Thursday, September 28, 2017

the queer cinema index

Film producer Sandra Schulberg ("Quills") is also the president and executive director of IndieCollect, which advocates for the heritage of independent film - the documenting, preserving and saving of indies of all stripes. But her current focus is celebrating the strides made by LGBTQ films with an invaluable new research tool, The Queer Cinema Index

Schulberg's plan is to introduce a database devoted to LGBTQ titles that will aid in the research and vetting of a proposed 12,000 titles. Working with curator Bob Hawk, her gung-ho, optimistic goal is to have 8,000 titles researched and indexed within six months. To accomplish this, Schulberg is crowdsourcing early donations so they can earn a matching grant in early October - which is, like, next week. They are clearly working on a tight deadline. So, quick, check out the link for information on donations.

Given that LGBTQ characters have been portrayed, for better or worse, in films for decades now, a source for researching those characters and films is way overdue. Consider this: Lillian Hellman's ”The Children’s Hour” - the basis for two excellent William Wyler films (one with acute fidelity to the play) and a 2011 London revival (starring Keira Knightley, Elizabeth Moss, Ellen Burstyn and Carol Kane) - opened on Broadway at Maxine Elliott's Theater on November 20th, 1934, close to a jaw-dropping 85 years ago.

So, no, LGBTQ characters haven't been closeted, movie-wise, at all - although, with the advent of independent cinema in the 1980s and the release of such titles as Stephen Frears' "Prick Up Your Ears," James Ivory's "Maurice" and Richard Benner's ”Happy Birthday Gemini,” among many others, one could say that an exhilarating liberation took place.

Now, it's time to index these titles, LGBTQ films both recent and old, famous and unknown, and that's the exact plan that Schulberg and Hawk have in mind. Operating in much the same way as the databases at the American Film Institute (AFI) and the Academy Library, QCI will provide scholars, archivists, programmers and the merely curious with access to countless titles and hopefully a few unexpected discoveries (always a bonus) which, in turn, can initiate revivals and retrospectives and give distributors a strong impetus to invest in restorations and re-releases.

Those moved to make a donation (hopefully before October 1st) will be designated as Founding Sponsors, with acknowledgement as such on the QCI website. Donations are fully tax-deductible and, more to the point, are a way to respond to the current oppressive and intolerant political climate.

So, why be dismayed when one can promote independent and alternative cinema, possibly save a movie and, in some small way, have a voice?

And one can never overestimate the added insight and intimacy that come with new information about a familiar and favored film. You would think that watching movies, non-stop, is enough for the insatiable film buff. Not really. Easily as satisfying is found information about a beloved title - research, the conjoined twin of every all-embracing movie experience. 

BTW, if the name Schulberg rings a bell that's because Sandra is the niece of the late writer Budd Schulberg, he of "On the Waterfront," "What Makes Sammy Run?" and "A Face in the Crowd" fame. I wish he were still alive so that he can appreciate/savor the prescience of "A Face in the Crowd."

Note in passing: A quick "thank you" to my friend Michael and his producing partner Catherine for giving me the heads up about QCI.
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~images~

~Gary Oldman and Alfred Molina in "Prick Up Your Ears"
 ~photography: Mary Evans/The Samuel Goldwyn Company 1987© 

~the logo for IndieCollect

Thursday, September 21, 2017

aronofsky's unrelenting provocation

"Darren Aronofsky’s 'mother!' Will Likely Be 2017’s Most Hated Movie!"

So blared the headline for a movie review on The Verge site when Aronofsky's work - a true cinematic affront - played The Toronto International Film Festival a few days prior to its national release.

"The most hated"? Perhaps. But, frankly, who cares? It's an opinion, that's all. "The best..." The worst..." "The most..." When it comes to movies, why do opinions lean towards overstatement and exaggeration? Sorry, but in this case, a more interesting consideration is why "mother!" might be hated, particularly when one considers the execrable junk that moviegoers sit through week after week and that weak-willed critics leniently endorse.

"The most hated?" No, but it is certainly "the most talked-about and debated." That's something that one could hardly say about anything recently critically-acclaimed or about any of the recent Oscar winners. Quick! I challenge you to name the last three Best Picture winners. You probably can't because most Oscar winners, risk-free and politically correct, prove to be unmemorable. "mother!" is hardly unmemorable.

From where I sit, Aronofky's film in currently on the same fascinating journey previously taken by Alfred Hitchcock's "Vertigo," Charles Chaplin's "A Countess from Hong Kong," John Huston's "The Misfits," Peter Bogdanovich's "At Long Last Love," Elaine May's "Ishtar," John Boorman's "Exorcist II: The Heretic," Francis Ford Coppola's "One from the Heart," Steven Spielberg's "1941" and, most notably, Michael Cimino's "Heaven's Gate" - all "hated" films.

Each and every one of them angered critics and the public alike - each was called "the worst" - and the disapproval lingered and burned for years. What sets "mother!" apart from all of them is that it is willfully troublesome, with hellish imagery and sounds that grow more repellent, pronounced and overwhelming until it, well, simply expires. The end.

Given that this site is devoted largely to movies that have been unpopular and mostly misunderstood, "mother!" fits right in - and one of the qualities that I like and admire about the film is just how inscrutable it is and how it is not audience-friendly at all. It's also elusive. "mother!" has had critics flailing about as they've attempted to define, describe or pigeon-hole it.

Exactly what is it? A psychological thriller? A religious horror film? A movie about the most traumatic home invasion imaginable? Or is it the dark, dark comedy as A.O. Scott bravely called it in The New York Times?

Superficially, it's your basic woman-in-distress movie - a variation on Roman Polanski's 'Rosemary's Baby" about an entrapped woman married to man whose ways are suspect to say the least. It can also be taken as a filmic nightmare, plain and simple - a movie that catches us while we're still awake and then lulls us into a dream that, almost insidiously, turns bad, holding the heroine (and us) captive in a place that's clearly hell.

The latter point has prompted critics to label it a religious allegory and I have to admit that I am disappointed that Aronofsky and his stars, Jennifer Lawrence and Javier Bardem, supported that analysis when they were interviewed by Melena Ryzik for The New York Times. (Bardem feels that the film is about "the birth of a religion as a cult.") I was hoping Aronofsky would remain quiet and simply leave his film open to free interpretation.

Here's my take, an analysis as fractured as the movie itself... We are introduced to a nameless husband and wife - played by Lawrence and Bardem - although the end credits list them as "mother" and "Him" (capitalized as one does when referring to God or Jesus - hence the religious slant). He's a poet struggling with writer's block.  His only feedback comes from her. She tends to restoring his childhood home that was destroyed by fire. She is devoted to Him and to home.

They live a solitary life that should be blissful, but Aronofsy creates immediate tension and anxiety by having his camera trail (stalk, actually) Lawrence whenever she is on screen. It is seemingly attached to her at the hip as she walks from room to room and turns and goes up a staircase. She is never alone even when, ostensibly, she is alone.

It's a nerve-wracking conceit that never lets up and that becomes more suffocating as the film progresses - or should I say as it regresses?

The solitude ends when an elderly stranger shows up at their door and is invited to stay the night by Bardem, much to Lawrence's distress. The man's wife, a truly unsettling woman, shows up the next day and the two are invited - again by Bardem - to stay as long as they want. It turns out that the stranger is dying. He's also a fan and wanted to meet Him before passing. Tellingly, this attention is catnip to Him. He can't resist it. He can't say no to this creepy couple - or their two grown sons, who also show up.

Ed Harris and Michelle Pfeiffer (excellent!) play the older couple (also nameless), and while Scott likened them to George and Martha in Albee's "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?," they are closer to Minnie and Roman Castevet (Ruth Gordon and Sidney Blackmer) from "Rosemary's Baby."

Our initial feeling of dread, it turns out, is well-founded. Awful things happen, mostly to the Lawrence character who just wants to make her husband happy, but as more and more people invade their home, taking over and destroying the hard, meticulous work she put into it, the more Him becomes oblivious, self-centered and narcissistic - and the more she becomes invisible. Not just to Him but to the hordes of hangers-on now populating their home. Her pleas to Him to stop this madness go unacknowledged because - and this is important - he listens to no one.

He can't get enough attention. There are never too many people - his "core" support - in their home. He enjoys the jarring chaos that comes with all the fawning - and he is complicit in the destruction that follows.

Maybe this is a stretch but, for me, the crazed, surreal narrative of "mother!" matches the current political climate. Him is reminiscent of someone currently in the public eye who creates chaos (and possible destruction) with his insatiable need for attention and adulation. Sitting through this movie, cringing and witnessing something all too recognizable, I saw it not as something religious but as a nasty political allegory.

"mother!" may be the first Trump-era horror movie.

That said, Aronofsky's direction is impeccable and completely, relentlessly focused. His choreography of the crowds and the crowded excess that ravenously overtake Lawrence's world, abetted by Matthew Libatique's invaluable cinematography, make for major, awesome filmmaking.

The director creates a hysteria that's absolutely brilliant but beyond the appreciation of the average moviegoer. A seriously misunderstood movie.

Notes in Passing: Since writing this and sharing my political allegory theory, reader "v.h." posted a a compelling response in the comment section, extending this observation - "I saw Jennifer Lawrence as Hillary Clinton during the primary and after the election as everything seemed to gang up on her and everything fell apart." Great catch.

BTW, "mother!" received a rare F rating (no surprise here) from CinemaScore, one of only 19 movies to be so graded. (Such sites have become the bane of the movie industry.) Meanwhile, the readers of The New York Times responded to the Times' review and Ryzik's interview with their own opinions. The movie is divisive and polarizing. Is that so wrong?

Any film that truly impassions people is a positive, all too rare these days. 
* * * * *
~image~
~Javier Bardem and Jennifer Lawrence in a scene from "mother!"
 ~photography: Paramount Pictures 2017©

Sunday, September 17, 2017

imperfect

I'm here today to play devil's advocate - to advance an observation that will probably be unpopular with most movie critics and film aficionados.

It's my contention that there is no such animal as a "perfect film" - that even an entitled movie lauded universally as a masterpiece or masterwork can have a distracting flaw or blemish. It's a troubling notion, particularly when the seemingly perfect film in question is the work of a favored director. Blind loyalty can delude even the most reasoned movie buff.

Throughout the years, there have been certain filmmakers in my private universe who can do no wrong - early on Billy Wilder and Richard Quine, and then Hal Ashby and Paul Mazursky, and perennially, Vincente Minnelli and Alfred Hitchcock. Especially Alfred Hitchcock. To him, I'm blindly loyal.

It's disturbing for me, after watching a masterwork for the umpteenth time, to discover belatedly (and improbably) that it has - this can't be! - a flaw. This just can't be. But it be. Suddenly, a film that's the definition of "perfection" isn't. This revelation is the result of having watched Alfred Hitchcock's "Vertigo" for the 758th time and Billy Wilder's "The Apartment" for the 962nd time, both on Turner Classic Movies, always on Turner (even though I have DVDs of both that, for some reason, I've never watched).

"Vertigo" routinely tops every arbitrary movie list as "the greatest film ever made," and deservedly so. "The Apartment" has been a personal favorite since forever, the one movie that fueled my passion for movies.

It pains me to say this but neither one is the perfect film that I discovered decades ago. Their respective blemishes, while hardly damaging, are disillusioning nevertheless. As well as annoying and ... unnecessary.

"Vertigo" is Hitchcock's lulling 128-minute metaphor for the tingling dangers of falling in love, the operative word, of course, being "falling."

Jimmy Stewart spends the first half of the film simply following Kim Novak around a shimmering '50s San Francisco. Kim Novak is gorgeous. San Francisco is gorgeous. So far, perfection. Stewart's obsession mirrors Hitchcock's for actresses who worked for him and, in the film's second half, after Novak is seemingly gone, he tries to recreate her cosmetically, the way a controlling filmmaker would. He's blissfully possessed. The initial dreaminess of the film becomes a nightmare that is not at all unappealing.

Blemishing the wonder of "Vertigo," however, is the unwatchable tribunal scene - archly written by Alec Coppel and Samuel Taylor and poorly acted by Henry Jones as a sonorous, accusing coronor and Tom Helmore as the old friend who framed the Stewart character. It stops the film cold, adds little to the narrative and, largely because of Jones, is a trial to watch.

It's difficult to believe that this scene, which is heavy-handed and atypically unsubtle (in contrast to the rest of the film), was written by the same authors and directed by the same filmmaker responsible for the movie surrounding it. It could be cut without affecting "Vertigo" at all.

As for "The Apartment," it's a caustic and acerbic workplace comedy, streaked by nastiness, and comes with Wilder's trademark cynicism and his rather blatant lack of sympathy for any of his characters. It remains as bracing and as incorrigibly satisfying as it was almost 60 years ago.

But then there are those awful scenes with Shirley MacLaine (in the victim phase of her career) as a lovelorn elevator operator and Fred MacMurray as the imperious, rather repellent (married) executive with whom she's having an affair - an affair not the least bit believable. One never has an understanding of what these two see in each other. Would MacLaine's character actually be attracted to someone as dull as MacMurray's?  And he seems more inclined to seduce a tall blonde - a model or an actress - rather than a downtrodden unskilled worker with a kookie haircut.
These scenes are pure soap opera - glaringly out of place in a movie as smart as "The Apartment" - and they're poorly acted. Or perhaps MacLaine and MacMurray simply have no chemistry. Or perhaps the actors don't believe this relationship any more than I do. Whatever, it doesn't work.

MacLaine, meanwhile, has been given True Romance dialogue (tied to the affair) that is cringe-worthy. For example:

"Why do people have to love people anyway? "  

And...

"I was jinxed from the word go. The first time I was ever kissed was in a cemetery."

And...

"I just have this talent for falling in love with the wrong guy in the wrong place at the wrong time."
  
And...

"When you're in love with a married man, you shouldn't wear mascara."
 
This stuff was written by Billy Wilder and I.A.L. Diamond? Really? (And I don't buy for an instant that MacLaine is "in love" with MacMurray.)

There are curious elements in two other films by Wilder and Alfred Hitchcock that, while not exactly flaws, never made much sense to me and could be explained by only the filmmakers themselves - if they were still around to answer questions. In the case of Hitchcock, the film is "Rear Window" and the curiosity is the villain played by Raymond Burr.

Perhaps it's the contrarian in me but, except for his confrontation with Jimmy Stewart at the end of the film, I never found Burr's Lars Thorwald to be much of a threat. In fact, for me, through most of the film, he's a rather sympathetic character married to what appears to be a harridan.

That's not to excuse the character for murdering his wife, but it seems that, as conceived by writer John Michael Hayes and Hitchcock and as played by Burr, Lars is an ineffectual man more than a little pathetic.

I almost feel sorry for the guy as he's relentlessly targeted by Stewart, Grace Kelly and Thelma Ritter. Is it just me or did Hitch plot this reaction?

Finally, there's Wilder's "Some Like It Hot," always heading lists as "the best comedy of all time" - and a seemingly perfect one at that.

But there's this inconsistency in the film that has come to annoy me...

The early scenes in the film paint the Tony Curtis character as an unapologetic womanizer and irresponsible screw-up and Jack Lemmon's as the voice of reason, trying to keep his friend in check.

With me so far?

But once the guys crossdress, their personalities seemingly switch. Suddenly, Curtis is the cautious one, intent on reigning in Lemmon who is acting like a flake. Plus, Lemmon is now the womanizer, ogling the women in the band he and Curtis just joined and fantasizing about sex - and getting "a cup of that sugar" - i.e., Sugar Kane (aka Marilyn Monroe).

If Wilder were still alive, I'd like to ask him if putting on dresses is the reason why Tony Curtis suddenly becomes, well, proper and prudent and Jack Lemmon transforms into a leering, incorrigible burlesque comic.

I don't presume to rewrite Wilder and Diamond's inventive script, but wouldn't it make more sense if Lemmon remained the more serious one of the two guys, becoming involved with Marilyn, and if Curtis remained the irredeemable scamp that he is - and in Joe E. Brown's arms? Just asking.




* * * * *
~images~
(from top) 

~Paul Bryer (seated from left), James Stewart and Henry Jones in the tribunal sequence from "Vertigo"
~Jones and Tom Helmore in the same scene
 ~photography: Paramount 1958©

~Two images of Shirley MacLaine and Fred MacMurray in "The Apartment"
 ~photography: United Artists 1960©

~Raymond Burr in "Rear Window"
 ~photography: Paramount 1954©

~Jack Lemmon in "Some Like It Hot"
 ~photography: United Artists 1959©

Thursday, September 14, 2017

a fosse/olden postscript

One of the responses to my how to appreciate "how to succeed" essay came from DanM, who made an astute observation that I'd like to share:

"Great article! I learned a lot about one of my favorite films. I don't know if I'm off-base but when the "Secretary" number travels into the secretarial pool and we are introduced to the three men standing with their backs to the camera, I have always been reminded of the Georg Olden-designed logo for "To Tell The Truth." Maybe it was the zeitgeist of the era, but that connection has stayed with me all these years."

Good catch, Dan. Yes, the iconic Olden design logo for "To Tell the Truth" certainly does seem to have been the inspiration for one of Bob Fosse's trademark dance postures during that number in "How to Succeed."
Georg Olden
FYI: Georg Elliott Olden, born in Birmingham, Alabama in 1920, was an acclaimed graphic artist who initially worked in the art department of CBS and as such was one of the first African-Americans to work in television. In 1963, he was the first African-American to design a postage stamp for the U. S. Postal Service. He died in 1975 at age 56.
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~images~
(from top) 

~Tucker Smith (from left),  Howard Parker and Paul Bradley as the dancing junior executives in the "A Secretary Is Not a Toy" in "How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying"
 ~photography: United Artists 1967©

~Georg Elliott Olden, 1920-1975 

~The Georg Olden logo design for "To Tell the Truht"
 ~Georg Olden/CBS 1956©

Tuesday, September 12, 2017

adventurers in movie reviewing: Glenda Jackson & Richard Chamberlain in New York, 1971

Glenda Jackson, celebrated here in the previous essay, was someone I interviewed during my decades-long stint as a movie critic.  In retrospect, this should have been referenced in the original piece but I tend to forget the various interviews I did because, frankly, I didn't want to do them.

When I was hired for one position, I jokingly told my editor, "I don't do windows or interviews." It's too much of a compromise for a critic, who is supposed to be objective, to get too close to the people whose movies he/she will be reviewing. There's the threat of being finessed. The New York Times has the right idea, keeping criticism and interviewing apart.

But I did interview Jackson and I guess writing about her brought back a wonderful memory of the events surrounding our session together.

Consider this a tiny postscript:

It was January, 1971. A small number of the press gathered in New York for a private Friday night screening of Ken Russell's "The Music Lovers," which Jackson would be promoting with her co-star Richard Chamberlain.

The screening was at the fabulous, now-gone Coronet Theater.

The Coronet and its twin, The Baronet, located on Manhattan's Upper East Side (59th Street at Third Avenue), were two of the smartest movie houses in Manhattan (the marquee announced them as "A Walter Reade Twin Theater"), specializing in the highest pedigree of Hollywood films and foreign-language movies. They closed in 2001 and were eventually razed.

A sad end to a glittering movie era in New York.

The subsequent one-on-one interviews the following day took place in a suite at The Plaza Hotel, where the out-of-town press was also based.

I was happy to have an early-morning time slot because I was anxious to get back to the Coronet which was playing Robert Altman's ”Brewster McCloud.” (It was one of MGM's arty 1970 Christmas releases, along with Paul Mazursky's "Alex in Wonderland." These two titles, so hot at the time, are now barely remembered.)

But first, the interview...

Chamberlain arrived for the session with the beard he grew for the role of Tchaikovsky and a new British accent. He was friendly but very actorly (if that's a word). Jackson was surprisingly down-to-earth. Known largely as a stage actress, she was new to film and, no snob, claimed that she now preferred it to the stage. She confessed an admiration for Joan Crawford among Hollywood legends and I asked her if she'd ever consider a Crawford-type role in a more conventional Hollywood movie.

"Who could top Joan Crawford,?" she responded.

I guess at some point we got around to discussing "The Music Lovers," but then Jackson noticed that I was wearing a Mickey Mouse wristwatch.

Uh-oh, nerd alert. But wait! She was wearing the same watch. Whew! No judgment. A chat about our watches followed, until I was rather diplomatically escorted me out of the suite by the United Artists press rep. Just in time for me to make the first show of "Brewster McCloud" at the Coronet. Which I adored. And still do.

* * * * *
~images~
(from top) 

~Ken Russell directing Glenda Jackson and Richard Chamberlain in "The Music Lovers"
 ~photography: United Artists 1971©

~The Coronet and Baronet Theaters
 ~photography: Matt Weber/Street Photography 1985©

~Bud Cort in "Brewster McCloud"
 ~photography: MGM 1970©

~An authentic Mickey Mouse wristwatch, circa 1970