An undertaking of the 1001 Movies To See Before You Die project by Katy T. Complete with insightful (and occasionally humorous) short reflections on what are touted as some of the best movies ever.
For all the people who are still inexplicably following me: hi! Sorry I haven’t posted anything in, well, over a year. I’m finishing up my last year of university, and between a ton of reading and writing essays and all that jazz, I haven’t had time to sit down and critically watch movies. I’m actually taking an avant-garde film study class right now, so even watching movies outside of school has become a bit of a drag. Do I plan on picking this blog back up in the future? Absolutely. I doubt I’ll ever again do the whole “one movie a day” thing from way back when I started, but I didn’t even get to one hundred movies, so I still have a little over 900 movies to go.
So, hang tight. And thank you for not unfollowing me.
A fair amount of critical hand-wringing attended the American opening of director Oliver Hirschbiegel and screenwriter Bernd Eichinger’s Downfall, the first German movie to portray Adolf Hitler in a conventional narrative. There was a concern that the film…humanizes the Third reich and its delusional draftsmen and thereby plays down their ghastly deeds… This disorienting, decentralizing matter-of-factness is the key to Downfall’s brilliance… Hirschbiegel and Eichinger’s fascinating, subtly radical exegesis of how empires crumble from within, however, reveals the many ways in which they had it coming.
-Mark Holcomb
Okay. Who wasn’t curious about seeing this film after all those “angry Hitler” memes surfaced? (My favorite is still the one where he’s ranting about how much he hates Jay Leno after Conan lost The Tonight Show). While I wasn’t wringing my hands, there were certainly some aspects of this movie that left me feeling uneasy. Generally, World War II movies are done from the Allies’ point of view. I’m not accustomed to seeing Nazis portrayed in a, not necessarily positive, but certainly human light. It was challenging to watch – but in a good way.
The title of the film, Downfall, describes the plot. It follows Adolph Hitler’s (Bruno Ganz) last months as the Führer, before paranoia, the Russian invasion of Berlin, and his loss of the war drive him to suicide. It follows, as well, Traudl Junge (Alexandra Maria Lara), Hitler’s last private secretary, and Peter Kranz (Donevan Gunia), a member of the Hitler Youth, both of whom are young and completely overwhelmed by the direction the war has taken.
The main problem with Downfall is the seemingly endless cast. If you aren’t a World War II history buff, you’ll have trouble keeping track of who is who. There are some characters who are easy enough to identify: Eva Braun (Juliane Köhler) and Magda Goebbels (Corinna Harfouch) are easy enough to identify, as they’re two of the maybe five women in Hitler’s entourage. Or people like Joseph Goebbels (Ulrich Matthes), Dr. Ernst-Günter Schenk (Christian Berkel), and Hermann Fegelein (Thomas Kretschmann) – the first two because they look extremely distinctive, and the third because I recognized him from his role in The Pianist. Almost everyone else is fair game. I can’t keep track of who they all are. Or, I would recognize a face, but then, because of their long, complicated (German) title, I had no idea who they really were in relation to Hitler. Adjutant SS-Hauptsturmführer Otto Günsche (Götz Otto)? Not a clue. What would I do without IMDB? There’s a brief epilogue that cycle through all the major players, giving a name, picture, and what happened to them after the war that clears things up if only a little. But considering there are something like thirty-seven people (not including those who died during the film, as we know what happened to them), it’s tricky keeping track.
The other obvious problem is that we’re meant to sympathize with the Nazis. And for anyone with a strong moral compass, this is really hard to do, simply because, while they may have been nice enough people, their own beliefs are monstrous. I’ll admit, though, it wasn’t too hard in a few cases. There were a handful of people who, regardless of whether or not they believed in exterminating all the Jews, saw that the war needed to end, because whatever they had started fighting for wasn’t worth sacrificing innocent civilians. These people, who urged Hitler to contact the Allies, or who left Berlin knowing they could be charged with desertion, earned my respect. In other cases, it’s not so easy. I felt not a shred of sympathy for Joseph Goebbels, for instance, because the minute he opens his mouth, he reveals himself to be a monster. As for his wife Magda, there was a little bit of feeling there, particularly during a scene where she is feeding her sleeping children cyanide capsules. A mother should never have to kill her children, but still, the reason she did so is because she didn’t want her children growing up in a Germany without the Nazi Party, so she loses most of my sympathy right there. Or in the case of Traudl, she doesn’t believe in the Nazi cause, and took the job as Hitler’s secretary mainly out of curiosity, and remains with him simply because she’s already in so deep. Or even Hitler himself, who at times is seen having calm, pleasant conversations with his acquaintances, and at other times is a raging maniac. It’s not obvious how we’re meant to perceive or react to them.
Nevertheless, this is a terrific film. The performances are brilliant, and it doesn’t pull any punches. The filmmakers clearly respect their audience’s intelligence, since they don’t dumb down or soften the movie at all. The scene where Eva Braun bitterly tells Traudl that she’s always hated Hitler’s dog, Blondi, made me laugh because of its blunt honesty. And while the history of World War II isn’t a topic I’m particularly interested in, this film grabbed hold of my attention and didn’t let go.
Hey gang, some of you may have realized that my posts have become wildly inconsistent recently. That’s mostly due to classes having started again, and me trying to figure out how I’m going to watch movies while balancing homework and freaking out about how much work it’s all going to be. I’ll admit, part of it has been pure laziness, though. I have a reflection on Downfall (Der Untergang) that I still need to write (spoiler: it was really good). If I get off my ass, I may be able to have it up at some point tomorrow or Monday, while having the time to watch another movie as well. Thank you all for your patience, and for not un-following me in frustration!
The last and most expansive of the remarkably fine run of Woody Allen pictures that began with A Midsummer Night’s Sex Comedy, Hannah and Her Sisters is Bergmanesque in inspiration, perhaps, but Renoir-like in tone, betraying the influence of both those masters as it traces the shifts in various tangled relationships over the space of a single year… Unlike some of the other films, the tribute to the good things that make life just about worth living feels heartfelt in Hannah and Her Sisters rather than forced (even though Allen did indeed once consider a darker ending). A feel-good movie in the best sense of the word.
-Geoff Andrew
I think this is the first time I’ve really, truly, unquestioningly liked a Woody Allen flick. It actually has a happy ending, and not a “sadder but wiser” kind of conclusions, and I really responded to that. Maybe it defeats the purpose of liking Allen’s work, but it’s something I could really feel. The characters all wind up both fulfilled and wiser. I can only hope for so much for myself.
Starting during one Thanksgiving, and ending at the next, Hannah and Her Sisters follows the lives of Hannah (Mia Farrow) and her sisters, Lee (Barbara Hershey) and Holly (Dianne Wiest). Hannah is married to Elliot (Michael Caine), an intellectual accountant who’s in love with Lee, who is dating the artistic and world-weary Frederick (Max von Sydow). It certainly seems that, in spite of her husband’s infidelity, Hannah has her life more together than either of her sisters. Lee just drifts through life, eventually taking classes at Columbia, and Holly, the perpetual money-borrower, works part time as a caterer when she isn’t auditioning for things. And yet, because everyone believes that Hannah is so together, they don’t seem to see that she has needs, too.
What’s this? Woody Allen isn’t the main character in a Woody Allen movie? I know, I was surprised too. He plays Mickey, Hannah’s ex-husband, and Holly’s eventual flame. He’s the one we learn a lesson from in the end, and serves very well as the comic relief. An insufferable hypochondriac, Mickey comes has to ask himself the eternal question of “What’s the point of living?” after believing he might have a brain tumor (surprise, he doesn’t). He tries to find God by looking into converting to Catholicism (in a hilarious scene where, unloading a bag filled with crucifixes, pictures of Jesus, and literature, he finishes with a loaf of Wonderbread and a jar of mayonnaise), considers Hari-Krishna, and even contemplates suicide. But, while telling Holly about how he came close to ending it all, he came to this realization while watching Duck Soup at a movie house, and I think it’s absolutely perfect: “I’m watching these people up on the screen and I started getting hooked on the film. I started to feel, how can you even think of killing yourself, I mean isn’t it so stupid. Look at all the people up there on the screen, they’re real funny, and what if the worst is true? What if there is no God and you only go around once and that’s it. Well, ya know, don’t you wanna be part of the experience? You know, what the hell, it’s not all a drag. And I’m thinking to myself, Jeez, I should stop ruining my life searching for answers I’m never gonna get, and just enjoy it while it lasts. And after who knows, I mean maybe there is something, nobody really knows. I know ‘maybe’ is a very slim reed to hang your whole life on, but that’s the best we have. And then I started to sit back, and I actually began to enjoy myself.”
I love the music in this film. I could watch it a hundred times over just for the music. Everything from classical to opera to cool jazz (Cole Porter is featured prominently, which instantly puts this movie in my good books). And the music does such a great job of setting the tone of the scene to follow, or introducing characters. Allen really put it all together just right.
I love the dynamic between the sisters, too. You have Hannah, the eldest, the favourite, the peace maker. Lee, who idolizes Hannah implicitly, who’s directionless in life, who’s racked with guilt over her affair with Elliot. Holly, the black-sheep, the one who doesn’t quite fit, who’s all over the place. They all love each other, of course, but you can see they don’t quite understand one another. But they’re all trying their best to make things work, and what more can you expect from family?
Nobody’s perfect. We’re just human. All the characters in this film have their positives, and their negatives. They have their victories, and their losses. They’re all capable of picking up the pieces, and moving on. And sometimes, they’re even capable of having happy endings.
The famous left foot, the only part of his body Christy could control, is featured in running jokes and dramatic episodes as Christy saves his mother’s life, scores goals, paints, fells an adversary in a pub brawl, attempts suicide, lays bricks, and types his autobiography, all with the eponymous appendage. Day-Lewis proved the out-of-left-field Oscar winner who could not be denied. Having mastered the physical difficulties of a rigid, twisted body and impaired speech, he conveys a man whose cleverness brings him little relief, but whose humor, lust, and bloody-mindedness illuminate what might otherwise have been simply harrowing.
-Angela Errigo
First, I would like to register my discontent over the poor quality of the VHS tapes at my local library. At some point, I’m going to have to see this film again, since the sound quality was really inconsistent, and the persistent crackling of static didn’t stop throughout the whole movie. That being said, having to watch My Left Foot again wouldn’t be a bad thing, since (from what I could see), it’s a tremendous movie, with performances that are absolutely unreal.
Born with cerebral palsy, Christy Brown (Daniel Day-Lewis) was generally treated like an idiot and a burden in his youth. In fact, until he had no real means of communicating with his family until his teens. Finally accepted by his own family, Christy was integrated more into his family’s activities (particularly playing games with his many brothers), but the fact remains that he was still treated by most as a “cripple”, and was denied such things that most people take for granted. So, he uses painting and writing (all done with his left foot) as an outlet for his frustration. The film follows Christy as he struggles with speech therapy and unrequited love (among other things), and closes happily with his eventual marriage to Mary Carr.
Really, it’s no wonder Daniel Day-Lewis appears in movies so rarely. The amount of work and time he puts into preparing for each of his characters is astounding. He’s portrayal of Christy Brown is probably one of the most impressive and amazing things I’ve ever seen on film. His control in living in a body that the real Christy couldn’t control is nothing short of perfect. Apparently, Day-Lewis broke two ribs while filming because of having to adapt to Christy’s contorted body. He also stayed in character between shots, which shows an insane level of dedication. Everything, from his physicality, to his voice, his frustration, his joy, all of it simply left me in awe.
Christy’s life must have been exhausting. Imagine having people think you’re a moron, or are useless, just because your brain won’t allow you to control your body. I know I’m guilty of often feeling like I need to speak louder or slower when I come across people who appear to have some sort of disability, which is insulting on my part, and demeaning to them (and I vow never to do that again after having seen this film). Christy’s intellect was unaffected by his cerebral palsy, and he was extremely bright. He was just as smart as any of his siblings, and just as creative and passionate. He liked drinking and smoking. He fell in love, and got angry and depressed when he was turned down because of his condition. He loved his ma (played brilliantly by Brenda Fricker), and cared for her when no one else would, since she always believed in him. I really want to go out now and get my hands on a copy of his autobiography, also called My Left Foot. From what you see in the movie, it seems like the book is well-worth reading.
The movie itself does what it needs to do without fear. It doesn’t shy away from Christy’s hardships, but it revels in his few moments of happiness. Moments like Christy playing soccer with his brothers, or getting kissed on the cheek during a game of spin the bottle, or reciting Hamlet’s famous soliloquy over and over are treated with the utmost care and respect. Which is nothing like less than Christy deserved. At the same time, it doesn’t seek to treat him as a saint, either. During one scene, he gets drunk and flies off the handle at his speech therapist, who is marrying a different man. And that’s just it: in spite of everything, Christy wasn’t perfect. He was just human.
The biggest thing that My Left Foot did for me was that it made me more aware of myself, my world views, and those of the people around me. It exposes problems that people often shy away from, because they’re scared of seeming insensitive or prejudice. I think it’s a movie that everyone, disabled or not, should see.
Hunky Hudson, who did much of his best work with Sirk, is perfectly sincere as the rugged but sensitive young outdoorsman in whom Wyman’s soulful homemaker finds liberating warmth and empathy. The picture looks good enough to eat, with wonderful color, compositions, lighting, art direction, costumes, and cinematography. But the style serves the content superbly, observation of human nature with high gloss making heavenly romantic melodrama.
-Angela Errigo
Compromise. I know, it sucks, but it’s so crucial in life. Be it with a family member or a significant other, we all need to make sacrifices to make things work. But, sometimes we shouldn’t have to. Sometimes, we need to do things for ourselves, and let others adapt. This is the central problem in All that Heaven Allows, and it’s all played out so beautifully that it breaks your heart to watch it.
Lonely widow Cary Scott (Jane Wyman) has been at a standstill since the death of her husband. Her grownup children, Ned (William Reynolds) and Kay (Gloria Talbott) both go to college away from home, and she has stopped attending the society parties that her friend Sara (Agnes Moorehead) invites her to. But when she meets Ron Kirby (Rock Hudson), the son of her former gardener, and a nurseryman by his own right, Cary’s spark is reignited. She and Ron love each other passionately, but there’s a problem. Ron is an outdoorsman; lower class. And he’s much younger than Cary. While neither of these things are problems for Cary, her “friends” and children don’t approve.
Do we place too much stake on what other people think? Probably. And how much do we have to go through before we start listening to ourselves instead of others? Cary is dismayed at how Ron is rebuffed by her society friends when she first brings him out. Ron couldn’t care less. He’s fine with who he is and how he lives. He loves Cary. That’s all that’s important to him. Deep down, I think Cary would have been able to get over what her acquaintances think of Ron. She asks him to move into her house, so that the townspeople will get used to seeing them together, and get over the fact that he’s young and has an unconventional job (he refuses, saying that by moving in with her, he would probably wind up changing for the worse). But what stops her is what her children think. She has an obligation to them. And they’re mortified at the prospect of her marrying Ron. Why? Because they’d be ridiculed by the townspeople. So, Cary is willing to make a sacrifice on behalf of her children, but they really can’t say the same. They’re selfish. They think only of what they need, never mind that their mother is bored, and lonely, and depressed without Ron. They think buying her a television would make for a good diversion. But you can’t replace people with machines.
If you ignore the whole class and age issues, no one should really have a problem with Ron. Let’s face it, he’s the all-American manly-man ideal. Tall, ruggedly handsome, deep voiced. He works with his hands to make his living, and he’s knowledgeable about what he does. He’s so devoted to his woman that he restores the old barn on his property to turn it into a house for them. To top it all off, he’s sincere and sensitive. He’s a total catch! Men like that these days are far and few between. Cary should feel unbelievably lucky. Ned and Kay should be happy for her. Her friends should be super jealous, rather than spouting rumors and being mean and vindictive for decent reason.
The eventual happy ending is made all the richer thanks to the vibrant, sumptuous colours in the film. Honestly, during the opening sequence, I was struck by how absolutely beautiful the shots were. Movies that have a good story, and are aesthetically beautiful to watch are an absolute pleasure. And the music! Goodness, I almost forgot the music. It’s this sweet, wonderful, sometimes sad and melancholic piano. The music is Cary. It’s perfect.
The will-they-won’t-they came close to getting irritating, but this movie always has something to keep it honest. Whether it’s feeling all warm and fuzzy from seeing how happy Cary and Ron make each other, or getting outraged (or frustrated at least) by how unfair and judgmental everyone else is, you’re sure to stay engaged.
When director Wes Anderson and his cowriter Owen Wilson carved a new niche with the 1996 film Bottle Rocket; it single-handedly revived the then-exhausted realm of low-budget independent American comedies. Their second entry in this genre, the adorably miserable Rushmore, takes another look at the losers and oddballs they so adore.
-Karen Krizanovich
I remember a conversation about Wes Anderson I had earlier this year. I was going to see Fantastic Mr. Fox, and told the person I was going with that I had only ever seen one Wes Anderson Movie before (The Darjeeling Limited). He reminded me that Anderson also did The Royal Tenenbaums, so that the movie we were seeing would actually be my third Anderson flick. So, Anderson’s second has become my fourth (I’m more than halfway to seeing all his movies!), and I think I might have loved it.
Max Fischer (Jason Schwartzman) wasn’t born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He’s had to work hard to get anywhere in life. Well, sort of. After getting into prep-school Rushmore on an academic scholarship, Max quickly abandoned any kind of academic success in favor of dominating the extra-curricular scene. While Max is wildly unpopular, he still manages to have a few friends: his chapel-mate Dirk Calloway (Mason Gamble), the wealthy and depressed Herman Blume (Bill Murray), and teacher (and object of his affection), Rosemary Cross (Olivia Williams). After getting kicked out of school for attempting to build a large aquarium to impress Ms. Cross, Max has to cope with the loss of the one thing he truly loved: Rushmore.
Wes Anderson and Owen Wilson say that, in writing Rushmore, they wanted to create a kind of heightened reality. I definitely feel they did that. But I found it interesting that within this heightened reality, all the humor was so understated. None of it was really in-your-face, and I liked that. There’s a scene where Blume is about to dive into his swimming pool, and he climbs up to the diving board with a cigarette in his mouth, and a drink in his hand, which is totally ridiculous and pretty hilarious. More than anything, the humor came from line delivery, which I think is trickier than just taking mediocre actors and putting them into visually funny scenarios. It takes great actors to know when to use words and when to use silence, and having Bill Murray on board probably just spurred the rest of the cast on.
I’m sure that if I knew a Max Fischer in real life, I would dislike him intensely, but Schwartzman played him perfectly in his film debut. He thinks he’s cool, suave, sophisticated, and mature. Yet, he has to work overtime to impress people, which indicates he hasn’t got it all after all. Nevertheless, he has drive and ambition. He wants to stop the Latin program from being canceled in order to impress Ms. Cross? He’ll make it happen. He wants to build an aquarium? He’ll go out and try to get the money himself. If he wants to put on a large, extravagant play, it will be done. It was actually a bit sad, after being kicked out of Rushmore and giving up on public school, how Max resigns himself to simply being a barber’s son, working in the shop with his dad. He seems to lose his spark. Nevertheless, he comes out of the situation a bit more grounded, which is only good for him. Without that growth, I’m sure I would have hated Max’s character in the movie. With it, I found myself rooting for him.
I’d like to talk for a minute about Max’s plays, which are absolutely ridiculous. The sets, costumes, and special effects are unbelievable. I’m pretty sure not even my university theatre could get the budget to put on something even half as visually incredible as one of Max’s plays. His magnum opus, Heaven and Hell, is set in Vietnam, with a lush jungle set, and special effects such as gun fire, helicopters, bloodshed, explosions, and even a flamethrower. That’s insane. And fabulous. I highly recommend watching it: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EpBA6JLajFI
Everyone has problems. And sometimes we don’t deal with them in the best ways. Sometimes, because of our actions, we lose things we care about, be they a school, or friends. But with a little hard work, we can create new opportunities for ourselves. Rushmore shows that. All right, Anderson. Only Bottle Rocket, The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, and Hotel Chevalier left to go.
Written in just eight days and filmed in five weeks on a budget of just $1.2 million, Sex, Lies, and Videotape has been credited with transforming the independent movie industry, enticing mainstream audiences to see small-scale indie films they otherwise would have missed. And this film is certainly unmissable, a sly, sexy, and intelligent look at modern-day relationships set in the steamy South.
-Joanna Berry
James Spader’s character in this film really values honesty above all else. He says liars are the second worst type of person (lawyers being the absolute worst). So it’s great that, above all else, this movie is honest. It’s honest about relationships. It’s honest about neuroses and the human condition. And it’s honest about sex. What it is, what it means. I don’t think I’ve seen a movie that was so upfront and frank about its message. Which was really cool, for me.
Ann Mullany (Andie MacDowell) is stuck in a rut. She’s “happy” in her marriage to lawyer John (Peter Gallagher), while the same can’t be said for him, since he’s having an affair with Ann’s sister, Cynthia (Laura San Giacomo). But she doesn’t work, and she doesn’t have anything to occupy her time, so she winds up spending all of her time worrying about the world instead. Until John’s old friend from college, Graham (James Spader) comes to stay with the couple. Ann expects Graham to be just like John; a grown up frat brother. But he’s not at all. He’s quiet, intense, and forward. They become close, until Ann learns about a person project of Graham’s. Then, everything changes, for everyone.
So, obviously, sex, kind of important in this movie. It is the first word in the title, after all. But more than that, I think it is about relationships and interaction. What kinds of personalities mesh, and which ones don’t. Ann, for instance, claims she thinks sex is overrated. It’s never been very important for her. She doesn’t masturbate, and she doesn’t have sex with her husband very often. For John, though, it’s paramount. It’s why he goes for her sister, because her sexual appetite is equal to (if not greater than) his. Cynthia and John have more chemistry than John and Ann. But Graham is different as well. He can’t have sex. But he talks about it, every aspect of it, in great detail. I don’t think it’s even just talking about sex, he likes talking about people. He watches Ann so closely, drinking in everything about her. It’s not a lecherous stare, or one of desire necessarily. It’s one of intense curiosity. And everything in his nature brings out a different side of Ann. While she doesn’t talk with John, she’s willing to talk about personal things with Graham. Not everything. And even if he doesn’t necessarily understand Ann any better than anyone else does, he listens and puts in the effort.
In fact, there’s something about Graham that changes everyone he talks to. He acts as a mirror to their inner selves. He reveals to John what a horrible man he is. He brings out this less inhibited side of Ann. He helps to calm and focus an otherwise wild Cynthia. I think it’s partly because he himself has changed to drastically from the person he was nine years ago when he was friends with John. But also because he’s coming into their odd triangle as a set of fresh eyes. He sees the things they don’t, and can comment on them objectively. I really think that in life, objectivity is totally key.
The performances are absolutely terrific. The subtlety is terrific. They feel like real people. You can see it in their eyes. Ann’s prudish embarrassment is sweet and awkward. Graham is polite and observant regarding others, but, like so many of us, is hard on himself. Cynthia sees everything as a challenge, which she tackles with gusto. And John is, well, pretty scummy. One of my favorite scenes in the movie was when Ann accuses him of having an affair. His lips say no, but his darting eyes say yes. He’s a man caught in a corner, and Peter Gallagher played it really well. It’s an amazing cast who all received amazing direction from Steven Soderbergh, especially given how quickly written and shot the film was.
This is a terrific film, but I know everyone is going to get something different out of it. Will you see it just as a movie? Or will Graham somehow reach out of the screen and change you, too? I don’t know if it affected me. I guess I’ll see next time I have the opportunity to be unabashedly honest with someone.
Jean Cocteau never called himself a filmmaker, per se. He considered himself a poet; film was just one of the many art forms he delved into throughout his career. Yet even if Cocteau thought himself a poet rather than a “mere” filmmaker, his brilliant, visionary rendition of this classic folktale certainly proved the two titles were not mutually exclusive. Moreover, the fact that of all his projects the dreamlike Beauty and the Beast remains his most beloved work reveals not only both his immense versatility and talent, but also the endurance and mass acceptance of film over all his other preferred formats.
-Joshua Klein
Forget everything Disney taught you about Beauty and the Beast. Strip away all the heart-warming and charming musical numbers, the talkative household items, and muscley, misogynistic he-men. Make it live action, black and white, and a bit closer to the original folk tale. Throw in some sort of enchanting, ethereal quality, and you’ve got Jean Cocteau’s La belle et la bête. That might be a bit of an over simplification, but bear with me. These two movies are not similar in any way, except that they both center around a lovely girl, and a beast. Heck, the beasts aren’t even beasts for the same reasons. But we aren’t talking about Disney. So scratch that.
Belle’s (Josette Day) family has fallen on hard times. Their father’s (Marcel André) business has been failing, and the family is struggling to get by. At least, Belle and her father are. Her sisters, Félicie (Mila Parély) and Adélaïde (Nane Germon) are wicked, vain, and spoiled, and treat Belle like a slave. Her scoundrel of a brother (Michel Auclair) doesn’t contribute much either. But it seems that their luck has changed. Their father hears that one of his ships has come in, and they’re likely to be rich as a result. He offers to get gifts for his family when he goes to collect the money. Félicie and Adélaïde ask for things they think befit them: gowns, jewels, fans, a monkey. Belle simply asks for a rose. After learning that the ship has already been claimed, their father gets lost in a forest on his way home. He finds himself outside a seemingly deserted (possibly haunted) castle. From the garden, he plucks a rose, only to be confronted by the Beast (Jean Marais). He tells the father that either he must die, or he must send one of his daughters in his place. Although he asks his daughters not to sacrifice themselves, Belle sneaks away to return to the Beast in his stead.
For a movie from the forties, this has some neat special effects. Self-lighting candles, magic mirrors, flying, and teleportation are just a few of the things we get to see (although the flying is so cheesy I almost died; Belle and the artist formerly known as Beast (get it? ‘Cause he’s a prince at the end of the movie) literally fly off to his parents’ castle). There are things that aren’t even really special effects that are quite cool. The candelabras are all held by disembodied arms attached to the walls. Human heads that watch Belle are built into the columns of the castle. Arms even come out of the table to pour water, or cut food. I suppose they’re the equivalent of singing and dancing cutlery. In one scene that I thought was pretty neat, Belle actually appears to be gliding down the hallway. It’s a testament to how elegant and graceful her character is that she can move without appearing to get her legs or hips involved.
There are some things about this movie that irked me. The super stereotypical, evil, wicked, nasty sisters, for one. What’s that? They’re complaining about having to do the laundry because it will ruin their perfect hands? Shocking! The fact that the layabout brother and his equally scoundrelesque friend come up with a get-rich-quick-scheme in the form of killing the Beast and taking all his treasure. The grand, physical over-acting was a bit much, although I recognize that that was more a product of the time than anything. Also irritating was the repetition. “Ma Belle, ma Belle, ma Belle, etc!” “Ma Bête, ma Bête, ma Bête (ad infinitum)!”
This is starting to sound a bit more scathing than I meant it to be. This movie does actually have some redeeming features. I loved that Belle wasn’t totally one-dimensional. Yes, she’s sweet and helpful and gracious at home, but when she first meets the Beast, she treats him with disdain and disgust. That in and of itself isn’t very nice, but it would have been boring if she had treated him with saintly devotion the whole way through. The costumes are gorgeous, and Jean Marais’ Beast makeup is incredible. Apparently, it took five hours to apply animal fur to every inch of his exposed skin, and so good was his performance as the Beast that, upon turning into the prince, Greta Garbo famously yelled, “Give me back my Beast!”
La belle et la bête is nothing groundbreaking, but it’s beautiful to watch. I think the thing that I secretly liked the most about this movie was how Jean Cocteau asks us, before the beginning of the film, to suspend our disbelief, just like children. That’s very sweet.
Bram Stoker’s Dracula inspired one of the most impressive of all silent features. The source material and the medium seem almost eerily meant for each other. Stoker’s novel, largely written in the form of a series of letters, is light on traditional dialogue and heavy on description, perfect for the primarily visual storytelling of silent films. It is fitting that a story of the eternal conflict between light and darkness should be matched to a format consisting almost entirely on the interplay of light and darkness.
-Joshua Klein
There’s something I dig about German Expressionism. It was a movement that had great visual impact, and wasn’t like anything that was happening in North America. So I can appreciate Nosferatu, A Symphony of Terror (or, if you prefer, Eine Symphonie Des Grauens) on that level. However, it can be tricky for silent films to really grab me, and a lot of the sequences that probably left audiences chilled when the movie first came out made me laugh out loud (and that’s coming from an admitted scaredy cat!). So this movie didn’t quite hit the mark for me.
Hutter (Gustav von Wangenheim) is a young, idealistic man; a hard worker, and a loving husband to his wife, Ellen (Greta Schröder). So when his boss, Knock (Alexander Granach), tells him of a money-making opportunity, selling a house to the wealthy Count Orlok (Max Schreck), Hutter packs up and travels to Transylvania. Things take a turn for the worst when Hutter discovers that Count Orlok is, in fact, a vampire. And by the time Hutter makes his discovery, Orlok has already begun traveling to Hutter’s hometown to claim his new house.
This movie was mired in controversy when it came out. Bram Stoker’s widow filed a lawsuit because the production company hadn’t received permission from her estate to make the film. And as a result, most of the original prints were destroyed. There’s this whole long disclaimer at the start of the DVD saying how it was pieced together from different prints. It was also (hilariously) banned in Sweden until 1972 for “excessive horror”.
There are a lot of things in this movie that are unintentionally hilarious. The colored tinting, for example, I found pretty drôle. The scenes that are supposed to be “night scenes” are tinted blue, although it doesn’t hide the fact that the sky is obviously light, since they shot during the day. In one scene, when Hutter arrives at an inn, set to head out to Count Orlok’s castle, the owner of the inn tells him not to go out, as a werewolf has been seen about. The werewolf is actually a bewildered looking hyena, if hyenas can look bewildered. Also, I’d like to just take a break here to complain about all the recent vampire vs. werewolf movies, books, mass hysteria that’s been going on recently. For those who aren’t in the know, in original vampire lore, vampires could turn into wolves. So take that! Anyway, I also find it amusing that director F. W. Murnau found Max Schreck ugly enough in real life that he felt the only makeup necessary to turn him into Nosferatu were his pointy ears and comical vampire fangs (comical because he has front fangs, instead of canine fangs like most vampires).
So, in spite of the funny moments, this movie is visually striking. I love the use of stark shadows. And Max Schreck’s stiff, stylized walk is kind of unnerving. The characters’ makeup is great, too. Knock has particularly bushy eyebrows and hair, which suits his psychotic character to a T.
Even if this movie wasn’t necessarily my cup of tea, it was among the first (if not the first) vampire movies, and that’s something in and of itself. Really, it’s a must for people who love old horror movies, or who love vampires.
