Stromboli (1950) [NR] ****

A film review by Dr. Svet Atanasov, for blu-ray.com, on Sept. 24, 2013.

Roberto Rossellini's Stromboli (1950) arrives on Blu-ray courtesy of Criterion. The release contains two versions of the film, English and Italian. Also included on this release are: short introduction to the film by Roberto Rossellini, exclusive new video interview with Italian film critic Adriano Apra, and Nino Bizzarri's documentary film Rossellini Under the Volcano. In Italian or English, with optional English and English SDH subtitles. Region-A locked.

Stromboli, the first collaboration between Italian master Roberto Rossellini and the great Ingrid Bergman, begins in a displaced persons' camp somewhere in Farfa, Italy. There the beautiful Karin (Bergman), a Lithuanian refugee, hopes to get a permit that will allow her to emigrate from Italy to Argentina. While waiting for the Argentinean authorities to review her application, Karin frequently sees Antonio (Mario Vitale), a charming soldier from Sicily who knows only a few words of English.

When her application is rejected, Karin agrees to marry Antonio and go back with him to Stromboli, a small but supposedly very beautiful Mediterranean island. The enthusiastic Antonio immediately promises Karin, in broken English, that they will have a happy life together.

But shortly after they reach Stromboli, Karin begins to question her decision to follow Antonio because the island is very much a place where time seems to have stopped. Excluding a few fishermen, there are hardly any young people around. And not too far away from Antonio's house, which looks more like a hut, there is an active volcano. Feeling misled, Karin begins questioning her husband, and later on, barely able to contain her anger, she announces that she will leave him as soon as she can. When Antonio vows to work hard to give her what she needs, Karin tells him that he simply does not deserve her.

The local priest occasionally meets Karin and tries to help her understand the way people on Stromboli live their lives, but she becomes even more depressed. Eventually, after the volcano erupts and nearly destroys Antonio's house, Karin vows to do the impossible - cross the mountain alone and reach the village on the opposite side of the island where she can ask the owner of the only motorboat in the area to transport her back to the mainland.

The majority of Stromboli feels like a documentary feature about an exotic place where life has a very unique rhythm. The camera follows closely the disillusioned Karin as she visits different corners of the island and tries to come to terms with the fact that she has essentially become a prisoner, but large portions of the film are also dedicated to fishing rituals and the seemingly alive volcano.

Both Karin and the volcano undergo fascinating transformations. The first transformation is linked to religious overtones that effectively change the manner in which the film is viewed and ultimately understood. (They are in harsh contrast with its neo-realistic qualities). The second mirrors Karin's behavior. At first calm and seemingly willing to coexist with the fishermen, the volcano suddenly comes alive and then nearly destroys the tiny village.

The message of the film is that life is unpredictable and frequently demanding painful sacrifices. It feels terribly relevant today, when so many women like Bergman's Karin are willing to risk a lot, or everything, when promised a better future.

Three official versions of Stromboli exist, but according to film scholar Elena Dagrada, an expert on Rossellini's films with Bergman, none can be considered official or complete. They are: RKO's American version which was released in 1950, a longer international version which was shown at the Venice Film Festival in 1950, and the slightly shorter Italian-language version, Stromboli terra di Dio, which was released in Italian cinemas.

Criterion's Blu-ray release contains two versions of the film: the English-language version, Stromboli, which runs at approximately 106 minutes, and the Italian-language version, Stromboli terra di Dio, which runs at approximately 100 minutes.

Criterion's Blu-ray release of Roberto Rossellini's Stromboli, a film which has not been easy to see on this side of the Atlantic for years, is a revelation. It contains two versions of the film both of which have been restored and look very good. As far as I am concerned, Criterion's 3 Films by Roberto Rossellini Starring Ingrid Bergman box set is one of the year's must-own releases.

Labels: drama, Fifties, Ingrid Bergman

Internet Movie Database 7.3/10 

RottenTomatoes Averages (critics=65, viewers=78) 

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Blogger’s comment: After the end of WW II, Italian neo-realist director Roberto Rossellini made two films, Rome, Open City (1945) and Paisan (1946). Ingrid Bergman saw them, and having grown bored with Hollywood-style filmmaking, wrote to Rossellini and offered her services as an actress. Rossellini came to California, met Bergman and her surgeon husband Petter Lindstrom, and decided to cast her in his upcoming film Stromboli. Filming began in 1948 on the volcanic island of Stromboli, northeast of Sicily, using a largely amateur cast and without a shooting script, on a tiny island with an active volcano and without electricity or water. Despite the harsh filming conditions (one crew member died during filming), Bergman and Rossellini began a passionate love affair, resulting in Bergman’s pregnancy. Divorce and proxy marriage followed, and son Roberto was joined by twin daughters Isabella and Ingrid Rossellini. The marriage and filmmaking relationship lasted eight years and ended in divorce.

While Stromboli is interesting from an historical perspective, Rossellini’s neo-realistic style of making movies, using an amateur cast and no script, eventually proved to be not Bergman’s style.

Personally, I find the film dated and unapproachable, the ending totally unsatisfying and a complete waste of Ingrid Bergman’s incredible talent, and I award the film 3 stars out of a possible 5 stars.

Arch of Triumph (1948) [UR] ***/****

A film review by Jeffrey Kauffman for Blu-ray.com on July 24, 2014.

If Parisian tour guides are to be believed (and many of them are British, so their comments must be taken with a grain or two of Francophobic salt), French insurance companies specifically deny coverage for any of Paris' insanely busy roundabouts, like the one that encircles one of the most famous icons of French history and national pride, the Arc de Triomphe. As someone who madly decided to rent a car in Paris the last time I was there (ostensibly to get to Normandy, but which by default included urban Parisian driving), I can vouch for the fact that you pretty much take your life into your hands anytime you venture into a Parisian roundabout, whether on foot or in a vehicle, and so the fact that insurance companies refuse to cover any accidents in these locations strikes me as completely plausible. There is in fact a little coterie of observers who congregate regularly at the apex of the Champs-Elysées for the very opportunity to witness a fender bender (or several) in the grand parade of traffic that marauds around the Arc de Triomphe. There's a different if no less deadly kind of danger afoot in Lewis Milestone's largely forgotten 1948 opus Arch of Triumph, a film which opens with a stunning view of the monument (plus what looks like a not very convincing miniature), as an instant visual glyph that we're in the City of Lights. It's the last few relatively calm hours before the outbreak of World War II, in a rain soaked winter of 1938, and while true hostilities have not yet broken out between France and Germany, there's little doubt that the bad guys in the film, as personified by a dapper if depraved Charles Laughton in a showy supporting role, are Nazis.

While Arch of Triumph bears literary origins, having been culled from a novel by Erich Maria Remarque which had been a bestselling blockbuster in 1945, it's more than obvious that the ghost of Casablanca (1942) rather uneasily haunts much of this film, and not only because of Ingrid Bergman's participation. (In a side note, it's instructive to note that director Lewis Milestone cut his career teeth on All Quiet on the Western Front, one of the most famous war films of all time and another film based on a novel by Remarque.) Once again, there are refugees trying to get from Point A to Point B, but being hobbled by an incipient Nazi obstacle course.

The focal refugee is Dr. Ravic (a seriously wan Charles Boyer), a physician who in Remarque's original was a German émigré now practicing (illegally) in Paris, but who is in the film unavoidably Gallic (in accent and manner if not in actual nationality) due to Boyer's inherent qualities. Ravic has escaped from being a prisoner of the Nazis, though he still bears both physical and psychological wounds from the situation. The good doctor is haunted by memories of this torture, especially since it ended up killing his wife. The Nazi in charge of the operation was a bully named Von Haake (Charles Laughton), and Ravic is absolutely certain he's seen the villain traipsing through the rainy streets of Paris. Or - is he hallucinating?

One night while strolling through, yes, the rainy streets of Paris (this is one of the most relentlessly soggy war movies ever) Ravic saves a young woman from what appears to be a suicide attempt. Her name is Joan Madou (Ingrid Bergman), and she is rebounding (none too well, it seems) from another suicide - that of her lover. Ravic brings her back to his flat to help her get her emotional bearings, and soon sets her up as a chanteuse at a local nightclub which is frequented by White Russian glitterati who have had several decades' practice at being refugees. The doorman there is a former Russian noble named Boris Morosov (Louis Calhern), who is a friend of Ravic's and who, in the film, is given most of the weightier philosophical dialogue.

Joan begins to fall rather heavily for Ravic, but Ravic is aware that his status is precarious at best, and he doesn't want to be leading the obviously emotionally unbalanced woman along into a romance that is probably doomed from the outset. Ravic is also dealing with his own issues, unable to forget or forgive the monstrous behavior of Von Haake. Still, the two take halting steps toward each other, steps which are temporarily waylaid when Ravic's greatest fear – deportation - actually comes to pass. That sets the film out on its equally baroque second act, where Ravic returns after exile to find Joan living the high life as a kept woman and Von Haake still traipsing around those rainy Parisian streets.

There are a number of things ailing Arch of Triumph, the chief of which is an overstuffed length (the film clocks in at well over two hours, evidently cut down from a four hour rough cut). Remarque's novel was apparently a very dense affair with tons of characters (many of whom don't even make it to the film version), but in trying to capture as much of the flavor of the novel as possible, Milestone and his co-writer Harry Brown fail to adequately shape the morass that's left, offering a kind of sloppy, drawn out doomed romance playing out against the background of a burgeoning global conflict. The best thing about the film is its palpable sense of melancholy. Boyer and Bergman both create completely convincing portraits of wounded souls struggling to survive in a world that makes no sense and a place where neither of them belongs, but too much time is spent on the romantic angle to make what is arguably the film's real calling card - Ravic's quest for revenge against Von Haake - resonate as deeply as it might have otherwise.

It's no mere coincidence that what is arguably the film's strongest sequence in fact deals with that very quest for revenge. It's an incredibly brutal scene (and just as incredible, evidently what's in the film pales to what the censors took out), and it suddenly gives voice to all the tamped down melancholy that's gone before. It's okay to repeatedly see a misty eyed Ingrid Bergman, but unless Sam is there to sing As Time Goes By, it just doesn't have the same impact.

Though the rain is relentless in Arch of Triumph, unfortunately lightning doesn't strike twice, and this World War II refugee romance starring Ingrid Bergman can hardly be placed in the same category as the immortal Casablanca. If the seriously overstuffed second act had been aggressively trimmed, letting the film focus on the revenge angle earlier, Arch of Triumph would at least have been an agreeable enough effort. Still, fans of the stars may want to check this out, but they should be prepared for less than optimal video and (to a less extent) audio. [Kauffman’s rating: *** out of 5 stars]

Labels: drama, Ingrid Bergman, romance, tragedy, WWII

Internet Movie Database 64/100 

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Notorious (1946) [NR] *****

A film review by Roger Ebert on August 17, 1997.

Alfred Hitchcock's Notorious is the most elegant expression of the master's visual style, just as Vertigo is the fullest expression of his obsessions. It contains some of the most effective camera shots in his--or anyone’s--work, and they all lead to the great final passages in which two men find out how very wrong they both were.

This is the film, with Casablanca, that assures Ingrid Bergman’s immortality. She plays a woman whose notorious reputation encourages U.S. agents to recruit her to spy on Nazis in postwar Rio. And that reputation nearly gets her killed, when the man she loves mistrusts her. His misunderstanding is at the center of a plot in which all of the pieces come together with perfect precision, so that two people walk down a staircase to their freedom, and a third person climbs steps to his doom.

Hitchcock made the film in 1946, when the war was over but the Cold War was just beginning. A few months later, he would have made the villains Communists, but as he and Ben Hecht worked on the script, Nazis were still uppermost in their minds. (An opening subtitle says: Miami, Florida, 3:20 p.m., April 20, 1946--admirably specific, but as unnecessary as the similarly detailed information at the beginning of Psycho.)

The story stars Bergman as a patriotic American named Alicia Huberman, whose father is a convicted Nazi spy. Alicia is known for drinking and apparent promiscuity, and is recruited by an agent named Devlin (Cary Grant) to fly to Rio and insinuate herself into the household of a spy ring led by Sebastian (Claude Rains). Sebastian once loved her, and perhaps he still does; Devlin is essentially asking her to share the spy's bed to discover his secrets. And this she is willing to do, because by the time he asks her, she is in love--with Devlin.

All of these sexual arrangements are of course handled with the sort of subtle dialogue and innuendo that Hollywood used to get around the production code. There is never a moment when improper behavior is actually stated or shown, but the film leaves no doubt. By the time all of the pieces are in place, we actually feel more sympathy for Sebastian than for Devlin. He may be a spy but he loves Alicia sincerely, while Devlin may be an American agent but has used Alicia's love to force her into the arms of another man.

Hitchcock was known for his attention to visual details. He drew storyboards of every scene before shooting it, and slyly plays against Grant’s star power in the scene introducing Devlin to the movie. At a party the night her father has been convicted, Alicia drinks to forget. The camera positions itself behind the seated Devlin, so we see only the back of his head. He anchors the shot as the camera moves left and right, following the morally ambiguous Alicia as she flirts, drinks and tries to forget.

There are more famous shots the next morning. Alicia awakens with a hangover, and there is a gigantic foreground close-up of a glass of Alka-Seltzer (it will be paired much later in the movie with a huge foreground coffee cup that we know contains arsenic). From her point of view, she sees Devlin in the doorway, backlit and upside down. As she sits up, he rotates 180 degrees. He suggests a spy deal. She refuses, talking of her plans to take a cruise. He plays a secret recording that proves she is, after all, patriotic--despite her loose image. As the recording begins, she is in shadow. As it continues, she is in bars of light. As it ends, she is in full light. Hitchcock has choreographed the visuals so that they precisely reflect what is happening.

The film is rich with other elegant shots, the most famous beginning with the camera on a landing high above the entrance hall of Sebastian’s mansion in Rio. It ends, after one unbroken movement, with a close-up of a key in Alicia's nervously twisting hand. The key will open the wine cellar, where Devlin (posing as a guest) will join Alicia in trying to find Sebastian’s secret. One of the bottles contains not wine but a radioactive substance used in bombs. Of course, it could contain anything--maps, codes, and diamonds--because it is a MacGuffin (Hitchcock's name for that plot element that everyone is concerned about, although it hardly matters what it is).

The Hecht screenplay is ingenious in playing the two men against one another. Sebastian, played by Rains, is smaller, more elegant, more vulnerable, and dominated by his forbidding mother (Leopoldine Konstantin). Devlin, played by Grant, is tall, physically imposing, crude at times, suspicious where Sebastian is trusting. Both men love her but the wrong man trusts her, and the plot leads to a moment of inspired ingenuity in which Devlin is able to escort Alicia out of the Nazi mansion in full view of all of the spies, and the circumstances are such that nobody can stop him. (There is a point earlier in the film where Devlin walks up the same staircase, and if you count his steps you will find that on the way down he and Alicia descend more steps than there actually are--Hitchcock's way of prolonging the suspense.)

Throughout Hitchcock's career, he devised stories in which elegant women, usually blond, were manipulated into situations of great danger. Hitchcock was the master manipulator, with the male actors as his surrogates. Vertigo treats this theme so openly it almost gives the game away. But look how it works in Notorious, where Devlin (like the Jimmy Stewart character in Vertigo) grooms and trains an innocent woman to be exactly who he desires her to be, and then makes her do his bidding.

The great erotic moment in Vertigo is the one where the man kisses the woman of his fantasy, while the room whirls around him. There is a parallel scene in Notorious, and it was famous at the time as the longest kiss in the history of the movies. It was not, however, a single kiss, as Tim Dirks points out in his essay on the film (http://www.filmsite.org/noto.html). The production code forbade a kiss lasting longer than three seconds, and so Bergman and Grant alternate kissing with dialogue and eye-play, while never leaving one another's arms. The sequence begins on a balcony overlooking Rio, encompasses a telephone call and a discussion of the dinner menu, and ends with a parting at the apartment door, taking three minutes in all. The three-second rule led to a better scene; an actual 180-second kiss might look like an exercise in slobbering.

The choice of Ingrid Bergman for the role was ideal; she subtly combined the noble and the carnal. Consider Casablanca (all of the viewers of Notorious would have), in which she lives with a resistance hero but in her heart loves a scruffy bar owner, and yet emerges as an idealistic heroine. In Notorious, we never seriously doubt that she is the heroine, but we can understand why the Grant character does. She appears to be a dipsomaniac, and besides, she sleeps with Sebastian. But she does it because she loves Devlin. Devlin has difficulty in loving a woman who would do that; one is reminded of Groucho Marx, who refused to join any club that would have him as a member.

So many movies have ended in obligatory chases and shoot-outs that the ability to write a well-crafted third act has almost died out. Among its many achievements, Notorious ends well. Like clockwork, the inevitable events of the last 10 minutes take place, and they all lead to the final perfect shot, in which another Nazi says to Sebastian, Alex, will you come in, please? I wish to talk to you. And Alex goes in, knowing he will never come out alive. [Ebert’s rating: **** out of 4 stars]

Labels: action, drama, film-noir, Ingrid Bergman, romance, spy, thriller

Internet Movie Database 8.0/10 

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Saratoga Trunk (1946) [UR] ****

Gary Cooper and Ingrid Bergman star in this romantic drama about a Texas gambler and an illegitimate Creole daughter of an aristocratic New Orleans family who work together to seek justice from a society that has rejected them both. Based on the novel by Edna Ferber, the title refers to a short rail trunk line in upstate New York.

The first hour of the film is set in 1875 New Orleans. Bergman’s character, Clio Dulaine, has just arrived from Paris with her servants Angelique and Cupidon. A beautiful, smart and ambitious young woman, Clio’s plan is to seek revenge on the Dulaine family, who’d effectively run her out of town fifteen years earlier. Clio’s mother had had an affair with Nicholas Dulaine, and when he tried to end the affair, Clio’s mother attempted to kill herself, but Nicholas ended up being shot dead in the process of preventing it.

However, soon after arriving in New Orleans, Clio’s plans are altered when she meets and becomes infatuated with Gary Cooper’s character, the gambler Colonel Clint Maroon. While there’s a strong physical attraction between the two, Clio tells Clint of her plans to entrap a rich man into marrying her one day. Clint tells Clio that he is headed to Saratoga, New York for the spring horse racing and gambling, and suggests that she might well find a rich husband there. So, having accepted a sizable settlement from the Dulaine family to leave New Orleans and never return, Clio takes Angelique and Cupidon and heads for Saratoga.

Saratoga is home to several mineral baths or springs, as well as a short rail trunk line connecting to the main rail line between upstate New York coal mines and New York City. Thus, the trunk line is very valuable and is the focus of two railroad groups attempting to control it. So, while Clio attempts to manipulate the wealthy Bartholomew Van Steed into proposing marriage, Clint ingratiates himself with some railroad stockholders allied with Van Steed, and then provides the needed muscle to take on the other railroad group. A spectacular train crash precedes a rail-side brawl between the competing groups, in which Clint and Cupidon are injured. Naturally this brings out Clio’s nurturing side, and she rejects Van Steed in favor of Clint.

This film was the second pairing for Cooper and Bergman, following For Whom the Bell Tolls (1943), also directed by Sam Wood. Although not shot in wide-screen Technicolor (as was For Whom the Bell Tolls), I enjoyed this film far more. The dialogue and the unspoken chemistry between Cooper and Bergman is outstanding, and Bergman plays to perfection the part of a beautiful woman, highly skilled in the art of manipulating men. At 135 minutes, the film is long, and the two parts, New Orleans and Saratoga, do not blend well together. It’s been suggested that it would have worked better as two films or a mini-series, but if you love Cooper and Bergman together, the time will pass quickly. Actually filmed right after Casablanca (1942), Bergman was in her late twenties. She had fully developed as an actress, having been on stage and screen for nearly half her life, and she was at the height of her physical beauty and charisma. If you enjoyed Ingrid Bergman in Intermezzo (1939), Casablanca (1942), For Whom the Bell Tolls (1943), Gaslight (1944), Spellbound (1945) or Notorious (1946), you won’t want to miss Saratoga Trunk.

Labels: drama, history, Ingrid Bergman, period, romance, western

Internet Movie Database 6.6/10 

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Spellbound (1945) [UR] ****

A film review by Jeremy Heilman for MovieMartyr.com on June 3, 2002.

The first time that Dr. Constance Peterson (Ingrid Bergman) and Dr. Anthony Edwardes/John Ballantyne (Gregory Peck) embrace in Alfred Hitchcock’s suspense thriller Spellbound, an image of a hallway filled with opening doors is superimposed on the screen. It’s a bit obvious that from this point the picture will be giving us more of the same, as Peterson attempts to cure her ailing amnesiac lover. Her attempts to unlock his repressed memories with affection and undying trust probably violate every rule in the psychoanalyst’s handbook, but the film tells us that, women make the best psychoanalysts, until they fall in love. Then they make the best patients. Dr. Peterson is both doctor and cure to her patient and it’s somewhat charming to see her initially icy demeanor melt away as she gets the human experience that her colleagues tell her she lacks. Still, her seeming inability to turn off her constant stream of analysis has to leave the audience questioning whether romance with her would be something that you would even want.

Spellbound’s antiquated presentation of the psychoanalysis that fuels its plot is pleasingly outmoded, in the sense that it allows us to watch numerous expository scenes that explain the radical methods used by psychiatrists, prompting much unintentional humor (these scenes are presumably there since in 1945 psychoanalysis wasn’t a universally accepted science). Every person’s neurosis is a puzzle that can be easily unlocked, and the doctors in this film resemble something far closer to private eyes, looking through their patients’ dreams with a magnifying glass for clues. Whenever two or more of these psychiatrists are together, an insurmountable think tank seems to form, and the truth is always weeded out immediately. As each sickness is dispatched with ease, the cure to what ails the patient always seems easily obtainable. Perhaps that sense of assuredness is why the film is loaded with unprofessional, but witty, repartee that makes light of the conditions of the patients.

To examine Spellbound’s use of therapy while making concessions for its age is much more gratifying, however. The visual manifestations of Dr. Edwardes’ guilt complex are an excellent example of the show, don’t tell style of filmmaking, and make the film feel more cinematically alive than a film with a script this talky might suggest. The key dream sequence, designed by Salvador Dali, is visually exciting, even if the plot requires it to be far too logical for its own good. That the lovely Ms. Bergman is the one spewing the majority of the psychobabble makes its inclusion far more acceptable. She is quite good here and completely anchors the movie. Gregory Peck is a bit too spacey to make much of an impact, even when he’s not deep in a trance. As most of Hitchcock’s films do, Spellbound exudes class. Watching Dr. Peterson as she finally learns to trust her heart instead of her head sounds utterly schematic, but this top-notch production redeems the majority of the clichés. [Heilman’s rating: *** out of 4 stars]

And, yes, Gregory Peck did have a passionate love affair with co-star Ingrid Bergman during the making of Spellbound.

Labels: drama, film-noir, Ingrid Bergman, mystery, romance, rom-drama-faves, thriller

Internet Movie Database 7.6/10 

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Gaslight (1944) [NR] ****/*****

A film review by James Berardinelli for ReelViews.net.

Ingrid Bergman won her first Oscar for portraying Paula Alquist, the vulnerable, insecure heroine of George Cukor's diabolical, atmospheric thriller, Gaslight. Bergman, essaying a much different character from three of her best-known earlier roles (Anita Hoffman in 1939’s Intermezzo: A Love Story, Ilsa Lund in 1942's Casablanca and Maria in 1943's For Whom the Bell Tolls), is alluring and convincing as a woman held captive by her own fears.

The first half-hour of Gaslight is deceptively romantic. We are introduced to Paula, a young English singer living and studying in Italy circa 1885. Recently, however, her attention has not been on her craft, and her wily mentor remarks that he believes that she's in love. When Paula confirms his suspicions, and indicates that she may marry the gentleman in question, Gregory Anton (Charles Boyer), she is released from her studies. Less than a week later, she and Gregory are on their honeymoon.

At this point, Gaslight turns ominous. Gregory wants to live in England, so he and Paula move into a house that she inherited from her late aunt Alice Alquist, a well-known singer who had been murdered a decade earlier. Once there, Gregory's attentiveness acquires a sinister edge. He convinces Paula that she's having delusions, and, as a result, isn't well enough to see visitors. He hires a forthright young maid, Nancy (Angela Lansbury in her feature debut), who holds her mistress in contempt. And he disappears every night on clandestine business of his own.

A local Scotland Yard officer, Brian Cameron (Joseph Cotten), takes an interest in Paula's predicament, but Gregory and Nancy conspire to keep them from meeting. The more familiar Brian becomes with the situation, however, the more convinced he is that Paula's current circumstances are somehow related to her aunt's murder and a cache of missing jewels.

By the convoluted standards of many of today's ultra-slick thrillers, Gaslight may be seen as slow-moving and obvious. But no film like Basic Instinct can match this picture's intricate psychology. Paula's self-doubt builds slowly as her husband meticulously orchestrates her spiral into insanity. Since she's completely in his thrall, she never senses that he represents a threat. And, because Paula is isolated from everyone except Gregory, Nancy, and Elizabeth, the maid (Barbara Everest), she has no point of reference against which to gauge her mental stability.

Beautifully filmed in a gloomy, atmospheric black-and-white, Gaslight exhibits all the classic visual elements of '40s film noir. The attention to detail is more obvious than in many modern films. The benighted streets of London are cloaked with fog, and the large, lonely house where most of the action transpires is filled with shadows and strange noises. The paranoid, claustrophobic world of Paula's confinement is effectively conveyed. Even though we, as viewers, know that her insanity is contrived, we can feel the walls of the trap closing in as the situation grows progressively more hopeless.

In addition to Bergman's fine performance as the harried Paula, Charles Boyer and Angela Lansbury do excellent work. In less than two hours, Boyer's Gregory goes from a suave, debonair gentleman to a cunning, fiendish villain. The success of this transformation is an eloquent testament to Boyer's range. Meanwhile, Lansbury imbues Nancy with an impertinence that makes her Gregory's perfect, albeit unwitting, accomplice.

In many ways, Gaslight is as much a character study as a thriller. And, although tame by today's standards (and even by those of Hitchcock's Psycho), Gaslight is chilling enough to engross even a jaded modern audience. Yes, there are aspects of the story that bear close scrutiny, but this is the kind of effectively-crafted, well-acted motion picture that rises above its faults to earn its classic appellation. [Berardinelli’s rating: *** out of 4 stars]

Labels: crime, drama, film-noir, Ingrid Bergman, mystery, period, thriller

Internet Movie Database 78/100 

RottenTomatoes Averages (critics=79, viewers=82) 

Wikipedia Gaslight (film) 

Wikipedia gaslighting (form of manipulation)

MetaScore (critics=78, viewers=83)
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For Whom the Bell Tolls (1943) [UR] ****

Based on a screenplay by Dudley Nichols, itself based on Ernest Hemingway’s best-selling novel by the same name, and produced and directed by Sam Wood, For Whom the Bell Tolls is set in 1937 Spain, during the Spanish Civil War (1936-39). The film is an above-average adventure, war drama featuring a romance between Robert Jordan (Gary Cooper) an idealistic American expatriate and demolitions expert, and Maria (Ingrid Bergman) a Spanish girl.

The Spanish Civil War was fought between the Republicans, who were loyal to the democratic, left-leaning and relatively urban Second Spanish Republic, and the Nationalists, an aristocratic conservative group led by General Francisco Franco. The civil war is usually portrayed as a struggle between a leftist revolution (democracy) and a rightist counter-revolution (fascism), and can be viewed as a test of weaponry used later in World War II. The leftist, loyalist Republican forces received weapons and support from the Communist Soviet Union and leftist populist Mexico, while the rightist, fascist Nationalist forces received weapons and soldiers from Nazi Germany and Fascist Italy. Other countries, such as the U.K. and France were neutral. Ultimately, the rightist, fascist Nationalists won, and Franco then ruled Spain for 36 years, from April 1939 until his death in November 1975.

Gary Cooper’s character, Robert Jordan, is working for the leftist Republicans, and his assignment is to blow up a mountain bridge in northern Spain to prevent Franco’s rightist Nationalists from being resupplied with troops and tanks from Germany and Italy. Jordan is led into the mountains by a guide (Vladimir Sokoloff) where he joins a small group of hardened guerilla fighters led by Pablo (Akim Tamiroff). Pablo does not want to blow up the bridge, and so Jordan is not sure he can trust him. Katina Paxinou plays Pilar a rough, yet wise, woman who stands up to Pablo, aligns herself with Jordan, and encourages his relationship with Maria (Bergman), a Spanish girl who had watched the Nationalists kill all the Republicans in her village, including her mother and father, and then endured having her head shaved and being raped by them.

For Whom the Bell Tolls may have been great cinema in 1943, but it has not aged well. At nearly three hours it’s overlong, and there is little chemistry between Cooper and Bergman, although it’s not for Bergman’s lack of trying. In fact, if you’re a fan of Ingrid Bergman, you will appreciate For Whom the Bell Tolls as her first Technicolor film. Born in 1915, she was 28 when this film was released, at the height of her beauty. Because she’d had her head shaved and been raped, as part of the backstory, her hair was short and curly, and when For Whom the Bell Tolls was released, it started a fad – women had to have their hair cut like Bergman’s. However even though Hemingway handpicked Cooper and Bergman for their roles, many critics felt Bergman was poorly cast; young Spanish women do not usually look like blonde Swedish film stars.

For Whom the Bell Tolls was nominated for nine (9) Oscars in the 1944 Academy Awards, including Best Picture, Best Actor and Best Actress. The only win was Paxinou for Best Supporting Actress.

Labels: adventure, drama, history, Ingrid Bergman, romance, tragedy, war

Internet Movie Database 7.0/10 

RottenTomatoes Averages (critics=64, viewers=70)
Blu-ray

Wikipedia Spanish Civil War 

Wikipedia For Whom the Bell Tolls film 

MetaScore (critics=68, viewers=TBD)