinas. It’s kind of cool, but also…ouch.
Overall, this film is good but not great. It’s an important entry in Vincent Price’s filmography, and demonstrates why he is so great in classic villainous roles such as these…but does anyone who doesn’t care about Vincent Price really NEED to see it? No, probably not. It’s entertaining, and the last 20 minutes are actually pretty freaky, but it’s a very stylized film that I don’t know will necessarily appeal to all audiences. In other words, if you are already a fan of classic horror, Vincent Price, or the macabre writings of Edgar Allan Poe (or if you’re just a film nerd like we are here at ItsJustAwesome.com), there are plenty of things to enjoy and appreciate about House of Usher. If you’re a newbie looking to get into the genre, however, I do not recommend this as your gateway movie.
Tomorrow, Charles will be reviewing one of my favorite “hag horror” flicks: Hush…Hush, Sweet Charlotte (1964). The movie boasts a powerhouse cast in Bette Davis (All About Eve, Now Voyager), Olivia de Havilland (Gone With the Wind, The Heiress), and Joseph Cotten (Citizen Kane, The Third Man). You definitely don’t want to miss this one, so be sure to join us again tomorrow for more 31 Days of Horror!!
The post Day 13: House of Usher (1960) first appeared on It's Just Awesome DOT com.]]>There is still a certain B-movie feel to it (the premise is that a gigantic tarantula is terrorizing the town, after all), but for the most part it succeeds where many other monster movies of this era fail. It doesn’t go over the top with kooky, animatronic creatures and silly sound effects, and the movie is supported at its core by genuinely good storytelling.
Tarantula even features a strong, intelligent leading lady in Mara Corday, who, while beautiful, does things to further the plot beyond clutching her graceful cheekbones and shrieking. Imagine that!
Let me back up a bit, though, and give you a synopsis. Our film starts out once again in the Arizona desert– clearly, the most hip-happening place in the ’50s for mysterious, unexplainable phenomena. Young and ever-so-slightly oily Dr. Matt Hastings (John Agar) is urgently summoned to the Sheriff’s office to weigh in on the death of a horribly deformed, roadside John Doe. The Sheriff believes the body to be that of missing scientist Eric Jacobs, but it’s nearly impossible to confirm due to the twisted, diseased state of the face. Dr. Hastings is at a loss for answers, and it’s only through eventual confirmation from another well-known country doctor, Dr. Deemer, that they can positively ID the body as Jacobs. Deemer seems to be harboring secrets, but he assures Dr. Hastings that the affliction which befell Dr. Jacobs was nothing more sinister than acromegaly (even though Hastings knows acromegaly is incredibly rare, and usually takes years to advance to this level, not days).
As it turns out, Dr. Deemer and Dr. Jacobs were research partners at a remote laboratory 20 miles into the desert. Unbeknownst to the townspeople, they were conducting experimental research into human and animal growth hormones as a way to increase the world’s food supply. It’s almost like the inverse of an egomaniacal Bond villain scheme…and even though it will obviously never work, you have to applaud them for trying. Unfortunately, during a struggle at the lab after Jacobs’ death, a fire breaks out and many of the animal test subjects are compromised. Among these, a tarantula (one of the more advanced-stage subjects of the experiment) is able to escape the lab and flee into the desert, where it continues to grow ever larger and more menacing.
I appreciate that the filmmakers didn’t try to BUILD a giant tarantula out of robotics or claymation or papier mache or whatever, but instead used trick photography to make a regular-sized tarantula look huge on the set. It makes the film hold up much better over time. I also thought there was a perfect number of tarantula shots throughout the film–just enough to build suspense and see that it was growing larger and larger (and more bloodthirsty), but not straight-up 80 minutes of bombs going off and the tarantula running amok through the city. It’s a movie largely focused on the events leading up to, and in the wake of, the escape of the giant spider, with occasional cuts to the desert to see what the big guy is up to. I like this approach a lot, and tip my hat to the director for making the call.
Okay, let’s talk about Mara Corday’s character for a moment. Corday plays the sultry female scientist, Stephanie “Steve” Clayton, and her performance is fantastic! She arrives on the scene by way of a streetcar named Desire (thanks, Carol Burnett!), and proceeds to wow her male counterparts with the manly size of her brain. There are several little quips from Drs. Hastings and Deemer at first (“Give women the vote and what do you get? Lady scientists.”), but Steve remains unfazed. She is cool, collected, and well-read; it doesn’t take long for her to win the complete professional confidence of Dr. Deemer. Not only does Steve become an essential part of Deemer’s laboratory operations, but she is also Hastings’ girl Friday when it comes to unraveling the mystery of the tarantula. She seems to be channeling real-life Hedy Lamarr here, and I love it.
This movie is definitely worth checking out, and you can do so via Netflix DVD. I’d say it’s among the better-done monster movies of the decade, carried by an interesting (if fantastic) plot, solid acting, and progressive female roles. Let me know in the comments below whether you agree or disagree!
Tomorrow, join me again as I review our first movie of the 1960s: House of Usher, starring Vincent Price. I hope you’ve been enjoying our 31 Days of Horror series so far, and that you’ll continue to come back for more during the rest of October!
The post Day 12: Tarantula (1955) first appeared on It's Just Awesome DOT com.]]>Godzilla has remained popular throughout the years, what with the recent Gareth Edwards version and the new Shin Godzilla, so it’s hard to imagine that there’s many of you out there that don’t know the plot, but here’s a synopsis anyway: A Japanese ship suddenly goes missing, and then another one as well. Japanese Authorities are baffled until they realize that the ships are actually being destroyed by a giant radioactive dinosaur from the Jurassic Period who has been brought to life by atomic bomb testing. This dinosaur, Gojira / Godzilla (which, I guess, are used interchangeably??), soon begins to wreak havoc on Japan, and the military struggles to come up with a solution.
Professor Yamane wants to take a more scientific approach and observe Godzilla instead of killing him. He wants to learn everything about this creature (especially the radioactive bit) even at the expense of many more people dying. Meanwhile, Navy man Hideto Ogato thinks they should defeat Godzilla by any means necessary. He also wants to marry Yamane’s daughter, Emiko, but when he begins to bring it up with Yamane, the two get in a huge argument and nothing is resolved. The whole situation looks hopeless, and after a few different attempts by the military to destroy him, it seems Godzilla is unstoppable. It turns out, however, that Dr. Serizawa (with whom Emiko is betrothed) actually has an experimental device that could eliminate Godzilla once-and-for-all, but he doesn’t want to use it for fear that it would be used to harm people after Godzilla is defeated.
This is the part of the movie that intrigued me the most. Take a step back for a second, and look at what Godzilla represents: The consequences of nuclear fallout in a country that, less than a decade earlier, had seen first hand just what an atomic bomb could do. Dr. Serizawa’s reluctance to use a weapon, even to save his own country, arguably sounds like a critique of the United States (specifically President Harry Truman) and it raises the question: Does the end ever justify the means? Ultimately, in this movie, Serizawa figures out a way to defeat Godzilla and keep others from using his weapon again by sacrificing himself, but that also has strong implications and raises some other questions (Namely: Why couldn’t his device be remotely detonated??). Professor Yamane even gives a speech about it in the closing lines of the film, ominously warning about using atomic bombs to create other Godzilla monsters. It’s brilliantly intriguing and philosophical at the same time without really offering up a good answer. Maybe there isn’t one?
And this is all why I think believe Gojira is a better film than the American version. That movie stripped away most of the atomic bomb implications and focused more on the monster / creature feature aspects. It also dubbed over many of the original Japanese actors, but very inconsistently because sometimes they’re dubbed in English and sometimes they’re subtitled while speaking Japanese. It’s a strange blend. So, I would skip that one (assuming you haven’t already seen it) and seek this one out. It’s a gem of a movie with a message that still resonates today.
It’s Day 12 tomorrow and Kelley will be reviewing Tarantula, so be sure to come back and check it out!!
The post Day 11: Gojira (1954) first appeared on It's Just Awesome DOT com.]]>I’m sorry to say it, but I really didn’t enjoy this movie very much. It is a combination of all the worst aspects of ’50s movies: it’s supremely cheesy, xenophobic, flimsy in plot, and just plain boring. It isn’t horrible, or even BAD, necessarily…but it definitely does not stand the test of time. I fell asleep at least twice while watching, and then had to rewind to be sure I hadn’t missed anything. Spoiler alert: I hadn’t.
It might be fun to see with friends at the drive-in for a cult movie night or something, but ultimately It Came From Outer Space is just another goofy alien flick. Or, to put it another way, it’s like a mashup of all the least popular episodes of Star Trek, The Twilight Zone, and The Andy Griffith Show. Read into that what you will.
The movie begins with young couple John Putnam (Carlson) and Ellen Fields (Rush) enjoying a candlelit dinner at their home in Arizona, making carefree jokes about living together “in sin”. They go out onto the terrace for a little late-night stargazing (Putnam, as an amateur astronomer, has a massive telescope set up there), when they see what they believe to be a meteor streaking across the sky. It crashes into the desert nearby, and the two lovebirds race to the scene of the collision. John skitters down into the bowels of the crater to get a closer look (casting aside the frantic remonstrations of schoolteacher Ellen), and what he sees astonishes him. It’s not a meteor at all, but instead an alien spacecraft! Naturally, no one believes him–not even Ellen at first.
Putnam butts heads with Sheriff Matt Warren (who is clearly in love with Ellen as well) time and time again over his theories regarding the crash, to no avail. Even after Putnam has seen and talked with the aliens (which takes a ridiculously long time to occur), Sheriff Warren and the townspeople refuse to believe in their existence. It’s a classic mob mentality situation–they don’t believe in the aliens until they suddenly do, and once they do, they charge in with guns literally blazing, despite Putnam earnestly beseeching them to do the opposite. The filmmakers are pretty heavy-handed with the “humans fear that which they do not understand” metaphor, and, while true, it is incredibly frustrating to watch.
The aliens themselves are pretty hilarious-looking, though. They’re kind of these amorphous blob shapes, with a long, protruding eyeball and…hair? It’s extremely bizarre, and makes me appreciate the lack of screen time they have in their “true” form. I think the sight is intended to be frighteningly grotesque (even the stoic Putnam cheesily recoils in horror), but it’s just funny to me. The aliens also leave a glittering, slug-like trail (reminiscent of bedazzled jeans) everywhere they go, which is pretty much a drinking game waiting to happen. Every time you hear the theremin accompany a slow camera pan along the bedazzled alien sludge, finish your drink. See you in the E.R.
Again, this movie could be worth checking out under the right circumstances…as long as those circumstances involve friends, the ability to throw popcorn at the screen, and a setting where nobody is taking things too seriously. Otherwise, I do not suggest you rent this movie on a Saturday night, hoping for a good time. If you’re a contrarian and want to prove me wrong, however, you can find it available for streaming on Amazon Video and Apple TV.
Tomorrow, Charles will be continuing our journey through 1950s horror with 1954’s Gojira. Stay tuned for this and all the rest of our October reviews during the 31 Days of Horror!!
The post Day 10: It Came From Outer Space (1953) first appeared on It's Just Awesome DOT com.]]>I’m sure it would pain Mark to know this, but I must confess that I have never read the book by Oscar Wilde.
I’m sure it would also pain Kelley to know this, but I must confess that I have never seen any cinematic adaptation of it, of which there have been quite a few.
Now, that doesn’t mean I’m completely ignorant of the subject. This particular piece of literature has become so ingrained in pop culture that it was even used a punch line to insult Meg on Family Guy (When she asks how she looks in her new glasses, Stewie tells her, “In an attic somewhere, there’s a portrait of you getting prettier.”) but it does mean that right upfront, you should know that I have no idea this version compares to the book or if it’s better or worse than other Dorian Gray movie, but having said all of that, I loved this movie. That’s all longwinded to be sure, but yes, I really did love this movie.
So, for those that don’t know the plot, it is set in London during the late 1800s, and is about a young man named Dorian Gray (played by Hurd Hatfield) who is having his portrait done. He muses that he wishes his portrait could age instead of him, and thanks to an Egyptian cat sculpture, Gray’s wish comes true. But this is a horror film, after all, so there has to be a catch, right? Of course there does!! And this particular catch is that Gray’s inner ugliness will be exposed through the portrait itself, as the portrait changes over time instead of Gray, who completely stops aging. Those around him find this disconcerting to say the least, and it ultimately isolates him and drives him mad.
Lord Henry Wotton (George Sanders, who I always best remember as the voice of Shere Kahn in The Jungle Book) plays a sort of devilish character who talks Gray into living life to the fullest and giving in to his wildest dreams and desires. It’s through Lord Wotton’s advice that Gray passes on the opportunity to be with Sibyl Vane (a VERY young Angela Lansbury), a singer that he falls in love with early on. His rejection causes her to commit suicide, and this is the point of no return for Mr. Gray. After that, it’s vague as to what exactly he does that is so horrible in his life (aside from the onscreen murder, of course), but I rather like that aspect of the story. It’s almost a mirror to the audience, asking us to imagine our worst qualities and our worst actions and what it would be like to have a painting displaying them for all the world to see. Perhaps you’d cover it up just as he does, but would that ever be enough? It still exists. The psychosis on display feels gradual and thus, natural. It’s handled extremely well.
I also particularly love the cinematography of this film. It’s a black and white film, but a select few shots of the portrait are in full technicolor and they are GORGEOUS!! They’re also extremely jarring, which is perfect for a horror movie, and can be used to shocking effect in what otherwise might have fallen flat. It also helps that the portrait itself is growing more and more hideous each time it is revealed.
But more than just the few color inserts, I enjoyed the stylized cinematography during the first murder scene, with the hanging light swinging violently, creating intense chaos in a dance of light and shadows on the walls. It’s beautiful and creepy and I love it.
And that encapsulates my feelings about this movie. If you haven’t seen it, go check it out!!
So I’m closing out the 1940s, but for Day 10 tomorrow, Kelley will be reviewing the 1953 movie It Came from Outer Space, so come on by and check it out!!
The post Day 9: The Picture of Dorian Gray (1945) first appeared on It's Just Awesome DOT com.]]>The Uninvited is an interesting film to review, because it isn’t quite what I was expecting. It is eerie and suspenseful, yes, but it is also…charming? It’s unlike any horror movie I’ve ever seen, in that it fluctuates between the serious and the lighthearted at the drop of a hat. More importantly, it does this successfully. I admit, I’m still scratching my head over it a little bit. It’s one of those things that feels like it shouldn’t work, but somehow it does.
The film begins with composer Rick Fitzpatrick (Milland) and his sister Pamela (Hussey) vacationing together on the Cornish coast. They are frolicking happily up and down the rocky shore, when suddenly they find themselves chasing after their terrier into an abandoned seaside mansion. As they take in the majesty of the home’s interior, Pamela is immediately starstruck. She suggests to Rick on a whim that they pool their savings and buy the place–after all, you’re not embracing the spontaneity of life until you leave everything you know behind and spend your last cent on an immense gothic manor that you’ve been inside for five minutes. It does seem little odd that an adult (but still in their prime) brother and sister would consider buying a house together, but since it isn’t all that uncommon in these old movies, I guess I’ll let it go without further comment.
Anyway, they purchase the mansion from the elderly Commander Beech and his granddaughter, Stella, and immediately set about making it their own. There are rumors in town about the home being haunted (and Commander Beech is most definitely keeping secrets to himself), but Rick pooh-poohs that notion and explains it away as idle fantasy. It doesn’t take long, however, for the strange “disturbances” to become impossible to ignore/rationalize. In the dead of night, they hear the melancholy strains of a woman sobbing, and goosebumps prickle my arms when Pamela notes that “it comes from everywhere…and nowhere.” There are other disturbances as well, particularly in the upstairs studio: a cold, pervasive dampness to the air; flickering candles; a feeling of unshakable sadness; there are even several appearances by a ghostly, glowing source of light that is terrifying in its shapelessness. The movie does an excellent job of keeping the paranormal indicators subdued–it makes for a much more frightening and believable atmosphere.
The Uninvited is a very well-paced film, and the reasons for the haunting (as well as their connection to the sweet, young ingenue, Stella) unfold in an intriguing fashion that will keep you guessing. There are some legitimately hair-raising moments (including a staged seance that turns out to be not-so-fake after all), but not so many that it will keep you up at night. This is my favorite kind of scary movie, truth be told: it’s spooky while you’re watching it, but the horror factor is tempered by the excellent story-telling and subtle romantic sub-plot.
Speaking of the romantic sub-plot, it’s hard not to be charmed by Gail Russell’s dewey, school-girl portrayal of Stella, who obviously pictures herself sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G, with the much older Ray Milland. They definitely pulled a Rear Window here (see also: To Catch a Thief), because Milland has to be at least 15, maybe 20, years older than Russell. He almost seems more appropriately-aged to be her father, but oh well. It’s still cute.
Overall, I would give The Uninvited two thumbs up. I watched it on Netflix DVD (Netflix’s DVD game is apparently pretty strong–almost all of these old, slightly obscure films can be found there!), but now I may just have to go out and purchase my own DVD copy of this one. I’d love for you to check it out and let me know if you feel the same!
Tomorrow, Charles will be reviewing The Picture of Dorian Gray (1945), starring Hurd Hatfield and the inimitable George Sanders. Be sure to come back for this and other juicy reviews during the rest of our 31 Days of Horror!!
The post Day 8: The Uninvited (1944) first appeared on It's Just Awesome DOT com.]]>Man, Day 7 already. If you’ve been following along with us this month, we appreciate it so much! Charles and I have had a blast sharing these reviews with you so far, and hope you’re enjoying them as well. Today we’re venturing into the 1940s (my jam!), and the first movie on the docket is 1941’s Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
This is one of those stories that is so much a part of popular culture that it barely requires a synopsis anymore (although of course I will give you one, because, hey, that’s what we do!). The Robert Louis Stevenson classic has seen more than its share of movie adaptations over the years, but this 1941 Spencer Tracy gem is one of two fairly iconic retellings. The first came in 1931, starring Frederic March (who won an Oscar for his portrayal) and Miriam Hopkins. I mention this tidbit mainly because there are some dramatic Hollywood departures from the novel in the ’31 film, and the ’41 film is essentially a remake of the ’31 rather than a strict retelling of the Stevenson story. Interestingly enough, I actually prefer the 1941 film, though both are excellent movies in their own right.
If you’re not familiar with the specifics of the story, here’s a brief synopsis:
Dr. Henry Jekyll (Spencer Tracy) is a successful and well-respected London doctor in the late 1800s. He is happily engaged to the love of his life, Beatrix Emery (Lana Turner, in a very touching performance), despite continued efforts from her father to drive them apart. The other great commitment of Jekyll’s life is to his ongoing research into the possibility of chemically separating the two sides of a man’s psyche: good and evil. Jekyll believes that there is evil dwelling in all of us, not just those who are outwardly so, and this opinion is extremely contentious among his circle of staid medical colleagues. When he is presented with an encouraging case that seems to support his theories, he begins developing a potion that will sever the connection and “free” the two halves from one another.
No one will take his findings seriously without proof, of course, so Jekyll’s only choice is to test the serum on himself. The effects prove disastrous, as the brew unleashes his cruel alter-ego, Mr. Hyde. As Hyde, Jekyll rains down verbal and physical abuse upon a seductive barmaid (Ingrid Bergman) who tempted him on the street (and whom he refused, as Jekyll) weeks before. She becomes his prisoner, and the psychological torment he inflicts on her is frightening, even to the viewer. Hyde is truly evil incarnate. While at first he is only brought forth by drinking the potion, eventually Hyde is able to take Jekyll over to such an extent that the potion is not needed. Jekyll transforms at random, without any semblance of control, and Hyde ultimately leads him to his doom.
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde is carried largely by the performance of Spencer Tracy. I absolutely love the casting here, as Tracy is already kind of a lumpy, meat-and-potatoes everyman. His charm lies in his gruff kindness, and the twinkle in his eye when his leading lady enters the room. To me, that makes for a perfect Dr. Jekyll: a man who is extremely loving and dedicated to his craft, but when that goodness is stripped away he’s left with nothing but the same inner ugliness as the next person. One subtlety that I also appreciate about the 1941 version over the 1931 film is that when Jekyll transforms into Hyde, Tracy’s makeup is much more minimal than that of Frederic March as Hyde. There is an obvious transformation, of course, but it just looks like an uglier, baser version of Spencer Tracy. He doesn’t turn into a ghoulish, hairy animal, which I think plays very well into what the movie is trying to say. It’s an interpretation of Stevenson’s story that is much more about inner demons, and the dark and light sides warring within each person, than it is about turning into an actual beast.
Tracy: 
March: 
This is a great movie, and I think Tracy brought a lot of his own personal demons into the performance, which makes it that much richer and more meaningful. He grappled with alcoholism (and its consequences) throughout his entire life, as well as having a very public, decades-long affair with Katharine Hepburn. Playing this particular role, in this particular adaptation of the story, was highly significant; it makes me wonder how much audiences were aware of at the time, or if it’s something that seems more poignant now that the intervening years have shed light on his personal life. Either way, the dimension Tracy brought to the role fascinated me, and it will certainly beg repeat viewings in the future.
I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but my least favorite thing about the movie might just be Ingrid Bergman. It’s an odd notion, because she’s such a wonderful actress (among my personal favorites, and this was just one short year before Casablanca!), but I really think she was miscast here. Her beauty, her voice, her bearing…she’s simply too duchessy and regal for me to ever fully believe her in a role as a tarty good-time girl. Not that she doesn’t have the acting chops, but it’s just weird. Another contributing factor might have been her forced Cockney accent, a la My Fair Lady, which sounded completely bizarre when paired with her natural Swedish lilt. It seemed like they were trying to de-Bergman her by any means necessary, which I feel could have been just as easily (and more effectively) accomplished by casting a different person. To use another example: you couldn’t just give Grace Kelly a gold tooth and say to your audience: “See! She’s unsophisticated!” Girlfriend is still going to rock it, because she’s Grace Bleeping Kelly. Same concept with Ingrid Bergman.
Tomorrow I will be reviewing The Uninvited (1944), which, if the cover art is any indication, will cause me to wet my pants a little. Ray Milland always gives me the creeps (he’s like a poor man’s Jimmy Stewart, without the adorable younger years), even without floating ghost-bodies in repose. We’ll see if that tradition carries on in this film. Until then, thanks for reading, and for continuing to join us for more 31 Days of Horror!!
The post Day 7: Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1941) first appeared on It's Just Awesome DOT com.]]>I have to admit: Outside of that Warren Zevon song, I had never heard of Werewolf of London and had absolutely no idea there was any other werewolf film in Universal’s classic monster movies, outside of The Wolf Man series. That franchise (especially the first one) is so iconic, and casts such a long shadow over every other werewolf movie ever made, that is it almost unfathomable to even consider that Werewolf of London came first (and by half a decade at that!). It’s a shame, really, because this movie actually created many of the tropes that we now associate with werewolves, including the association with the full moon and being infected from a bite. This film even had the same makeup artist (Jack Pierce) work on both films, although he didn’t quite get to create the makeup he wanted to use for this one, so the two movies don’t actually look all that similar in that regard.
Nor is the plot all that similar either.
In this movie, Botanist Dr. Wilfred Glendon is in Tibet searching for a rare flower. Just as he discovers it, however, he is suddenly attacked and bitten by a werewolf who had been watching him from afar. Dr. Glendon is able to make it back to London where he attempts to do research on the flower (although to what end, I’m not entirely sure), but is having trouble getting it to bloom in his lab. He is soon visited by Dr. Yogami, who tells him that the flower is the only thing that can cure him of his “Lycanthropy” that was passed on to him when he was bit. But he must take it before the next full moon or there will be blood on his hands. It seems Dr. Yogami personally knows a great deal about this subject, but Dr. Glendon blows him off anyway.
Sure enough, on the next full moon, he turns into a werewolf (in a very effective transformation sequence that surprisingly rivals that of anything in The Wolf Man), and goes on a murderous spree in London.
If I’m being honest, I don’t actually love this movie, and it all has to do with Henry’s Hull portrayal of Dr. Glendon. He’s a jerk, through-and-through, and he’s far too obsessed with his work, and far too jealous of his wife and her ex-lover. Lon Chaney Jr. really sold the tortured aspect of his character in Wolf Man, which in turn made his character sympathetic. You got the sense that he couldn’t control what he was doing, and that he also didn’t want to hurt anyone. That’s not really the case here. In fact, it’s outright shown that Dr. Glendon is still somewhat human because even after he’s transformed into a werewolf, he takes time to put on a coat before he steps outside. I thought it was a goofy touch and totally counterintuitive to the dire circumstances that Dr. Yogami spoke of previously. This does, however, seem to suggest that being a werewolf in this film is more an expression of your inner demons and desires rather than a physical transformation into a completely different, out-of-control animal. Dr. Glendon is in control and yet wants to go attack specific people. It’s an interesting concept that I don’t think is fully explored.
And then there are the two older women who rent him a room while he lays low. I don’t understand why this zany type of humor is needed at all, but it reminds me an awful lot of Una O’Connor’s character in both The Invisible Man and Bride of Frankenstein. Over-the-top doesn’t even begin to describe it, and like her, the two women here nearly ruin the entire movie for me every time they’re onscreen (which is way more than they should be anyway).
I should point out that I don’t love The Wolf Man, either, but I think the reason it’s remembered more clearly is because it’s, by almost all accounts, a better movie. Still, Werewolf of London has contributed significantly to werewolf mythology and that alone makes it a worthwhile film to check out.
For Day 7 tomorrow, Kelley will kick off the 1940s by reviewing Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, so be sure and check that out as we continue 31 Days of Horror!!
The post Day 6: Werewolf of London (1935) first appeared on It's Just Awesome DOT com.]]>But first: a summary! The movie begins with two American newlyweds, the Alisons, boarding the Orient Express for a romantic (?) honeymoon in Hungary. Their train compartment canoodling is put to an end, however, when they learn that they’ll be sharing this conveyance to nuptial bliss with a certain Dr. Vitus Werdegast (Lugosi). Werdegast’s presence is at first an awkward and unwelcome intrusion into their banter about papier mache salads, but he earns his keep after preventing a suitcase from whomping Mrs. Alison over the top of the head. Per Dr. Werdegast’s insightful commentary on the incident: “It is better to be frightened than to be crushed.” Well put, doctor. Well put.
As the train hurtles onward through the Hungarian mist, Werdegast divulges a bit of his past to Mr. Alison, along with his reason for the trip. He is finally returning home after 18 years– 3 years at war, followed by 15 years in a Russian prison camp called Kurgaal (“where the soul is killed, slowly”). This information is vital to the story, as the rest of the movie is colored by Werdegast’s memories of the horrors of war and the grim betrayal that took place leading up to Kurgaal. We soon find out that not only was Werdegast delivered into the hands of the enemy by his friend and commander, Hjalmar Poelzig (Karloff), but Poelzig is also assumed to have stolen Werdegast’s wife, Karen. What a scumbag.
In fact, while we’re at it, let’s take a moment to add to Poelzig’s dirty coat of many colors. Through a series of unfortunate events (dare I say FATE?), Werdegast and the Alisons end up spending the night at Poelzig’s formidable, Art Deco mansion. Since being a wartime scoundrel of the highest order wouldn’t have been enough, we discover that Poelzig is also one of Austria’s most renowned architects, and he has designed/built his cliffside stronghold atop the burial ground of 10,000 Hungarian soldiers (in whose murder he was instrumental). Oh yeah, and he is ALSO the High Priest in a cult of Satan-worshippers, so there’s that as well.
Boris Karloff does an amazing job of being sinister AF throughout this entire film, and I’d call his performance a must-see for any classic horror fan. The haircut, the thin black lips, the organ-playing…it’s all incredibly iconic, while still managing to be different than any other Karloff movies I have seen so far. There is a scene towards the middle of The Black Cat where Poelzig tenderly, hauntingly walks among an array of embalmed female bodies in his cellar, which have been carefully suspended within metal cages so that their youthful beauty can be observed and appreciated (cough cough) forever. It is exceedingly creepy, and not something you can un-see.
Again, this movie is not for the faint of heart (what did I tell you about pre-code films?!). The psychological struggle between Werdegast and Poelzig is intense, as is Poelzig’s determination to sacrifice Mrs. Alison on the alter of the Black Mass. I won’t get into any more plot twists here, because it is my hope that you will all watch this movie and find out for yourselves! You can rent it from Netflix DVD or Amazon, and I seriously recommend that you do. If you like Lugosi’s Dracula and/or Karloff’s Frankenstein (or, hell, even if you’re new to the genre!), you need to add The Black Cat to your queue ASAP.
Tomorrow, Charles will close out our journey through the ’30s with 1935’s Werewolf of London (starring Henry Hull). Be sure to check it out, and keep coming back all month for more 31 Days of Horror!!
The post Day 5: The Black Cat (1934) first appeared on It's Just Awesome DOT com.]]>I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I love pre-code films. I won’t bore you with a long-winded ode to the popcorn-munching, wine-drinking watchability of these early ’30s movies, but I do want to say one thing before moving on to my actual review. In case you are not familiar with the difference in what studios could get away with pre- and post-Motion Picture Production Code, it’s an interesting concept to keep in mind as we journey through the rest of our 1930s selections for this year’s 31 Days of Horror (and beyond!).
Before the Motion Picture Production Code cracked down in 1934 on what type of content was (and was not) morally acceptable for an American audience to view, studios ran amok with all kinds of insanely scandalous/taboo subject matter. These pre-code films from 1930-1934 leave no saucy stone unturned, and, you guys, they are completely fascinating. I know people think of 1930s cinema as being stilted and not terribly captivating, but if that is your current mindset I urge you to check out this and other pre-code sizzlers: Baby Face, Night Nurse, Forbidden, I’m No Angel, The Divorcee, Blonde Venus…the list goes on. Seriously. Watch ’em and prepare to do a mental 180.
Anyway, back to the matter at hand: 1932’s Island of Lost Souls!
First of all, I rented this DVD from Netflix, and was incredibly impressed by the quality of the Criterion Collection transfer. Sometimes with these early films it’s hard to get your hands on a good copy, which does take away from the movie-watching experience a bit (I’m looking at you, Love Affair). In this case though, the sharp, well-lit visuals immediately pulled me in.
The movie begins with a shipwrecked traveler, Edward Parker (played by swarthy, delicious Richard Arlen), being rescued by a freighter full of exotic animals and carried onward to a mysterious, South Seas island owned by the eccentric Dr. Moreau. Charles Laughton (Witness For the Prosecution, Mutiny on the Bounty) is excellent as Moreau, and once the freighter reaches his island, things take a very eerie, diabolical turn. We discover that Dr. Moreau has been conducting “bio-anthropological research” on the animals delivered to his island, or, more specifically, accelerating their evolution in an attempt to transform them into humans. He believes he can achieve this (and, to a degree, has succeeded) through plastic surgery, blood transfusions, gland extracts, and ray baths. I’m not quite sure what a “ray bath” is, but given that he performs all this in a wing of his home that he refers to as “The House of Pain”, I’m going to assume it’s…well, painful.
Murky science aside, this is a pretty intriguing concept.
In fact, I have to tip my hat to Laughton and the filmmakers, because this could have been a MUCH cheesier movie than it is. I tend to cock a cynical eyebrow whenever I read about movies that employ the “mad scientist” angle (see also: my rantings on supposedly-frumpy-but-really-just-wearing-a-cableknit-sweater girls who become beautiful after taking off their glasses), but Charles Laughton strikes just the right balance between earnest academic and unhinged psychopath. The atmosphere is tense, suspenseful, and the air is often punctuated by a bestial scream from the House of Pain. When you couple all this with the use of chiaroscuro lighting and slatted jungle blinds, the effect is quite chilling.
Another interesting aspect of the film is Dr. Moreau’s most successful experiment to date: the gentle and alluring panther-woman, Lota. Of all the humanoid creations on the island, she is the closest to having become truly human. Lota is Moreau’s first creation to display feelings of legitimate, romantic love (mhmm, and she’s comin’ for you, Parker!), and his first creation to shed tears. Upon seeing these glittering, womanly tears, Dr. Moreau knows he has broken new ground and gleefully tries to foist her off on his handsome new guest for some tropical babymaking. OH, THE POSSIBILITIES!
Of course, things don’t go quite to plan for the doctor, and the inhabitants of his island begin to slowly turn against him. There are even a few appearances by a furry-faced, nearly unrecognizable Bela Lugosi!
Even my husband, who doesn’t necessarily love 1930s cinema (and watched this movie with me a little bit begrudgingly), admitted that it was “surprisingly alright”. If that’s not high praise, I don’t know what is.
So, there you go.
Tomorrow, I’ll be exploring 1934’s The Black Cat, featuring the dynamic duo of Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi. I’d love for you to join me, and as always, please check out the rest of our reviews during this month’s 31 Days of Horror!!
The post Day 4: Island of Lost Souls (1932) first appeared on It's Just Awesome DOT com.]]>F.W. Murnau’s Faust is, as you might have guessed via remembrances of your high school English class, an adaptation of Christopher Marlowe’s Elizabethan tragedy play, Doctor Faustus. I’ll be honest: prior to watching this movie, I didn’t remember much about Doctor Faustus. I could recall that it involved a pact with the devil, and that there was a questionable exchange of youth/beauty for knowledge/power, but beyond those abstract concepts I basically left it in Mrs. Howard’s 10th grade classroom, along with The Canterbury Tales and some of the less-engrossing Greek tragedies.
How I wish now that that weren’t the case!
The story is extremely powerful, and before I wax on any further without you having any idea what I’m talking about, here’s a brief synopsis: Faust (Gosta Eckman), the humble, God-fearing alchemist, looks like the flesh-and-blood manifestation of a Michelangelo painting, with his windswept beard in a perpetual state of ethereal astonishment. He has invoked the name of Mephisto in a desperate attempt to save his town from the scourge of plague and sorrow, but once he’s done so he fears the everlasting consequences. Emil Jannings is perfectly cast as the demon Mephisto– it’s impossible not to feel a creepy tingle when those eyes glow out of the darkness at you in the clip below.
I mean, come on! That’s just cool.
I should also mention that Mephisto is particularly invested in the temptation of Faust, because he has made a wager with an archangel that even the most pristine mortal soul can be corrupted. The good doctor Faust is mankind’s greatest treasure–heretofore incorruptible–so the archangel essentially places the fate of humanity in his wrinkled, old hands. Mephisto, however, still lures him to ruin via the promise of eternal youth, beauty, knowledge, and sex, as devils are apt to do. Lots of room for existential musing here. The latter half of the movie is especially interesting to me, because despite the fact that Mephisto and Faust run all over God’s green earth causing problems for everyone, it is mostly Faust’s paramour, Gretchen, who bears the brunt of the consequences. To say any more here would give too much away, but yeah. Suffice it to say, in the immortal words of James Brown: it was a man’s, man’s, man’s world.
On a lighter note, there is a strange and hilarious scene during Faust’s initial courtship of Gretchen where Mephisto, playing the jauntily-feathered wingman, sidles up to Gretchen’s aunt and stiffly honka-honkas her. I am not joking. It’s weird, but it’s legitimately funny, and the film is full of little comedic moments like this that somehow hold up against all logic and expectation.
From start to finish, Faust thoroughly engaged me (despite a 1 hr 55 min run-time, which seems incredible for the ’20s), and the effects and makeup are fantastic. I’d wager that most people associate the name F. W. Murnau with Nosferatu today, but I honestly prefer his interpretation of Faust to the vampire flick. Not to knock Nosferatu, of course, because I think it’s an important film in a myriad of ways, but as far as watchability and enjoyment go…give me Faust any day.
If you haven’t already, I strongly recommend that you check this movie out. It can be found on Netflix DVD, and it is well worth your time (even if only to marvel at how much it sucked to be a woman in literally every century prior to this one).
Next up, I’ll be taking us into horror films of the 1930s with Day 4’s Island of Lost Souls (1932). It promises to be chock-full of crisp, linen suits and furry jungle weirdos…so I’m pretty sure you don’t want to miss it. In the mean time, I’ll leave you to ponder this publicity photo, and Charles Laughton’s crooked, probably glued-on goatee.
Thanks for reading, and for continuing to come back this month as Charles and I journey through the rest of our 31 Days of Horror!!
The post Day 3: Faust (1926) first appeared on It's Just Awesome DOT com.]]>In the interest of full disclosure, I’ll admit that I am not typically the most enthusiastic watcher of silent films. I’m more of a 1930s and 1940s gal, as you may have gathered from previous, non-horror reviews (or listening to me sing the many praises of Barbara Stanwyck in The Good, The Bad, and The Podcast). I think it has a lot to do with my love of witty banter and well-crafted dialogue. When you’re limited to what can be read from a title card, that delicious element is removed, and I have a hard time getting invested in the story. That being the case, I was intrigued by the presence of Lon Chaney, but wasn’t necessarily awaiting this film with bated breath. I did, however, keep an open mind going in.
Unfortunately, The Monster did nothing to dispel my “blah” outlook on silent films. It embodies all the qualities I was hoping it would lack: it’s cheesy, the characters are very cartoonish, and it is S-L-O-W. I hate to say it, but it was really a chore to make it through this movie at times.
To give you an idea of the plot, the movie begins with the mysterious disappearance of a beloved local farmer. The townspeople learn that he has been involved in an auto accident, but nobody knows what has become of him–foul play is immediately assumed. Enter our spirited, doofy protagonist, Johnny. Johnny is a lovestruck underling who works at the general store (with aspirations of being a detective), and let’s just say it: he’s a huge boob. It feels like the writers expect us to view him with pathos and be charmed by his Wannabe Charlie Chaplin antics, but it just didn’t work for me. He was a little too silly, and frankly he got on my nerves. All the characters did! The lone bright spot was Lon Chaney, who is always fantastic and didn’t disappoint here. Most of the time he just walks around smiling creepily, but the man knows how to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.
As the story progresses, Johnny attempts to unravel the mystery of the farmer’s disappearance. In so doing, he ends up spending the night in Chaney’s spooky sanitarium with Betty (his love interest) and Ol Whatshisname (the fancypants romantic rival for Betty’s affections) who is so forgettable that I sincerely cannot remember what he’s called.
I could go on, but honestly, this movie is skippable. Find clips online of Lon Chaney slinking around in his robe and candelabra a la Vincent Price, and you’ll feel like you’ve seen the whole thing. That is my advice to you where The Monster is concerned.
Let’s hope for better luck tomorrow, when I’ll review F.W. Murnau’s Faust (1926)! Stay tuned, and keep coming back for more 31 Days of Horror!!
The post Day 2: The Monster (1925) first appeared on It's Just Awesome DOT com.]]>It’s an interesting movie because it’s sort of an enigma by seemingly being all things at once. It’s a documentary and history lesson about witchcraft but it’s also a fictional horror narrative with “reenactments” of the torture methods used on those found guilty of being witches. It’s both very tame and approachable, yet it also could never have been released in the US at the time it was made due to the sexuality, violence and nudity on display (even in Sweden, where it was made, film censors forced numerous cuts to it). It’s a critique of religion and the role it played in torturing innocent people, yet it seems to suggest that witches and demonic possessions are real. And it all feels outdated and yet ultra-modern at the same time.
So, how can a movie from 1922 be so many things at once? And is it any good?
I’ll answer the last part first: Yes, it is quite good, although it’s not particularly scary. And the pacing feels plodding, especially in the first chapter (yes, there are actual chapters in the film, with 7 in total) where we learn about the history of witches through a book on screen. And yes, that is intended to sound every bit as dull as I can make it. Being a silent film, the way we are told about this book is through titles on screen that seem to stay on FOREVER.
Eventually, it moves into the reenactment part and this is where the movie really comes to life. Christensen himself actually plays the devil in these scenes where witches dance around a campfire with demons, and must kiss the devil’s butt (literally). The makeup, lighting and effects are simply INCREDIBLE and light years ahead of anything made in the same time frame. The visuals alone make this a classic, as far as I’m concerned, and one of my favorites is of several witches flying across a nighttime sky.
Later, as we see religious officials putting witches on trial, the film shifts and begins to become more of a behind the scenes documentary, even showing some of the actor’s testing the torture devices out of curiosity. It’s the breaking of that fourth wall that felt unique to me, even nearly 100 years later. Christensen lets us know that we are watching a movie, even going so far as to point out objects with a pencil on screen. This technique is how I believe he was able to make such a strange movie that still works today, and on many different levels.
The more modern stuff (well, modern for 1922) feels a little flat, but it examines modern medicine and psychiatry and brings into question whether or not demonic possession is real, and whether that could account for some of our strange behavior now-a-days. Again, while interesting, it doesn’t quite have the impact that it should, and seems a bit disjointed from the rest of the film. Still, it’s all worth your time to at least check it out. I read somewhere that the film is public domain, so I’m sure you can find it on YouTube (legally).
Tomorrow, Kelley will be reviewing The Monster starring Lon Chaney, so be sure and check that out as we move through our 31 Days of Horror!!
The post Day 1: Häxan (1922) first appeared on It's Just Awesome DOT com.]]>Mark here with the second installment of my 100-Book Challenge. One of the (many) motivations for this undertaking was to get to those novels I felt embarrassed not to have read yet, so books 11-20 bring us some literary heavy-hitters like Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Austen, Morrison and more. That said, I do not intend my reviews as scholarly commentary, just the opposite; I want to give general readers a quick impression of each work and how much it lends itself to an enjoyable and fulfilling read. Of course, you could teach a full college semester on many of these novels, but we’re not here for that! We’re here to get some pages under our belts. So here we go:
- A Farewell to Arms – Ernest Hemingway: I am generally a fan of Hemingway, and many of you already know that his journalistic style makes him more accessible than some of the other so-deemed “greats.” But I have to say this is my least favorite of his works. The story of an American ambulance driver in WWI defecting with his lover to Switzerland, the novel cannot be ignored for its disenchanted view of The Great War and for its influence on American Literature…however, it’s quite a rough read toward the end, and has one of the most pessimistic conclusions I’ve ever encountered. While I completely understand such pessimism from the generation that saw one of the most destructive wars in history, I’d still suggest starting with For Whom the Bell Tolls, The Sun Also Rises, and Old Man and Sea.
- Diamond are Forever – Ian Fleming: check out our James Bond: Here and There podcast for a closer look at all of the Bond books!
- The Bluest Eye – Toni Morrison: TOP PICK! Perhaps the greatest benefit of this challenge so far has been my introduction to Toni Morrison. Much of her work explores the profound and painful subject of slavery and race in America’s past and present, but she does so in a way that beautifully and achingly transcends mere social messages. I highly suggest this book, but warn you that there is some disturbing content which may take you out of your comfort zone.
- Lorca – Three Tragedies – Frederico Garcia Lorca: This collection of plays was a quick read for me. All three deal heavily with gender and class in rural Spain, and I enjoyed Lorca’s use of allegory and symbolism over realism. The kind of literature that’s accessible enough on a first read, but that you could peel apart layer by layer and never get to the bottom.
- This is Portland – Alexander Barrett: Okay, this is one of my cheater books. My wife and I took a trip to Portland, Oregon, and this was in the property we rented. You can read it in 20 minutes. But I justified counting it because I also read The Grapes of Wrath, and I feel they equal out to at least two books. This was a neat, funny little portrayal of Portland and I recommend it to anyone visiting or living in the area.
- Pride and Prejudice – Jane Austen: A classic and a must-read, but I was really hoping I’d like it more…I know, I know, I know. I can feel the hot wrath coming off of some of you out there, but hey, it just didn’t arrest me. I loved the opening portrayal of protagonist Elizabeth Bennett when, quite against social expectations and the good sense of a lady, she marches three miles in the mud to watch over her sister who has conveniently become sick while visiting a male suitor. This tenacity sparked my interest (and even startled me a bit in the context of a book written in the early 1800s) but alas, the novel did not maintain an iron grip on my interest.
- Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass – Frederick Douglass: I believe I was assigned this book twice in high school and neglected to read it both times, much to my own detriment. This short account of Douglass’s life as a slave and his escape to the North was fascinating both for its biographical content, and for how he chose to fashion it as a story and an artifact for social change. (Also, make sure you read the introduction to this one.)
- The Blank Slate – Steven Pinker: Alright, here’s the thing. The two books of Pinker’s I’ve read are the kind of books I think everyone should read. The problem is that almost nobody will because they’re so long. The Blank Slate comes in at 525 pages, and explores (in-depth) the debate between nature and nurture, making the point that society does not give appropriate credence to fact that much of human nature is innate and unable to be conditioned. It has changed the way I see the world, but probably not a good choice if you’re trying to get in 100 books in a year. (I had already started it on audio-book before I began my challenge). His other book was even more influential and even longer: The Better Angles of our Nature: Why Violence has Declined at over 800 pages, but so good y’all…seriously. I kept thinking I’d lose interest but never did. Check both of them out maybe next year.
- The Red Badge of Courage – Stephen Crane. Another short work, this book was one of the early depictions of war (The Civil War) to do away celebrating honor and bravery and instead look at the gritty brutality of it all. Crane’s narrative voice was perfectly suited to the subject matter, but I sometimes had a hard time placing myself visually in the story. I’d still give it a look; it’s short and profound.
- This Side of Paradise – F. Scott Fitzgerald: This seemed like a book suited largely (dare I say only?) for Fitzgerald scholars and English majors. Heavily autobiographical, it chronicles a writer’s intellectual journey through college and into adulthood. It had its moments, but felt mostly like reading Fitzgerald’s disconnected diary entries. Also there was lot of horn-tooting when it came to how intelligent he is.
Okay, there you have it. Hope you’re finding your own gems out there. Feel free to mention them in the comments when you do!
The post 100-Book Challenge (Part 2) first appeared on It's Just Awesome DOT com.]]>Mark here, new-comer to The Good the Bad and the Podcast and co-host of the James Bond: Here and There series. Though this site is largely dedicate to cinema, we would be remiss in not giving a little attention to those wonderful packets of plot and profundity that provide so much fodder for movies: books!
And if you’re anything like me, the number of books in your house that you haven’t read greatly outweighs the number you have. Well, I decided to do something about it, and set out to read 100 books in a year. “You’re insane!” I hear you shouting, but not so! The experience so far has enriched me beyond measure, and I challenge you to try it yourself. Wait, wait! Don’t quit reading yet; at least look at the rules I set for myself, and see if they don’t sound reasonable.
The Rules:
- Pick a date, and start reading!
- Keep track as you go. Intermittently divide #days by #books and your ratio should be somewhere under 3.65
- Don’t panic, I’ve eased the pressure a little because:
- Audio-books count (most libraries offer them for free through smartphone apps)
- Novellas count (but I try to make sure each work comes in at least 50 pages or more)
- Shakespeare’s plays count (gotta get in the classics, and with the modern-day translations to help you navigate the original text, you can easily work through a play in two or three days)
There you have it: simple. It’s been just over four months, and I’ve found it easier to keep up than anticipated. Audio-books really help pad the numbers, and you’d be surprised how many minutes a day you can fill with them: cooking dinner? Pop in your headphones! Long car drive? Bust out your aux cable! I even listen while mowing the lawn and working out.
If any of you bibliophiles out there want to join me, I’ll write a separate post for every 10 books I read along the way, letting you know which I think are worth a gander and which you can skip over for something more engaging. Still don’t think you can do it? Try 50 books, that’s only one a week, and just imagine how informed you’ll be by the end! Come onnnnn. Crack one open with me and grab hold of some culture!
Books 1-10:
- Casino Royale,
- Live and Let Die and
- Moonraker – Ian Fleming: James Bond novels are the perfect fit for the 100-book challenge. Short, well-written, and steeped in adrenaline, you’ll find them quick reads while getting a nice dose of popular culture (and admittedly some sexism and 1950s prejudice too). See our James Bond: Here and There series a more in-depth look at the books and movies.
- Myths to Live By – Joseph Campbell: As a general rule, I suggest reading everything by Joseph Campbell you can get your hands on. His work with mythology, religion, and story-telling in general has found its way into every corner of our culture. This book was a good read, and a good length for the challenge. Other works I highly recommend are The Hero with a Thousand Faces (his best known), and The Power of Myth (an interview with Bill Moyers, which reads much better than most interviews).
- Everything that Rises Must Converge – Flannery O’Connor: This is my TOP PICK for this post, and O’Connor is easily one of my top 10 favorite authors. This collection of her short stories held me spell-bound. They somehow sparkle with the grotesque as they explore race and family in the antebellum South. If you like stories that lift up the log of life and show you the rot underneath, pick up this book or her other collection A Good Man is Hard to Find. You won’t be disappointed.
- King Lear – some guy named Will: Considered one of Shakespeare’s top tragedies, I was surprised and delighted by how funny this play often was. The tale of an aged King who foolishly spurns his one faithful daughter in favor of her two, more treacherous sisters, the masterpiece expounds upon themes of old-age, familial betrayal, and redemption. A must read.
- Interpreter of Maladies – Jhumpa Lahiri: Winner of the Pulitzer Prize, this collection of short stories about India and Indian-Americans was enlightening, especially for an uninformed westerner. On the engaging scale, I’d only give it a 6 out of 10 for the general reader, but still well worth the time to read it. I mean, come on…Pulitzer Prize.
- Daisy Miller – Henry James: This novella is a quick read, and is often studied in literary Academia, but doesn’t have that immediate, startling beauty I look for in my prose. It tells the story of a young American girl visiting Europe, who refuses to hold herself to the Victorian social standards of the time, and how her actions impact the narrator of the story and his views on women and America.
- The Stranger – Albert Camus: Many of you may have read (or “read”) this one in high school, but go back and read it again! As an adult the novel struck my philosophical chords like it never could have in 11th grade. And it’s a nice, concise read too.
- Heart of Darkness – Joseph Conrad: I suspect I need to go back and reread this after doing a little research on it. It had powerful themes, and profound characters, but Conrad so downplays the active scenes, that it feels as if nothing really happens in the story. I think my ignorance is showing here…it’s very short, so go ahead and read it and tell me what you think. (For my future biographers: please disregard this last review. I completely understand and appreciate Conrad’s masterpiece.)
Well that’s it for now. Got get to reading!
The post “Better than the Movie”? first appeared on It's Just Awesome DOT com.]]>
Carey Mulligan, you saucy minx.
I have seen Thomas Vinterberg’s gorgeous adaptation of Far From the Madding Crowd twice now, and I have to say right up front: I love it. The cinematography, the score, the costuming, the casting choices…in my mind, they’re all aces. Never have lens flare and sheep-laden greenery looked so beautiful. As a movie playing out on screen, I think it hits almost every right note…but as a story, I do have a few minor qualms with it.
FFTMC is often described as Thomas Hardy’s “most pastoral” novel, which kind of begs the question: Why exactly was it resurrected from its dusty place on the bookshelf and turned into a Hollywood costume drama in 2015? Not to say that it didn’t deserve it, but for a while this rather puzzled me. It isn’t really one of Hardy’s more widely-remembered novels in today’s society (most people would think of Tess of the d’Urbervilles long before this one), and typically only the most well-known classics get modern film adaptations (Pride and Prejudice, Jane Eyre, Anna Karenina, etc). I think, though, that the answer is actually BECAUSE it is 2015. You guys, if 2014 was The Year of the Butt, then 2015 is most definitely The Year of the Strong-Willed Female Heroine. Which is great, don’t get me wrong, but I’m not 100% sure that the character of Bathsheba deserves that many accolades for being a fabulous fictional role model. It’s true, a little chorus of “R-E-S-P-E-C-T” does swell within one’s bosom when she sassily takes charge of her uncle’s sprawling farm in Weatherbury, but she also consistently belittles and patronizes her only real friend: Gabriel Oak. Never mind that it’s completely obvious they’re meant to be together; that’s not how you treat people. Feistiness and independence, while being lovely qualities, do not a heroine make. Not on their own, anyway.
I would liken Bathsheba to a slightly tamer, less self-absorbed Scarlett O’Hara (I know they’re wearing corsets, but seriously, can waists even BE that small?). She is beautiful, coquettish, and every man who sets eyes on her wants to marry her immediately. In other words, she has a slew of what Amy Shumer might refer to as #HotPeopleProblems. There is a steely strength in her determination to handle things on her own, BUT she is also vain, a bit flighty in her emotions, and can’t fathom being with the man who is clearly right for her until she has exhausted EVERY OTHER CONCEIVABLE OPTION (coughcoughRhett). You spend the vast majority of the movie just wanting to shake her until some sense falls out. Or…in. That is really my main annoyance with the story– the fact that she spends all this time touting her independence and saying she doesn’t want to be tied down in marriage to any man, but that’s obviously garbage because she gets suckered in by Sergeant Troy after knowing him for like five minutes. In reality, her hangup lies not in marriage but in obligation. She doesn’t like the idea that a perceived obligation, however slight, would deny her the ability to choose freely (again…2015, anyone?). She feels an inherent obligation to accept Gabriel Oak because he is her first (and for all she knows at that time, only) suitor, therefore the offer becomes unattractive to her. Later in the story, she feels obligated to accept Boldwood for a myriad of social and financial reasons (spoilers!), none of which involve passion or love. She feels trapped, and I can’t say I blame her. Still, though…come on, girlfriend. You can’t just string three men along for 2 hours and 400 pages and expect shiz not to hit the fan.
I’ve probably expended too many words on mostly book-related frustrations, but let me redeem myself by speaking solely about the Bathsheba of the movie here: Carey Mulligan is perfect in the role, and gives a master class in facial acting. You can think Bathsheba is a ninny for saying and doing most of the things she does (namely, ignoring the steadfast love of her truest and hunkiest friend), but CM’s ability to let the inner conflict steal across her face really gives you a chance to feel what she’s feeling. It lends a great deal of sympathy to the character, and while I wasn’t totally loving the Bathsheba of Hardy’s novel, Mulligan softened and made her much more palatable for 2015. The rest of the cast is equally excellent: Michael Sheen gives a fantastic, nuanced performance as Boldwood, Tom Sturridge is appropriately despicable as Troy (see his weird, wilted mustache for further confirmation of his weak moral fiber), and Matthias Schoenaerts is perfect as the stalwart and dreamy Gabriel Oak.
It is a quiet, subtly-played, sexy movie–there’s no doubt about it. Electricity is always crackling beneath the surface, and even though Bathsheba’s naivete often makes you want to strangle her with her own braid, I defy you not to grin when she winsomely tells her new staff that she intends to astonish them all.
The post FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD: AN ODE TO CAREY MULLIGAN first appeared on It's Just Awesome DOT com.]]>So, Katharine, in honor of your birthday and your inarguable fabulousness, here are 8 moments when I was truly your biggest fan:
1. The time Barbara Walters condescendingly asked you in an interview if you even owned a skirt, and you told her you would wear one to her funeral.
2. The way you completely embodied the role of Jo March in Little Women, so much so that all other subsequent Joes would pale in comparison (except in my heart you ended up with Laurie, not stupid-face Professor Bhaer).
3. When you helped Humphrey Bogart pull the steamboat through reeds and leech-infested waters in The African Queen.
4. …The African Queen, in its entirety. So good.
5. The way you looked at Jimmy Stewart in The Philadelphia Story when he told you “you’re made out of flesh and blood…you’re the golden girl, Tracy.”
6. When you, as Tracy Lord, reminisced about your marriage to Cary Grant/CK Dexter Haven via some heavy boat symbolism, and whispered to yourself “My, she was yar.” It made me want to find what the two of you had for myself: a relationship both romantic and silly, adventurous and based in friendship, with the knowledge that you were partners in life and in laughter. And, you know, someone with whom to bandy about nautical terminology that was laden with deeper meanings.
7. When you said “We are taught you must blame your father, your sisters, your brothers, the school, the teachers – but never blame yourself. It’s never your fault. But it’s always your fault, because if you wanted to change you’re the one who has got to change.” I love that. I believe the world would be a better place if more people shared your view on this particular point.
8. When your wit and joie de vivre won Cary Grant’s heart again in Holiday, despite your bizarre pairing of mink coat and flat beret, a la Madeline from the children’s story. I love when women of intelligence and playful charm win out over the boring do-nothings and the slinky seductresses, and this role was a perfect example of you achieving just that.
Did I leave out any great Katharine Hepburn moments? Let me know your favorites in the comments below! 
If you are not familiar with this movie, here is the trailer as featured on IMDB:
http://www.imdb.com/video/imdb/vi1711014169/
The film begins as it does in the trailer, with Barbra herself invisibly singing the titular track. Boom. There it is. You’re hooked. If you’re not hooked by the haunting and gorgeous strains of this melody (and mist rising whimsically off the water, the whole nine yards) then I really just don’t know what to do with you. Just kidding (…maybe). The point is, Marvin Hamlisch wrote a score for this movie that is so beautiful it will make your teeth recede into your head. Whatever else I feel about The Way We Were, this theme song is, hands down, my favorite movie theme of all time.
My thoughts on TWWW as a whole are not so clear. During the podcast, I identified this as my “ugly” pick of the week—basically, I kind of love it, but also recognize that there are many horrifying and uncomfortable things about it that prevent me from revealing to most people that I have seen it a dozen times. One thing I do appreciate about it, though, is how different my feelings toward it are depending on my stage of life. I guess that can probably be said about most movies, but it feels particularly true with this one.
The first time I watched it was in 9th or 10th grade. I was sleeping over at my friend Lisa’s house, and we were hopped up on ice cream, friendship, and the delirium of being awake at 2 am. It came on TV, and we were completely spellbound. It was like a train wreck that our fifteen-year-old eyeballs simply could not tear themselves away from. What the crap was happening?! Didn’t Babs know she was BREAKING ALL THE RULES OF DATING?! Didn’t she know you were supposed to pretend NOT to like someone in order for him to know how much you liked him?! It was laugh-out-loud, roll-on-the-floor absurd, and I’m pretty sure I thought it was the stupidest thing I’d ever seen.
Fast-forward five years. I was halfway through college at this point, growing very disillusioned indeed with the world of men. I had had a few boyfriends, some unrequited crushes, and a series of sour and/or disastrous casual dates that never fully formed themselves into relationships. Luckily, I was living in an apartment with my posse of amazing ladyfriends, and our sole purpose in life (besides, you know, occasionally studying) was to guide each other through the inevitable pitfalls of romance and dating. It was then that I rediscovered The Way We Were, although this time it took on a completely different meaning to me. Suddenly, Babs/K-K-K-Katie was one thousand times more sympathetic, and I became enraged at Robert Redford for treating her so cavalierly! Who did he think he was, anyway? Why did he just expect everything to be so easy? Was he so afraid of a complicated, independent woman that he would throw away true love?!
Somewhere between these two extremes, you will find my current feelings on the matter. I think that as men and as women, we tend to polarize and gather amongst our gender at either end. Men watch this movie, and for the most part side with 15-year-old me. Katie’s desperate antics inspire in them a desire to run far, far away, or at the very least roll their eyes and swear off women who have strong political leanings of any kind. I have a very good guy friend who watched TWWW a few months ago, and immediately texted me “That was the scariest thing I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen all the ‘SAW’ movies.”
Meanwhile, I feel that most women, young or old, will empathize with 20 year old me. We watch this movie, and we think “Oh, men! That’s all they want—for everything to be easy! They just can’t handle complicated women who are independent! R-E-S-P-E-C-T!” This really is a great gender studies movie, when you get right down to it. And, to be honest, this point of view feels extremely true a lot of the time. ESPECIALLY when you are a young, single gal who can’t find a guy who wants to commit or deal with the fact that not only have you seen every episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but you enjoy discussing them at length.
There is even an episode of Sex and the City about it (with parallels to Big and Carrie, of course). This clip pretty much says it all:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YGL1fJEtHWk
Here’s the thing, though, ladies. What we ignore, in the presence of our gal pals, is that Katie is kiiiiind of an annoying character. We like to pretend that she isn’t, because most of us have at least one thing that we are ridiculously passionate about (in Katie’s case, Communism) despite the fact that nobody else cares about it. We wave our banners of individuality and feminism, but the truth is that if she were a man OR a woman, she would still be annoying and impossible. She has some truly great qualities, like being loyal and passionate and wanting Hubbell to be his best self, but she is also desperate and bull-headed and takes everything way too seriously. If a relationship is to succeed, both parties have to compromise a teeny bit. They just do.
When you have just gotten out of a relationship (and you personally feel that being able to recite entire passages from Gone With the Wind should make you MORE attractive to the opposite sex, not less) The Way We Were feels like your spirit movie. Quirky girls: UNITE! But then you actually WATCH watch the movie, and you realize that Babs’ character is out of control. Her antics in the entire first half of the film are the antics of a crazy person. Never, under any circumstances, should you remove your outer garments and crawl into bed with a sleeping man who A. Doesn’t realize you’re there, and B. Has never given you any indication whatsoever that he wants to “know” you in the biblical sense. Katie does not observe the conventions of polite society, however, and continues to plow through the movie with essentially no regard for how her actions might be affecting anyone else. This is where I feel she falls short as a character: it’s not that she’s “too complicated” for Hubbell, it’s that she is a bulldozer. She thinks she knows what’s best for him in every aspect of his life, and maybe she does, but I can’t help thinking this movie might have had a different ending if she would have toned it down about 5 notches. Let the guy write his book the way he wants to, jeez.
As a result of all this, she pushes Hubbell too hard one too many times, and he can’t deal any more. During the first of their breakups, Barbra says to him: “You’ll never find anyone as good for you as I am; to believe in you as much as I do, or love you as much!” to which Hubbell replies that he knows. And he really does! Both he and the audience know that what she says is true, but sometimes that is just not enough. Love and marriage are as much about love on a daily basis as they are about the grand scheme of things, and day by day we all just want to know that we are heard and appreciated. We want to know that what we say and think matters to that special someone, and despite all her best efforts, Babs was really only ever doing what she wanted to do. This, I think, is where we could all stand to do a little bit better. Let’s think of that someone else as much as we think about ourselves, and then we’ll start to have something really amazing.
Are you team #Babs or team #Redford? Let us know what you think in the comments below! As always, I encourage everyone to share his or her thoughts—I’d love to have a discussion on this or any other movie! Stay tuned for more classics with me, and please subscribe to GoodBadPodcast if you’ve got a hankerin’ for more movie talk!
What I am trying to say to you is this: Girl had it going on. She was a little bit crazy, I grant you. Nobody will be holding her up as a beacon of traditional morality anytime soon, and her relationships were certainly nothing to model your own marriage after. BUT I would like to think that there is still something to be said for the kind of passion that leads people to, in the Hallmark-iest of expressions, live their lives out loud. Liz Taylor’s life was nothing if not lived “out loud”. As a result, she brought a definite panache and complexity to each and every one of her on-screen roles, never more so than in Butterfield 8.
Now, you guys, Butterfield 8 is a crazy movie. I hesitate to bring it up in a “review” type setting, because I have so many mixed emotions about it that I don’t even know if I can provide you with a straightforward opinion. Regardless, I am going to try.
First of all, if you have not seen this movie, I implore you to stop what you’re doing right now and watch this clip (a piece of the opening scene):
http://www.tcm.com/mediaroom/video/350817/BUtterfield-8-Movie-Clip-No-Sale.html
I mean…COME ON. Eat your heart out, Ke$ha, Liz was brushing her teeth with a bottle of Jack (or in this case, a glass…same thing!) forty-nine years before you said it was cool.
But okay. Before I get too deeply entrenched in discussing Butterfield 8, I do think there is one crucial thing that I need to point out. In many summaries, reviews, and descriptions of this movie that you will find online, a surprising amount erroneously refer to Elizabeth Taylor’s character, Gloria Wondrous (….I know), as being a prostitute. I think it is a very, very important distinction to make here that she is actually NOT a prostitute. She is what one might call a “hey hey” or “good time” girl; she makes her living as a model, but really it boils down to her being a sad, beautiful, I-need-a-forklift-to-transport-all-my-emotional-baggage type of girl with demonstrably low self-esteem, who tries to find validation in one night stands. She is fragile and all kinds of messed-up, let’s just leave it at that.
We see our first glimpse of this in the opening scene of the movie. Gloria wakes up and stretches, catlike; she smokes a cigar from her lover’s nightstand. She crawls out of bed and onto the floor, and proceeds to slink around the apartment in her white satin slip (which she is WEARING THE CRAP OUT OF, by the way, as only Elizabeth Taylor could), casually running her hand over all his wife’s things. She purrs, she opens the closet to find a delicious mink coat—one that she envies, but still puts back on the hanger in favor of a more modest (albeit still hella fancy) fur coat to cover her almost-nakedness. BUT THEN, what’s this?! A note from her lover leaving her $250 for the previous night’s escapades?! Liz/Gloria is indescribably insulted that he would leave her money for something that she obviously thought was meaningful, and storms to the mirror in a wordless rage (I should also mention that, at this point, no words whatsoever have been spoken in the movie. Just an over-the-top, Looney Tunes-ish, hilariously descriptive score by Bronislau Kaper). In a fit of inspiration, she scribbles “No Sale” on the mirror in lipstick, snatches the first delicious mink coat out of the closet, dons it, and strides elegantly out of the apartment.
Now, I know I’ve expended a lot of words on the first seven minutes of the movie alone. But you have to understand that it really just sets the tone for the entire movie! Gloria is, yes, a woman of ill-repute. But throughout the story she struggles mightily with that fact, and honestly tries to reconcile her lifestyle with an inner sense of right and wrong that is made more difficult by her strict mother’s refusal to see or accept her daughter for who she is. She is a very complex character, and without getting too deep into spoiler territory here, I would honestly have liked to see her get a much better ending.
This is a dark movie, there’s no question about it. It leaves you with the sense that you aren’t quite sure WHAT you wanted to happen to Gloria, you just know that it wasn’t…that. And can I just ask why Laurence Harvey always seems to be such an insufferable, sanctimonious d-bag? He’s the one man she claims to have ever loved, and he just treats her like trash. Yet, somehow, you’re supposed to root for them to be together. This is where my “question mark?” opinion on the movie comes into play. I just…I don’t know. Here’s something I do know, though: I love the glamour and the complicated feelings that old movies like this leave you with. Butterfield 8 was the first time Elizabeth Taylor won an Oscar for Best Actress, despite being nominated several times previously (and despite her own reported comments that this movie was “a piece of trash”). It’s a movie that can’t quite decide what it wants to do–does it want to commend its heroine for being honest in her struggle to become a better person, or does it want to condemn her for being a so-called loose canon? I’m really just not sure, and I’m not sure Daniel Mann was either when he directed it.
Despite these hesitations, however, I am endlessly fascinated by this movie. IMDB describes Gloria as “part model, part call-girl–and all man-trap.” The back of my Butterfield 8 DVD declares, in bold red print: “Lots of men knew her number. No one knew her heart.” Maybe there has been a decline in the tagline industry these days, but I seriously cannot think of the last time a movie tagline made me want so much to laugh out loud and simultaneously spend the whole afternoon watching Elizabeth Taylor brush her teeth with whiskey.
So please, stick with me. In my reviews, and as Charles, Micah, and I make our way through the Good, the Bad and the Podcast, I will be bringing up many more of these kinds of movies. The classics aren’t just Groucho Marx’s eyebrows or Edward G. Robinson going “mmyeah, see?” through the butt of his cigar. They are beautiful, they are complicated, they are women proving that smarts and beauty are not mutually exclusive. They are strong men and strong values, convoluted plot points, and gorgeous cinematography. I hope you’ll stick around to explore every last one.