Friday, February 25, 2005
Male and Female (1919)
Director: Cecile B. De Mille
* Warning the following analysis contains a discussion of the entire film – including the ending.
A fairly ridiculous upstairs downstairs silent film romance/cast-away adventure.
There are two parts to this film – the first two hours and the last 20 seconds. Those final 20 seconds color all which come before it in a most surprising manner.
But first, the initial two hours. We begin in Victorian England. Virtuous, intelligent, hard working servants must wait on inept, frivolous and decadent aristocracy. Lady Mary Lasenby, Gloria Swanson’s character, is the most conceited of them all – haughtily lounging, extravagantly bathing in rose scented water, and obnoxiously ridiculing Crichton, the intelligent and industrious butler, about her morning toast.
After establishing this social dynamic, De Mille turns everything on its head by having the group’s ship wreck on a deserted island while out on a pleasure cruise (a la Gilligan). Castaway on the island the ‘law of nature’ prevails over Victorian hierarchy and Crichton is soon established as the group’s leader because of his bravery, industriousness and intelligence. Crichton is the leopard-skin wearing king, building a little village on the island equipped with numerous contraptions even The Professor would marvel at. Further, previously vain and bratty Lady Lasenby falls in love with Crichton. They are to marry, but mid “I do” a ship arrives to save them. Instantly, before the first English sailor has disembarked to rescue them, the Victorian hierarchy demands all of them return to their previous roles. After years as the leopard-skin king Crichton is instantly the butler again. Victorian social rules supercede Crichton’s natural skills and he must return a servant; Victorian social rule supercede Lady Lasenby’s love, and she knows they can never marry. To drive home the point of how disastrous their marriage would be despite their love, Lady Lasenby’s friend, who stooped to marry her chauffer, arrives for a visit pennyless and shunned, the proof of society’s condemnation of those who break the rules.
And here is where the first movie ends – a tragic love story about the constraints of Victorian society - not unlike Age of Innocence or many other comedies of manners.
But then you have the final scene in the last 20 seconds. Previously we learned Crichton is leaving for America and marring Tweeny, the maid, to escape the unbearable condition he has returned to in England. Cut to the final scene. There is a startling change of scenery – a little wood house out on the American prairie. Crichton is just coming home from plowing the fields of their farm and Tweeny is out to meet him. They embrace and kiss, the film ends, and the poignancy of De Mille’s final statement reworks everything in the previous two hours. De Mille’s statement is about the promise and opportunity of America, and its effect is more powerful than just about any political speech I can recall. Crichton is happy and will be happy because here in America we reward based on natural ability and hard work. We have seen what Crichton is capable of, and De Mille wants us to imagine his accomplishments in a land that will allow him to flourish. It is American democratic propaganda second only to It’s a Wonderful Life in effectiveness. An astounding political accomplishment considering America is not even a thought in this film until the final scene. The single stationary shot of Crichton walking from his field to his wife is a stirring, persuasive tribute to the American dream.
Regardless of whether you buy the propaganda or not, it is worth a viewing to see how effectively De Mille presents it.
This film is also noteworthy because it is the first time De Mille directed Swanson, a collaboration made famous by Sunset Blvd.
Should you see it? If only to compare it with It’s a Wonderful Life as an endorsement of the American dream.
* Warning the following analysis contains a discussion of the entire film – including the ending.
A fairly ridiculous upstairs downstairs silent film romance/cast-away adventure.
There are two parts to this film – the first two hours and the last 20 seconds. Those final 20 seconds color all which come before it in a most surprising manner.
But first, the initial two hours. We begin in Victorian England. Virtuous, intelligent, hard working servants must wait on inept, frivolous and decadent aristocracy. Lady Mary Lasenby, Gloria Swanson’s character, is the most conceited of them all – haughtily lounging, extravagantly bathing in rose scented water, and obnoxiously ridiculing Crichton, the intelligent and industrious butler, about her morning toast.
After establishing this social dynamic, De Mille turns everything on its head by having the group’s ship wreck on a deserted island while out on a pleasure cruise (a la Gilligan). Castaway on the island the ‘law of nature’ prevails over Victorian hierarchy and Crichton is soon established as the group’s leader because of his bravery, industriousness and intelligence. Crichton is the leopard-skin wearing king, building a little village on the island equipped with numerous contraptions even The Professor would marvel at. Further, previously vain and bratty Lady Lasenby falls in love with Crichton. They are to marry, but mid “I do” a ship arrives to save them. Instantly, before the first English sailor has disembarked to rescue them, the Victorian hierarchy demands all of them return to their previous roles. After years as the leopard-skin king Crichton is instantly the butler again. Victorian social rules supercede Crichton’s natural skills and he must return a servant; Victorian social rule supercede Lady Lasenby’s love, and she knows they can never marry. To drive home the point of how disastrous their marriage would be despite their love, Lady Lasenby’s friend, who stooped to marry her chauffer, arrives for a visit pennyless and shunned, the proof of society’s condemnation of those who break the rules.
And here is where the first movie ends – a tragic love story about the constraints of Victorian society - not unlike Age of Innocence or many other comedies of manners.
But then you have the final scene in the last 20 seconds. Previously we learned Crichton is leaving for America and marring Tweeny, the maid, to escape the unbearable condition he has returned to in England. Cut to the final scene. There is a startling change of scenery – a little wood house out on the American prairie. Crichton is just coming home from plowing the fields of their farm and Tweeny is out to meet him. They embrace and kiss, the film ends, and the poignancy of De Mille’s final statement reworks everything in the previous two hours. De Mille’s statement is about the promise and opportunity of America, and its effect is more powerful than just about any political speech I can recall. Crichton is happy and will be happy because here in America we reward based on natural ability and hard work. We have seen what Crichton is capable of, and De Mille wants us to imagine his accomplishments in a land that will allow him to flourish. It is American democratic propaganda second only to It’s a Wonderful Life in effectiveness. An astounding political accomplishment considering America is not even a thought in this film until the final scene. The single stationary shot of Crichton walking from his field to his wife is a stirring, persuasive tribute to the American dream.
Regardless of whether you buy the propaganda or not, it is worth a viewing to see how effectively De Mille presents it.
This film is also noteworthy because it is the first time De Mille directed Swanson, a collaboration made famous by Sunset Blvd.
Should you see it? If only to compare it with It’s a Wonderful Life as an endorsement of the American dream.
Thursday, February 24, 2005
Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953)
Director: Howard Hawks
* Warning the following analysis contains a discussion of the entire film – including the ending.
At the risk of sounding metrosexual – Gentlemen Prefer Blondes is fabulous. It is a Technicolor musical in the eye-popping spirit of Singing in the Rain. Gentlemen Prefer Blondes stars Marilyn Monroe as Lorelei Lee and Jane Russell as Dorothy Shaw, two showgirls on their way to Paris via cruise-ship – and there is your plot. Lorelei hopes to marry a rich man because he is rich and Dorothy is her friend – and there is your character development. Ernie Malone is a private eye hired by Gus Esmond’s father to dig up dirt on Lorelei so he can forbid his son from marrying. Malone manages a photo of Lorelei in the arms of an old diamond mine owner Sir Francis 'Piggy' Beekman – and there is your plot twist. In the final scene (as if I need to say it) Lorelei and Dorothy walk down the aisle to marry – and there, of course, is your resolution. The film has all the substance of a cream puff; yet, it is fabulous.
Most prominently Gentlemen Prefer Blondes has fantastic songs and musical performances (most famously Monroe’s Diamond’s Are a Girl’s Best Friend.) Though for my money Russell is the better musical performer. For me it is like Chicago where Catherine Zeta Jones, the brunette co-star, out performed (and out sex-appealed) the blonde, top-billed star. Rene Zellweger was that blonde in Chicago.
Next, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes is surprisingly sexy for 1953. Further (and I’m not sure about this) it displays more skin (both male and female) than any film that preceded it. The dresses Monroe and Russell wear in the opening scene still shock. Plus there are many cleverly placed and innocently spoken double-entendres (such as the girls discussing the bugle in Esmond’s pocket while he watches them perform). And most startling is the homoerotic dance number featuring basically nude male dances representing the US Olympic team. This is also the best song and dance number in the film – it is the sexy bookend to Monroe’s Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend toward the end of the film. (It would be interesting for a pop-culture historian to discuss if the homoerotic elements in Russell’s song were at all obvious to the 1950s audience – or if society as a whole was too closeted to even acknowledge it. I’m betting on the latter, otherwise I cannot imagine it getting past the censors.)
Director Howard Hawks makes the interesting choice to present Monroe’s character as self-consciously superficial and proud of it. A fitting choice, in that the film itself is self-consciously superficial – there is nothing (internal to the film) to consider after watching it. Monroe famously states, “It is just as easy to love a rich man as a poor man”, and that is all the film is about – her marrying the rich man.
There is, surprisingly, quite a bit to consider external to film – both culturally and within film history. Primarily is how boldly and without emotional conflict Monroe’s character espouses her life theory – get rich by marring a rich man, love be damned. Lorelei is unapologetic and open about her pursuit, disclosing her intentions not only to Dorothy but also to Esmond (and his Dad). The feature song and dance number Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend is Gentlemen Prefer Blondes version of Gordon Gekko “greed is good” speech in Wall St. (I’m sure historians could make a number of boring points about capitalism vs. socialism and 1950s cold war policy at this point.) Further Hawks makes sure Lorelei does not learn anything along the way. She does not fall in love with Esmond, nor does she find anything admirable in Esmond aside from his money. In a very odd way she is an unapologetic woman of her convictions, telling both her finance and his father, I’m marrying in for the cash and don’t you think I’m worth it?
But you really need not think beyond the screen to enjoy this film. It is pure candy – so just lean back, smile and take in the Technicolor sweets.
Should you see it? Fabulously on the big screen.
* Warning the following analysis contains a discussion of the entire film – including the ending.
At the risk of sounding metrosexual – Gentlemen Prefer Blondes is fabulous. It is a Technicolor musical in the eye-popping spirit of Singing in the Rain. Gentlemen Prefer Blondes stars Marilyn Monroe as Lorelei Lee and Jane Russell as Dorothy Shaw, two showgirls on their way to Paris via cruise-ship – and there is your plot. Lorelei hopes to marry a rich man because he is rich and Dorothy is her friend – and there is your character development. Ernie Malone is a private eye hired by Gus Esmond’s father to dig up dirt on Lorelei so he can forbid his son from marrying. Malone manages a photo of Lorelei in the arms of an old diamond mine owner Sir Francis 'Piggy' Beekman – and there is your plot twist. In the final scene (as if I need to say it) Lorelei and Dorothy walk down the aisle to marry – and there, of course, is your resolution. The film has all the substance of a cream puff; yet, it is fabulous.
Most prominently Gentlemen Prefer Blondes has fantastic songs and musical performances (most famously Monroe’s Diamond’s Are a Girl’s Best Friend.) Though for my money Russell is the better musical performer. For me it is like Chicago where Catherine Zeta Jones, the brunette co-star, out performed (and out sex-appealed) the blonde, top-billed star. Rene Zellweger was that blonde in Chicago.
Next, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes is surprisingly sexy for 1953. Further (and I’m not sure about this) it displays more skin (both male and female) than any film that preceded it. The dresses Monroe and Russell wear in the opening scene still shock. Plus there are many cleverly placed and innocently spoken double-entendres (such as the girls discussing the bugle in Esmond’s pocket while he watches them perform). And most startling is the homoerotic dance number featuring basically nude male dances representing the US Olympic team. This is also the best song and dance number in the film – it is the sexy bookend to Monroe’s Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend toward the end of the film. (It would be interesting for a pop-culture historian to discuss if the homoerotic elements in Russell’s song were at all obvious to the 1950s audience – or if society as a whole was too closeted to even acknowledge it. I’m betting on the latter, otherwise I cannot imagine it getting past the censors.)
Director Howard Hawks makes the interesting choice to present Monroe’s character as self-consciously superficial and proud of it. A fitting choice, in that the film itself is self-consciously superficial – there is nothing (internal to the film) to consider after watching it. Monroe famously states, “It is just as easy to love a rich man as a poor man”, and that is all the film is about – her marrying the rich man.
There is, surprisingly, quite a bit to consider external to film – both culturally and within film history. Primarily is how boldly and without emotional conflict Monroe’s character espouses her life theory – get rich by marring a rich man, love be damned. Lorelei is unapologetic and open about her pursuit, disclosing her intentions not only to Dorothy but also to Esmond (and his Dad). The feature song and dance number Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend is Gentlemen Prefer Blondes version of Gordon Gekko “greed is good” speech in Wall St. (I’m sure historians could make a number of boring points about capitalism vs. socialism and 1950s cold war policy at this point.) Further Hawks makes sure Lorelei does not learn anything along the way. She does not fall in love with Esmond, nor does she find anything admirable in Esmond aside from his money. In a very odd way she is an unapologetic woman of her convictions, telling both her finance and his father, I’m marrying in for the cash and don’t you think I’m worth it?
But you really need not think beyond the screen to enjoy this film. It is pure candy – so just lean back, smile and take in the Technicolor sweets.
Should you see it? Fabulously on the big screen.
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Love (1927)
Director: Edmund Goulding
* Warning the following analysis contains a discussion of the entire film – including the ending.
Love is a better than you expect silent film romance.
There are a few remarkable qualities a film lover will encounter in Love. Foremost is how little the emotional impact of Love has faded over the years (relative to other silent films). Often silent films are enjoyable because they have aged and we can delight in their quaint or old-fashioned sensibility, laughing while comparing how much movies and pop culture have changed. Love, however, has largely maintained its original affect, which is particularly amazing given it is a sentimental tear-jerker romance, a genre that ages, perhaps, lest well. These eighty years later we still can related to the feelings of both Captain Count Alexei Vronsky (John Gilbert) and Anna Karenina (Greta Garbo) while we root for their love. Of course there are plenty of moments, originally dramatic, that are now laughable, but over all the film has age well. (Most odd is the depiction of Anna and her son’s love. Today it plays with disturbingly incestuous overtones. I do not know how it played in 1927.)
The second striking feature, also related to how well this film has aged, is how beautiful Greta Garbo appears. Like many elements in silent films, standards are beauty may not translate across generations. Actors and actresses considered amazingly beautiful in the teens and twenties may no longer satisfy the modern movie star equivalent. Garbo, however, is still strikingly, obviously beautiful.
The final striking feature is a bit of trivia – there are two endings to Love, an American ending and a European. The difference in endings is striking in that the same divergent choices would probably be made today. The European ending is bleak, tragic and emotionally effective, as Anna steps in front of the rushing train rather than live without her lover and son. Further, it is the ending in the original text, Leo Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina. The American ending is predictable, saccharine and laughable. Americans in 1927, like American today, want their romances to end with all the loose ends tided up, all the obstacles overcome, and all our couples marring to live happily ever after.
Story Synopsis: Love is based on Leo Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina. Anna Karenina meets Captain Count Alexei Vronsky in a terrible blizzard late one afternoon and he helps her to shelter. He is instantly smitten, but she rejects him. Vronsky helps Anna back to the Czarist court and her husband, Senator Alexei Karenina. Vronsky too is part of the court, the top assistant to the Grand Duke. Vronsky and Anna continue to meet at various events: official functions, dances, wolf hunts. Eventually they fall hopelessly in love. The court is abuzz as it is obvious to all who see Vronsky and Anna that they are attracted to each other. Karenina cold and authoritarian, warns Anna of court gossip and commands she at least be inconspicuous and avoid public scandal. Anna and Vronsky try a number of times to stop seeing each but their love is overpowering. Eventually they abscond to Italy, rejecting their former lives to live as lovers. Anna, however, cannot bare being away from her son. When she returns Karenina refuses to allow Anna to visit her son again. Further, Anna finds out that Vronsky is going to be dismissed from his military post because of their affair. Realizing how awful that would be for Vronsky she makes a deal with his commander: if she leaves St. Petersburg forever Vronsky will retain his post. She decides to leave on the next train, sacrificing her happiness for Vronsky’s. But Anna cannot bear the thought of leaving both her lover and her adored son. Instead of riding her train into exile she steps in front of it to her death. The ending is sudden, shocking, and effective.
A surprisingly poignant ending to a film of pleasant surprises.
American Ending: Years later Vronsky happens upon Anna and her son. Vronsky has maintained his high military post, Anna’s husband is dead, mother and son are together, Anna and Vronsky still love each and will surely soon marry now that they have re-found each other. And we have “happily ever after’.
Should you see it? If you really like silent films.
* Warning the following analysis contains a discussion of the entire film – including the ending.
Love is a better than you expect silent film romance.
There are a few remarkable qualities a film lover will encounter in Love. Foremost is how little the emotional impact of Love has faded over the years (relative to other silent films). Often silent films are enjoyable because they have aged and we can delight in their quaint or old-fashioned sensibility, laughing while comparing how much movies and pop culture have changed. Love, however, has largely maintained its original affect, which is particularly amazing given it is a sentimental tear-jerker romance, a genre that ages, perhaps, lest well. These eighty years later we still can related to the feelings of both Captain Count Alexei Vronsky (John Gilbert) and Anna Karenina (Greta Garbo) while we root for their love. Of course there are plenty of moments, originally dramatic, that are now laughable, but over all the film has age well. (Most odd is the depiction of Anna and her son’s love. Today it plays with disturbingly incestuous overtones. I do not know how it played in 1927.)
The second striking feature, also related to how well this film has aged, is how beautiful Greta Garbo appears. Like many elements in silent films, standards are beauty may not translate across generations. Actors and actresses considered amazingly beautiful in the teens and twenties may no longer satisfy the modern movie star equivalent. Garbo, however, is still strikingly, obviously beautiful.
The final striking feature is a bit of trivia – there are two endings to Love, an American ending and a European. The difference in endings is striking in that the same divergent choices would probably be made today. The European ending is bleak, tragic and emotionally effective, as Anna steps in front of the rushing train rather than live without her lover and son. Further, it is the ending in the original text, Leo Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina. The American ending is predictable, saccharine and laughable. Americans in 1927, like American today, want their romances to end with all the loose ends tided up, all the obstacles overcome, and all our couples marring to live happily ever after.
Story Synopsis: Love is based on Leo Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina. Anna Karenina meets Captain Count Alexei Vronsky in a terrible blizzard late one afternoon and he helps her to shelter. He is instantly smitten, but she rejects him. Vronsky helps Anna back to the Czarist court and her husband, Senator Alexei Karenina. Vronsky too is part of the court, the top assistant to the Grand Duke. Vronsky and Anna continue to meet at various events: official functions, dances, wolf hunts. Eventually they fall hopelessly in love. The court is abuzz as it is obvious to all who see Vronsky and Anna that they are attracted to each other. Karenina cold and authoritarian, warns Anna of court gossip and commands she at least be inconspicuous and avoid public scandal. Anna and Vronsky try a number of times to stop seeing each but their love is overpowering. Eventually they abscond to Italy, rejecting their former lives to live as lovers. Anna, however, cannot bare being away from her son. When she returns Karenina refuses to allow Anna to visit her son again. Further, Anna finds out that Vronsky is going to be dismissed from his military post because of their affair. Realizing how awful that would be for Vronsky she makes a deal with his commander: if she leaves St. Petersburg forever Vronsky will retain his post. She decides to leave on the next train, sacrificing her happiness for Vronsky’s. But Anna cannot bear the thought of leaving both her lover and her adored son. Instead of riding her train into exile she steps in front of it to her death. The ending is sudden, shocking, and effective.
A surprisingly poignant ending to a film of pleasant surprises.
American Ending: Years later Vronsky happens upon Anna and her son. Vronsky has maintained his high military post, Anna’s husband is dead, mother and son are together, Anna and Vronsky still love each and will surely soon marry now that they have re-found each other. And we have “happily ever after’.
Should you see it? If you really like silent films.
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
Sunrise (1927)
Director: F.W. Murnau
* Warning - The following analysis contains a discussion of the entire film including the ending.
Sunrise is a puzzle movie. No, not a mystery; rather one of those few movie gems that does not reveal its full emotional weight and beauty until the final scene. Then it all comes together, complete, and you are left to marvel at its perfect construction. The three other puzzle films I have seen are all Italian black and white masterpieces. In order of brilliance: Federico Fellini's La Strada (1954), Vittorio De Sica’s The Bicycle Thief (1948), Ermanno Olmi's Il Posto (1961). Sunrise is their silent-film precursor by some 30 years and it seems the three directors are emulating Sunrise’s form. Like Sunrise all three movies have long, slowly paced sequences centered around the mundane. In Il Posto it the young boy’s tedious work days, in The Bicycle Thief it is a father and son wandering the streets of their town looking for a stolen bike, and in La Strada it is the daily routine of a traveling carnival. In Sunrise, wonderfully, it is the mundane of falling in love. Falling in love, mundane? Perhaps I should describe it as real – it is not meeting atop the Empire State Building, it is not escaping war torn France and meeting again in Morocco, it is not finding each other again after having your memory erased. No, it is quaint; it is probable; it is believable. She watches him get a shave at the barber, they pose for a photographer and leave giddy with their portrait, she gets tipsy on a few glasses of wine, the bright lights and dancing. These, myriad of little moments, that together, add up to the final emotional impact as the film clicks into place in the final scene.
Unlike the 3 Italian films mentioned, Sunrise has a very dramatic beginning and ending, framing the magnificently mundane middle. As the film begins The Man, a simple country boy, is having an affair with a ‘City Woman’ – an urban temptress who boldly displays and uses her sexuality to hook and control The Man. He is out of his mind in lust, letting his farm, wife and child all suffer by neglect. His wife, a mix of innocence reminiscent of the Virgin Mary and Mary Ingalls, quietly bares his obvious infidelity. Then the wicked city woman talks The Man into killing his wife in a boating accident so he can sell the farm and leave for the sinful city. He agrees, and takes her out on the water with plans for murder, but cannot go through with it. She flees when they reach land; and he follows and pleads for forgiveness. Reluctantly she agrees, and we get the long beautiful middle as they re-fall in love. Ironically, as they return from their wonderful day their boat capsizes in a storm and she, we think, has drown. As a few agonizing minutes The Wife is returned safely and the city temptress is driven out by the country folk like a sacrificial lamb.
They embrace, as she lies recovering in bed: her hair finally down, their love believable. The production affects its full, cumulative emotional impact, and realizes this film was perfectly made.
Should you see it? Absolutely. (However, I am unsure if silent films translate well to the small screen. Look for an art house revivial.)
* Warning - The following analysis contains a discussion of the entire film including the ending.
Sunrise is a puzzle movie. No, not a mystery; rather one of those few movie gems that does not reveal its full emotional weight and beauty until the final scene. Then it all comes together, complete, and you are left to marvel at its perfect construction. The three other puzzle films I have seen are all Italian black and white masterpieces. In order of brilliance: Federico Fellini's La Strada (1954), Vittorio De Sica’s The Bicycle Thief (1948), Ermanno Olmi's Il Posto (1961). Sunrise is their silent-film precursor by some 30 years and it seems the three directors are emulating Sunrise’s form. Like Sunrise all three movies have long, slowly paced sequences centered around the mundane. In Il Posto it the young boy’s tedious work days, in The Bicycle Thief it is a father and son wandering the streets of their town looking for a stolen bike, and in La Strada it is the daily routine of a traveling carnival. In Sunrise, wonderfully, it is the mundane of falling in love. Falling in love, mundane? Perhaps I should describe it as real – it is not meeting atop the Empire State Building, it is not escaping war torn France and meeting again in Morocco, it is not finding each other again after having your memory erased. No, it is quaint; it is probable; it is believable. She watches him get a shave at the barber, they pose for a photographer and leave giddy with their portrait, she gets tipsy on a few glasses of wine, the bright lights and dancing. These, myriad of little moments, that together, add up to the final emotional impact as the film clicks into place in the final scene.
Unlike the 3 Italian films mentioned, Sunrise has a very dramatic beginning and ending, framing the magnificently mundane middle. As the film begins The Man, a simple country boy, is having an affair with a ‘City Woman’ – an urban temptress who boldly displays and uses her sexuality to hook and control The Man. He is out of his mind in lust, letting his farm, wife and child all suffer by neglect. His wife, a mix of innocence reminiscent of the Virgin Mary and Mary Ingalls, quietly bares his obvious infidelity. Then the wicked city woman talks The Man into killing his wife in a boating accident so he can sell the farm and leave for the sinful city. He agrees, and takes her out on the water with plans for murder, but cannot go through with it. She flees when they reach land; and he follows and pleads for forgiveness. Reluctantly she agrees, and we get the long beautiful middle as they re-fall in love. Ironically, as they return from their wonderful day their boat capsizes in a storm and she, we think, has drown. As a few agonizing minutes The Wife is returned safely and the city temptress is driven out by the country folk like a sacrificial lamb.
They embrace, as she lies recovering in bed: her hair finally down, their love believable. The production affects its full, cumulative emotional impact, and realizes this film was perfectly made.
Should you see it? Absolutely. (However, I am unsure if silent films translate well to the small screen. Look for an art house revivial.)
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
Ray (2004)
Director: Taylor Hackford
See Januray for analysis of:
The Aviator
Finding Neverland
The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou
Closer
* Warning * The f0llowing analysis discusses the entire film, including the ending.
Ray is fantastically entertaining, wonderfully acted from top to bottom, and is just a damn good story told well. It is biopic of Ray Charles spanning his life from age 8 in the segregated south to his world-renowned success in the late 1960s.
Interestingly The Aviator and Ray share many similarities: both are biopics of the famous, both are fast paced, absorbing and thoroughly entertaining, both stories are punctuated by numerous renown successes (the creation of airplanes in The Aviator, the creation of songs in Ray) and both main characters have their Achilles heel (mental illness in The Aviator, heroine addiction in Ray). Ray, however, succeeds in the critical area of character, precisely where the The Aviator fails.
Ray succeeds by staying focused on Ray as a person in a story, rather than as an icon in a spectacle (which is how Martin Scorsese treats Howard Hughes). Of course you realize that the story is about Ray Charles, most poignantly when you hear his familiar, brilliant music; however, the film is at its best when you forget about the real life Ray Charles and are absorbed in the on screen performance, (and you are continuously absorbed).
Scorsese, on the other hand, is continually pointing outward from the film asking us to think about the real world icons inhabiting the screen. He sets up a wax works and wants us to say “Oooow look, there’s Catherine Hepburn. Owww look, there’s Spencer Tracy.” Scorsese does little in the way of character development, relying, I suppose, on the biographic knowledge we already have to fill in where he has only broadly sketched. Ultimately The Aviator is a surface film, a superficial action adventure. Ray is genuine, insightful, well-structured cinematic story telling. (See The Aviator in January 2005 of this blog for the extended Aviator rant.)
Ray’s story is both incredibly interesting and skillfully composed. Director Taylor Hackford uses intermittent flashbacks to Ray’s ultra-poor childhood in the segregated south as his central dramatic device. The flashbacks give Ray depth, helping to explain why the Ray of our story has become the man he is.
There are two childhood tragedies Ray carries with him throughout the story. The first tragedy is Ray’s blindness, and his mother’s insistence that he become educated and independent despite his handicap. Ray is determined to live up to his mother’s expectation that the world “not make a cripple out of him”. We see Ray’s intense insistence not to be taken advantage of in many scenes: most viscerally when he jumps the table onto the manager whom he thinks has shorted his salary, most personally when he demands autonomy to create, own and control his music, and most significantly when he is the first black musician to boycott segregated auditoriums.
Della Bea’s demand (Ray’s mother) that he become self-reliant developed Ray’s tough confidence, resulting in Ray’s successes. Conversely, Ray’s emotional inability to confront his second childhood tragedy, his brother’s death, instilled the trigger of his near self-destruction. As an 8-year-old boy he stood by helplessly as his younger brother drown. The grief and guilt of this tragedy are always just beneath the surface for Ray as he is unable to forgive himself for his younger brother’s death. We see him start using heroine to dull his emotional pain, but he is eventually hopelessly addicted. Hackford clearly ties Ray’s emotional pain with his heroine use. Kicking his habit becomes his last struggle; Ray suffers painful withdrawal treatment in the film’s climax. In the final stages of his recovery Ray, in a withdrawal delusion, confronts his childhood ghosts. He is upbraided by his mother that they “made a cripple out of you any way” referring to his addiction, while his little brother breaks all our hearts (and has us reaching for the tissues) when he sweetly assures Ray his death was not Ray’s fault. Ray recovers and we know he has established the inner peace he needs to rebuild his family and continue with his fabulous music career. It is a subtle and beautiful climax.
Finally, Hackford smartly closes with a quick, well constructed, quiet dénouement. We read a synopsis of the rest of Ray’s life, successes and contributions - and the film ends, allowing a silent moment for us to exhale and say, “wow”.
A fantastic ending to a fantastic film.
Should you see it? You’ll love it.
See Januray for analysis of:
The Aviator
Finding Neverland
The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou
Closer
* Warning * The f0llowing analysis discusses the entire film, including the ending.
Ray is fantastically entertaining, wonderfully acted from top to bottom, and is just a damn good story told well. It is biopic of Ray Charles spanning his life from age 8 in the segregated south to his world-renowned success in the late 1960s.
Interestingly The Aviator and Ray share many similarities: both are biopics of the famous, both are fast paced, absorbing and thoroughly entertaining, both stories are punctuated by numerous renown successes (the creation of airplanes in The Aviator, the creation of songs in Ray) and both main characters have their Achilles heel (mental illness in The Aviator, heroine addiction in Ray). Ray, however, succeeds in the critical area of character, precisely where the The Aviator fails.
Ray succeeds by staying focused on Ray as a person in a story, rather than as an icon in a spectacle (which is how Martin Scorsese treats Howard Hughes). Of course you realize that the story is about Ray Charles, most poignantly when you hear his familiar, brilliant music; however, the film is at its best when you forget about the real life Ray Charles and are absorbed in the on screen performance, (and you are continuously absorbed).
Scorsese, on the other hand, is continually pointing outward from the film asking us to think about the real world icons inhabiting the screen. He sets up a wax works and wants us to say “Oooow look, there’s Catherine Hepburn. Owww look, there’s Spencer Tracy.” Scorsese does little in the way of character development, relying, I suppose, on the biographic knowledge we already have to fill in where he has only broadly sketched. Ultimately The Aviator is a surface film, a superficial action adventure. Ray is genuine, insightful, well-structured cinematic story telling. (See The Aviator in January 2005 of this blog for the extended Aviator rant.)
Ray’s story is both incredibly interesting and skillfully composed. Director Taylor Hackford uses intermittent flashbacks to Ray’s ultra-poor childhood in the segregated south as his central dramatic device. The flashbacks give Ray depth, helping to explain why the Ray of our story has become the man he is.
There are two childhood tragedies Ray carries with him throughout the story. The first tragedy is Ray’s blindness, and his mother’s insistence that he become educated and independent despite his handicap. Ray is determined to live up to his mother’s expectation that the world “not make a cripple out of him”. We see Ray’s intense insistence not to be taken advantage of in many scenes: most viscerally when he jumps the table onto the manager whom he thinks has shorted his salary, most personally when he demands autonomy to create, own and control his music, and most significantly when he is the first black musician to boycott segregated auditoriums.
Della Bea’s demand (Ray’s mother) that he become self-reliant developed Ray’s tough confidence, resulting in Ray’s successes. Conversely, Ray’s emotional inability to confront his second childhood tragedy, his brother’s death, instilled the trigger of his near self-destruction. As an 8-year-old boy he stood by helplessly as his younger brother drown. The grief and guilt of this tragedy are always just beneath the surface for Ray as he is unable to forgive himself for his younger brother’s death. We see him start using heroine to dull his emotional pain, but he is eventually hopelessly addicted. Hackford clearly ties Ray’s emotional pain with his heroine use. Kicking his habit becomes his last struggle; Ray suffers painful withdrawal treatment in the film’s climax. In the final stages of his recovery Ray, in a withdrawal delusion, confronts his childhood ghosts. He is upbraided by his mother that they “made a cripple out of you any way” referring to his addiction, while his little brother breaks all our hearts (and has us reaching for the tissues) when he sweetly assures Ray his death was not Ray’s fault. Ray recovers and we know he has established the inner peace he needs to rebuild his family and continue with his fabulous music career. It is a subtle and beautiful climax.
Finally, Hackford smartly closes with a quick, well constructed, quiet dénouement. We read a synopsis of the rest of Ray’s life, successes and contributions - and the film ends, allowing a silent moment for us to exhale and say, “wow”.
A fantastic ending to a fantastic film.
Should you see it? You’ll love it.
