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Pulp Fiction (1994)
"I want you to go in that bag, and find my wallet."
Essential viewing. This film is an absolute heavyweight. I must have seen it dozens of times by now, and it doesn't really ever stop being entertaining. A lot of the most well made movies don't really allow themselves to be fun. They try to be more of a statement, and I love that, it brings me an immense joy to watch a classically structured, no-nonsense, beautifully artful film. But Pulp Fiction is just so much fun that it managed to infiltrate the ranks of the elite, and when it got there it decided to throw a party.
What's not to love about Pulp Fiction? Every aspect is built like a roller coaster; the film is just a big, crazy amusement park. Most important to me, though, and I'm sure many others, would have to be the story's structure. Have you ever seen a chronological timeline of the film? It's crazy. It's like when the film is in the correct order it doesn't make sense anymore. It wouldn't fit the film because it's too much fun for an A to B. The way Quentin Tarantino weaved the film's content together is so extremely impressive because it works so well. The film just flows. The transitions are so fluid. And the story itself is just so interesting that the way it shifts around itself creates so much intrigue and makes it so thrilling.
Just as integral as the way the story is presented is the characters that present it. Vincent, Jules, and Butch are really just normal people in the world of Pulp Fiction, but to the viewer they're so much larger than life. Not only do Vincent and Jules have an unforgettable chemistry as partners, but what was really incredible to me was the chemistry Vincent and Butch had as enemies without even really knowing each other. The conflict between them created by just two encounters is astounding. Jules, though, Jules is excellent. A great character played by a great actor. Samuel L Jackson steals every single scene he's in. His monologues are legendary. This man must have needed some great vengeance AND furious anger to be able to deliver those lines the way he did. He was one bad mother.
I remember seeing parts of the film as a kid and wondering what the rest of it would be like. I thought seeing the whole movie would be like opening pandora's box on my concept of what a movie could be. Looking back, I think I was right.
Annie Hall (1977)
"You should be ashamed of yourself."
This won best picture? Was I watching the right movie? All I would need to write to explain what I thought about Annie Hall would be "Neurotic and tiresome." But I guess I can try to stretch that out a bit.
First of all, could Woody Allen have had a higher opinion of himself? You remember that "What's the difference? It's all mental masturbation." "Oh, well, now we're finally getting to a subject you know something about." part? That's the whole movie. Woody Allen's love letter to himself. It felt like he wanted to write a relateable version of himself but ended up just trying to convince the viewer that he's better than everyone else by explaining that all of his flaws just make him more genius. It began to physically hurt me every time he spoke. Stop stuttering, you weasel-person.
Another thing that made me hate this irritating gremlin-man was his style of directing. Why did anyone like this? It was so disjointed, every scene just hurriedly chopped into the next like Allen's boney little arms were trying to force together two puzzle pieces that didn't quite fit. It had no cohesion, there was no flow to this movie. I guess he might have been trying to make the film feel neurotic like its protagonist? Even if that were the case, that just didn't work for me at all. It reminded me of my favorite film from this year, Birdman. That film was shot and presented like it was all done in one long shot, so it flowed together and the structure was relaxing. Annie Hall was the antithesis of that. Every transition felt like a collision. Maybe it was meant to represent Allen's use of the bumper cars to let out his frustrations. I think I've grown to hate this man on a personal level.
Films are a great joy to me. I love watching movies. Usually, even if a movie turns out to be bad, I'll still enjoy the experience. There are a few exceptions to this, however. Annie Hall is one of those exceptions. This film brought me no joy, it provided no entertainment. It was a chore for me. If this film was a banana, my favorite fruit, it would be black and mushy, and I have no plans to make any banana bread, Woody Allen.
Midnight Cowboy (1969)
"I only get carsick on boats."
The American Dad parody definitely did not prepare me for this
What a wonderfully sad movie. I'm not sure why I love tragic films, but they certainly hold a special place in my heart. I guess it's because of the way you have to contemplate the events of the film before you can really form an opinion on it. One of my favorite parts about watching movies is how they stick with you. This film will definitely stick with me. I really appreciated how much I had to think about what I had seen before I could decide what I really thought about it.
The film's not perfect. Like with most adaptations of a novel there are sections where you can tell a lot of valuable content had to be left out. Where it does succeed, though, is maintaining the substance of the tragic melancholy that had been created by the novel. This film has plenty of weight behind it. If you're a person with too much empathy like me you'll probably become nauseous when you watch some of the things the duo have to go through. I'm the kind of person that was amused by the Saw series, gore doesn't affect me at all anymore, but the things in this film made me feel the way gore did before I became a numb, jaded huskperson.
The high point of this film, the aspect that really makes it a success, is Dustin Hoffman's transformative performance. This is the guy that played Ben Braddock in The Graduate. I couldn't believe it when I read it. Hoffman is so convincing in this role he earned the type of pity from me I've only ever given to Javier Bardem's character in Biutiful, and that movie is relentlessly tragic. It conjured up enough depression for three films. When Ratso has to frantically limp to keep up with Joe on the street it broke my heart. When he was freezing practically to death on the decaying furniture in their condemned building I felt my shredded up heart sink into my gut then jump into my throat. When he fell down the stairs and couldn't stand on his own anymore I died and came back as a ghost because my unfinished business was trying to understand how a single scene could be so sad. Man, this movie is going to be with me for a long, long time. Despite the pain, though, I really love knowing that about a film.
Chinatown (1974)
"You can't eat the Venetian blinds. I just had them installed on Wednesday."
Roman Polanski's decision to take on the film noir genre after it had given birth to so many timeless classics was a bold choice. He was diving in to a deep sea of talent and ingenuity decades after the grandmasters of film had sold their souls to Satan for the black magic necessary to take the limited and restrictive technology available at the time and make the delicious oreo visuals that made great films even greater despite something like technicolor visuals still being the fever dream of a schizophrenic whisper. But despite the Vesuvian challenge lain out before them, the people responsible for Chinatown managed to make a film so great that there's no doubt in my mind it could go toe to toe with any of the classics and end up absolutely busting its sorry face. I'm talking a good old fashioned jaw- ripping, tooth necklace making face busting. That is to say if Chinatown were faced with a "Two films enter, one film leaves" type situation, my money's on Chinatown.
First of all, you cannot deny that Chinatown's screenplay is absolutely immaculate. It's a known fact that when da Vinci painted The Last Supper, he had looked into the future and found his inspiration in Chinatown. By the time I reached the credits I couldn't even handle how totally and completely impressed I was by how excellent the story had been. The events were so cinematic, yet it never stopped being believable for a single solitary moment. This was a story that spent the film's entire 130 minute runtime twisting and gnarling into an incredible mystery. It was like a political thriller mixed with a horror movie. J.J. Gitties was sent through a labyrinth of despair. The man was so broken and beaten when the credits started rolling, if he was a real person I wouldn't be surprised at all to hear he had collaspsed and died from the mental exhaustion. This brings me to the ending. I wouldn't even hesitate to say this film has the best ending in the history of film. It's so satisfyingly tragic I felt like all my emotions had been emulsified into a gray caustic sludge and tossed into the ocean. The look on Jack Nicholson's face when Walsh tells him "Forget it Jake, it's Chinatown." is going to be burned into my mind forever. I thought his performance in Cuckoo's Nest was amazing, but he was just perfect in this role. This movie is the juice. The juicy juice.
The Graduate (1967)
"You aren't one of those agitators, are you?"
My favorite thing about this film is the way in which I connect with Ben. Just having graduated, he faces the daunting task of moving forward from his academic career, but with no idea of what he wants to do next. I'm facing the same crisis. Months away from graduating, I face the same difficult decision as Ben. I have no idea what I want to do with my life. What I love most about this connection I had with the main character is, despite it all, I don't find Ben relatable whatsoever, and I think that's absolutely hilarious.
The Graduate's great sense of humor is personified wonderfully by its leading man Dustin Hoffman. He's a handsome guy, much better looking than me, and I envy that, but he manages to gives his character Ben a remarkable awkwardness. It's his performance that gives the events in the film weight. He presents himself as the type of person that could really cause these types of ridiculous situations. It's not enough to make you feel like these things could actually happen, but just enough to give it a relate verisimilitude as a film. Bonus points to me for that wonderful use of narrative jargon.
The film has plenty of flaws, however. The most prominent of which being the accompanying soundtrack. I have to imagine Mike Nichols was dangerously high when he decided it would be a great idea to use the same handful of Simon and Garfunkel songs dozens of times throughout the film. The narrative structure of the film also bothered me a bit. It spends quite a lot of time on Ben's affair with Mrs. Robinson, which is good by itself, Anne Bancroft gives an excellent performance, but it doesn't leave enough room for the rest of the story. Ben's relationship with Elaine Robinson is so rushed that the film takes a big hit. The second half of the film always influences an opinion of the film more so than the first, it's fresher in your mind, it's what you're dwelling on when the film ends. The rushed nature of their relationship is obviously intentional, as evidenced by the final scene, but that doesn't necessarily mean it works.
All in all, The Graduate is a completely unique film, and that's why people love it. It doesn't have to conform, so it doesn't, and that's something to be admired. I know I enjoyed it, but I'm not really sure of my final verdict on the film, and the thing is, I didn't really need to be to write about it. That's something not many films can do.
Psycho (1960)
"Why, she wouldn't even harm a fly..."
In a long line of great films, Psycho has got to be Alfred Hitchcock's most entertaining. Despite being a horror movie, and having its fair share of genuinely frightening moments, Psycho has always struck me as being made to have a certain lighthearted charm. I have to imagine when Alfred Hitchcock made this film he was having fun and wanted the film to be as fun for us as it was for him. It's one of my favorite scary movies, but when I look back to it I don't think of it at all like I do the others on the list. This movie is just a good time.
If Psycho was a person, and its fun, creepy atmosphere was its skin, and Anthony Perkins was its face I guess, Its structure would be a crazy adamantite skeleton and its pacing? Well, synthetic cyborg muscles of course. For a horror film to maintain the feeling it needs to keep its viewers attention in the events leading up to the scares, it needs to have a solid setup for the plot that goes on long enough for it to not feel rushed but not so overlong that it becomes boring and takes away from the impact of the scary moments it's building up to. It needs to be interesting enough to not feel like a chore, but still understand its role as a vehicle for the frightening moments in the films. The story takes a back seat to the scary stuff in a horror movie. The good ones understand this, but the best of them do it in a way that doesn't compromise the quality of the story. Psycho is a shining example of a balanced and well executed horror film narrative. It's the king of this technique. the events leading up to Marion Crane's trip to the Bates motel work exceptionally well, and her encounters with the police officers at the dealership and on the road do an amazing job of establishing the spooky feel of the film in a seamless way and work to keep the viewer interested in what's to come. The ease with which Hitchcock leads into the events that take place at the motel are a huge part of what allows him to make the film such a good time.
You can't sing the praises of Psycho without applauding the incredible work Anthony Perkins does as the film's criminally insane leading man- the one and only Norman motherloving Bates. Perkins' ability to personify a person with such a severe case of dissociative identity disorder is so unbelievably good you'd think this guy went home at the end of the day and lived life as Norman Bates instead of himself. Not only does he have such an intrinsic ability to play the psycho, but he does such an impeccable job of committing Norman's crimes as well. When he sneaks up on the woman in the legendary and absolutely immortal shower scene, he does so like he was made to be a movie monster, and when he rushes in to attack the detective to the sound of Bernard Herrmann's screeching soundtrack he could scare a banana straight out of its goshdang peel. And bananas don't even have eyes or ears or even watch movies in the first place.
I love this film. it's a champion of horror. In a genre where so many films can only be fun by sacrificing the scares or just by being low budget bargain bin Netflix dumpster movies, Psycho triumphs in its ability to conquer everything important to entertain horror fans. Alfred Hitchcock's talent is so palpable in this film it may just as well turn itself into a big spoonful of Bates flavored gelato and fly its way right into the brain mouths of everyone watching. Gelato only has half the calories of regular ice cream, too. You ever try it? It's like ice cream pudding. It's great. Just like this film.
The Killing (1956)
"A cop? That's a funny kind of a friend."
The Killing is an innovative heist film about the planning and execution of a complex racetrack robbery. The film stars Sterling Hayden as Johnny Clay, a convict fresh out of prison and the mastermind behind the heist. After his plan ends successfully and he has the cash in his possession, Clay arrives at the hideout to find an accomplice wounded and bloody. He tries to devise a new plan but buckles under the pressure and becomes too clumsy to escape.
The Killing is what I would consider to be the standard definition of a 'very good' film. More than good, less than great. In the film we get an interesting heist, executed very well, and structured in a unique way. The dialog holds up well enough to progress an erratic narrative, and when the heist itself is underway and we get to see the plan in action, the film shows enough to not disappoint. Once the heist is over and the real climax takes place with George Peatty confronted by the man that's taking his wife away from him, the film begins to fall apart. Clay, the man who singlehandedly orchestrated the daring heist the film is centered around, is now faced with devising a new escape route for himself. This should be a simple task for the criminal mastermind, but everything he does becomes poorly conceived and falls apart. His plan boils down to "I need to buy a suitcase large and sturdy enough to fit millions of dollars into, but I can't spend very much money on it so I'll settle for this busted up pawnshop suitcase that looks like it'll fall apart any second! Then I'll just fly away like nothing ever happened." This may have been on purpose to show that Clay had fallen victim to the stress of the endeavor, but pair that with the clumsy, pointless scene where he pulls over on the side of the road to stuff the money into the suitcase as haphazardly as possible and you've just completely lost me. The film redeems itself just the slightest with a great final scene in which we see Clay give up on himself and surrender to the authorities. It's so well done you could see the defeat in his eyes and feel it through the screen, and fading out there did a lot to preserve the impact the film had prior to the broken suitcase, but the damage was done. This is what took a solid 8 down to a 7, for me.
It was interesting to see a Stanley Kubrick film from before he had developed his distinct 'Stanley Kubrick' type style. You get to see reflected in The Killing the work of a talented writer/director before he had the chance to recognize his potential. Kubrick gave this film a real earnest effort; it was before he was so well established and he still needed to prove himself. This gives The Killing a much rougher, tougher feel than his future films. This is partly a major asset to the film because, as he will go on to prove, Kubrick is adept at creating violent tension, but it also takes away. It lacks the originality we all know he can add to his films. It seems as if he's holding back in some aspects to create what will hopefully be a success without defying convention. You can see what looks to be glimpses of his signature style breaking through to the surface, but I don't think he had the experience to refine them into classic Kubrick.
Detour (1945)
"He was a piece of cheese, the big blowhard."
Detour stars Tom Neil as Al Roberts, a hitch-hiker trying to make his way from New York to LA to be with a girl that had left him behind for Hollywood. Just hours away from his destination he gets picked up by Charles Haskell, who's willing to drive Roberts to his destination but suddenly dies in his sleep on the way.
Detour is a hugely impressive film when you consider the meager $30,000 budget it was allowed by PRC. (a studio I've never even heard of) I didn't realize this when I started the film. I thought something was a bit off, but I didn't manage to figure out it was a budget flick until I had reached the ending. The film manages to carve a well-rounded narrative out of four actors, three sets, and the director's car. That's definitely worth admiring.
Tom Neil gives a good performance, but he's completely overshadowed by Ann Savage as the film's femme fatale Vera. Vera is a character that feels like she was written to come off as real rather than cinematic. She's a good looking girl with a short temper and an angry demeanor. She didn't have the obnoxious lighting other femme fatales used that made them look glow in the dark and the writers didn't bother trying to shoehorn any completely out of place romance into the film, she was just a tough chick looking to make some quick cash off Roberts, a frightened, easy target. Ann Savage seemed like she was delivering her lines exactly how Vera would say them. She was harsh and irritable, and when she got the upper hand on Roberts she was smug and arrogant. Her performance was persuasive; she was dynamite, baby.
Singin' in the Rain (1952)
"Gee, I'm glad you turned up, we've been looking inside every cake in town."
Singin' in the Rain is an impressive film because it possesses an infectious glee. It's a film that sets out to be enjoyable and fun, and it does this so well it achieves a level of quality normally reserved for serious, austere films. It has a very jubilant nature that focuses on being entertaining, and I really admire its devotion to making its audience happy.
Singin' in the Rain is a lighthearted musical comedy about a studio and it's actors dealing with a difficult transition to sound. The co-director Gene Kelly stars as Don Lockwood, a multi-talented actor struggling with growing doubts over his acting ability. After his first attempt at a drama with sound is an embarrassing failure, he and the character that is essentially his sidekick despite being more likable and talented than him, Cosmo Brown, along with love interest Kathy Seldon are able to salvage the film and inexplicably fly a convertible into the sky in the middle of a carnival. I had a hard time connecting with a musical. Not to say I didn't like it, it's just not my genre of choice.
Here's the thing, I feel like I just don't know enough about musicals to articulate my feelings about the film. I know it was good, and I know the actors were some seriously talented dancers, but I know nothing about dance. All I'm really sure of is that the movie was fun. I had a good time watching it. It was genuinely funny and Donald O'Conner was outstandingly charismatic and impressive in being able to stand out as the most skilled dancer and funniest character. Hopefully I can write something better for West Side Story.
Vertigo (1958)
"You shouldn't keep souvenirs of a killing. You shouldn't have been that sentimental."
Vertigo is an absolutely fascinating look into the deep psychological effect trauma can have on the mental health of an otherwise completely sane individual. James Stewart stars as John Ferguson, a San Francisco detective forced to retire after witnessing the tragic death of his partner. The incident causes him to develop a debilitating fear of heights and the toll it takes on his mental health becomes the focus of the beginning of the film. He is forced to bring an end to his brief retirement when a friend from college contacts him to solve the mystery of his wife's peculiar behavior, and Ferguson's fragile mental state is exacerbated by the unbelievable nature of the situation.
One of, if not the best aspect of this film is James Stewart's outstanding performance. I was hugely impressed by his unique and exceptional presence. Everything about Stewart is leading man material. His voice and appearance and the way he presents his character are all so amusingly Scottish and he makes John Ferguson such a compelling character. The entire film relies on his ability to feel genuine. he needs to be convincing and real for Hitchcock's story to succeed, and he does not disappoint. He becomes progressively less stable as the story unfolds, and he gives this an undeniably authentic feel. I was deeply affected by what he had become by the end of the film, I actually worried for Ferguson as a character, and that made him unforgettable.
The most important part of making a great mystery is a story that can remain intriguing throughout. It needs to be puzzling enough for the film's success to ride entirely on the conclusion, and it needs to deliver in a way that leaves the viewer effected by the mystery itself. With a good mystery, you're left pondering the implications of everything that had transpired. One of the things I really loved about the film was how uncompromising it was in it's originality. Vertigo felt like Vertigo, it felt like its own entity free from comparison. There aren't many other stories so captivating. Vertigo refused to underwhelm.
Vertigo is surrounded by a daunting amount of hype, to the point where you can't really expect it to live up to everything it's made out to be. Instead of simply surpassing my expectations, which it did, it also proved itself to have a real, admirable complexity to it. Vertigo creates a riveting world for John Ferguson, and that's something only the best films can do.
Mildred Pierce (1945)
"How long has this been going on?"
Mildred Pierce is a classic film noir starring Joan Crawford as the film's namesake, Mildred Pierce. The film begins with Mildred taken in for questioning after her husband is murdered in their beachfront home. The events of the film play out as a long sequence of flashbacks that Mildred tells in her version of what happened to police.
Mildred Pierce is a fine film. If I could describe it with one word, I think the best I could come up with would be "sturdy." It's well acted, with Joan Crawford giving an excellent performance as a leading lady in a genre filled mainly with leading men, and the technical aspects of the film are good (although certainly not striking or memorable at any point) but none of this can really make up for the film's overall inability to be thrilling, or even compelling for that matter.
After seeing Mildred Pierce for the first time I don't think it even affected me enough for me to feel the need to form an opinion on it. I had seen it, and it was a movie, and if I didn't need to I think that would have been the last I ever thought of the film. I asked my friend Claire what she thought of it and her response was as fitting as one I could ever imagine; It 'meandered'- and that is exactly what it did. This was a film about a murder, and the main conflict in the film was the murder, so why did it need to put so much effort and detail into so much of Mildred's life that really had no impact or weight on this conflict? It worked to build Mildred into a very three dimensional, developed character, but it just went overboard. About halfway into the film they had done so much of this it was already experiencing a lot of diminishing returns, and viewing it turned into a chore.
All of this may seem very critical, and I may not have enjoyed the film, but I do stand by my earlier description- It was sturdy. The film functioned well enough for me to acknowledge that it was a well-made film with merits to admire. It may not have been the most exciting film, or exciting at all, but it was a film that focused primarily on one character, and that character was done very well. For that, Mildred Pierce is a solid film, and it makes sense that this would be the area where the film excelled, I mean the film is named for her after all. If only it had put a bit more effort into being enjoyable rather than just Mildred Pierce.
Double Indemnity (1944)
"Two "F"s, like in Philadelphia"
Double Indemnity is the particularly effective thriller and apparent cornerstone of the film noir genre that tells the tale of Walter Neff; an insurance salesman that finds himself plotting and staging the death of a client for his black widow wife. To someone like me, a child of the future where toilet paper sometimes doesn't have rolls in it anymore and plastic bags are illegal in California, the plot seemed sort of cookie-cutter, but now that I've found out that was just because this is the film that made this cookie cutter that other cookie baking bakers have been using to cut their own femme fatale shaped cookies with I've become a staunch admirer of this film and the legacy it left for the people of the future that have developed the technology to use our toilet paper rolls for paper bags to carry our groceries in.
I started watching Double Indemnity under the jaded pretext that any 'thrills' it contained wouldn't have the same effect on me that they would've had on a moviegoer from 1944. It's what I've had to do whenever I've watched an older horror film, so I guess I started thinking proper, nail-biting tension was something that hadn't quite been discovered by film yet. After so much apathy you can imagine my joyous surprise when this film ended up being able to hold its own against the better contemporary thrillers I had grown up with. I was completely ecstatic when I realized the film was actually bringing me to the edge of my seat, and the scene where Keyes almost finds Phyllis in Walter's apartment actually made me get out of my chair and pace around the room while I watched.
For me, the champion of this movie was Edward G. Robinson as Keyes. Where Walter Neff was bland, monotoned, and same-faced; Barton Keyes was a sharp, quick-witted bloodhound and Robinson gave him all the disarming charisma he needed to set up every major antagonatory force in the film and single-handedly unravel Neff's plot in a way that seemed completely plausible. The film may have had its problems, but Keyes didn't, this guy was gold.
Double Indemnity is a movie deserving of multiple viewings. Not because of a complex plot, but because it's a fun movie with pacing so good I feel like it understayed its welcome. At 107 minutes, I wouldn't say it felt rushed, but I definitely wish there was more.
Casablanca (1942)
"Of all the whiskey bars in all of Northwest Africa she decides to visit my establishment"
Casablanca is the story of an American man in WWII era Morocco and his struggle in choosing between "love and virtue". Confronted by the woman he once loved and her new husband, a Czech resistance leader and important figure in the fight against the Nazis, the film focuses on Rick's internal conflict over deciding between his desires or the good of many others.
Casablanca is a testament to what you can accomplish with a spectacular cast and a beautiful, thoughtfully made set. The vast majority of the film takes place in Rick's Cafe Americain and focuses on a handful of characters, but even with it's relatively crowded story it never fails to feel well rounded and entirely better off than if were to use a wider array of characters and locations.
Humphrey Bogart stars as Rick Blaine, the owner of Rick's Cafe Americain. Bogart gives the film a career defining performance and makes his character the most compelling male lead I've ever seen in a love story. When dealing with the politics brought into the Cafe Americain he's cool, calm, and composed in his efforts to remain neutral in all matters, but when we see him alone after hours in his office he becomes very convincingly distraught over his love interest Ilsa. He is shown on multiple occasions alone in his office shrouded by the complete darkness of a Casablancan night, with only a thin ray of light shining through a window to illuminate his face. He drinks from a tall bottle of booze with a grim, haunted expression that gave me a real empathy for the toll his endeavors were taking on him. The rest of the cast performed well enough that there were no noticeable weak links, but there was really no way for them to escape the shadow cast by Bogart's performance.
My favorite thing about the film was Rick's Cafe Americain. The Cafe itself was just a series of sets constructed in Warner Brothers Studios in Burbank California, but it was so fitting and perfect for the film it left the same kind of impression that would be made by a well made fantasy location. Its stone walls were decorated in the shadows left by ornate lamps and intricate patterns made to shine light in from the outside. It was so packed full of extras during all of the scenes taking place there that it always created the atmosphere of a real bar. These things were vital to the film because so much of it was contained within these walls, and it was so great that I loved every moment of the scenes there.
Casablanca is a real classic. It's the sort of movie that feels like an experience and makes you glad you've seen it. It was all so excellent that I wouldn't hesitate to recommend it to anyone who loves movies. When you see some of these scenes for yourself you immediately understand how they've had such a lasting influence to this day.
The Maltese Falcon (1941)
"You Got Your Dingus!"
The Maltese Falcon is the story of a private detective named Samuel Spade. After a job goes wrong and his partner is killed Spade finds himself wrapped up in a nearly two decades long search for a priceless solid gold falcon statue. Spade comes face to face with the group of treasure hunters so eager to kill over the falcon but instead of becoming their enemy he is given the opportunity to retrieve the falcon for an unbelievably large sum of money.
Samuel Spade is played by Humphrey Bogart, and oh man can this guy carry a film like an ox through the Oregon trail. Bogart makes Spade into one crafty mother-father, but in a way that keeps him cool as a cucumber. This guy's the real cats pajamas, the bees knees, see? And no pistol packing goon or dizzy broad is gonna get in between him and a fat stack of clams. Bogart's performance is impressive and thoroughly entertaining. He takes a character that even by 41 is already a stereotype and makes him into a complete standout. When I thought Spade was becoming flat and predictable Bogart surprised me with how genuine his outrage felt in his first meeting with Kasper Gutman. Bogart's performance makes you feel like he owns the words. He made his lines flow so smoothly into conversations it was captivating in that certain way that makes you forget you're watching an actor play a role in a movie. The only noticeable flaws in his performance were how goofy he looked in his fight scenes.
Unfortunately, not every actor in the film was as convincing as Bogart. In fact, it really felt like he was completely surrounded by over-actors at all times. The characters played by Mary Astor, Peter Lorre, and Elisha Cook jr. were all especially guilty of this, and the skill with which Bogart performed just made for an even sharper contrast between him and them.
I also had a bit of a problem with the conclusion to the Maltese Falcon's discovery. Once Gutman had scraped the black paint off the statue to reveal it as lead instead of gold, he began to go on the supervilliany type of "Now's the time where I reveal to the protagonist every last detail of my intricate plan!" rant. This has got to be one of the laziest ways to wrap up an otherwise fairly interesting story in the cinematic world. After learning so much about the falcon and hearing how precious and valuable it was there had been a lot of build up leading to this moment. It's not like the reveal itself ruined the scene, but there aren't many ways to more efficiently deflate a plot than with a quick summary of the details and loose ends.
The Maltese Falcon was easy to enjoy. It came across as the type of movie that doesn't take itself too seriously and invites the viewer to sit back and relax while they watch. This however, can certainly hold some aspects of the film back from greatness. Bogart was completely out of everyone's league, and the film showed all the familiar symptoms of a less than seamless novel adaptation, but what we're left with is still a lot of fun.
Stagecoach (1939)
"Well, I guess you can't break out of prison and into society in the same week."
Stagecoach marks the first collaboration between director John Ford and actor John Wayne. The film tells the story of nine people embarking on a dangerous journey through Apache territory on, you guessed it, a stagecoach. The cramped interior of the stagecoach forces its passengers to interact and deal with each other in ways made unique by their situation. The film has some memorable characters and a thrilling climactic chase scene, but overall left me with a bitter impression of John Ford as a director.
Stagecoach struck me as the sort of film that did too much in too little time. Thinking back to the events of the film feels like a hurricane of underdevelopment. The problem with having nine people on the stagecoach is that it never allowed most of them to become anything more than a totally flat character. In my opinion the banker, Peacock, the gentleman type gambler guy whose name I cannot even recall, Lucy Mallory, and Dallas all felt very one-dimensional. This is particularly troubling because Dallas is supposed to be the main love interest and her character didn't seem to extend anywhere beyond "the love interest." The other four characters were good. Doc Brown was alright but not what I would consider to be Oscar worthy, John Wayne was John Wayne, so either you're thrilled by his performances or don't care for him at all, but the thing about this film that surprised me most was the characters I thought were the best. The sheriff and the stagecoach driver really stood out. They were played so excellently that their actors took the sort of flat characters they were given and turned them into something worth watching. Were the performances of two secondary characters enough to carry the film for me? No, but they certainly put forth a gallant effort.
I gave the film a 5 out of 10 not because I liked it enough to warrant a 5, but because I noticed and understood that there were parts of the film that were very well done. That being said, I hated it. It sickened me. Cowboys versus Indians type westerns disgust me to no end. The way the films so often portray their native American antagonists is absurd and bigoted, with Stagecoach being no exception. I do come from a place of bias, I was raised by a proud Native American mother, so I realize I'm taking more offense to this than the average viewer, but that doesn't change the fact that John Ford must have had an ignorant and hateful view of these people. The truth is "Geronimo" was a real man named Goyathlay, and he did lead revenge attacks after Mexican soldiers murdered his mother, wife, and three children. Geronimo was a name given to him by Mexican soldiers, so a good number of people at the time of this film's release would have recognized him as a real person, but John Ford just relies on the Native American tribal killer stereotype to make him a threatening villain in the film, no other substance is given to the antagonist.
His Girl Friday (1940)
So where exactly were the jokes?
His Girl Friday is a screwball "comedy" about a talented newspaper reported named Hildy Johnson trying to escape the newspaper business and her duplicitous taint of an ex-husband Walter Burns. Rosalind Russell and Cary Grant play our leading actors, and actually do a very good job. They move at a fast pace, turn their roles into unique feeling characters, and do, for the most part, have a good chemistry (until the very ending). The film is generally well acted all around, but this is where my praise of the film will be coming to a screeching halt. This film has left me fairly confused, and that confusion has turned into a chafing irritation the more I look back and contemplate what exactly I had watched.
The root of my confusion stems from the genre this film is labeled under. According to everything I've seen this is a screwball comedy, but I don't understand how a film should qualify as a comedy just because we have an odd couple butting heads throughout what is in all other aspects a crime drama. Despite the way this relationship clashes with the narrative of the film, it does manage some good moments. About 1/3rd of the way into the film we follow Hildy as she covers the story of a man facing the death penalty for the of shooting a police officer. She visits the jail where he's being held to interview him through the bars of his cell in a way I found very reminiscent of the interview scenes in Capote. She meets with a women grief stricken over her friend's impending execution, and cleverly records her lamenting of the situation. This aspect of the film progresses in a very enjoyable way, and if it was separated from the sort of broken love triangle type deal we have to suffer through otherwise it would have been very good, but it deals a pretty devastating blow to the screwball comedy aspect of the film by becoming far too dark and dramatic. It ends in a suicide and the capture of the man accused, who will now certainly be facing an execution. How does this have any place in a comedy? It really doesn't at all.
This brings us to the odd couple/screwball aspect of the film. The parts that really dragged this film into a deep, dark grave for me. This portion of the narrative centers around Hildy's impending marriage to an all around nice, trusting man named Bruce Baldwin, played by Ralph Bellamy. A guy that could very easily give Hildy exactly what she claims to really want out of life after her plan to leave reporting for good. Upon hearing of her engagement, Walter immediately starts scheming, lying, stealing, cheating, and tormenting his way into their lives in the hopes of splitting them up. He tells Hildy all about how much he wishes they could get re- married, but she quickly rebukes him with all of the many valid complaints she had about his treatment of her as his wife. Throughout the course of the film Walter ends up getting Bruce arrested and sent to jail on three separate occasions, and Hildy really has very little problem with all of this, and in the end, Hildy goes from being engaged to Bruce one minute to planning her re-marriage to Walter, her complete scumbag of an ex, the very next.
This movie has to have one of the absolute worst, most ridiculous and completely forced endings I've ever seen. It sloppily ties (most) of the loose ends from the crime drama narrative together in a crusty meat sack of an abomination unto film in the very last two minutes, then has Hildy and Walter holding each other tenderly and planning their coming honeymoon only for it to devolve into exactly what caused them to divorce in the first place. I get that this is supposed to be outlandish and funny, but it is so completely straight out of left field and absurd that it just becomes insulting. Why would Hildy ever agree to this, let alone think it's a good idea? The world will never know. And how did I miss every single laugh in this film? Because they didn't exist.
My Man Godfrey (1936)
"He isn't a real gorilla, he's just playing!"
My Man Godfrey is the story of a derelict, who despite being content living in the city dump among others of a similar fate is hired to be a butler by a slow yet adorable socialite named Irene. In the film we see a very successful blend of sophistication and accessible comedy that allows it to exude a very palpable charm. Godfrey excels as a screwball comedy by having the relationship between its leading man and woman grow exceptionally without needing to relying on any type of average Hollywood romance.
Godfrey's character initially comes off as very one-dimensional. I thought I'd had him figured out by the time Irene brought him in for the scavenger hunt. I was sure he would remain the way he was there throughout the rest of the film, very cool calm and collected, still managing to be suave despite the way he looked, but in a flat way. I thought he would be the peacekeeper type and rely on everyone else for laughs and a majority of the entertainment value of the film. I was absolutely wrong. Sure, he maintains a sophisticated and debonair outward appearance, but Godfrey shows off so many more dimensions as the film progresses. I was really happy to see him come off as vulnerable and flawed so early in the film. It was a relief to see him daunted by his first day on the job. Of course he ended up being near perfect as a butler, but he does make mistakes, and they keep his character grounded. Sure, it's not hard to have his secret origins figured out before the reveal, but that doesn't even manage to take away from the film. My only complaint with his character is when they turned him into a wizard of Oz type near the end. Disaster strikes the Bullock household, but Godfrey swoops in to save the day and with that he takes his leave so everyone can contemplate the gifts and life lessons he had left them with. No. This is the exact opposite of what the film had worked so hard to do. Thankfully He becomes such a captivating protagonist that he manages to recover from that awful blunder, and he could have carried the entire film if he needed to. He certainly didn't need to, however. Irene is the perfect antithesis to Godfrey, and it's because of her that the film can work as well as it does. She pulls off being completely naive and simple without it becoming irritating or a drag on the film. In her case, she's very one-dimensional and it actually works. The only person in the film that manages to overstayed their welcome because of a one sided personality is the mother, but she has her moments.
My Man Godfrey succeeds on multiple fronts. It's the type of movie that can be excellent as a film but still stay fun. You don't really expect something like Godfrey to be so genuinely funny, but that surprise adds to it as a whole. Godfrey set the bar for homeless vagrants turned butlers. Will he ever be surpassed? Probably not.
The Grapes of Wrath (1940)
We headin' out to Californee!
In what has to be one of the greatest adaptations of a novel ever, we follow the Joad family, and more specifically their ex-con son with a heart of gold made infinitely likable due to an outstanding performance by Henry Fonda. This is the kind of film you just don't ever want to end. Nunnally Johnson does an incredible job making John Steinbeck's words ready for the screen and John Ford never fails to do justice to the narrative. When a character performs a longer dialog, you can tell you're seeing it with the same impact readers felt reading it. When Tom Joad walks across a lonesome road under the dim blue sky of an early morning you just have to imagine Steinbeck was proud of the people who worked so hard to bring his work to a new medium.
The story of the Joad family is a rough one. It begins with Tom fresh out of prison for what is described as self defense. It seems hopeful, but this is the last good fortune he'll see for a long while. Upon finding his family displaced and staying with an uncle, he learns that they've been removed from the farm where the Joad family had been sharecropping for decades. Their seemly only hope is a sizable journey towards California, so they load up a 'jalopy' far past its breaking point to set out on a trail ripe with misery in hopes of rebuilding. You start out rooting for the Joads, how could you not? But the film subjects them to a myriad of misfortunes along the way. Your hope turns to pity quickly, but you can't help but appreciate how much you admire their courage. It's remarkable how much I came to feel for the Joads. Tom is an outstanding protagonist, and you're with him till the very end.
A film with a story this great would do fine without being technically impressive and pleasant to look at, but those aspects are wonderfully done too. The film looks incredibly crisp. I didn't manage to forget it was black and white, but I couldn't take my mind off how great it looked. You can see every mark on a person's face, every detail in Tom's scar, and California's ugly brown hills and beautiful green pastures are both presented just as they are to this day.
I genuinely loved this movie. It had such an emotional impact. It was hard seeing the Joad family suffer, and it was such a relief to see them finally catch a break. Tom Joad was such a great character that by the end of the film he actually felt like a brother. The film really makes you feel like a Joad yourself, looking back at the family's history. I've been lucky enough to see Cannery Row on a few occasions, and I've seen with my own eyes the fields that the migrant workers of the time would have gone to in search of work. It gave the film a great impact. I'm glad I took the time to watch something so well done that I enjoyed so much.
White Zombie (1932)
Bored- To Death!
In 1932 the American people were introduced to the Zombie, a simple reanimated corpse that would go on to become the most famous and popular monster across all of film, television, and video games. A monster so ingrained in pop culture that they even have their own specific apocalypse. A monster so horrifying that the governor of Kansas has actually declared October to be "zombie preparedness month." So if you're like me, you've wondered how the zombie had grown to claim its crown as the king of monsters. Was it because of a simple concept? Probably. Was it because of a plausible premise? No. Did it have a groundbreaking and excellent foray into film? Absolutely not.
White Zombie is the 1932 film debut of the Zombie. Knowing this, you would probably expect a lot from the film. If this is true for you, you will be disappointed. In reality White Zombie is a low budget, grainy, crackling mess of a film that was shot over the course of 11 days on used sets with recycled props. The star of the film is the disgustingly low quality of both the video and audio. It looks and sounds like it was made in the early 20's, and it is just incredibly hard to get over that. The overall quality of the film is done no favors by a cast of dangerously cheesy actors, all of whom seem to be about as enthusiastic about the film as the viewer. Add all of this together and its 69 minute run time will feel like an absolute eternity. It actually took me three attempts to finish this film, all of which ended in a nap so immense that my 69 minute investment would twist and deform into a mass of terrible boredom powerful enough to consume the entirety of my afternoons.
There was only really one thing I enjoyed in the film, and that was its portrayal of the zombies themselves. Instead of the necrophagous, non-sentient sack of decay that we've become accustomed to we're presented with a semi-conscious, lumbering mind- slave sort of creature, conjured to do the bidding of some type of necromancer. I loved this. I thought it was a great concept and much better than the modern zombie. Its just too bad the rest of the film was trash.
Frankenstein (1931)
"I think it will thrill you. It may shock you. It might even horrify you."
Frankenstein is one of the most lasting and memorable of the six 1930's horror films that put Universal on the map. Even upon seeing the enormous box office success and critical acclaim the film was able to achieve with its release I can't even imagine a single person involved in the production of the film would ever believe that Henry Frankenstein's lumbering monster would become an absolute genre behemoth, still remaining an unmistakable champion of horror to this day, nearing a century later. But Frankenstein earned the right to his remarkable place in history. Very few monsters have ever been and will ever be so creative and unique, and be able to leave such a lasting impression. Everyone knows Frankenstein. There's no denying that.
But for me however, the star of the film wasn't Frankenstein's monster. The most mesmerizing and impressive aspect of the film was it's incredible camera-work. Frankenstein had an excellent atmosphere, that's undeniable, it's what made the film shine, and this was all due to an impeccably fluid camera. The camera swooped across the sets, showing off and boasting about its wonderfully spooky environments. Whenever the film would take you to a new place it made sure it gave the viewer an opportunity to take everything in, and when you have a set as unforgettable as Frankenstein's laboratory or a location as genuine as the village that would fall victim to perils brought on by Frankenstein's monster, it's just so important that you show it off, and the film never failed to do so.
Despite all of the praise Frankenstein has earned, like everything else it is not without it's flaws. It has become fairly dated over the years, which is to be expected, but that doesn't help the fact that it's so darn noticeable. Also while the film is so excellent at showing off its sets, it has a tendency to get right in the face of the characters during any dialog. This does work at first to give a sense of the character's expression and the emotions they're trying to convey, but oh man does it get irritating after it flips from person to person the umpteenth time in any given conversation. And perhaps most importantly, this film's monster is just so vastly inferior to Mary Shelly's original creation. While hers was emotionally complex and much more pitiable in the novel, the film's Frankenstein monster has a certain moral ambiguity that makes it just as easy to give up on and dislike him as it is to pity and feel for him. He does much more evil than good, and it seems like his default reaction to a person is to try and strangle them. Sure he has his genuine moments of compassion that work to portray him as a misunderstood creature, but as the film neared it's end I found it too hard to stay on his side. There were numerous instances where he was intentionally violent. Sure he showed he had a tenderness when the little girl gave him some of her flowers, and the film was successful in communicating that his drowning her was completely due to his naivety, but that was the only instance that, for me, was able to convey a positive side to the monster.
In the end, Frankenstein is a classic and worthy of anyone's viewership, but it doesn't have what it takes to triumph over its old age like so many other films from Hollywood's infancy. Still, I can't help but have a deep respect for a monster that makes me wonder if it will last either decades or even another century to come. I'll say it again, everyone knows Frankenstein.
Scarface (1932)
It's a typewriter. I'm gonna write my name all over this town with it, in big letters!
Upon started this film I was greeted by a message I really just had no memory of from my first viewing. A very striking message that gives all the violence and brutality in this film (especially for the 30s) a powerful impact. This message declares "This picture is an indictment of gang rule in America and of the callous indifference of the government to this constantly increasing menace to our safety and our liberty. Every incident in this picture is the reproduction of an actual occurrence, and the purpose of this picture is to demand of the government: 'What are you going to do about it?' The government is your government. What are YOU going to do about it?" This gives the film a significant historical context. The people of this era lived with the horrific violence portrayed in the film. It wasn't just a film for the viewers of the time. These were the actions that made this era's gangsters thrive. I've always known Scarface was based on the crimes committed by Al Capone, but being given a reminder in the film's opening credits makes its portrayal chilling. The destruction and collateral damage Tony was able to wreak upon Chicago with his Thompson? The children that ended up getting "bellies full of lead"? All included in the film to illuminate a truth. This made the film very hard to stomach, but the passion it gave to its writers, directors, and outstanding lead Paul Muni just make it all the more excellent. If you love gangster movies or American history like I do, this is an absolute must see.
I Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang (1932)
"I Steal!"
I Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang tells the story of James Allen, a fictionalized version of the wrongfully convicted Robert Elliot Burns. James, played by Paul Muni, returns home from World War I a changed man and decides to give in to his ambition and become an engineer. After becoming impoverished in his search for work, he is forced at gunpoint to aid in the robbery of a small diner. After his arrest, he is tortured and subjected to the brutality of chain gang labor, but when he succeeds in an attempt to flee he finds himself the victim of a relentless and vindictive legal system that eventually breaks James, and he succumbs to an absolute, paranoid madness.
The first thing you'll notice about the film is the ability of the leading man, Paul Muni. He commands a very captivating presence that allows his character to become completely believable. In the first half of the film, Paul Muni makes his character one deserving of both sympathy and respect. It was very easy to feel for this character, and this allows James Allen to have an unparalleled character progression. He changes very drastically, but for the most part it happens so gradually that you don't realize the starkness of his transformation until the very final scene. Paul Muni takes his character from an upstanding citizen to a delusional vagrant that you cant help but feel pity and a genuine sorrow for. His skill as an actor creates one of the most shocking and dramatic endings in a film that I personally have ever seen.
Muni's performance is bolstered by a very moving script and an excellent director, but what had to be most important was an impeccable sound design. This film was able to take a relatively new innovation for the film industry and create a superb array of ambient sounds that you cant help but notice. It was so excellent that even now, nearing a century later, I was still shocked by the amount that it added to the film. Muni is so often surrounded by unfamiliar and daunting noises when he's introduced to the chain gang. The rattling of the chains, the pounding of the hammers against the rocks, the barking and whining of the hounds on his tail during his escape. I actually believed I was feeling exactly what James Allen must have been feeling. This really couldn't have been achieved just a few years earlier if the film had been made as a silent film.
If you have an appreciation for cinema, this is a film you just can't ignore. It's a genuine piece of movie history. I cant believe I hadn't even heard of it before today. I didn't hesitate to give it a 10 because that's what it deserved. I don't think I'll ever forget this one, and I cant recommend it enough.
Sherlock Jr. (1924)
Even a technically impressive film still needs a working plot
I had high hopes when I started this film, I was still coming down from a silent film high after watching Charlie Chaplin's The Circus, but my hopes were very quickly dashed upon starting the film. I don't know if I should be looking at it from the perspective of a 1920's moviegoer, but I can't help but feel like they must have been wondering the same things I am.
The film begins and ends with Buster Keaton playing a fumbling, awkward projectionist with dreams of becoming a detective. The slapstick fails to arouse even a smirk and the story starts off so bad I'm actually sort of insulted by it. It doesn't take a detective to realize he could have just taken the family to the pawn shop very clearly named on the receipt for the watch and had the owner confirm that Keaton was not the thief immediately after being framed. There, mystery solved.
Now I understand that this was simply the set up for the Sherlock Jr section of the film, but that just raises the even more important question of why the writers didn't just cut those beginning and ending portions of the film entirely and dedicate all of the 44 minute run time to Sherlock Jr. That section of the film is remarkably better in every aspect, and already had a set up that worked perfectly fine; A pearl necklace is stolen and Buster Keaton's character is called in to solve the case. This part of the film is actually enjoyable, the gags are amusing and work well, the plot is much more intriguing, and this is where all of the impressive scenes are on display. If this was the entirety of the film, I would have been impressed rather than confused. I actually really enjoyed seeing Sherlock Jr in action. It's a shame the film was dragged down by the reality it didn't need to give itself.
The Circus (1928)
Charming and easy to watch
I come from a time when slapstick is the lowest form of comedy. You just don't find any in well made movies. I've never thought very highly of it and I never understood the appeal of something like the Three Stooges that relies on it for laughs. However, this was my opinion before having seen Charlie Chaplin in action.
The first thing I noticed about Charlie Chaplin is that he was just such a class act and exuded such an infectious charm that it was impossible not to give him your attention. I wasn't sure what I was going to get when I started the movie, but Charlie's performance made it fun and remarkably easy to watch. He had not only such a striking talent but you could tell in some of the gags that he commanded so much skill, too. When his character was pretending to be animatronic I was actually taken aback by how precise and robotic he was able to make his motions.
Looking beyond just Chaplin's performance, the movie as a whole was also surprisingly enjoyable. The pacing was excellent, especially by today's standards. Rather than overstaying its welcome, the film left me wishing there was more to see. There weren't any real, hearty laughs, but there were plenty of genuine chuckles. And lastly, I was surprised by how well the actors and actresses were able to convey so much meaning without speaking. The relationship between Charlie and his lead actress is very compelling, even by today's standards, and this gives the very heartfelt ending a whole lot of impact. I'm glad this film was my introduction to silent-era slapstick and I can't really see anyone not having a good time watching it.