Thursday 4 January 2024

Death, Taxes, and Franchise Longevity: "Alien 3" and "Alien Resurrection" as Franchise Extensions and Parallel Versions of "Alien" and "Aliens"



Spoilers for the Alien series below

When Charlton Heston blew up the planet of the apes at the end of Beneath the Planet of the Apes, it was thought by Heston- who came up with the idea- that this would prevent any more sequels being made. But, this didn't stop 20th Century Fox from making Escape From The Planet of the Apes shortly after. James Bond is dead but we'll see a new Bond...sometime in the future. Avengers: Endgame felt like, well, the endgame of the MCU. The thing is, a franchise will always find a way to extend its life, even when it probably should end (though I guess there were several loose ends at the end of Endgame).  The question is, how do you continue on a story after it's logical end point. "Rebooting" is always the easy option but there was a time where you didn't really wipe the slate clean- you just continued on with new characters or a new actor as Batman or Bond. When it comes to clear-cut endings, James Cameron's Aliens gives Ellen Ripley (Sigourney Weaver) a pretty neat ending-
having overcome the trauma from the original Ridley Scott Alien, and gaining a surrogate daughter and possible love interest. But of course, a third film had to be made. After having difficulty nailing down a story, and even without a finished script, Alien 3 was made, helmed by first time director David Fincher. Alien 3 gives an even more definitive end to Ripley's story- having her commit suicide but, again, a sequel had to be made, and Ripley was brought back as a clone for Alien Resurrection, this time directed by French auteur Jean Pierre Jeunet. Neither Alien 3 or Resurrection are beloved as the first two films but in this piece I want to talk about how they operate, not only as franchise extensions, but also largely as parallel versions of the first two films. 

If Aliens is one of the quintessential Hollywood blockbusters, incredibly audience friendly- filled with one liners and an almost Spielbergian sentiment, then Alien 3 is perhaps the bleakest, nihilistic and audience-unfriendly film of any franchise. It essentially tells its audience "Hey, remember that cute little girl and the cool Colonial marine you loved so much from Aliens? Yeah they're dead, and our supporting cast is now of group of ex-convicts guilty of rape, murder and child molestation. And, oh yeah, Ripley has an alien growing inside of her and wants to kill herself." I've heard Alien 3 compared to a Michael Haeneke film and yeah, the tone of the film does feel like you're watching a depressing European art-house film rather than the 3rd film in a popular film franchise. But that's what I kind of love and appreciate about it. I can't think of another franchise installment that gut punches its audience the way this one does (though I understand many had the same experience with The Last Jedi).
It's pitiless and remorseless, in stark contrast to the sentiment of Aliens.

If Cameron makes very audience friendly films with a certain kind of sentiment, than Fincher often really puts the audience through it, not really giving them easy joy or comfort. I can't really see Cameron ever doing anything as bleak as the ending of Seven. This isn't a judgement call on Cameron as a filmmaker, just an observation. What I love about the original 4 movie cycle is that each film stands out as distinct vision. Aliens could've been the template for all the Alien sequels afterwards, similar to how Terminator 2 became the basis for pretty much every Terminator sequel afterwards. Alien 3, on the other hand, feels increasingly radical as a sequel as the years pass since it stops the story of Aliens in its natural path, saying we're not going to Earth or continuing on the family story of Ripley, Hicks and Newt.  We're not doing a bigger scale film but something small, intimate and sad. 

Alien 3 takes a back to basics approach, limiting itself to one alien, and removing guns from the equation. As with the original, the characters have to get creative in how they'll kill the xenomorph. As franchises go on, there's usually a tendency to keep going bigger with the set-pieces and more of what people liked before. However Alien 3 is pretty minimalist as far as sequels go, surprisingly somber and understated. The setting- a former prison colony now overseen as a lead factory by its former inmates who've found religion- also gets back to the original's gothic atmosphere. Star Wars' lived in universe aesthetic influenced Scott when making Alien and its present in Alien 3,  filtered through Fincher's 90s grunge aesthetic. This is perhaps the most visually striking film in the franchise, Alex Thomson's cinematography creating something beautiful out such a bleak setting.
 

The horror of the original Alien was largely based in its theme of sexual assault and death through childbirth. Many have remarked in the past how it subverts the image of sexual assault by having a man raped instead of a woman. . In Alien 3, the fear of sexual assault is placed back on the female character, but this time with the threat of sexual assault coming from the former inmates. If Alien didn't make a big deal of Ripley's gender (I believe Ripley was originally written to be a man) this film positions her as the lone female, the first and only time in the series, with the threat of male violence against her a constant undercurrent. There is an attempted rape by some of the prisoners on Ripley, who's saved by Dillon (Charles S. Dutton). The irony is clear- this is the man who straight out told Ripley he was a "murderer and a rapist of women." Dillon is a man looking for some kind of redemption and he and Ripley become unlikely allies. 

One of the criticisms of the film is its hard to care about killing these men who are guilty of such heinous crimes, which I get. Outside of Ripley, the character we're allowed to feel the most warmth towards is Clemens (Charles Dance), the medical doctor who was once a former prisoner. He there because he got drunk and prescribed an incorrect dose of painkillers on survivors of a fuel plant boiler explosion. Ripley and Clemens become intimate- the only time we actually see a romantic interaction in the four films- but Clemens is killed off pretty early, Psycho-style, leaving the audience with pretty much just the inmates. Again, I actually kind of appreciate how the film doesn't make it easy for the audience. We're not given them easily identifiable or straight out likable characters but I'd argue the film is asking the audience if they're willing to sympathize or at least get on board with these characters. I find something compelling about Ripley and these inmates having to team together to fight the alien. This is essentially a story about people who have either lost everything (Ripley) or had nothing to begin with (Dillon) having to work together against a common enemy. Dillon sums it up pretty well when he tells the inmates that they're all going to die, you just have to decide how you're going to do it. This may sum up the whole franchise- when facing certain death how are you going to do it? 

Returning to the theme of sexual assault, the ultimate irony comes when Ripley realizes she's already been sexually assaulted by a facehugger, with a xenomorph growing within her. In Alien, Ripley fought for her own survival, and in Aliens, for her surrogate daughter. Here, Ripley is fighting the right to end her own life.  largely to stop the alien from getting in to the hands of the Weyland-Yutani corporation who want to use it as a weapon. In his video essay on the film for his "The Unloved" series, Scout Tofoya remarks how rare it is to see a mainstream Hollywood emphasize with a woman's desire to have an abortion. Ripley does ultimately succeed in killing herself.  This  may not be the happy ending people were left with at the end of Aliens, is a sort of final triumph for this character, going out on her own terms.


And for a while, Alien 3 was the conclusion of the story. Of course, the ending didn't stick, with Alien Resurrection coming several years later. Just as Alien 3 parallels Alien, with its gothic setting and bleak tone, Resurrection attempts to ape Aliens' more humorous, fun action movie vibe. We have multiple xenomorphs, the return of guns to the equation and the broader characterizations.  The film's director, Jeunet, is probably best known to people as the director of Amelie though he hadn't directed it at this time, though he had directed The City of Lost Children and Delicatessen. Jeunet is the franchise's most off-beat and out of left field choice, with Resurrection being is the strangest, ickiest, and tonally conflicted of the four films. Screenwriter Joss Whedon has expressed his dissatisfaction with the film, saying it was directed wrong, acted wrong, and cast wrong. Unlike Aliens, which I think balanced its tone pretty well, Resurrection can't completely decide what kind of film it needs to wants to be. It wants to be, I think, a fun action movie in the vein of Aliens, but's it almost too grotesque and weird, and not really as exciting as Cameron's film.  
 
We almost had a deeper connection to Aliens with Whedon's original idea of cloning Newt, making her the lead of the film. 20th Century Fox however didn't want a story without Weaver. I feel Newt had potential as the lead of the franchise, if they had cast a strong actress in the role (Carrie Henn quit acting after Aliens, her only film). The idea of cloning Ripley was actually a joke producer David Giler made to Weaver when Alien 3 premiered. Resurrection definitely feels like the textbook definition of a franchise jumping the shark, or maybe we should say xenomorph, in an attempt to extend its life cycle, though the film does do funny and bold things with the idea of Ripley being a clone, though she's not just a clone, she's an alien human hybrid. In interviews Whedon said he thought Weaver wouldn't want to play Ripley in such a weird way but he was surprised she told him to push things further. Like in Aliens, Ripley is a mother figure, having been the bearer of the xenomorph embryo, a queen which gives birth to a human/xenomorph baby- yeah, it's very weird. Ripley was attempting to save her surrogate daughter before whereas now as he she has to kill her literal offspring. 

Another parallel with Aliens, and something I think is integral to Ripley's story, is the continuation of the "Rip Van Winkle" thing with Ripley waking up years in the future. Ripley was in cryosleep for 57 years between the first two movies, now it's 200 years in the future. Ripley becomes more and more of an isolated character as the sequels go on- with the Resurrection positioning her as not even being completely human or even the same Ellen Ripley. When we arrive on Earth at the film's end, the android Call (Winona Ryder) asks what's next, to which Ripley replies that she's a stranger there herself. While I get why killing Newt off is seen as an unforgivable sin by many, I think Ripley works better as a loner, a ultimately a tragic figure. Sure, a big part of me wonders what alternate universe version of Alien 3 looks like but I love that the Alien 3 we got makes you feel the pain of triumph snatched away, that sickening irony. Each sequel does undo the victory of the previous film's ending, though I guess that's just the horror genre- it doesn't matter how many times you kill Michael Myers or Jason Voorhees, they'll be back for the sequel. I think it's best to look a the Alien quadrilogy as variations on a theme, with each director approaching their film as a stand alone film rather than as a Marvel-esque serialized piece of storytelling.

I never know how to end these things so I'll hand it over to you. What are your thoughts on the two latter Alien sequels. Are you a fan or do yo find them huge disappointments. Comment and let me know. 
 



 





                             

 

Friday 27 October 2023

Hitchcock's Experimental, Art-House Monster Movie: "The Birds" at 60.

 

Spoilers for The Birds and Psycho

Do I own The Birds on Blu-ray and can watch it comfortably at home? Yes. Did I still head out to a theatre to see a 60th anniversary showing of the film? Also yes. There's something cool about seeing classic cinema on the big screen and since it's one my favourites from my favourite director, I'm almost obligated to go). It got me thinking that there was a time where you had to see a movie in theatres, it wasn't as easy as it is now to see films. There was something special about something being shown on TV or getting re-released. Now it feels like something's in theatres for a week before it hits streaming. But anyway, back to The Birds. This was Hitchcock's follow-up to Psycho and its notable the only two horror films in his career were made consecutively. They actually make pretty good companion pieces: with both of them displaying Hitchcock experimenting in the later part of his career (he was in his 60s when he made them) Psycho was a lower budget film shot in black and white with his crew from his TV show Alfred Hitchcock Presents, coming on the heels of the proto-blockbuster North by Northwest nd was subversive in its plot structure, particularly the murder of its supposed main character almost an hour in. The Birds showed Hitchcock forgoing plot almost all together in favor of atmosphere and metaphorical/apocalyptic horror. 

The first way Hitchcock experiments in The Birds (and Psycho) is how he subverts genre expectations. The thing is, people walked in to Psycho knowing there was going to be a character who was a psycho. They also walked in to The Birds knowing there were going to be bird attacks. The suspense comes from how long Hitchcock takes to get to the shower scene and the initial bird attack. What Hitchcock does mischievously is begin the films not as horror but as a noir crime film (Psycho) and a romantic comedy (The Birds) It's almost a hour before Marion Crane (Janet Leigh), a bank clerk who steals money from work to start a life with her boyfriend, is killed in the infamous shower scene.  

In  The Birds it takes a half hour before a gull attacks socialite Melanie Daniels. The film begins with her being spotted at a bird store by Mitch Brenner (Rod Taylor), a lawyer whom recognizes her from court appearance regarding a practical joke. He pretends to mistake for a employee, giving her a taste of her own medicine. He thinks she should've gone to jail. She thinks he's "a louse." Basically, it's the "He's arrogant, she's stuck-up but they're obviously attracted to each other" romantic comedy set-up. Mitch inquired about some love birds for his sister Cathy (Veronica Cartwright's) birthday so Melanie gets two and travels all the way to his family farm in Bodega Bay. While she's watching Mitch discover them from her boat, a gull attacks her. The gull attack parallels the shower scene- a stroke of violence in the midst of water, in a moment of  calm. It also puts the audience on edge for another instance of violence. 

The Birds also has something in common with one off Hitchcock's earlier film,  Shadow of a Doubt (1943). In both, a small community is invaded by a sinister force. In the former it's a serial killer played by Joseph Cotton, in the latter it's, well...birds; but not only birds, but normally docile birds. In in the indispensable book Hitchcock/Truffaut, which transcribes interviews between Hitchcock and filmmaker Francois Truffaut, Hitchcock says "I think that if the story had involved vultures, or birds of prey, I might not have wanted it. The basic appeal to me is that it had to do with ordinary, everyday birds."  Hitchcock contrasts these normal birds' usual docile nature with random bursts of violence. And like Shadow of a Doubt, the violence is juxtaposed with a low-key setting. 

Truffaut later on in the interview says of The Birds' structure: 

    The story construction follows the three basic rules of classic tragedy: unity of place, of time, and of     action. All of the action takes place within two days' time in Bodega Bay, The birds are seen in ever        growing numbers and they become increasingly dangerous as the action progresses. 

Screenwriter Evan Hunter and Hitchcock understand the need to make each attack bigger, until the film takes on apocalyptic overtones. By the climax it feels the like the world is ending. However, keeping the story in one setting and focusing on a small set of characters also makes the story intensely intimate. M. Night Shyamalan was clearly inspired by Hitchcock and this film when making his alien invasion thriller Signs, which I wrote about here: Davies in the Dark: The Essential Films: "Signs" (2002) (thenoirzone.blogspot.com)  

I want to take some time now to focus on the character dynamics which foreground much of the film, particularly the relationship between Melanie and Mitch's mother, Lydia (Jessica Tandy), whom she meets after Mitch has looked to her wound. Mitch invites Melanie over for dinner where she also meets Cathy, who takes a immediate liking to Melanie, clearly liking her present. Lydia, however is more aloof. Melanie is staying with schoolteacher Annie Heyward, who once had a relationship with Mitch. That night, Melanie and Annie discuss Annie's former romance with Mitch and her complicated relationship with Lydia.

Annie: I was seeing quite a lot of him in San Francisco, you know. And then, one weekend, he asked me up to meet Lydia.

Melanie: When was this?

Annie: Four years ago. Of course, that was shortly after his father died. Things may be different now. 

Melanie: Different?

Annie: With Lydia. Did she seem a trifle distance? 

Melanie. A trifle.

Annie: Then maybe it wasn't different at all. You know, her attitude nearly drove me crazy. I simply couldn't understand it. When I got back to San Francisco I spent days trying to figure out just what I'd done to displease her.

Melanie: And what had you done.

Annie: Nothing. I simply existed. So what was the answer? A jealous woman, right? A clinging, possessive mother. Wrong. With all due respect to Oedipus, I don't think that was the case at all.

Melanie: Then what was it?

Annie: Lydia liked me, you see. That was the strange part of it. In fact, now that I'm no longer a threat, we're very good friends.

Melanie: Then why did she object to you?

Annie: She was afraid.

Melanie: Afraid you'd take Mitch?

Annie: Afraid I'd give Mitch.

Melanie: I don't understand.

Annie: Afraid of any woman who'd give Mitch the only she can give him- love.

Melanie: Annie, that adds up to a jealous, possessive woman. 

Annie: No, I don't think so. She's not afraid of losing her son, you see. She's only afraid of being abandoned.   

On a sidenote, Hunter's dialogue is so good. While Hitchcock always believed in the idea of "pure cinema," telling the story strictly through the visuals, his films often had stellar dialogue passages. What I like specifically about this passage is it's all about small but significant differences. While everything points to Lydia being a "jealous, possessive woman," Annie doesn't feel it's that simple. She can't see Lydia as purely jealous, she even says Lydia liked her. Annie also makes distinctions between fear of giving vs. fear taking and fear of lost vs. fear of abandonment. Minute differences but they tell us about how Annie views things and maybe tells us something about Lydia as well.

We get to understand Lydia quite a bit in a later scene, which comes after Lydia's seen the dead body (with eyes gouged out by birds) of a neighbor. She's alone with Melanie and in a vulnerable position. She talks about the death of her husband, her reliance on his strength throughout  the years and her wish to be a stronger person. It's the first time Lydia warms up to Melanie and she says something surprising to her, which is she's not sure if she even likes Melanie. A honest statement, and one that reflects Lydia's complicated feelings towards Melanie and her relationship with her son. It'd be easy to just have Lydia outright hate Melanie but her confession feels more nuanced and sympathetic.

Mitch also has his own complicated relationship with Melanie. His lawyer side dislikes her troublemaking side but when he spies her on the boat, he smiles, amused, and probably surprised she went though all that trouble to bring hum those birds. He's clearly concerned when she's attacked by a gull and invites her over for dinner. So, he's not completely hostile towards her. And I suspect there was likely already an attraction towards her. There's something playful already at play in the initial encounter,  

And how are we, the audience, supposed to take Melanie? She's maybe not as easily "likable" as the main character is "supposed" to be. Hitchcock, Hunter, and Hedren allow us to feel our way through the character as we learn more about and spend more time with her. I personally find Mitch to be kind of a judgmental ass at the beginning, though as I said, he's compensating a little for his attraction to her.. Watching the movie this time, I quite liked Hedren's performance. She has the right amount of cool and warmth needed for a character who goes from socialite who glides through life to a more mature, deeper feeling person who becomes part of the Brenner family. Just before the first bird attack at Cathy's, Melanie and Mitch have a conversation where Melanie, like Lydia a few scenes later, shows her vulnerability. We learn Melanie's mother abandoned her when she was young and Melanie tells about the things she does with her life, including putting a Korean boy through school. Of course, it's obvious what's Melanie is missing in her life- a family.  

Okay, let's come back to how Hitchcock is experimenting in this film. What I find notable about The Birds in contrast to Hitchcock's other work is it's virtually plotless. Hitchcock usually has a Macguffin (the thing every character wants but doesn't matter what it is, it's just there to get the ball rolling), a murder, or an innocent man on the run. According to Hunter there was almost going to be a murder mystery plot, with the birds being the culprits. Instead, there's no real mystery except when the birds are going to attack. Hitchcock once used the example of a bomb under the table to highlight surprise vs. suspense. You see two men at a table. A bomb suddenly goes off- that's surprise. What's suspense is seeing the bomb under the table and wondering when it's going off. The film goes for the latter approach and I think that's the proper choice. It also allows the film to foreground the characters more.

I mentioned earlier the escalation of the bird attacks gave the film apocalyptic overtones, which again shows Hitchcock playing with something new- a world ending scenario, as well as a "monster movie." Hitchcock's monster were typically serial killers or Nazis. But here, the monsters aren't really monsters. Mother nature is simply fighting back against humanity for taking them for granted, or at least this was Hitchcock's explanation. I believe the film is thematically more fascinating and starker if there isn't an explanation for the bird attacks. In his book, Hitchcock's Films Revisited, Robin Wood views the birds as 

    a concrete embodiment of the arbitrary and unpredictable, of whatever makes human life and human     relationships precarious, a reminder of fragility and instability that cannot be ignored or evaded and,     beyond that, of the possibility that life is meaningless and absurd.

He also compares the bird attack to Marion murder in Psycho, in that they're both unprovoked and unearned. Horror often has a nihilistic streak to it. In horror we witness innocent people die and evil winning out. It's a ruthless genre and Hitchcock showed how ruthless he could be in Psycho. He further shows this mercilessness when Annie is unceremoniously killed by the birds offscreen. Annie's death is more painful because it's not seen and it demonstrates Hitchcock's preoccupation with placing us in the mind of his characters. We have to imagine Annie's end as Melanie and Mitch must do. 

Aside from providing no clear explanation for the birds' war against humans Hitchcock also doesn't give us a neat ending either. Melanie and the Brenners live but the final shot is the car driving off in to an uncertain future, with the birds still covering the Brenner house, in what we already know is a short reprieve from the attacks. This is arguably the most ambiguous ending Hitchcock ever concocted, though Psycho and Vertigo's endings also create a sense of unease in the audience. The Birds was ahead of its time, for a Hollywood movie at least, in providing no clear finish for the story. The film end before it seems to end. 

The only resolution the ending contains is the shared look between the injured Melanie and Lydia in the backseat of the car, suggesting Lydia has finally accepted Melanie and will care for her in her weakened state. Is the ending partly hopeful? I don't know. However, it does suggest that as the world is ending, people will stick together, that we need each other and must accept one another. It's also the resolution to Melanie's arc, where she starts out as an aloof loner but becomes part of a family.    

Adding to the film's escalating terror is Hitchcock's choice to forgo an accompanying score, another experimental choice. During the bird attacks all you hear is the flapping of wings and squawking sounds. This accomplishes two things: giving you the felling of being in the middle of  a bird assault, with your senses being overwhelmed. It's also another way the film sets itself apart from a traditional Hollywood feature. We may not first notice the absence of a musical score but when you realize it it's a brilliant way to an even stronger sense of fear in the audience. When Melanie is waiting outside the school for Cathy, the children's choir is the ironic soundtrack to the birds gathering behind Melanie on the jungle gym. George Tomasini's editing is so in tune with Hitchcock's dark sense of humour as the editing steadily builds the flocking of the birds behind the oblivious Melanie. Tomasini deserves recognition as being a key Hitchcock collaborator, editing several of Hitchcock's most famous films, including Psycho, Rear Window, and North by Northwest. He also edited the original Cape Fear, which I wrote about on this blog as having a heavy Hitchcock influence.

Why did Hitchcock move towards something more experimental, forgoing plot and certain Hitchcockian tropes. It may have something to do with Hitchcock's fascination with the international art house cinema of the 60s. Richard Allen, in his essay "Hitchcock and the Wandering Woman: The Influence of Italian Art Cinema on The Birds," argues that Hitchcock was 

        challenged and provoked by the remarkable and rapid developments taking place in European art            cinema. The Birds was conceived by Hitchcock in part as a response to this challenge, a work that         at once would continue continue his commercial success and confirm his status as an auteur on a            par with the European directors he so admired. Hitchcock engaged with art cinema to inspire                  creativity and sustain his critical reputation

In an interview with Charles L.P. Silet, Hunter also makes the claim that Hitchcock want be seen as a serious artist: 

    Hitch also told me later, and I learned later from other sources, that he was looking for some 'artistic     respectability' with The Birds. This was something that always eluded him, and he deliberately chose     to work with a successful New York novelist, rather than a Hollywood screenwriter.

Hitchcock was embraced by the French critics as a genuine artist, an auteur, whereas he wasn't as highly regarded in the states, seen as more of an entertainer than an artist. Of course, he wasn't one who was reclaimed by the French: Howard Hawks, another great mesher of entertainment and artistry, was another to whom the French applied the Auteur Theory approach of criticism, the idea that the director was the "author" of their films and had a singular visual style and consisitent themes running through their work.

Not only did Hitchcock go to a novelist for screenwriting duties, he chose a short story from Daphne  Du Maurier, the author who wrote the basis of his first American film, and the only one of his that won Best Picture: Rebecca. While Hitchcock considered Rebecca as belonging to its producer, David O.Selznick, he may have felt the Best Picture victory and Du Maurier's literary pedigree could provide him with the basis for a true artistic picture. 

As relating to the thesis of Hitchcock being influenced by European cinema, Allen argues that The Birds shares quite a bit in common with F.W. Murneau's 1927 silent film, Sunrise, where a woman enters a small town to seduce a man who lives with the family. Allen argues that Hitchcock drawing from Murneau displays a return to Hitchcock's roots in the 1920s as a young filmmaker, where he also took inspiration from directors he admired. Allen also sees a reverse influence by way of Michelangelo Antonioni recontextualizing Rear Window and The Lady Vanishes in the shape of his 1960 film L'Avventura. In that film a woman goes missing, after which her boyfriend and friend engage in an affair, which echoes the disappearing women plots of the former films.

Allen further develops the Antonioni connection by citing David Bordwell's classification of the art   house protagonist, a wanderer who is in a passive relationship with the environment. "The wandering woman" walks without purpose, and is both observed and observing. This is a character that can be found Antonioni's films in the form of actress Monica Vitti. Allen relates Melanie to the archetype of the wandering woman but stresses that the difference between the women in Hitchcock's film have agency, whereas the women in Antonioni's film don't. In the early parts of the film, where Melanie travels to Bodega Bay show us a woman on a mission but by showing us every part of her journey suggests something distinctly European in terms of plot, or lack of plot I should say. It's all very banal, but in its banality it creates the proper contrast to the gull attack. 

I'd say Hitchcock combined the art-house with the monster movie, but also blurring those lines, where the birds take on the same thematic weight as the environments do in Antonioni. Admittedly, it wasn't until this viewing of The Birds and reading up and thinking about the connection between the art-house and Hitchcock that I saw it as the experimental work it really is. While Hitchcock would eventually retreat in to familiarity with Torn Curtain, when looking at Psycho, The Birds, and his next film, Marnie. these films showcase what could be called Hitchcock's art-house phase- and I think you can certainly add Vertigo in there as well. While some see these films as quaint, I'd argue they represent an artist in his later years re-thinking of what he was capable. The Birds is singularly Hitchcock, however one looks at it, however, and one of his boldest experiments in suspense.


Saturday 23 September 2023

"No One Will Save You"


Some spoilers below

My favourite director, Alfred Hitchcock, always believed in the concept of "pure cinema," which is basically telling of a film's story purely through the visuals. Hitchcock thought many films were "photographs of people talking" and that the silent cinema was more ideal than the "talkies.". Writer/director Brian Duffield seems to taken Hitchcock's commitment to pure cinema to heart for his sophomore film, No One Will Save You, which asks the question "What if Signs was a silent, one-woman show?" It's another ambitious venture for Duffield, whose 2020 film Spontaneous took a "How do you make out of that" premise and made an unexpectedly emotional love story out of it. As with Spontaneous, No One Will Save You is a character piece with a genre conceit as its background, grounding its fantastic premise in something authentically human and relatable.

Kaitlyn Dever stars as Brynn Adams, a woman who lives in a huge house all alone, doesn't really have any friends and is still mourning the loss of her mother from several years earlier. One night her house is invaded by alien...and that's pretty all I can tell, one- because that's pretty much what the movie is. As I said it's Signs but with one person, but also, where the film eventually goes is perhaps too vague on Duffield's part and honestly, I'm still not sure about what these aliens want or what happens in the film's final act and closing scene. It also feels like it has three big emotional climaxes, with Duffield not knowing where to end it or tie all three together. 

But if the film doesn't completely live up to it's potential, it's a still worth seeking out due to its commitment to visual storytelling and also to is lead performance. Dever was so good in Olivia Wilde's Booksmart and last year's Shakespeare-inspired comedy Rosaline, and this is a great showcase for her underrated talents. She creates a sympathetic and dimensional character out of the sparsity of Duffield's script. From the very beginning, with Brynn waving to herself in the mirror, Dever reveals Brynn's awkwardness in social situations, and Dever carries herself as someone who's only really comfortable building model houses. Dever has such an appealing face and a down to earth to beauty that you have no problem watching her.

Though there are scenes with other people, the lack from Brynn to them or them to her gives us this isolating feel, putting us in Brynn's shoes and making everyone feel as much like an uncomfortable presence to us as they are to Brynn. Everyone feels...alien. The only time Brynn comes close to speaking to anyone, the parents of her friend Maude who died years ago, she's spit on by Maude's mother. Then, when Brynn's on a bus attempting to leave an the initial attack, a man sits behind her on the bus. We expect this is some kind of creep, but then it's revealed it's an alien in disguise who attacks her. Everyone feels like they could be a threat to Brynn and since Duffield so effectively puts us in Brynn's head, it's like a radical form of empathy.  Coming back to Hitchcock, he was adept at putting you in the minds of his characters, good or bad. Remember when Norman is cleaning up the mess after "shower scene"? Remember how Hitchcock makes you worried Norman is going to be caught when the car doesn't sink in the river? Part of why Hitchcock's films are so suspenseful is because you're feeling the suspense the characters are feeling.   

I want to talk a little about the aliens. Duffield and his VFX artists go for a retro look with the invaders, which I think works. A more original look would've put the focus more on them than on Brynn. There's also something humorous about this young woman killing aliens right out of a 50s B movie. On a side note,  it's always hard not to think about Home Alone when you see someone preparing for a home invasion. Spielberg's shadow, like a mothership, will always hover over the alien visitor sub-genre, so Duffield was also likely thinking of Spielberg's own retro take on aliens in Close Encounters of the Third Kind, another film that's essentially a character piece. And if Roy Neary (Richard Dreyfuss) was a family man who becomes a loner who runs away from his life, Brynn is a loner who has to deal with her past.  

We admire Brynn for her resourcefulness in facing off against the aliens. There's a believability to how Brynn interacts with these creatures, a simplicity to how these kills them. It's close encounters in closed in spaces. While the aliens do have psyhic powers, it's the only advantage they really have. They're Kryptonian warriors from Man of Steel or even the terrifying tripods from Spielberg's War of the Worlds. Again, there's kind of a humorous touch to the proceedings, without dipping in to full comedy. 

So yeah, I would say check this one out. Again, I think it needed a little more clarity in the final act to bring it together seamlessly but it's a worthwhile experiment. So, what's your favourite alien invasion/contact story. Comment and let me know.

 



Wednesday 5 July 2023

The Essential Films: The Terminator (1984)

A series of writings on films that I feel are essential for film lovers, coupled with films that are important to me. Spoilers for those who haven't seen the film. 

The Terminator is maybe my favourite movie. Many people prefer Terminator 2: Judgment Day but I always go for the first one. T2 is more of a crowd pleasing summer action film about a boy and his pet terminator (I like the movie but have complicated feelings about it) but The Terminator is much bleaker and dirtier, a mixture of sci-fi and horror which its writer and director James Cameron called "tech noir." Like most first films in a franchise there's a real purity to it. There's no formula or call backs, just an inventive story its director, like George Lucas with the original Star Wars, wanted to put on screen.

While Lucas had the success of American Graffiti to his name when he did Star Wars, Cameron had Piranha 2: The Spawning, which bombed with critics and audiences. It was during post production of that film where Cameron got sick and had a fever dream/nightmare about a robot skeleton dragging itself along the floor with kitchen knives. This obviously stuck with Cameron and became the basis for The Terminator. The film is often considered a horror film and of all the Terminator films it's the only one that feels like a pure translation of Cameron's nightmare on screen. The sequels go more for bombastic action than the pure terror of an unstoppable killing machine. And while Cameron could've just made a killer robot movie, he places the "slasher" element within the context of a intriguing time travel narrative that has, what I think, is one of the most underrated twists/payoffs in any movie.

In terms of the slasher genre, Cameron clearly took inspiration from John Carpenter's Halloween. Both Carpenter and Cameron show us ordinary women being stalked by hulking killers who feel out of place in the normal world. Tension is created through this unease and question of when they'll strike at the main character. Cameron's original conception of the Terminator was that of a normal looking guy who could come up to you in a crowd and kill you. But when he met Arnold Schwarzenegger, he rein-visioned it as what we see in the film. This is one of rare instances of Schwarzenegger playing a villain. The image we have of him is the goofy cartoon come to life but here Schwarzenegger is actually quite intimidating, a real beast. We see him kill a couple of innocent women point-blank. Before he kills the first Sarah Connor (he only knows the name of the woman he's after), there's that striking shot of him in the door frame, emotionless. Arguably, one can't call the Terminator evil. Rather, it's just a machine with a program.  

At first we don't know why the Terminator (Arnold Schwarzenegger) wants to Sarah Connor (Linda Hamilton), a waitress who's barely making it by. All we know is there's some future war between humans and machines and, as the opening text crawl tells, the final battle will be fought in the present day- with the Terminator , as well as another guy, Kyle Reese (Michael Biehn), coming from the future. We eventually learn that in the future her son John Connor will lead the human resistance against the machines and winning the war. In a last ditch effort the machines have sent back the Terminator back to kill John before he's even born. 

The key to good exposition is to make the audience forget they're hearing an info dump. Cameron does this creating a sense of urgency during these scenes.  When Reese tells Sarah about her son and the future war, they're on the run from the Terminator, hiding in a car and then attempting to get to another. Cameron also avoids using flashbacks during this scenes so we're allowed to imagine Connor leading the humans against the machines. And when Reese is being interrogated at the police station, talking about the time displacement field, he's talking to a psychologist who clearly doesn't believe him. We're sharing in Reese's frustration with Silberman (Earl Boen), since we know the Terminator is going to arrive at any moment. Reese is captive and Sarah is isolated.  

A more routinely structured film would've given us all this information via Reese being told his mission at he film's beginning Reese would be this version's main character and the story would be that of a cool time-travelling action hero. Instead, Cameron takes a more subversive path, withholding the information regarding Sarah's significance from the audience until she learns it. Cameron wants this to be Sarah's story, a human story rather than just merely a time-travelling action movie.

Cameron also subverts the typical male action hero archetype of the time. Physically, Biehn is not a big guy but pretty skinny. And Biehn plays the character in the early parts of the film as very sketchy individual, possibly as dangerous to Sarah as the Terminator. He doesn't scresm "heroic" but makes Sarah nervous when she first sees him, thinking he's the ma who killed the other Sarah Connors (the Terminator doesn't know what Sarah looks like). It's only when Reese saves Sarah from the Terminator at the "Tech Noir" club that it becomes clear he's there to protect her. Cameron slows everything down as the Terminator approaches Sarah. In one of my favourite shots in the film- it points a laser target at Sarah. The suspense builds as Kyle takes out his shotgun and then everything goes back to normal speed as Kyle fires, almost as if the action has brought everything up to speed.




Biehn's performance is all raw, gritted teeth, sweaty, fried out energy. It's the type of character the franchise never revisited, even when they brought back Reese in later sequels. With the sequels, it's always Schwarzenegger as the robotic protector who fight another Terminator. Here, it's two humans against a unstoppable killing machine. It makes things more intimate, especially when Sarah and Reese do have sex. It's implied that Reese is a virgin before this and I can't think of another action movie of this kind that infers this about the main guy. 

Even barring the "mother of the future" thing, Sarah is understandably skeptical of Reese telling her there's a robot from the future trying to kill her. It's only when the Terminator mows down the police station that she truly and fully believes Reese is telling the truth. My favourite moment from the film is when Sarah thinks the Terminator is coming through the door but it's Reese. She's relieved it's him and the two share a brief moment before escaping. It's at this moment that the two are completely together, and will be for the rest of the film

Cameron knew he wouldn't have the budget to do a story set in the future so he wrote this smaller story which has big implications. The fate of the human race depends on the outcome of this chase thriller, and by the end we realize what has occurred is even more monumental and mind-bending, which is that Kyle is John's father. We can also  put 2 and 2 together and realize Sarah trained John because she knew about the future. The whole thing is a time loop and this chase thriller takes on a more mythic quality. 

Unlike most of the sequels, we never see John on screen. I prefer this because I believe John works better as off-screen presence, a symbol. "I'd die for John Connor," Reese tells Sarah, and I don't know if any of the actors who've played John have conveyed what we get from Reese talking about the guy. It also puts the focus on Sarah. She's the hero of the story, not John John can only become the man he is because of his mother's training and being told the truth about his father, the man Sarah loved. At the end she questions whether she should tell John this, if it'll influence his choice to send Kyle back. I believe it's because John Kyle is his father that he sends him back. "No fate but what we make" becomes the philosophy of Terminator 2 but the original implies there can only be one path. Could Sarah ever have done anything different than tell John the truth. I don't know. 

While the film concerns a future war, it's one of the great time capsule films of the 1980s. Sarah's hair is one of the most memorable images and the Tech Noir club, the music, the dancing, its just all drenched in 80sness. The film is also one of the great unsung L.A movies, especially L.A. at night. Cinematographer Adam Greenberg's shooting of the city at night has a Michael Mann-esque quality. I love the shot of the Terminator looking over the L.A cityscape, a city full of people who don't know of the coming apocalypse. And Brad Fiedel's score, that throbbing sound that's like the Terminator's mechanical heart, the mournful and metallic main theme, it's so good.  

The biggest challenge Cameron when writing, casting and direction, was how to convincingly take Sarah from this timid waitress to a survivor who drives off in to a storm at the end, symbolizing, not subtly. the coming apocalypse and the dark days ahead. Even when Sarah accepts there's a terminator after her, she still can't see herself as the actual person it's after. I think we as the audience are also supposed to wonder how this person could ever train a child to become the leader of the human race. But by the end, when Sarah drives off, it feels like we've been on an epic journey with Sarah. Again, Cameron took a small story and makes it feel bigger through its implication. Hamilton is convincing as both the afraid young woman but also the woman at the end who says "You're terminated, fucker." Cameron puts Sarah through so much, and has her bond with so Reese so deeply, that it's completely believable she would harden and be able to save herself, as well as taking on the responsibility of training John. And as I argued earlier, the film is fatalistic. There's only one path for Sarah to take. 



What brings back me to the movie is Sarah and Reese's relationship, as short-lived as it is. This feels like the most intimate of the Terminator films because, as I said earlier, it's two humans up against a machine rather a machine against a machine as in the sequels. Reese dies tragically while destroying  the Terminator's legs, a brutal hit to the audience but necessary for Sarah to eventually survive. That The Terminator ends up as a tragic but also triumphant love story is what makes this film stand out amongst other 80s action movies. While the Terminator is cold without feeling, the film itself, like the Tin Man has a real heart.

Saturday 22 April 2023

Oceans of Time: "Bram Stoker's Dracula"


Spoilers Below

We don't make films that look and like Francis Ford Coppola's Dracula anymore. It belongs to the era that also gave us Tim Burton's Batman Returns and Joel Schumacher's 2 Batman films, as well as
Baz Luhrmann's Romeo + Juliet, singular, director driven movies with big budgets and based on popular source material. Dracula and Batman Returns owe themselves more to German expressionism and silent movies than Hollywood conventions. While we have auteur driven big budget films from the likes of Christopher Nolan and Denis Villeneuve it's hard to imagine either them making something as campy, avant-garde and erotic as this film. They're both too sexless to make an sexual film. Robert Eggers is doing his Nosferatu remake but that's probably going to be a more somber affair without the camp humour of this film. But to be fair, the guy who put a decapitated horse's head in a guy's bed and had Marlon Brando talk about polio doesn't necessarily seem like anyone's idea of a sexy filmmaker. However, Coppola's career and style has always been varied and unpredictable. 

Coppola's style is defined by its fluidity and adaptation, fitting his style to what the film needs- from the novelistic quality of The Godfather films, the surreal nightmarishness of Apocalypse Now, the chilly paranoia of The Conversation, and the lowkey fantasy of Peggy Sue Got Married. He also doesn't box himself by genre. He took the gangster film and put on a Shakespearean scale with both parts of The Godfather, combined the gangster and musical genres with The Cotton Club, and made a war film as strange and atmospheric as Apocalypse NowDracula is a horror film but it's also a gothic romance blended with the avant-garde and camp. It also wasn't the first time Coppola delved in to the gothic. When he enrolled in UCLA film school, he directed couple of short horror films, Two Christophers, inspired by Edgar Allan Poe's William Wilson, and Ayamonn The Terrible, about a sculptor's nightmares coming to life. In 1963 Coppola was one of several uncredited directors on Roger Corman's The Terror, starring Boris Karloff and a young Jack Nicholson. Coppola's first full length feature was the Psycho-inspired Dementia 13.  And one can detect Coppola's horror roots in the horse's head and murder of the five families sequences from The Godfather

Before Dracula, Coppola returned to this greatest financial and artistic success with The Godfather Part III. And thematically Dracula begins where that film ends. After seeking legitimacy throughout the film  Michael Corleone (Al Pacino) witnesses his daughter Mary (Sofia Coppola) murdered by assassins meant to kill him. In 1462 Romanian knight Vlad Dracula (Gary Oldman) returns home from his war against the Ottoman Empire to find his wife Elisabetta (Winona Ryder) has committed suicides after the Ottomans reported him dead. Dracula is enraged that after fighting for God this same God didn't prevent his wife's death (and since it was a suicide she won't be allowed in to Heaven). Dracula renounces God and, in an expressionistic piece of storytelling. drinks the blood from a stone cross,  making him in to a vampire. Both Michael and Dracula lose loved ones to their enemies and if Godfather Part III's ending reminds us of King Lear, Dracula's prologue brings to mind Romeo & Juliet, which Coppola does reference in one of the behind the scenes documentaries, as well as Ophelia's suicide from Hamlet. So, Coppola, as he did with the Godfather films, is taking a piece oggenre fiction and reinterpreting it as operatic tragedy. Dracula's howl of pain before cutting to the title is probably the film's most effective emotional moment, for me. 

Coppola said in interviews he felt the other adaptations of Dracula never really did the book, so with his interpretation is was an attempt to follow Bram Stoker's novel more closely- the official title of this film is Bram Stoker's Dracula and Coppola always likes giving the author credit. However, I believe the love story element is something screenwriter James V. Hart added (Hart also did two other literary adaptations, Steven Spielberg's Hook. Kenneth Branagh's Frankenstein and, of all things, Muppet Treasure Island). I've never read Stoker's novel but I do know it's told via letters and journal entries, which Hart and Coppola reference throughout the film. And of course there's this great (practical shot of Jonathan Harker's (Keanu Reeves) diary in the foreground while a train runs across the screen in the background. The diary was an oversized book and the train was an actual miniature train. 


Harker (Keanu Reeves) is  the young solicitor who, in 1897, comes to Dracula's castle to arrange his real estate acquisitions in London. His fiancee, Mina Murray (Ryder, again), is the reincarnated Elisabeta and when Dracula sees her picture it becomes his goal to seek her out. Without the use of flashbacks, we're left to imagine the hundreds of years Dracula has been undead. He feels like the loneliest, most haunted Dracula to grace the screen. This was Oldman back when he really threw himself in to these offbeat villain roles and such a chameleon that I remember knowing someone who joked he wasn't sure what Oldman actually looked like. Oldman certainly knows what kind of movie he's in and is able to pull off the campy, gothic and theatrical side of the character while also bringing real pathos to his tragic longing, specifically when he transitions from decrepit count to handsome and seductive Prince Vlad. 

Reeves. dodgy accent aside, is endearing as Harker, and works as a proper contrast to Oldman. Reeves' Harker is sexually non-threatening, kind of dull, as opposed to Prince Vlad, a more sexually exciting prospect, challenging the Victorian restrictiveness Mina she's used to. But the relationship between Dracula and  is where my problems with the film begin. I just have a hard time getting swept up emotionally as much as I'd like with the film's love story. I'm not even sure if Oldman and Ryder even have chemistry. I do wonder what the film would've been like with a young Kate Winslet or Rachel Weisz. I also have a problem in general, I think with these kind of heightened love stories. I prefer lower-key, more developed and slower burn romances instead of the more melodramatic kind. for which the film is going. It's a little bit like what Coppola's friend and contemporary George Lucas was attempting in Attack of the Clones with Anakin and Padme. I liked the idea behind the romance but I don't believe it pulled it off that well. However, I think the romance in Dracula is better acted. 

Dracula is one of those films that leads with its aesthetics and mood rather than strong storytelling. If the first 2 Godfather films are like a great novel on screen than Dracula feels like an overproduced Broadway play. This isn't to say there aren't visual pleasures to be found here. The in-camera practical effects are terrific, and they make the film, especially with the stuff in Dracula's castle, reminiscent of a 1920s silent film. Honestly, I'd watch a whole film set in this film's version of late 15th century Transylvania, an expressionistic fairy tale where Dracula fights silhouettes of shadow puppets instead of actors. I also love Dracula's armour, which is like a sci-fi take on Japanese samurai armour. In Elizabeth Joy Glass' piece on the film's costumes (Designing Fear: Bram Stoker's Dracula - The Art of Costume), she discusses how at  the beginning of  production, Coppola said "The costumes will be the set." Glass adds that Coppola "wanted the costumes to be visually exciting set pieces, and set the film's atmosphere." Coppola enlisted Eiko Ishioka, who had designed the Japanese poster for Apocalypse Now,  and who at the time only had a couple of costume credits but she would go on to win the Oscar for Best Costume Design. The Simpsons homaged the film's most famous outfit, Dracula's red coat, along with his hundred-of-years-old white make up and what I once heard described as the "boob head." Lucy (Sadie Frost), Mina'a friend who Dracula turns in to a vampire also has a striking funeral/death dress that's a highlight "set piece Watching the film, it's clear what Coppola was going for. Moreso than the settings, the film's costumes- significantly Dracula's different looks, which rival Padme's in The Phantom Menace- define the film's mix of realism and stylization, where certain scenes feel like they're an authentic depiction of the period, while others, like the scenes in Dracula's castle, feel very theatrical and exaggerated. This helps create a distinction between Dracula's world and the more normal world of Victorian England, which then becomes invaded by Dracula's presence.

But coming back to what I was saying, the storytelling and character work does take a backseat to the costumes and the mood. Don't get me wrong, I'll all about visual style and I hate the expression "style over substance." And I do feel strong visual style and directing can overcome a film's other issues. But like Ridley Scott's Legend, a film that also draws me back because of its strong aesthetics (I know, I'm using that word a lot), I wish I could get more in to Dracula emotionally or at least on a entertainment level. There's some grade A Anthony Hopkins ham from his performance as Professor Abraham Van Helsing, who's brought in to the fray after  Lucy is turned in to a vampire. Hopkins was right off his Oscar win for The Silence of The Lambs and one wishes the movie was just Hopkins vs. Oldman, in a similar vein to the Christopher Lee/Peter Cushing Hammer Horror Dracula movies. There's definitely a more entertaining film in here about Helsing and Dr. Jack Seward (Richard E. Grant), Lucy's fiancée, Arthur Holmwood (Cary Elwes), and Texan Quincy Morris (Billy Campbell) facing off against Dracula. 

So, the film isn't emotionally engaging on the love story level, and it's not fun enough despite the Hopkins bits, so it ends up unsatisfying as both a romance and an entertaining horror film. The sincere romanticism and the camp are also never completely reconciled. Though the film's unwieldy nature gives it its beguiling and esoteric allure. Like Lucas, Coppola is a experimental director at heart, more so than his populist success would lead you to believe. I feel that if Lucas would've kept directing movies after the original Star Wars, he may have eventually become who Coppola is now, a director whose films are outside of the mainstream and experimental. Dracula is one of Coppola's last true commercial films, followed by Jack (1996) and the John Grisham adaptation  The Rainmaker (1997).  He has just completed production on his long-gestating project Megalopolis, a sci-fi film about an architect attempting rebuild New York in to a utopia after a disaster. 

Dracula is a film I always return to, wanting to love it more than I do and it has grown on me in certain respects, though I can't say it's a complete success. However, it's such an distinctive film of excess and theatricality that I'll always go back to for its strong visual design fun performances. A little over 30 years after its release, there's still never anything quite like Coppola's gothic, camp, whatever you want to call it, opus.

Monday 6 March 2023

Normalcy, Psychopathy, and The Hitchcock Influence on "Cape Fear" (1962)


Spoilers Below

In 1961, after filming The Guns of Navarone under the direction of J. Lee Thompson, Gregory Peck hired Thompson to direct a film adaptation of novel for which Peck bought the rights for his production company,  John D. MacDonald's' The Executioners. Not liking the title, Peck changed it to Cape Fear, since he believed films named after places did very well commercially. And just typing the words Cape Fear alone bring to mind Bernard Herrmann's classic score. While the film has bee  overshadowed by its 1991 remake, directed by Martin Scorsese, Thompson's original is still a startling, tight-knit thriller of psychological torture. It's also one of the best riffs on Alfred Hitchcock ever made. This essay will delve in to the master's influence on the film in terms of style and narrative.  

Like Hitchcock's films, Cape Fear explores the intersection of normalcy and psychopathy. Think of Shadow of a Doubt, where a serial killer returns to his quaint home town, or of Strangers on a Train where a tennis pro gets embroiled in the plot of a psychopath. In Psycho, Hitchcock showed us the darker side of seemingly ordinary people like Marion Crane (Janet Leigh), a bank clerk who steals money from a client. Her path crosses with hotel proprietor Norman Bates (Anthony Perkins), another seemingly ordinary, if slightly strange man, who is eventually revealed as the titular psycho. Then there there's Rope, where a dinner party is taking place in the unknown presence of a corpse and two murderers. In Cape Fear a ordinary lawyer, Sam Bowden (Peck) had prior to the events of the film intervened in the attack of a woman by Max Cady (Robert Mitchum). Bowden acted as a witness and got him convicted. At the film's beginning, Cady, now out of prison has come to Georgia, blaming Bowden for his conviction. So, like in Hitchcock we have the ordinary (Bowden and his wife and daughter) and the preternatural evil (Cady). Cady brutally beats a woman before and during the events of the film. He wants to rape Bowden's daughter, Nancy (Lori Martin), and even attempts to blackmail Bowden's wife (Polly Bergen) into giving consent to sex in exchange for sparing Nancy. He's a vile animal, a smart animal, but an animal nonetheless. 

Hitchcock's villains often had similar qualities to Cady, a sort of otherworldly evil, and a lack of remorse for the crimes they've committed: Uncle Charlie (Joseph Cotton) in Shadow of a Doubt or Brandon Shaw (John Dall) in Rope. Brandon killed a college friend solely because he believed he was superior to him. And Charlie didn't think  much of  of his victims. Look at this exchange between him and his niece Little Charlie (Teresa Wright):

Uncle Charlie: The cities are full of women, middle-aged widows, husbands dead, husbands who've spent their lives making fortunes, working and working. And then they die and leave their money to their wives, their silly wives. And what do the wives do, these useless women? You see them in the hotels, the best hotels, every day by the thousands, drinking their money, eating their money, losing the money at bridge, playing all day and all night, smelling of money, proud of their jewelry but of nothing else, horrible, faded, fat, greedy women.

Young Charlie: But they're alive. They're human beings.

Uncle Charlie: Are they? Are they, Charlie? Are they human or are they fat, wheezing animals, hmm? And what happens to animals when they get too fat and too old?


Cady has this same hatred towards women. He got horrible revenge against his ex-wife for divorcing him and marrying a plumber, raping her, forcing her to write Cady a love letter than threatening to show it to the plumber if she ever phoned the cops. He views them as animals. Again, Cady has no remorse, blaming Bowden for winding up in prison. That's what makes  him and the premise so terrifying. Interfere with evil and evil will bite you back. With Peck and Mitchum you have the perfect casting to represent these good and evil. Peck is the stalwart everyman, blandly likeable, conventionally handsome. Then you have Mitchum, a rougher kind of actor, whose face often seems drawn by someone rather than birthed. He often played anti-heroes but was capable of playing true, other-worldy, almost comedic evil, as in The Night of the Hunter, which I wrote about many years ago: Davies in the Dark: The Essential Films: "The Night of the Hunter" (1955) (thenoirzone.blogspot.com)



Coming back to Hitchcock, the director always had a distrust of the police, which can be seen in his work, which is full of innocent men on the run, attempting to prove their innocence. The law can't protect you in Hitchcock's world, and it can't in Cape Fear either. 
The film posits the law cannot protect you but can only respond to a crime. And even when Cady beats up Diane Taylor, she won't testify due to the fear of repercussions from Cady. Essentially, she wants to avoid being in Bowden's position. She can put him away but it won't stop him from coming back and exacting revenge. "No good deed goes unpunished" could've been the film's tagline. Bowden did the right thing in the law's eyes but now it can't remove Cady from Bowden's life. Bowden is a fine upstanding lawyer who believes he can get rid of Cady pretty easily with the help of his friend and police chief, Mark Dutton (Martin Balsam). You'll be forgiven if you assume Dutton will be seen climbing some stairs before getting stabbed, since Balsam will always be associated with Psycho. But no, Cady understands that he can psychologically torment Bowden and his family without breaking the law. . The only way the law will work in Bowden's favor is putting his family in extreme danger, putting them on a boat, so he can trap Cady in the act of attempted violence.
I've talked about the thematic connections between Hitchcock's work and Cape Fear. Now, I want to discuss the stylistic similarities between the two. First, Bernard Herrmann, a frequent Hitchcock collaborator, was brought on to do the score. Like his score for Psycho, his theme for Cape Fear has a stalking terror- something evil is coming for you. Herrmann's scores fitted Hitchcock's expressive style-Hitchcock always wanted to communicate things without dialogue, i.e. visually and auditorily, so Hitchcock provided the images Herrmann's provided the emotion.   
On the DVD making of documentary, director Thompson discusses how he studied Hitchcock,  actually working with him in England years prior. Thompson says he always approached a scene wondering how Hitchcock would do it. One thing Thompson highlights about Hitchcock's style is that he always liked to clue the audience in on something the character didn't know. The footage shown while Thompson is talking is when of Cady's victims, deputy Kersak, who's protecting the Bowden women on a boat, is being stalked by Cady. This is quintessential suspense, obvious, maybe, but it was crucial to Hitchcock's approach to storytelling, the camera being a character that saw things others didn't, and was unable to prevent things. 
Thompson also says he only saw the film in black and white, that the blacks and shadows would enhance the story, that color would ruin it. Like Psycho, it's hard to imagine the film being as effective in color. The world of both films exist in the shadows. Cape Fear's stark cinematography is courtesy of Sam Leavitt. His work provides much of the film's unnerving atmosphere. And it's just styilized enough without drifting in to complete unreality. 
Another Hitchcock collaborator working on the film was Robert Doyle,  Due to his own relationship with Hitchcock, knew what Thompson was looking for in terms of production design. For example, the bed that becomes a cage for Diane Taylor. Then there's the sequence where Nancy is behind a gate, being stalked by Cady. Thompson wanted to the gates to be black. The gates Thompson found were painted extra black by Boyle. What makes this sequence truly Hitchcockian is the payoff at the end when who we think is Cady following Nancy is someone else. George Tomasini, who edited Psycho and Vertigo, obviously knew what he was doing with the editing of that sequence. 
Paying homage can result in a wane amalgamation of that person's style, but  while Cape Fear may not be Rear Window or Psycho, it's a respectable and effective thriller that stands well amongst Hitchcock's ouevre. It doesn't force the Hitchcockiness but comes by it organically. It subtly reminds us of Hitchcock, why creating its own unique personification of evil in Max Cady. Mitchum's performance is arguably up there with Anthony Perkins in Psycho, Joseph Cotton in Shadow of a Doubt, and Robert Walker in Strangers on a Train. Bowden lets Cady live at the end, knowing he can punish him more by sending him to prison than killing him. I can understand why this can strike some as a cop out, that the film should've had Bowden cross the line, having Cady win. But I'd argue Cady has won, permanently scarring Bowden and his family.  He's shown Bowden the lengths how the law, the thing he's dedicated his life too, won't protect him unless he goes to the methods he's gone, almost killing a man. We don't see the family happy at the end as they're being escorted home. They're silent, worn down by the ordeal through which they've gone. Just like the psychiatrist's explanation at the end of Psycho doesn't really matter because Norman can't truly be summed up so neatly, neither can this so story wrap up so easily. Both Norman and Cady can't allow a truly happy ending for anyone in their stories. 

Friday 3 February 2023

My Favourite Best Picture Winners


Spoilers Below 

In my last post I wrote about 10 films which didn't get nominated for Best Picture at the Oscars. Now, I want to discuss my favourite winners in this category, ones where I think the Academy got it (pretty much) right. The Oscars are always a fascinating snapshot in time. They're reflective of what people liked in the moment more than what lasts. But these films certainly have. So, let's get on with the list.





Casablanca

The late Roger Ebert once wrote of Carol Reed's The Third Man, that more than any film he had seen it embodied the romance of going to the movies. I feel that way about Casablanca. From its witty and poignant script, to the intrigue, the romance and its heroic finale, Casablanca has everything. It's pretty much a perfect film, maybe the best film to come out of the golden age of Hollywood. Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman, even if they had never starred in anything else significant, would still be immortalizes forever as Rick Blaine and Ilsa Lund. Rick is the cynical cafe owner, Ilsa is the woman he loved and left him because she was secretly married to resistance leader Victor Lazlo, and whom walks back in to his life. Rick. who's in possession of stolen letters of transit, is the only one who can help Ilsa and Victor out of Casablanca. But will his torch for Ilsa stop him from doing so? Yes, we know he'll do the right thing but its how we get there that matters. 






Lawrence of Arabia

The king of al epic movies, only rivaled by The Lord of The Rings, if you count that as one movie. The reason I call Lawrence of Arabia such is it's a great character study as well as a technical marvel. You have movies like the Star Wars prequels which  are conceptually and technically impressive but character and story-wise needed some script refining. And then you have certain superhero films which have some great character stuff but are compromised by formula, weak spectacle and uninteresting direction- but with Lawrence of Arabia, neither the character work or the grand-scale filmmaking feel anything less than stellar.. Another thing thing that impresses about the film is how effectively it both romanticizes T.E Lawrence while also portraying him as a complex, sometimes terrifying figure whom the audience is free to interpret the character, the man, however they like. In the greatest screen debut in cinema history, Peter O'Toole is beautiful, almost feminine, giving a performance that combines grace and madness. This is a mythic and majestic film.





The Godfather and The Godfather Part II

The great epic of American cinema, and still the only time a film and its sequel have both won Best Picture. It's hard to imagine that feat ever being replicated. I guess it's cheating to list both Godfathers under one heading but they compliment each other so well and tell one sprawling story that it makes sense to list them side by side. Michael Corleone's (Al Pacino) transformation from war hero and the good son who didn't want to become part of the family business to ruthless mob boss who will murder his own brother for his act of betrayal is possibly cinema's greatest character arc. That Pacino didn't win for either is one of Oscar's greatest travesties. Michael's arc is complimented by Part II's showing of how his father Vito went from orphan in Sicily to Don in turn of the century New York. These flashback add to the sprawling nature of the narrative, with Marlon Brando and Robert De Niro both winning Oscars for their performance as the Don. 

Director Francis Ford Coppola and novelist Mario Puzo, working from Puzo's popular novel, took the gangster film and put it on a Shakespearean scale while creating a lived in world with authentic people. The films are operatic yet subtle and nuanced. They also transport us back in time to early 1900s New York, post war New York and late 1950s Havana, just before revolution. These are simply unrivaled feats of filmmaking from the Hollywood studio system.






The Silence of the Lambs

The last film to win the top five Oscars (Best Picture, Director, Actor, Actress, and Screenplay), and one that has only gotten better with age. While Anthony Hopkins is iconic as Dr. Hannibal Lecter, it's Jodie Foster as F.B.I trainee Clarice Sterling, on the trail of serial killer Buffalo Bill (Ted Levine) who gives this film its grounding and heart.  The film's director, the late Jonathan Demme, was a master of the close-up, using them to show the perspective of characters looking at each other. The film blends the gothic and realistic in such a way that we accept them both as existing in the same world. And again, it's Foster who grounds the whole thing.






The Apartment

The optimistic cynic, Billy Wilder, along with his longtime collaborator, I.A.L Diamond, crafted a perfect screenplay for The Apartment, the story of C.C. "Bud" Baxter, an office worker who lends his apartment to his superiors for their extramarital affair. It's already a difficult situation for Bud, having to spend nights out in the cold, getting him sick. Things get more complicated when he discovers his boss Jeff Sheldrake (Fred MacMurray) is having an affair with Elevator girl Fran Kubelik (Shirley MacLaine), the object of Bud's affection. All of this could be contrived but Wilder and Diamond's script, along with Wilder's direction, create believable characters whose actions make sense, even in a scenario such as this. It's established that this whole apartment lending situation started out with just one guy wanting to use Bud's apartment and then escalated to many men at the office wanting to use the apartment, with Bud using it to his advantage, being granted perks by the higher-ups. Bud is selling his soul but Lemmon is such a likable and sympathetic everyman that we aren't immediately offput by his actions. Bud's not a bad guy and we can see how we could end up in a predicament like this. 

I always feel that Wilder's dramas were very funny and his comedies very dark. The Apartment walks the line between comedy and drama so expertly that that it feels unbalanced. And like many other Wilder films, it ends on the perfect note.



No Country For Old Men

I just re-watched this and man does it hold up. This is a fantastic movie that's only gotten better with age. It's one of the perfect matches of source material (Cormac McCarthy's novel) and filmmakers (the Coen brothers). From their first film, Blood Simple (1984), the Coens have played around with genre conventions, creating films that both belong in their respective genres but also exist somewhat outside them. There's an offbeat quality to their work, with No Country For Old Men being populated by familiar types who are also different from anyone else we've encountered before. Hit man Anton Chigurh (Javier Bardem in an Oscar winning performance), with his weird haircut and pre-occupation with a coin toss- a flip of faith- is one of the most unusual villains in recent memory, genuinely terrifying whenever he shows up. Llewelyn Moss (Josh Brolin) is the "good old boy" who's smarter than we may at first realize, a character who would be a supporting player, killed off pretty early in another film but takes center stage here. And then there's Sheriff Ed Tom Bell (Tommy Lee Jones), who we assume is maybe going to be killed when he catches up to Chigurh, but narrowly misses him. 

The movie sets us a up for a showdown between Moss (Josh Brolin), who has stolen 2 million from a drug deal gone bad, and  Chigurh but Moss is killed offscreen,  and the final scene is Bell (Tommy Lee Jones) talks to his wife about two dreams he had- "Then I woke up" is the final line, cutting to black. There's no satisfying resolution to anything. It's a bleak but it fits the noir style, where there are no heroes or heroic endings. The villain gets away and the survivor, Bell, retires because he doesn't know how to deal with the new kind of evil he's seeing in the world now, though ultimately this kind of evil, the evil Chigurh represents, has been forever, with Chigurh being a devil/grim reaper figure, haunting the whole film




Amadeus 

Maybe it's my own feeling of mediocrity that makes Amadeus the most relatable film to be, but I think it's also a brilliant idea to tell the story of a great artist through the perspective of the bitter rival who wasn't as great. Peter Shaffer's play was the basis for Milos Foreman's glorious film, one of the best of the 80s, a decade that's not one of my favourite, despite some great films. F. Murray Abraham, received a Best Actor Oscar for his performance as the proud but jealous and old-fashioned Antonio Salieri, while Tom Hulce was nominated for his performance along Abraham for his mischievous performance as Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Mozart is childish but also serious when it comes to music. The fact that such an immature young man could be so talent enrages Salieri but he but he feels guilt for Mozart's death, believing he killed him.


On the Waterfront

If you were going to ask me what my favourite performance of all time is, I would say Marlon Brando's Oscar wining performance as Terry Malloy in Elia Kazan's On the Waterfront. This is Brando at the peak of his physical beauty and acting abilities. While A Streetcar Named Desire established his image, and The Godfather his most iconic, On the Waterfront is his most sensitive and tender work, masculine but feminine. Movies are time capsules that can keep an actor forever young in their prime, and that's what this film is for me when it comes to Brando. 

Of course, the film's director, Elia Kazan, was the ultimate actors' director, his films being defined by a rawer, more naturalistic style of acting, and the film is full of other superb performances, including Eva Marie Saint (who won Best Supporting Actress), Lee J. Cobb, Karl Malden and Rod Steiger When Kazan won an honorary Oscar in the late 90s (on of Oscar's most controversial moments), Martin Scorsese called Kazan a poetic realist, and you can see why just by looking at this film, which blends realism with stylish flourishes. 

The story is that of  Malloy, who testifies against the mob boss (Cobb) who runs the docks. Malloy has to decide between loyalty to this father figure and doing the right thing, which could lead to redemption for Malloy after being involved in the murder of another dock worker.




Rebecca

Hitchcock's first film in America, and the only Hitchcock film to win Best Picture (Hitchcock's other 1940 film Foreign Correspondent was also nominated) and on Hitchcock attributed more to producer David. O Selznick than himself. However, the Hitchcock is not absent in this entertaining gothic melodrama, base Daphne Du Maurier's splendid novel (one of my favourites), about a  unnamed woman (Joan Fontaine) who marries a rich widower, Max de Winter (Laurence Oliver), who former wife's presence still haunts his home of Manderley. Fontaine and Oliver were both nominated for their performances (Fontaine would win the next year for another Hitchcock film, Suspicion, with Cary . Grant) and Judith Anderson is sublimely creepy as Manderley's housemaid Mrs. Danvers, who still adores Rebecca. I wrote more about the film here: Davies in the Dark: The Essential Films: "Rebecca" (1940) (thenoirzone.blogspot.com)  

So, what are your favourite Best Picture winners? Comment and let me know.