This,and Not That
There are a few films that are on everyone's "best" list that I've never been as enthusiastic about. Some I don't like very much, some I like, but would not put on the greatest-ever list. I've been thinking about some films like this and as I examine them and my recommended alternatives, a pattern is beginning to emerge. See if you can detect it.
Not
Vertigo (1958)
What can I say about Vertigo? As with the other Hitchcock films, there is something to be admired. The score, by constant collaborator, Bernard Herrman, is as vital to the overall feel of the production as the script. The plot is intricate, but because of Hitchcock's belief that it is more suspenseful when the audience knows what's happening and the protagonist does not, we are not fooled for a moment that the red-haired Kim Novak is a different person than the blonde Kim Novak. And because of this, the film is achingly slow and un-suspenseful most of the time as James Stewart walks us through his obsession with the blonde Kim Novak, whose life he thinks he has failed to save.
The biggest mystery associated with this film, IMHO, is why it is the recipient of such reverential status. Unless we break it down like this -- most of the devotion comes from the men who make up the disproportionate number of critics (as an example, only 7 of the 102 external reviews of this film on IMDB have female names), filmmakers, film historians, etc. And maybe men just find the "idea" of a woman, that is, the grey-suited Kim Novak who is so lacking in personality as to be practically transparent, intriguing. A grey suit in a technicolor film! She is supposed to be a blank, a myth, not real -- nothing that you'd actually have to interact with. When the James Stewart character finds the flesh-and-blood look-alike, he labors to remove any trace of her individuality and personality and turn her into the blank version, right down to the grey suit (somehow he manages to purchase the exact suit -- oh, suspend your disbelief!) Maybe he represents men who prefer android blondes in grey suits to real life women. This is a film for them. For this is a film about control. One way to maintain control of a relationship is to never actually take part in it, with all its imperfections, to be satisfied with just watching. Which is what critics do, what directors do, and what the James Stewart character does.
This
Rear Window (1954)
On the other hand, Rear Window is one of Hitchcock's finest, tightly-scripted suspense dramas. There are no slow spots, because, cleverly, when the principals aren't talking, Hitchcock has us watch the residents of the building across from the title rear window.
The principals are James Stewart, again, as a world-traveling photojournalist with a broken leg, confined to a wheelchair, Grace Kelly, as his designer/model, woman friend, and Thelma Ritter, as the visiting nurse who becomes his confederate in spying on the neighbors.
The Grace Kelly character, Lisa, is a very real woman who seems to be actively pursuing the James Stewart character, Jeff, for a commitment. It's not totally clear why -- perhaps, he is more interesting when he can walk around, but he resists Lisa, -- Grace Kelly, in the prime of her beauty, dressed in a scintillating wardrobe, designed by Edith Head, who coincidentally did the costumes in Vertigo (Hitchcock liked to work with the same people). The reason Jeff gives is that their lifestyles don't mesh -- she could never follow him into the wild and rough it, although she says she's up for it and can be handy to have around. She tries to prove this by being up for the adventure of the murder mystery that Jeff has concocted from the observations of one of his neighbors in particular, played by Raymond Burr (pre Perry Mason). She is so spunky that she becomes the active agent of the stationary Jeff, foolheartedly venturing into the apartment across the way and into real danger.
The irony here is obvious: he is the adventurer, going to photograph in danger zones, but now the roles are reversed, and completely. She is the daring one, and in one of the great, suspenseful screen moments, he can only watch the danger unfold through his telephoto lens, while Hitchcock captures the helpless fear and anguish on his face.
We can speculate on the psychological symbolism that is presented here: a man's fear of being trapped, of being impotent, of not being man enough for an assertive woman with desires, and choosing a profession that precludes any such relationship. We don't know what happens to Lisa and Jeff after the excitement with the police is done and the mystery is solved, but I hope that when the cast comes off the leg, Jeff goes back to work, globe-trotting, and leaves Lisa to someone who would consider her an asset.
Not
The Apartment (1960)
I understand a lot of people love The Apartment. I have never warmed to it. Perhaps, because I have never warmed to Shirley MacLaine or understood her ascent to stardom. And what was with that hair? How many times can you wear the same pixie bob? Actually, I found the mature Shirley MacLaine to be a reliably, intelligent actress starting with about 1977's Turning Point. But I digress.
Though, frankly, there have been times when Jack Lemmon's persona of the slightly neurotic, Everyman has been slightly annoying. Mr. Everyman was part of the story in Prisoner of Second Avenue, a particular favorite of mine, and The Odd Couple, but tiresome in The Out of Towners and How to Murder Your Wife. So for me, this was a film of two people acting stupidly. I really hate it when characters in a drama allow themselves to be taken advantage of beyond the point of credulity. I realize this is done to make it funnier or to give it more intensity, but it's a weaker drama, in my opinion. But, everybody loves everything Billy Wilder does, because a lot of the time he is really good.
In 1960, I guess it was quite bold to make a film about the casual infidelity in the corporate world. I guess. Although when I saw it back then, I didn't think it was particularly bold. It wasn't like a big exposé.
This
Kiss Me, Stupid (1964)
But, oh boy, if you want to see what can change in the world of "bold" in four years, even Billy Wilder couldn't sell Kiss Me, Stupid in 1964, which I recommend. That's because it was banned by the Catholic Legion of Decency and others, requiring some cuts that were not necessary for the European release, because of it's shocking portrayal of -- yes, infidelity! But it was not casual, it was purposeful. I suppose that was what crossed the line.
Ray Walston plays a music teacher and long-aspiring composer in a very small town in Nevada. He and his writing partner, played by Cliff Osmond, have never sold a song. So when the Las Vegas star, playboy crooner, Dino, played by Dean Martin, playing himself, or the self he portrayed on stage, passes through town on his way to somewhere else, they sabotage his car so that they can get a chance to play some songs for him.
At some desperate point, the Cliff Osmond character suggests that Dino, the over-sexed playboy, could be made amenable through the efforts of an attractive woman. But Ray Walston is insanely jealous of his beautiful wife, played by Felicia Farr. So the partners hire someone to play his wife, an employee of 'The Belly Button', the town's sleazy entertainment venue. The employee, played by Kim Novak, sporting what she believes to be a New Jersey accent, accepts the job and throws herself into the role, enjoying the chance to play a housewife. The real wife is sent home to mother after her husband picks a fight to get her out of the house. What could possibly go wrong?
Well, the wife tires of listening to her mother's marathon nagging and goes home. She gets as far as the front porch when she sees an intimate moment between her husband and Kim Novak through the window. She leaves in a huff with a mind to get drunk. Where? At 'The Belly Button', where some caring townsfolk eventually tell Farr who has become worse for the alcohol to lie down and sleep it off in Kim Novak's trailer out back.
Kim Novak, meanwhile, has done her part and Dino is ready to buy a song. So Walston leaves them together at the urging of his partner, who has been waiting outside. But then he has second thoughts about the whole thing. He works himself up into a rage against Dino for coming into a man's home and expecting that his wife would be offered as part of the hospitality. So he charges back inside and kicks Dino out, much to the chagrin of everyone, including Novak, who tells him he is a fool. But that act of almost-chivalry has created a bond between them and so after they clean away the dinner dishes, they -- oh, wait, you'll have to see the film.
And you'll have to see the film to find out what happens when Dino leaves Ray's house in a huff and ends up in Kim's trailer with you-know-who. It's all very neatly scripted, funny lines and no two-dimensional characters in the bunch, with a rather sweet regard for the females that is often absent in Billy Wilder/I.A.L. Diamond scripts. This underrated film suffers from an unfortunately, hum-drum title that doesn't offer much of a hint of the kind of unusual, little film this is.
Not
You Can't Take it With You (1938)
You Can't Take it With You won the Academy Award for the best picture of 1938. Many rank it right up there with other Capra classics like It Happened One Night and It's a Wonderful Life. They think it's riotously funny, mainly because of Jean Arthur's family of eccentrics, like her ever-twirling sister, Ann Miller, Miller's xylophone-playing husband, played by Dub Taylor, her folk artist mother played by Spring Byington, the firecracker factory in the basement run by her father, played by Samuel S. Hinds, the skeptical servants, and assorted loose humans, all presided over by Grandpa Lionel Barrymore, who thinks people should follow their bliss instead of dollars. Jean Arthur seems to be the only one who earns a regular paycheck.
But Jean is in love with her boss, James Stewart, who is from a family, headed by parents, Edward Arnold and Mary Forbes, who are more interested in money and position than bliss. Jean's family is happy, generous, and loved by their community. James Stewart's family is cold, selfish and miserable. Get the message? Rich people may own skyscrapers, but they're not happy. Poor people can be in danger of foreclosure, but they're the lucky ones. So there is no point in wishing that you were rich because you'd be happier if you stay in your place. Based on the play by George S. Kaufman and Moss Hart, You Can't Take it With You is Hollywood trying to charm away uneasy yearnings during the Great Depression.
This
Easy Living (1937)
The year before, Jean Arthur made a better match. This time the rich man's son is Ray Milland, but the father is played by none other than Edward Arnold. The tycoon he plays this time is idiosyncratic, humorous, and unpredictable. He has a great time playing with the character. See him trying to explain compound interest to working girl, Arthur.
The difference here is the script by Preston Sturges, whose characters were edgier, funnier, and more fully-dimensional. Although it was said that he was not that happy with the direction of Mitchell Leisen -- in particular, the addition of the slapstick automat scene, Leisen adds some signature glamour to the look of the film, and directs the players with a sure hand.
The plot reveals typical class fault lines, but no one is demonized. A sable coat drops from the sky and falls on Jean Arthur's head as she commutes to work on a bus. Her hat is ruined. The coat dropper, Edward Arnold, who has tossed it off his penthouse terrace in a fit of temper at his wife's extravagance, tells her to keep the coat and insists on replacing the hat at a salon as he drives her to work in his limo. The proprietor of the salon then spreads the news that the tycoon, J.B. Ball, has a girlfriend on the side.
This makes Jean Arthur a celebrity because to have J.B. Ball's girlfriend endorse your product could make you a fortune. Consequently, the hotelier offers her the 'Imperial Suite' for nothing, the salon sends her clothes, car salesmen want her driving their cars, and Wall Street types want the inside info on steel. Jean Arthur doesn't know this is why she is suddenly so lucky and she doesn't know that the young man she has befriended after he was fired from his job at the automat is really J.B. Ball's son.
J.B.'s son doesn't want to be a banker; he wants to make it on his own, but he's not doing very well at it. Even the spendthrift wife, played by Mary Boles, turns out to be decent sort when a joke about steel has put J.B. in a precarious financial situation. This is a witty script played by actors who having played these sorts before, seem happy to extend themselves to make their characters a little zanier, a little less predictable, and a little more human. And in the effort, it made me laugh out loud at several points even after the third or fourth viewing.
Not
The Women (1939)
I may have already expressed a negative opinion of the extremely, well-regarded comedy/drama, The Women, directed by George Cukor, and written by Anita Loos based on the play by Claire Booth. Starring only women -- Norma Shearer, Joan Crawford, Joan Fontaine, Rosalind Russell, Paulette Goddard, and others,it has many flaws, in my opinion. But the gist of it is that a woman feels pressured to divorce her husband because he has formed a relationship with another woman and then comes to her senses at the end and runs to him with arms outstretched, repudiating her silly moral standards. Well, that's my interpretation. But, basically, it's an accurate synopsis. What bothers me the most, though, is that the film is promoted as a "cat fight" because all the women friends of Mary (Norma Shearer) are portrayed as being insincere, back-stabbing, shallow, gossips who are incapable of forming and maintaining real friendships. This, to me, is women-bashing propaganda.
This
Cry Havoc (1943)
So I started thinking about films from the same era that I could recommend that portrayed women friends in a better light. Not only was it hard to find one -- there were sooo many about women rivals that I wondered if I'd have to expand my search up to 1990 and Thelma and Louise to find women portrayed as supportive friends on film. Then I remembered a film I saw when I was a child that had a big influence on me. The film was Cry Havoc, also with a cast of only women, Margaret Sullavan, Ella Raines, Fay Bainter, Marsha Hunt, Joan Blondell, and Ann Sothern. The story was about nurses on Bataan, doing their jobs while dodging bombs and suffering the same deprivations as the men. Taking place in the days before the surrender to the Japanese, it impressed me as it was the only film I had seen out of the many about World War II that gave me someone heroic with whom I could identify . (There actually were two other films, Three Came Home, and So Proudly We Hail, that were about women in war, but I didn't see them until much later.) But, today, I could see that it might be a downer and not much of a substitute for a comedy/drama.
So, then I remembered the tough-talking, smart women in Gold Diggers of 1937. These women moved the plot, but were not rivals. Joan Blondell and Glenda Farrell were particularly funny and wise -- who can forget Glenda's line, "It's so hard to be good in a capitalist system", but they had been perfecting this partnership in several films in the thirties -- Miss Pacific Fleet, Traveling Saleslady, We're in the Money, and Kansas City Princess.
Oh, and about The Women, I have reconsidered a bit on that one when I started to think about the second half of the film when Mary goes to Reno and meets other women in the same betrayed boat. From this point on, the women actually do support each other, at least in opposition to the home-wrecker, Joan Crawford. But, even then, it starts to feel more like class struggle. But that's another topic.
My number one favorite in this category is The Maltese Falcon from 1941. It is just a perfectly-told tale starring Humphrey Bogart and Mary Astor with a great ensemble of character actors, including Peter Lorre and Sydney Greenstreet. Crisply directed by John Huston who adapted the screenplay from Dashiell Hammett's book, the mood is shady and cynical. But it is Bogart's smart-talking, tough-guy detective who defines the genre in remarking "when someone kills your partner, you're supposed to do something about it".
The Big Sleep from 1946 is another one of my favorites that has the right kind of mood and a very long and confusing plot. But director, Howard Hawks, infuses it with enough style to keep you interested watching Bogart, this time playing Raymond Chandler's private eye, Philip Marlowe, wooing Lauren Bacall's character while detecting for her father.
