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Friday, July 26, 2019

Interrupted Melody (1955) [NR] ****


A film review by Andrew Wickliffe for thestopbutton.com on 9 Feb 2006.

Interrupted Melody is an interesting example of economic storytelling. The film covers about ten years, has a number of strong character relationships, but moves gently through all of it. It’s got moments where there isn’t any dialogue, just the look between characters, it’s got a great love story - and, even better, a great struggling marriage. Director Curtis Bernhardt deserves a lot of the credit - for example, he knows just how long to let these scenes go, and the first date between Eleanor Parker and Glenn Ford does better in five minutes what most films - most good films - spend twenty doing. It’s not just Bernhardt though. Interrupted Melody was co-written by Sonya Levien, who also worked on The Cowboy and the Lady and it had similarly perfect pacing.

Most of Interrupted Melody is a showcase for its actors, whether it’s Parker or Ford or even a young (and good-looking) Roger Moore. The film’s structure varies in focus - for instance, there’s a large part where Ford is the protagonist over Parker - but manages the transitions back and forth beautifully. So beautifully, in fact, I don’t even recall the first transition. The second, later one, I still do.

Besides being Parker’s best performance (probably, at least in the lead), Interrupted Melody has a great Glenn Ford performance. Ford never gets the proper respect - search for him on IMDb and the first title to come up is Superman, but he’s really good, especially in this, mid-1950s period of his career. Interrupted Melody is available on DVD, and it occasionally is shown on Turner Classic Movies. Wickliffe’s rating: **** out of 4 stars.

Blogger’s comment: In 1956, Eleanor Parker was nominated for an Oscar for Best Actress in a Leading Role for her performance in this film

CREDITS
Directed by Curtis Bernhardt; written by William Ludwig and Sonya Levien; directors of photography, Joseph Ruttenberg and Paul Vogel; edited by John D. Dunning; produced by Jack Cummings; released by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer.

Starring Glenn Ford (Dr. Thomas King), Eleanor Parker (Marjorie Lawrence), Roger Moore (Cyril Lawrence), Cecil Kellaway (Bill Lawrence), Peter Leeds (Dr. Ed Ryson), Evelyn Ellis (Clara), Walter Baldwin (Jim Owens), Ann Codee (Madame Gilly), Leopold Sachse (Himself) and Stephen Bekassy (Count Claude des Vignaux).

Labels: biography, drama, Eleanor Parker, Fifties, music, romance


Friday, July 12, 2019

The Sound of Music (1965) [G] *****



A film review by Casey Broadwater for blu-ray.com on Nov. 3, 2010.


Hollywood insiders called it The Sound of Money when it started raking in loads of box office cash. Leading man Christopher Plummer, thinking it was too sentimental, referred to it as The Sound of Mucus. Influential film critic Pauline Kael even deemed it a sugar-coated lie that some people seem to want to eat. But let's set the cynicism aside for a moment. It may be syrupy, and it's definitely a Hollywood cash cow - even now, 45 years after its release - but has there ever been a film more sincerely joyful, more wide-eyed and earnestly optimistic than The Sound of Music? (If there has, I haven't seen it.) It's easy to be wary about unbridled hope, but this movie musical - the eighth and final collaboration between Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II, the greatest composer/lyricist duo of the 20th century - comes by it honestly. There's no pandering here, no wink-wink irony, no sense of kitsch or camp. The Sound of Music genuinely believes in the possibilities of love, the certainty of good's triumph over evil, and the redeeming, transcendent power of song. Critics can scoff and cynics cringe, but there's a reason audiences world-over have been singing along with the film since 1965.

The based-on-a-true-story is almost universally familiar by now. Broadway star Julie Andrews plays Maria, a good-natured but troublemaking postulant at a convent in the Austrian Alps. Perhaps troublemaking is an overstatement. In the song Maria, sung by her wimple-wearing supervisors, we learn that Maria's main offenses are waltzing on the way to Mass, whistling on the stair, and - gasp! - singing in the abbey. Knowing that she's A flibbertigibbet! A will-o'-the-wisp! A clown! and perhaps too flighty to become a proper nun, the Mother Abbess (Peggy Wood) puts Maria on probation and sends her to Salzburg to serve as the governess of the seven von Trapp children, aged five to sixteen. Their father, Georg (Christopher Plummer), is a widower and former Navy captain, a hardcore disciplinarian who orders his kids around with the aid of an impossibly shrill whistle. Maria, of course, takes a different tact, winning the children over with song, sewing play clothes out of old drapes, climbing trees, going on mountaintop picnics, and putting on puppet shows. The captain's heart is slowly opened when he sees the change in his children, and he breaks off his engagement with the coldly shrewd Baroness Schraeder (Eleanor Parker) to marry Maria. Alas, there's trouble in paradise. These are the last golden days of Austria in the 1930s, and the Nazi threat looms over the Alps like a thundercloud. Don't worry, though, this is The Sound of Music, not Schindler's List, and despite a tense climax that finds the von Trapps hiding from SS foot soldiers in the abbey cemetery, the dénouement is pure - literal and figurative - escapism.

Every junction, twist, and turn of the plot is accompanied by song, and the musical numbers are so memorably infectious, there ought to be an auditory branch of the Centers for Disease Control working around the clock on an antidote for the inevitable ailment of getting these tunes stuck permanently in your head. Nearly every song has since become a bonafide classic, from the title track - which finds Maria, arms outstretched, spinning in euphoria - to Climb Every Mountain, the inspiration closer. In between, there's My Favorite Things, an ode to joyful list-making, Do-Re-Mi, a veritable music lesson, and The Lonely Goatherd, a lyrical tongue twister if there ever was one. And let's not forget the fact that most people think Edelweiss is an actual Austrian folk song, and not a brilliant creation of Rodgers and Hammerstein. There's an air of abject wholesomeness that pervades all of the music - which led Pauline Kael to controversially say, we have been turned into emotional and aesthetic imbeciles when we hear ourselves humming the sickly, goody-goody songs - but delve into the subtext of Hammerstein's lyrics and you'll find slight shades of passion, and even sex, as when eldest daughter Liesl (Charmian Carr) sings, I am sixteen, going on seventeen, innocent as a rose. Since when were the delicate, sensual petals of a rose considered innocent? Still, this is family-friendly stuff all around, and while it may be overly sweet, I don't think it's fair to say it's sickeningly so. Not every film needs to be a gritty, philosophically loaded, emotionally exhausting drama.

The Sound of Music is, at the very least, well-made fluff, but it's frequently much more than that. The film is exhilarating from the first frames, as Director Robert Wise takes us on an aerial tour of the Alps, culminating in a helicopter shot that swoops down on a twirling Julie Andrews right as she erupts into song. Wise has a keen sense of mise-en-scène, and all of his compositions emphasize depth and movement, particularly his arrangements of the seven von Trapp children. The kids themselves come across as precocious, but never obnoxious, and when Christopher Plummer's steely eyes soften at the sound of their singing, even the most hardened moviegoer is likely to break into an insuppressible smile or even shed a tear. The movie is essentially engineered to make you feel good, to make your heart swell, and whether or not you think this is manipulative or superficial, it's certainly effective. I can think of few better cures for the blues than spending 174 minutes with The Sound of Music. Yes, at nearly three hours long - thanks to reprises of just about every song - the film would seem to run the risk of sagging in the middle, but it surprisingly never does, floating along instead on its own glee-filled effervescence. And the source of this bubbly propulsion is Julie Andrews, who practically radiates joy and goodness. It's easy, maybe even fashionable among critics, to dislike The Sound of Music, but we could all stand to be a little bit more like Maria, waltzing, whistling, and singing our way through life.

Labels: biography, Cinderella-story, drama, Eleanor Parker, family, musical, romance


Where the Boys Are (1960) [NR] ****


A film review by Michael Reuben for blu-ray.com on July 27, 2017.

Where the Boys Are appeared in 1960, the same year as the setting for the 2007 opening season of TV's Mad Men, and both are time capsules of the manners and mores of a bygone era. The difference is that Mad Men reinvented that time with an often ironic awareness of what would follow it, whereas Where the Boys Are represents its age without detachment. Adapted from a popular novel by Glendon Swarthout (who also wrote The Shootist), the film was billed as a teen comedy, one of the first, and it helped spawn an entire sub-genre of beach-themed entertainments, including the Beach Party series starring Frankie Avalon and Annette Funicello.

But Where the Boys Are had something more serious on its mind, which is why it plays today as an uneasy mixture of broad farce and romantic melodrama. In an era when the Hays Code still strait-jacketed filmmakers from dealing honestly with sexual relations, Where the Boys Are used humor and euphemism to bypass screen taboos. If much of the film's creative circumlocution seems quaint today, it's largely because Where the Boys Are anatomizes a template of morality that, within just a few years, would be shredded by the sexual revolution of the Sixties. It's worth noting that the film's year of release was also the first year that birth control pills became widely available, thereby transforming the female sexual calculus on which the Where the Boys Are plot largely depends.

The Warner Archive Collection has remastered Where the Boys Are for Blu-ray with a new transfer that showcases director Henry Levin's (Journey to the Center of the Earth) widescreen compositions and location photography. With its (now) politically incorrect depictions of good girls vs. bad, the film is a fascinating museum piece, enlivened by lead performances that include the screen debuts of singer Connie Francis and newcomer Paula Prentiss, who would go on to become a familiar figure in both film and TV, equally famous for her talents as a comedienne and her durable marriage to actor/director (and sometime co-star) Richard Benjamin.

Where the Boys Are traces the adventures of four freshman women who depart their snowy campus up north for spring break on the Florida beaches of Ft. Lauderdale, because that's where the boys are. Over the course of a frenetic week, the foursome experience adventures that are sometimes comic, sometimes romantic and sometimes traumatic. Meanwhile, the population of their cut-rate motel room expands every night, as they continue to take in penniless students and strays.

The film establishes its relationship issues in an early classroom scene where Merritt Andrews (Dolores Hart) offers an impromptu class presentation on premarital sex - or, in the carefully chosen word of the Where the Boys Are script, emotional involvement and playing house. Merritt scandalizes her teacher, whose ironic name is Dr. Raunch (Amy Douglass), and thrills the entire class by acknowledging what all of them already know, which is that girls are now expected to indulge their boyfriends' desires and those who withhold their favors quickly become unpopular. Still, when Merritt and her friends reach Florida, she struggles to remain a good girl, and the story rewards her with the catch of the season in the person of Ryder Smith (George Hamilton), a Princeton legacy and heir who sweeps Merritt off her feet, but not into bed, with his good looks and charm - not to mention his yacht, mansion and butler. Merritt's friend, Melanie Tolman (Yvette Mimieux), takes the opposite approach, throwing herself into the holiday spirit, drinking to the point of collapse and dating a revolving door of Ivy Leaguers (or so they say) with whom, we are meant to infer, she shares a different bed every night. Where Merritt is rewarded for being good, Melanie is ultimately punished for being bad, and the film treats her punishment as unfortunate but deserved. (If you can't take date rape in stride, Where the Boys Are isn't the film for you.)

The group's other two members endure more comfortingly comic romantic entanglements. Angie (Connie Francis) finds herself attached to an eccentric musician named Basil (Frank Gorshin), whose band plays dialectic jazz and who doesn't begin to notice the diminutive co-ed until she opens her mouth to sing and the voice of Connie Francis emerges. (Producer Joe Pasternak actively recruited the singer for the role, even though she was more interested in continuing her successful recording and touring career.) The exceptionally tall Tuggle Carpenter (Paula Prentiss) is paired with an even taller admirer whose name is equally unlikely: TV Thompson (Jim Hutton), so dubbed because he aspires to work in television, which may explain why he delivers every sentence as if he were speaking into a microphone. TV routinely bemoans his lack of success with women, but Tuggle sees in him a candidate to help her achieve her life's ambition, which is to become a married baby-making machine. (One wonders why she's bothering with college.) The budding relationship hits a snag when Tuggle refuses to sleep with TV - it's one of the film's most overt sexual negotiations - and the disappointed suitor finds his attention straying to a big-chested platinum blonde nightclub performer with the appropriately seductive name of Lola Fandango (Barbara Nichols, aka Queen of the B Movies).

Where the Boys Are maintains a light-hearted tone throughout most of its running time, effectively exemplified by Ft. Lauderdale's beleaguered police captain (Chill Wills), who warns his officers to expect anything and to maintain a sense of humor because you're gonna need it if you want to survive! Routine police broadcasts dispatching law enforcement to the latest scene of student excess provide a humorous narration, much like the loudspeaker announcements in M.A.S.H. TV's brief dalliance with the pneumatic Ms. Fandango results in a slapstick disaster that lands most of the group in police custody, from which Lola extricates them with a classic dumb blonde plea. But then, in its final twenty minutes, Where the Boys Are turns deadly serious - and it also reveals the prudish underpinnings of the sexual teases that have been propelling the film. As it turns out, talking about sex is a perfectly safe pursuit for an educated young woman in the world of Where the Boys Are, but actually doing it places her in mortal peril. Indeed, Where the Boys Are appears to endorse the view that bad girls who let men take liberties forfeit both their dignity and the right to say no. It's a jarring turn in a film that bills itself as a frothy romantic comedy, and the fact that no one in 1960 seems to have noticed the dissonance says as much about the era as the script's squeaky clean language and chaste onscreen kisses. When it's not busy clowning around, Where the Boys Are plays less like an entertainment and more like an artifact of an ancient civilization. It belongs in the Smithsonian. [Reuben’s rating: 6.7 out of 10]

Blogger’s comment: I totally agree with the reviewer. I view Where the Boys Are as a time capsule of the social and sexual mores, language, makeup, costumes and sets of 1959-60. There’s even a one-second glimpse of a late 1950s Mercedes-Benz 300SL Gullwing coupe at the 47 minute mark of the film. And it was a treat to see George Hamilton, Jim Hutton (father of actor Timothy Hutton), Paula Prentiss, Dolores Hart, and especially Yvette Mimieux, who’s almost exactly six months older than I am, whom I’ve also seen in The Time Machine (1960) and The Black Hole (1979) among other films, and whom I remember as my major celebrity crush of 1960-61 – sixty years ago.

Labels: college, comedy, drama, Fifties, romance, Sixties


Monday, July 8, 2019

Parenthood (1989) [PG-13] ****/*****

A film review by Roger Ebert on August 2, 1989.

Ron Howard's Parenthood is a delicate balancing act between comedy and truth, a movie that contains a lot of laughter and yet is more concerned with character than punch lines. It's the best kind of comedy, where we recognize the truth of what's happening even while we're smiling, and where we eventually acknowledge that there is a truth in comedy that serious drama never can quite reach.

The movie is about a lot of parents and children - four generations, from an ancient matriarch to a 3-year-old. Because almost everyone in this movie has both parents and children, almost everyone in the movie is both a child and a parent, and much of the film's strength comes from the way it sees each generation in reaction to its parents' notions of parenthood. The complexity of the movie - there are a dozen or more important characters - must have seemed daunting on the screenplay level, and yet the film's first strength is its smart, nimble screenplay, which also is very wise.


Parenthood stars Steve Martin and Mary Steenburgen as the parents of three children, with another on the way. Life is not easy for them, although they are surrounded by all of the artifacts of middle-class suburbia, such as a nice home and new uniforms for the Little League team. Martin is engaged in warfare at the office, where he wants to be made a partner, and yet he resists spending too much time at work because he wants to be a good father - a better father than his father (Jason Robards), who was cold and distant.

We can see this for ourselves when we meet the Robards character.


Or can we? Robards himself feels little love for his surviving parent, a mother about whom he snarls, Yeah, she's still alive at a family gathering. Robards has had four children, and we meet them all in the movie: Characters played by Martin, Dianne Wiest, Harley Jane Kozak and Tom Hulce.


The Hulce character, Robards' youngest child, is in his mid-20s and is the family's black sheep (he is introduced with the line, Whatever you do, don't lend him any money). He is a compulsive gambler and liar, yet Robards somehow keeps alive a flame of hope for him, and loves him and cares, and so you can see that parenthood has not been simple for him, either.


We learn these and other things in an indirect way; the screenplay, by Lowell Ganz and Babaloo Mandel, with input from director Ron Howard, never reveals an obvious plot line but instead cuts between several different family situations.


With Martin and Steenburgen, we see an attempt being made to create a typical, wholesome, American nuclear family - with Martin driven almost to exhaustion by his determination to be a good father. Dianne Wiest plays a divorced mother of two who is bitter about her former husband and weary but courageous in her determination to do her best by a strong-willed, 16-year-old daughter (Martha Plimpton) and a secretive, distracted, 13-year-old son (Leaf Phoenix).


Kozak plays a sensible mother whose husband (Rick Moranis) is insanely obsessed with his theories about tapping the genius within young children; he reads Kafka at bedtime to their daughter, not yet 4, and proudly demonstrates that she can look at a group of paper dots and calculate the square root of the total. The Hulce character is the only one not yet married, and indeed in his gambling and lying and dangerous brinksmanship, he seems to have flown entirely out of the orbit of parenthood.


Perhaps the best scene in the movie is the one between Robards and Hulce, after the old man has decided to make one more sacrifice for his no-good son, and then the son betrays the trust because what he really wants is not help, but simply the freedom to keep on losing.


Howard, Ganz and Mandel have 15 children among them, I understand, and that is easy to believe. Even such standard scenes as the annual school play, with the parents beaming proudly from the audience and the kids dropping their lines onstage, is handled here with a new spin.


There are many moments of accurate observation, as when kids of a certain age fall in love with terms for excrement, or when kids at a party refuse to have the good time that has been so expensively prepared for them.


What I enjoyed most about the movie was the way so many scenes were thought through to an additional level. Howard and his collaborators don't simply make a point, they make the point and then take another look at it from a new angle, finding a different kind of truth. There is a wonderful moment, for example, in which the old matriarch (Helen Shaw) makes a wise and pithy observation, and then goes out to get into the car. Her dialogue provides a strong exit line, and a lot of movies would have left it at that, but not Parenthood, which adds a twist: If she's so smart, Martin observes, looking out the window, why is she sitting in the neighbor's car? In a movie filled with good performances, I especially admired the work by Martin, Steenburgen, Wiest and Robards. What we are seeing in their performances, I think, is acting enriched by having lived, having actually gone through some of the doubts and long nights and second thoughts that belong to their characters. For Ron Howard, the movie is a triumph of a different sort: Having emerged from a TV sitcom (Happy Days) determined to become a director, he paid his dues with apprentice work like Grand Theft Auto, went on to box office and critical success with Splash and Cocoon. Now he has made a wonderful film that shows him as a filmmaker mature and secure enough to find truth in comedy, and comedy in truth, even though each hides in the other so successfully. [Ebert’s rating: 4 stars out of 4]


Labels: comedy, drama, family

IMDb 71/100

MetaScore (critics=82, viewers=83)

RottenTomatoes Averages (critics=75, viewers=76)

Blu-ray

Netflix

Roger Ebert’s review 




Monday, July 1, 2019

The Seventh Sin (1957) [NR] ****


A film review by Andrew Wickliffe for thestopbutton.com on Sept. 1, 2017.

The Seventh Sin has three problems. The first is the third act; it’s too rushed. Given the constraints of the film production – a shot-in-Hollywood production about a cholera outbreak in a rural Chinese town – there’s not so much to be done about it. The film has a limited cast, especially once the action moves from Hong Kong to that town, and the roles are restrictive. The second problem is Miklós Rózsa’s music. It’s occasionally perfectly good melodramatic stuff, but Rózsa also has a lot what he must have considered Chinese themes. Regardless of their origin, they come off as trite or condescending and completely alien to the film’s narrative. They’re as patiently false as the rear screen projection shots, only without the actors there to get the scenes through.

The third problem is the big one. It keeps The Seventh Sin down, even when everything else is working (though, obviously, not much of Rózsa’s score). Leading man Bill Travers is awful. He’s mediocre at the start, seemingly unable to fully handle the part of a vindictive cuckold, but once he actually has some character development to essay, Travers butchers it even worse.

Now on to the good. Lead Eleanor Parker. She starts the film desperately unhappy, floundering, angry, and completely transforms through her experiences. The Seventh Sin is front-loaded. The most dramatic story stuff is at the beginning, when dull Travers learns Parker’s having an affair with charming Jean-Pierre Aumont. By the time Travers drags Parker to the cholera outbreak, there’s not much drama left. They’re both resigned and burned out. Parker’s already gone through one entire dramatic arc with the character and then she has to build another one, only without any outside incitement. Despite Travers singlehandedly turning the tide of the cholera epidemic, The Seventh Sin is all about how Parker experiences it and how that experience changes her. And a lot of her experience is just sitting around miserable.

Sometimes she does have George Sanders, playing an Englishman who’s settled in the town to occasionally run an import and export business, but mostly to get drunk and snoop into people’s personal lives. He finds a kindred spirit in Parker and much of the second act involve his attempts to discover her secrets and then what to do with those discoveries.

All of Parker’s development comes in these quietly composed wide shots; she’s often alone in them, negotiating her place in space. When someone else comes into the shot – specifically Travers – it’s an intrusion. The subdued tension explodes. Parker argues magnificently in the film. The script never really gives Sanders a chance to keep up, which seems a missed opportunity (but not once the narrative plays out). At the beginning of the film, Travers actually does hold his ground for a moment or two but he quickly gets lost. It’s impossible to imagine how The Seventh Sin would’ve turned out with a better performance in his role.

While Ronald Neame gets the sole directing credit, Vincente Minnelli directed much of it – most of it? And given that Neame left because he (incredibly and stupidly) disliked Parker’s performance, maybe Minnelli was responsible for all the great direction of Parker.

Besides Parker and Sanders (who plays a soulful drunk just like he’s a soulful drunk), Aumont is pretty good. Françoise Rosay is excellent as a Mother Superior who gives Parker quite a bit of advice; it’s mostly from a humanistic standpoint, not a religiously influenced one, which makes the scenes particularly effective.

Good black and white photography from Ray June. He does a lot better with the matte paintings than with the rear screen projection.

Karl Tunberg’s script holds strong for almost the entire film, until the third act rush. That last minute stumble is mostly Tunberg’s fault, but Minnelli or Neame could’ve tried to do something to save it. The finale manages to have Parker in every second but lose the character’s depth. Her personal journey becomes perfunctory, which is a big problem given it’s the entire picture. And most of the picture is quite good. Except Travers. Travers is terrible. [Wickliffe’s rating: *** out of 4 stars]

Labels: drama, Eleanor Parker, tragedy