Category: Romance

BREEZY

By Marc S. Sanders

The great thing about following Clint Eastwood’s career that spans over seventy years is there is so much I still have to uncover.  For example, following his well-known directed pictures Play Misty For Me and High Plains Drifter, he followed up with a surprising May-December meet cute romance called Breezy, which marks the first time he opted not to direct himself in front of the camera while going against type with an absence of threat or violence.  Heck, he even makes that clear when his heroine of the title makes a run for it out of a stranger’s car.

Breezy is played by a young Kay Lenz, her breakthrough role as a cheerful flower child, which reminded me of Julia Roberts’ hooker with a heart of gold in Pretty Woman.  Breezy aimlessly wanders through the California hillsides with her floppy hat and personalized guitar case on her back, hitching rides from one car to another.  When she comes upon the home of real estate agent Frank Harmon (William Holden), she happily hops in his car with a smile and a lot to chat about.  Frank is the middle age, twice divorced lonely bachelor, who is not looking for any company.  Yet, Breezy’s magnetism grows on him.  Her casual nudity around his house is not so much erotic as just a way to get past any awkwardness between the two. Breezy is young but you’d be hard pressed to find any insecurities about her. The more experienced and elder Frank may be quite the opposite, though.

William Holden plays a similar kind of personality that he would offer a few years later in Network; not quite over the hill but not looking back at the youth he might have felt thirty-five years earlier at Breezy’s age.  The main difference is that Breezy is nothing like Faye Dunaway’s cold-hearted character. Frank is mired in what he gave up too easily in his prior marriages (Joan Hotchkis, Marj Dusay), one on bitter terms, the other was regrettably let go.

Breezy is such a departure from what Eastwood, the filmmaker, accomplished in the 1970s.  He’s not crafting anything in the realm of his violent pictures like Dirty Harry or his six shooter cowboys.  Misty was also bent on a twisted and frightening nature which is entirely absent here.  About the only fingerprints you’ll find is a blink/miss it cameo of the proud director standing on the boardwalk as the lovers stroll by.  They also buy two tickets to see Drifter.  I like these wink n’ nod moments, reminiscent of Hitchcock’s notable mischief.  

This adult romance etched out of mid-life crises mixed with naive youth seems like a variant follow up to the success of Love Story. Kay Lenz occupied the Ali McGraw slot.  Midway through this picture, I told myself that had Eastwood been older, he likely would have played Holden’s role who was in his mid-50s at the time.  Eastwood would get the opportunity decades later with his superbly quiet adaptation of The Bridges Of Madison County. I’ll even say his soft spot shows in his Every Which… movies, albeit with an orangutan or Sondra Locke.

I discovered Breezy after listening to a podcast on the director’s career (Make My Day, found on Apple Podcasts) and my observations are much more alert.  Thematically, I had always divided Clint Eastwood’s career into two halves.  Whether it was comedy or drama, I always considered the bulk of his work before Unforgiven to rely on violence being resolved with violence delivered by his fists and gunplay.  To my knowledge thus far, the Oscar winning western was a first that paved the next thirty years of his career with messages of anti-violence (A Perfect World, Letters From Iwo Jima), steering his persona away from any celebration of bloodletting.  Breezy however, seemed to project maturely sensitive insights that I hardly saw from the filmmaker.  

Like most of his films, Breezy was furnished under budget with simple camera work.  The wheel is not being reinvented here, but with his regular crew, Eastwood assembles a tight story that evolves at a nice pace.  The love story is not rushed even if young Breezy opens every page of her book as quickly as she meets a new person.  William Holden in his sport coats, wide ties, and casual sweaters is the turtle against the rabbit of this race.  The enjoyment is observing when these two parties can move at similar speeds.  

You also get the opportunity to see how Frank and Breezy’s backgrounds clash.  The hippies that carry over from the sixties hang on the street corners while the white-collar professionals sit at their desks on the other side of the window, closing real estate transactions.  Frank’s friend Bob Henderson (the typical boring middle age/ middle class name) played by Roger C Carmel (Harry Mudd of Star Trek) thinks about what his life could be if he didn’t have his past choices to weigh him down.  That’s still a common issue for middle-aged men to wrestle with.  Breezy’s girlfriend Marcy (Jamie Smith Jackson) is a cute pal but it’s clear she has no future because of a neglectful boyfriend, and their shared habit of LSD highs.  Interestingly, neither camp has a problem with the other. In Eastwood’s film, these two very different communities are tolerable of the other’s existence. That’s refreshing. Still, Frank and Breezy have to realize the independence they have even if they are years, and worlds, apart from each other.

Clint Eastwood checks off all the boxes to emulate beautiful chemistry from his two leads. Their unexpected romance is uneven, but there lies the challenge for finding solid foundations of love and respect.

CHARADE

By Marc S. Sanders

I’d always heard that Stanley Donen’s Charade was the definitive Hitchcock movie that was not directed by Alfred Hitchcock.  Maybe that’s true.  Yet, having watched it over sixty years after its release, I get the feeling this paved the way for other comedy/thrillers like what Chevy Chase and Goldie Hawn did in Foul Play or Bruce Willis and Cybill Shepard accomplished with Moonlighting.  Remington Steele is another example. There’s a killer on the loose.  Nevertheless, that shouldn’t stop anyone from engaging in fun flirtations without breaking a sweat in some of the most strikingly colorful costume wear that Givenchy can provide.  

Audrey Hepburn is Reggie Lampert a woman ready to divorce her husband Charles due to a loveless marriage.  When she returns to Paris from a skiing retreat she finds their apartment has been emptied.  Mr. Bartholomew (Walter Matthau) calls Reggie into the American Embassy and explains that Charles was murdered and thrown from a train.  He also had ties with the CIA.  During the war, his military unit came upon a trove of a quarter of a million dollars.  The other members of that unit are likely looking for the money and they will go after Reggie to get it.  She has no idea what Charles was involved with or what he did for a living or how he made his fortunes.

Peter Joshua (Cary Grant, a Hitchcock regular) comes in and out of Reggie’s life.  She trusts Peter, but then gets skeptical of his charm when a truth becomes inconsistent.  He has an explanation for everything, and the cycle of good faith starts all over again.  

Charade is predictable, right from start, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t a lot of fun.  Henry Mancini’s soundtrack keeps Donen’s picture peppy as Audrey Hepburn dodges suspects with Cary Grant’s assistance.  The movie doesn’t rush for the inevitable romantic kiss between the two leads.  The fast talking lines pace their performances.

The men in pursuit are James Coburn with a supply of threatening cigarettes to burn, a nerdy Ned Glass and George Kennedy looking like an imposing Bond henchman with an iron claw for a hand and a belted trenchcoat.  They all stand apart, and one of them could be the killer with a little more to collect on the apparent fortune to be found.

The Hitchcokian comparison stems from the recognizable structure of his pictures.  I don’t deny the familiarity.  Yet, most of Hitch’s films operate on a more sinister level.  Then again there was To Catch A Thief with Cary Grant and that movie could have been part of the same universe as Charade.  I simply credit Donen’s film with what it inevitability inspired as opposed to where it seems to have been sourced from.  

The story sets in motion the meet cute romance of Hepburn and Grant, and despite the clear age difference they’re also charming together.  Try finding a Gen X leading man who could shower with his suit on for an amused Audrey Hepburn.  Try finding a leading woman of today who could be so taken with a such a silly demonstration from a leading man.  Cursing and crude bathroom humor were never necessary for these two.

When a movie opens with a troublemaking kid shooting a squirt gun in the kissers of both Audrey and Cary you immediately recognize the lighthearted tempo of this picture.  These two sophisticates are ready to minimize their dignity while racing through a romp in beautiful Paris, France.  I was happy to run along with them.  

LEAVE HER TO HEAVEN

By Marc S. Sanders

Martin Scorsese declared that Gene Tierney is one of the most underrated actresses of all time.  It’s likely her femme fatale performance in Leave Her To Heaven supports that argument.  Miguel mistakenly left his Criterion copy at my house and on a whim, I popped it into the machine.  With no knowledge of what the film was about, I gradually found myself stunned as the story initially unfolds as a meet-cute encounter between a charming novelist and a stunning, pleasant woman who get caught up in a whirlwind romance that turns questionably eerie.

The author is Richard Harland (Cornel Wilde).  He meets the voluptuous Ellen (Tierny) sitting cross from him on a passenger train car.  She just happens to be reading his latest best seller, and she takes to him at first sight because he looks strikingly familiar to her deceased father.  It’s also convenient to know they have the same destination at a retreat ranch in New Mexico.  Ellen’s mother, Margaret (Mary Philips), and her adopted sister (or maybe not?), Ruth (Jeanne Crain) are also staying there.  The ladies are actually going to spread father’s ashes high up on a mountain top nearby.

Richard is captivated with Ellen but respects her boundaries when he learns that she’s engaged to marry Russell Quinton (Vincent Price), an imposing man who is running for district attorney in Boston, Massachusetts.  That changes very quickly upon Russell’s surprise visit one night, where Ellen announces in front of everyone, including Richard, that she is now engaged to the writer.  Richard may be caught off guard, but he’s thrilled to spend his future with this alluring woman.  

Everything seems idyllic.  Ellen caters to his every whim without even be asked. She cooks and cleans for him and insists on not hiring a housekeeper to do such chores.

Richard is also quite fond of Ruth and Margaret, and he’s certain that Ellen will take kindly to his younger brother Danny (Darryl Hickman).  Danny resides at physical therapy home in Georgia.  He’s unable to walk but hoping to soon.  That doesn’t hinder his enthusiasm for his new sister in law and more time with his brother.

Everything seems perfect, and yet there are expressions and random observations about Ellen that leave all but Danny and Richard with trepidation.  Ruth and Margaret are kind people, but they seem to have reservations about Ellen’s intentions.  Who should Richard be cautious of though?  

Leave Her To Heaven relies upon a diabolical personality hiding in plain sight.  It begins with a lawyer telling some folks the story of Richard’s time with Ellen.  Richard arrives at a lakeside dock in Maine, and then he is on his way by canoe to visit a woman at a getaway cottage on the other side of the lake.  He’s been through some kind of ordeal.  It’s not clear what woman he’s going to see and why, nor what he’s recently endured.  The lawyer’s story has much to spell out.

Growing up in the 1980s and 90s, this film noir feels like it carries influence towards more modern classics like Fatal Attraction and The Hand That Rocks The Cradle, and even the recent sleeper hit of 2025, The Housemaid with Sydney Sweeney and Amanda Seyfried (which I highly recommend). Especially effective is how trustworthy John M Stahl’s scenes of exposition seem.  At any point his film, adapted from the novel by Ben Ames Williams, could have steered in the direction of glowing optimism and promising possibilities.  Having not known where the story was going to take me enhanced my experience with the picture.  Gene Tierney’s lovely and later disturbing composition kept me alert and when later moments occur that leave no doubt of what her goals are, the suspense held on to a haunting pinnacle.  

The third act relies heavily on Vincent Price’s contributions, and he is a superb antagonist.  He’s far from the eerie B-fest persona that made him famous, but he is largely intimidating.  Still, his material is written to be extremely contrived as the screenplay resorts to lopsided courtroom drama.  Leave Her To Heaven is fully aware it’s not following legitimate protocol in a standard trial.  The courtroom setting operates more like a conduit to tie up loose ends and ensure all the pertinent characters get on the same page.  With Vincent Price driving the narrative, the thrills remain upheld.

The Technicolor on the Criterion edition deserves praise. For a film noir from 1945, this restoration looks entirely modern and and with the exception of the courtroom scenes, never feels outdated. When you’ve run out of Alfred Hitchcock material to bite your nails on, Leave Her To Heaven is a very good and solid alternative.  

Best advice, be careful when you fall in love at first sight.

GILDA (1946)

by Miguel E. Rodriguez

DIRECTOR: Charles Vidor
CAST: Rita Hayworth, Glenn Ford, George Macready, Joseph Calleia
MY RATING: 8/10
ROTTEN TOMATOMETER: 90% Certified Fresh

PLOT: A small-time gambler hired to work in a Buenos Aires casino discovers his employer’s new wife is his former lover.


Admit it: we’ve all known a couple like these two: Johnny Farrell (Glenn Ford) and Gilda (Rita Hayworth).  They’re the kind of couple that inspire lifelong celibacy.  You see them together, and you think one of two things: “Why is SHE/HE with HIM/HER?”  Or, “Well, at least they’re saving two other people.”

The irony of Gilda is that they’re not even a legitimate couple, at least not for very long.  The fact that the movie sees fit to give them a semi-happy ending fits more with the period when it was made than with the characters themselves.  Watching them go off together at the end feels…off.  I know there are exceptions to this rule (see Bound [1996], spoiler alert), but this film noir fairly screams for a tragic ending of some kind, appropriate to the genre.  Instead, the two leads get off the hook just a little too easily, for my money.

But I’m jumping ahead.  In case you didn’t know, Gilda is the 1946 seamy/steamy film noir that forever turned Rita Hayworth into a Hollywood sex symbol.  Humphrey Bogart turned down the lead role (that went to Glenn Ford instead) because he figured, with Hayworth on the screen, no one would be looking at anyone or anything else.  He wasn’t kidding.  From the moment of her iconic entrance to the film (hair flip…“Me?”), Hayworth dominates every moment she’s onscreen, as effortlessly as Monroe, Dandridge, or Loren, assisted by those legendary Jean Louis gowns and costumes.  Especially the famous “Put the Blame on Mame” number, with the slinky black strapless “sleeve” dress, and those long black elbow-length gloves that she peels off ever so slowly…

The story!  Right, the story…

Johnny Farrell is a low-rent gambler in Buenos Aires who is hired by casino owner Ballin Mundson – one of the weirdest character names ever – to watch over his operations while he tends to other business in and around post-war Argentina.  One day Mundson returns from a business trip with a new wife: Gilda, whom he married after a whirlwind one-day romance.  Gilda is as tempestuous as they come, brazenly flirting with Johnny in front of her new husband, who can’t help but wonder why Johnny seems so icy towards her…

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out Johnny and Gilda knew each other a lifetime ago.  Their chance meeting in a foreign country ranks right up there with Ilsa wandering into Rick’s Café Américain in North Africa: unlikely, but it makes for a helluva story.

Glenn Ford holds his own in the film as the scruffy, no-nonsense enforcer who can more than hold his own in a fistfight, but whose physical prowess can’t compete with the psychic hold Gilda still has on him.  Of course, the fact that Gilda mercilessly pokes and teases Johnny indicates she’s just as fixated on him.  It’s easy to see how this material could almost become a standard-issue rom-com, but Gilda is made of darker stuff.  Look at it from a certain angle, and there are hints that Johnny and his boss, Mundson, might share a relationship that goes beyond employer/employee, that Gilda knows this, and is using that knowledge to stick the knife even deeper into Johnny’s stomach, just to watch him squirm.

So, Gilda becomes a psychological battle of the sexes, evoking The War of the Roses at times.  Gilda tosses off some zingers that would have made Mae West blush.  (“If I’d been a ranch, they would’ve named me the Bar Nothing.”)  Johnny gets off a couple of his own.  (“Pardon me, but your husband is showing.”  …and, “Statistics show that there are more women in the world than anything else.  Except insects.”)  In between zingers, the plot moves on in the background, but it’s only a clothesline on which to hang the arguments between Gilda and Johnny.  In that respect, it’s like a John Wick film: you’re not there for the plot, you’re there for the action.  It’s entertaining as hell, don’t get me wrong, but they are so good at being despicable to each other that I found myself hoping they DIDN’T wind up together.  Talk about a match made in hell.  Do they deserve each other?  Discuss.

Gilda robustly lives up to the film noir tradition, in style, substance, and story, RIGHT up until the last two or three minutes, when the darkness gives way to the major-chord strings of “happily ever after.”  For that, I personally can’t call it perfect.  But holy black strapless gown, Batman…as they say at Passover, for that alone we should be grateful.

42nd STREET (1933)

by Miguel E. Rodriguez

DIRECTOR: Lloyd Bacon (with choreo by Busby Berkeley)
CAST: Warner Baxter, Bebe Daniels, George Brent, Ruby Keeler, Una Merkel, Ginger Rogers, Dick Powell
MY RATING: 9/10
ROTTEN TOMATOMETER: 92% Fresh

PLOT: The unglamorous side of life on Broadway is laid bare in this unexpectedly enthralling musical from Hollywood’s golden years.


I’ll admit it: I was a victim of my own expectations.

For decades, I assumed that Lloyd Bacon and Busby Berkeley’s 42nd Street was your standard Hollywood fluff musical from an era when the genre had been beaten nearly to death, filled with wall-to-wall corny songs and even cornier story lines.  I was aware of the famous line from the film: “Sawyer, you’re going out a youngster, but you’ve got to come back a star!”  I was certain I knew everything I needed to know about the movie right there.  Unknown chorus girl gets a lucky break, becomes a star, a little song, a little dance, happy endings for everyone.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I love it when I’m wrong.  42nd Street defied all of my expectations, and even when it felt like it was caving to the genre, it did it so exuberantly that I caved into it myself.

The story is ancient: A Broadway show is holding auditions at an unnamed theater on New York’s famed 42nd Street.  A rookie actress, Peggy Sawyer (Ruby Keeler), is one of scores of hopefuls at the cattle call, among them seasoned veterans Lorraine Fleming (Una Merkel) and Ann Lowell, played by Ginger Rogers the same year she was first paired with Fred Astaire in Flying Down to Rio…a legend in the making.  The show’s director, Julian Marsh (Warner Baxter), is a taskmaster who wants this show, “Pretty Lady”, to be his final masterpiece before he retires on advice from his doctors.  Then there’s Dorothy Brock (Bebe Daniels), the diva whose sugar daddy ensures she will get the plum role; Pat Denning (George Brent), Dorothy’s penniless paramour; and Billy Lawler (Dick Powell), the show’s “juvenile”, aka “mangenue”, who takes a shine to Peggy Sawyer when she interrupts him in his underwear in the dressing room.  Long story.

So, all the stock characters are here for a plot that was probably old even before the introduction of sound.  But 42nd Street subverted my assumptions by doing several things.

First, it is definitely NOT wall-to-wall with song and dance.  In fact, before we hit the final tune-filled 15 minutes, only one full number is performed.  Everything else is rehearsals, endless rehearsals with masses of dancers in their practice clothes or solo singers at the piano.  The backgrounds of the main characters are fleshed out in several scenes outside the theater, but the filmmakers were smart enough to keep those scenes to a minimum.  The real drama is on the stage, where it belongs.

(I loved those rehearsal scenes.  As an amateur actor in community theater myself, I had all sorts of flashbacks to my first shows as an ensemble member of big shows like The Music Man and Camelot, going through endless repetitions of musical numbers or just SEGMENTS of musical numbers until the director was satisfied.  I particularly loved one number being rehearsed on stage while the camera showed most of the cast and crew watching from the wings.  Pitch perfect.)

Second, the screenplay was not as cornball as the plot summary makes it sound.  I expected kitsch, but instead I got unexpected drama and grittiness, interspersed with comic relief and some outstanding zingers.  (“It must have been tough on your mother, not having any children.”)  Peggy Sawyer, the rookie, faints during rehearsal; Julian, after first making sure she’s not dead, yells at the stagehands to remove her from the stage so rehearsals can continue.  And they do.  When Julian learns of Dorothy Brock’s affair with Pat Denning, an affair which could jeopardize her participation in the show, he reaches out to an unsavory connection who agrees to rough Pat up as a warning.  Granted, this is all handled with a light touch, but this is serious business.  Putting a “hit” on someone?  Would a Broadway director ever actually do such a thing?  (Spoiler alert: probably.)

Third, by easing off the musical numbers until the last reel, 42nd Street positively had me eager for a full-blown song and dance.  And, brother, does it deliver.  The mythical Busby Berkeley pulls out all the stops for three sensational numbers that begin within the confines of a Broadway stage, and then magically “open up” into a cinematic tour de force.  I especially enjoyed the number where Ruby Keeler is clearly doing a complicated tap dance for real, but the best of the three is the film’s namesake, “42nd Street”, which is basically a travelogue of NYC, and which contains wild mood swings and some show-stopping choreography.  Watch for the moment when a young woman escapes a bad situation in her tenement apartment by running to the 3rd floor fire escape and then leaping to the street below.  I’m sure there were safety measures in place just out of camera range, like Harold Lloyd dangling from that clock, but in the moment, it genuinely looks like the cameras captured an actress leaping to her death.  Not to mention the sequence where the chorus transforms into the NYC skyline.  (In fact, I’d say the movie’s worth watching just for that final dance sequence…it’s astonishing.)

Fourth, the very end of the film took me totally by surprise.  At the risk of spoiling it, I’ll say that it takes place after I thought the movie WOULD end, and that it perfectly captures the combination of emotions that go through a stage director’s mind and soul after a show goes up and is an apparent success.  It’s another moment that felt absolutely real, with no overcooked dialogue or mugging.

It’s said that, before the release of 42nd Street, the movie musical was dead in the water.  Too many musicals had come before it, musicals that overdid the song and dance or had a half-baked story, etc.  Not only did 42nd Street singlehandedly revive the genre for decades to come, it also apparently saved Warner Bros. Studios from bankruptcy.  As someone who is not a particularly huge fan of older movie musicals, I wholeheartedly recommend this movie to anyone who is like me and has put off watching it because you think you already know everything about it you need to know.  I’m here to tell you: you probably don’t.  (And I especially recommend it to theatre aficionados who are familiar with the stage musical “42nd Street”, which pads the running time with dozens of additional songs, most of which were taken from Gold Diggers of 1933 [1933].)

WINGS (1927)

by Miguel E. Rodriguez

DIRECTOR: William A. Wellman
CAST: Clara Bow, Charles ‘Buddy’ Rogers, Richard Arlen, Gary Cooper
MY RATING: 10/10
ROTTEN TOMATOMETER: 94% Certified Fresh

PLOT: Two young men, one rich, one middle class, who are in love with the same woman, become fighter pilots in World War I.


Not long ago, I purchased a copy of the 1927 classic Wings, based mostly on the favorable review by my friend and colleague, Marc Sanders.  I was more or less aware of its place in cinema history: the very first winner of the Best Picture Oscar, essentially the birthplace of Gary Cooper’s career (despite appearing in the film for just over 2 minutes), legendary aerial footage, and so on.  But I never felt compelled to seek it out.

Having finally watched it, I am very glad I did, and you should, too.  Wings is pure entertainment from start to finish.  Unexpectedly engrossing, captivating, thrilling, the whole enchilada.  High melodrama, comedy (borderline slapstick, what are you gonna do, it was 1927), romance, comic misunderstandings – and some not-so-comic – and eye-popping aerial footage, true to its reputation.  A neat camera move gliding over several cabaret tables even showcases director William A. Wellman’s desire to push the boundaries of what was possible with the massive cameras of his day.  I once wrote that Sunrise (1927) was my favorite silent film of all time.  If I ever make another 100-Favorite-Films list, Wings and Sunrise are going to have to duke it out…

Wings sets a surprisingly modern tone from the start.  In the very first sequences of the film, Jack Powell (Charles ‘Buddy’ Rogers) does not “ham it up” like some of the more typical Hollywood actors of that era.  Obviously, his mannerisms are exaggerated, but there is a restraint to his face and body that seems at odds (in a good way) with nearly everyone else in the film…except Gary Cooper, who, if he underplayed his role any further, would have become a still painting.  That restraint is also evident in Jack’s foil/nemesis, David Armstrong (Richard Arlen), the rich aristocrat to contrast Jack’s more humble background.  This moderation lends a very contemporary feel to a movie that’s nearly a century old – quite a feat.

In sharp contrast to the two male leads, the fabled Clara Bow plays her role, Mary Preston, with complete abandon.  She never truly overacts, exactly, but she throws herself into her supporting role with abandon.  Mary is hopelessly infatuated with Jack, who is actually in love with the debonair Sylvia Lewis (Jobyna Ralston), who is already involved with David, though they haven’t made anything official.  (If Facebook had been a thing back then, their relationship status would have been “It’s Complicated”.)  So, when Jack makes eyes at Sylvia, poor Mary is in the background as her hopeful smile deteriorates into sobs.  She may not be subtle, but Clara Bow makes sure you know EXACTLY what is on Mary’s mind at any given moment.

In the middle of this would-be soap opera, World War I intervenes.  Jack and David both enlist to become aviators.  A crucial scene shows Jack asking for Sylvia’s picture to keep as a good luck charm, a picture that has already been signed over to David.  Then, as he says his farewells to the lovelorn Mary, she offers him her picture.  How this scene plays out, and how it comes to bear much later, is one of the high points of the film’s ground-based drama.

But the real marquee attraction Wings comes during the aerial training and combat scenes.  Watching this movie, you understand why modern filmmakers today strive for realism as much as possible.  Ron Howard wanted to show weightless environments for Apollo 13, so sets were constructed inside a military jet tanker that flew parabolic arcs to simulate weightlessness…for real.  The makers of Top Gun: Maverick wanted to draw audiences into the film, so they had their actors train for weeks and months so they could be filmed inside the actual cockpits of F-18 fighters as they performed simulated combat maneuvers…for real.  Those filmmakers knew what had already been demonstrated decades earlier by Wings: nothing beats reality.

(Almost nothing…Ready Player One was pretty damn cool…BUT I DIGRESS…)

For Wings, director Wellman, a combat pilot himself during the war, knew that the best way to grab the audience by the lapels would be to get his actors up in the air for real.  To put it very briefly, he got his two lead actors to become certified pilots, got them into the air with small cameras strapped to the front of their planes, and had them act, fly their own planes, and be their own camera operators, all at the same time, while other stunt pilots flew around them, sometimes in VERY close quarters, simulating aerial combat.

The results are staggering.  There is a visceral mojo to these scenes that cannot be overstated.  Sure, it looks “old” because it’s black and white and grainy, but it is also undeniably real, and when you see long shots of a biplane going into a death spiral after being shot out of the sky, your intellect tells you there’s a real pilot flying a real plane hurtling at high speed towards the real ground, and you either sit back in awe or you lean forward with excitement.  There are a few scenes where real planes crash to the ground in various ways; one of them crashes into the side of a freaking HOUSE…for REAL.  IMDb mentions one staged crash where the plane didn’t do exactly what it was SUPPOSED to do, and the stunt pilot literally broke his neck…but survived and returned to his job six weeks later.  And it was all done in camera with no trickery or fake dummies in the cockpit.  It is literally mindboggling.

However, it should be noted that these accomplishments by themselves would mean very little if they weren’t hitched to a compelling story.  The love story among Jack, David, and Mary is a constant thread through the whole film.  Mary, having volunteered as an ambulance driver in the Army, miraculously finds herself stationed overseas…right next to Jack and David’s unit, wouldn’t you know it!  Contrivances aside, Wings expertly balances the exciting elements with the melodramatic flourishes.  The melodrama comes to a head when Mary finds herself alone in a hotel room with Jack, who is so drunk on champagne he doesn’t recognize her.  (She is dressed as a cabaret dancer, but that’s a long story…)  This movie truly contains the best of both worlds, genre-wise.

This might be crass of me to mention, but I’m going to anyway…Wings is also notable for some of the earliest on-screen nudity (in an AMERICAN film, anyway) that I can recall seeing.  There is a scene in a recruitment office where a line of bare male bums are lined up in the background, awaiting health inspection.  Then later, we see a woman’s bare breasts…just a brief glimpse, but it’s there.  Not only THAT, but during a fancy camera move in a French cabaret, we see a woman caressing another woman’s face…are they a couple?  Scandalous!  Who needs the Hays Code?  Not this guy!

(I could also mention the homo-erotic overtones during a pivotal scene towards the end of the film, but they pretty much speak for themselves [like the volleyball scene in Top Gun], so I’m just gonna move on…)

To sum up: Wings ranks as one of the greatest pure entertainments that Hollywood has ever served up.  Marc mentioned that it perhaps doesn’t get the love it deserves.  He’s probably right.  I’m sure it’s revered among cinephiles, but it is certainly not in the general public consciousness when it comes to silent films.  Regardless, it is exceptionally well-made and uncommonly effective.  If ever an old film deserved to be rediscovered by the general public, Wings is it.

NOTORIOUS

By Marc S. Sanders

In 1946, Alicia Huberman (Ingrid Bergman) is numbing the shame of her father being convicted for treason by drinking herself silly at a party she’s hosting.  We see the back of the head of a nameless guest, eventually revealed to be a man named Devlin (Cary Grant).  Once Alicia is sobered up, she awakens to the handsome image of this man entering her room with her point of view turning like a clock in a hundred- and eighty-degree direction.  This mysterious fellow is about to escort her into a dizzying labyrinth that will test the limits of her loyalty to him and the patriotism she has for her country.

Devlin is an American agent who has been assigned to recruit Alicia as an insider to an associate of her father’s.  His name is Alexander Sebastian (Claude Rains) and he’s likely a Nazi stooge with a deadly plot ready to set in motion.  Alicia is tasked with reacquainting herself with Alex and uncovering who he is working with and what they all have in mind.  Devlin will check in with her on occasion.

Complications ensue however because just before Alicia begins her mission in Rio De Janerio, she has fallen in love with Mr. Devlin.  Normally, I would not be able to buy into the quick whirlwind romance of Alicia and Devlin.  I never liked it when Sydney Pollack would wedge a love story into his thrillers (Absence Of Malice, Three Days Of The Condor).  However, this is Ingrid Bergman and Cary Grant we are talking about here, and they are being directed by Alfred Hitchcock in the classic film, Notorious.  The famous three-minute kiss in the picture seals the argument.  

Standard film practice of the time would not permit a kiss lasting longer than three seconds.  The actors though expand on this romantic moment with inserted dialogue, none of which is altogether memorable, and focus on a prepared chicken dinner to have on the balcony overlooking the coastline.  This scene occurs early in the film just after the exposition of Alicia and Devlin’s assignment is established.  I still don’t know either of character very well.  So why do I care about them?  Well, it’s how Hitchcock films the script by Ben Hecht.  There’s disturbing shadows and ominous mystery to the world that Alicia is seduced into entering after her drunken binge has ended.  As well, Devlin is warned that he will have to keep his distance from her so as not to alarm Alex or any of his Nazi associates.  Now, I’m genuinely nervous for Alicia’s safety.

Once Alicia is ingrained in Alex’ world, a new romance arrives, and she willingly marries the German aristocrat to uphold her ruse while making efforts to uncover the Nazis’ plot.  Devlin enters and exits her life to collect whatever information and access Alicia can supply.

As Notorious played out for me, sadly the first thing that came to mind was that Tom Cruise’s second Mission: Impossible film is nearly a scene for scene remake of Hitchcock’s classic, minus the over-the-top stunts and rock climbing.  Yet even before that thought popped into my head, I thought this is a film that could be remade into a wonderful modern update, but only in the hands of select filmmakers like Martin Scorsese or Christopher Nolan.  Keep the guns and blood and car chases out of it though.  Notorious succeeds without a single punch, gunshot, curse word, or ball of fire.  It’s the characters and Hitchcock’s use of brooding light, mood and shadows that maintain the suspense.  Select props and costume wear are scarier than Godzilla or The Birds.

Nearly twenty years before he made Psycho, the director was terrifying audiences with a maternal element already.  Madam Sebastian (Leopoldine Konstantin) is such an intimidating force within the castle like estate she shares with her son Alex, who easily falls in love with the beautiful Alicia.  The Madam is upholds a watchful eye on all activity. Bergman’s fear of this foreboding mother is just one of the dynamics she brings to her portrayal.  

Suspense is what Hitch relies on.  Sometimes I felt like I could not trust Mr. Devlin.  The name Devlin bears a sinister reminder of a beast within its spelling. Cary Grant is at first aloof with how Devlin regards Alicia’s potential for self-harm.  Hitchcock eerily introduces Cary Grant in the picture.  First, by only shooting him behind his head, not revealing his face. A little later, I felt reluctant to trust his upside-down appearance as Alicia awakens from her drunken stupor.  Thereafter, he will take a measured risk with Alicia riding horseback and never attempt to rescue her.  He leaves it to someone else to save her. He’s a tricky sort of fellow.

Conversely, Claude Rains as Alex, the supposed Nazi, is utterly charming and attentive towards Alicia.  Despite what he might be involved with, he’s ready to begin a newly loving and glamorous life with her.  I trust Alex.  He maintains a genuine affection for Alicia and it’s hard to presume he is anything else, especially of the sinister sort.

Ingrid Bergman is captivating as soon as she appears on screen, exiting her father’s courtroom sentence.  In fact, she resembles her most famous portrayal as Elsa from Casablanca that easily can be part of this cinematic universe.  With Claude Rains on screen with her again, could this have been a sequel of sorts?  I have much more experience with Meryl Streep’s career and therefore Bergman gives me a lot to reminisce about Streep both when she’s a strong and confident person or a fearful subject.  Either way, the bravery of the character upholds.

There are eye opening camera tactics of Hitchcock working here.  I’m amazed at a zoom in that lowers its focus from a great height at Alex’ mansion down to the grand foyer below where Alicia stands with a vital prop key hidden in her fist.  Amidst all of the traffic of an evening party, this tiny key is what’s most important.  A teacup is given greater scale to enhance a monstrous threat of what’s inside the drink.  A wine bottle suddenly becomes a mystery.  Some elderly, petite men dressed in perfectly tailored tuxedos spell a likely outcome of doom.  The darkness of rooms shot in black and white feels inescapable.  The absolute final shot of the picture is unforgettable.

For years, the adventurers of North By Northwest with Cary Grant in his beautifully fitted blue suit held the crown as my favorite Alfred Hitchcock picture.  That title has now been surrendered to Notorious.  It is signature Hitchcock with twists in character, reasons for mistrust, a MacGuffin (that item that drives the story, yet bears hardly any importance), motherly instincts of fear, obscure camera angles, shadows and dim light which is particularly chilling when shot in black and white.  All of these elements add up to the director’s expert craft at suspense.  

Notorious is a hundred percent perfect example of why Alfred Hitchcock remains celebrated as one of the best directors to ever film a motion picture.  

NOTE:  I am surprised that neither IMDb trivia, nor Roger Ebert in his Great Movie review, ever acknowledged that the story of Notorious begins on April 20, also known as Adolf Hitler’s birthday. A curious date for a spy thriller centered around Nazi espionage.

NOTE: I want to also draw attention to a move that Cary Grant does in the film.  Following Alicia’s drunken party, several guests are passed out on the sofa.  Devlin finishes a drink and rests the glass on the upper torso of a passed-out woman where it balances perfectly.  We may be going after dangerous Nazis, but Grant and Hitchcock still found opportunities to make audiences smirk at their mischief.

A PLACE IN THE SUN (1951)

by Miguel E. Rodriguez

DIRECTOR: George Stevens
CAST: Montgomery Clift, Elizabeth Taylor, Shelley Winters, Raymond Burr
MY RATING: 9/10
ROTTEN TOMATOMETER: 82% Fresh

PLOT: A struggling young man gets a job working for his rich uncle and ends up falling in love with two women, one rich and one poor.


I first saw A Place in the Sun many moons ago at a friend’s house.  I remember enjoying it but thinking it was too soapy for my taste.  Years went by.  I finally got around to watching Woody Allen’s Match Point and was stunned at how much Allen’s film borrowed from George Stevens’ celebrated melodrama.  Having just re-watched A Place in the Sun, my opinion of it has warmed considerably, without diminishing my admiration for Match Point, which remains one of my favorite films of all time.

A Place in the Sun tells the story of young George Eastman, played by Montgomery Clift at or near the height of his powers.  He’s a bit of a layabout who wrangles a job at his rich uncle’s swimsuit factory.  When George meets his rich relatives, I was reminded of a George Gobel quip: “Did you ever get the feeling that the world was a tuxedo and you were a pair of brown shoes?”  That’s George Eastman to a T, a ne’er-do-well in a sea of the well-to-do.

Against company policy, George falls in love (or at least in lust) with a rather plain girl, Alice, played by Shelley Winters in a de-glamorized role that went completely against type at that point in her career, winning her a Best Actress nomination.  Alice and George flirt and hold hands and occasionally neck (mildly scandalous for a 1951 film), but George can’t help but stare at another girl who pops up occasionally: Angela Vickers.  Angela is played by a ravishing Elizabeth Taylor, who was only 17 at the time of filming and empirically one of the most beautiful women in Hollywood, if not the world.  It’s not too hard to imagine any man, let alone poor George Eastman, falling in love with her instantly.

But George is still connected to Alice, especially because he’s already slept with her.  When George learns Alice is pregnant, he despairs because he had been planning to end things with Alice to pursue Angela.  Alice even visits a doctor who might possibly provide an abortion.  Of course, this being 1951, “abortion” is never mentioned out loud, nor is the word “pregnant.”  But Alice’s visit to the doctor is handled with incredible intelligence and brilliant screenwriting that manages to say everything it needs to say without ever uttering those forbidden words.

The rest of the film examines what George may or may not be willing to do for the sake of his love for Angela, who loves him back, it turns out…but she doesn’t know about Alice.  Since this is based on a then-famous novel called An American Tragedy (by Theodore Dreiser), it may not be too hard to divine what is in store for George before the final credits roll, but getting there is the fun part.  By casting heartthrobs as the hero/anti-hero and the rich girl he loves, the film cleverly gets us to root for them a little bit, even when George is considering murder.

While Elizabeth Taylor dominates every scene she’s in just by standing there, the Academy made sure Shelley Winters was recognized for her incredibly difficult performance as Alice.  There are some movies where, if a character is an emotional yo-yo, it can be frustrating.  With Alice, Winters never crossed a line into unlikability, even when she calls George at a fancy dinner party demanding he marry her tomorrow, “or else.”  It’s clear she has no options left to her if she wants to have any semblance of a life in polite society (by 1950s standards, anyway).  I felt bad for her.  But I also felt bad for George – to a degree – when he demonstrates how sincerely he has fallen head over heels for Angela.  Not just because she’s stunningly beautiful, but also because she really seems to have fallen for him, too.

Lately, my movie-watching itinerary of classic films has involved a fair share of outstanding melodramas (Leave Her to Heaven, 1945; The Heiress, 1949; Dodsworth, 1936).  A Place in the Sun fits right into that mold.  It doesn’t quite achieve the perfection of The Heiress, but it is a fantastic example of its genre, good enough for Woody Allen to “reimagine” its basic story for Match Point, so it’s definitely worth a look if you’re into that kind of thing.

THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT MARY

By Marc S. Sanders

Love never dies.  Sometimes it just gets jammed in your zipper.

Ted (Ben Stiller) can’t put his finger on it.  Neither can Pat (Matt Dillon) or a couple of other obsessed, stalking paramours.  There’s Just Something About Mary.

In 1985, brace faced, insecure Ted gets the opportunity to go to prom with the prettiest girl in school, Mary (Cameron Diaz).  He’s a good guy, but disaster strikes in truly one of the most unimaginable ways and prom never works out for these kids.

Jump thirteen years later to 1998 and Ted gets the idea to hire Pat, a private investigator, to track down Mary in hopes of rekindling a new romance.  She’s in Miami, Florida now, working as a chiropractic surgeon and even more beautiful than ever.  Problem is that Pat has lied to Ted about what has come of Mary and wants to pounce on her all for himself.  Ted eventually gets up the gumption to trek from Rhode Island to Florida anyway.  Along the way complications ensue.  Let me change topics for one second and remind you to be mindful of rest stops when you are road tripping.

There’s Something About Mary is one of the all-time great comedies and my favorite of the Farrelly Brothers’ collection (Kingpin, Dumb & Dumber, Me, Myself & Irene).  I’ve described the spine of this film, but it’s the guts of endless sight gags within that uphold this picture.  Everything from a dog that gets drugged, electrified, drugged a lot more, and body casted to a handicapped friend of Mary’s who simply cannot pick up his keys without instigating terribly guilt-ridden chuckles. (I’m laughing as I write this.)  Special needs adults lend to the comedy as well.  The Farrellys are proudly nowhere near politically correct. Yet the material manages to not be horribly offensive either.  You need not worry, you will still get into heaven even if you laughed at There’s Something About Mary.  Still, that’s what comedy is.  Somebody always needs to be the victim of the stooges who lend to the mayhem.

This comedy is also perfectly cast from the three headliners all the way down to the extras.  A South Carolina jail cell setting draws big laughs at poor Ted’s demise. 

Cameron Diaz is such a sport though, always looking beautiful while willing to be the fool.  It was great to watch this with my seventeen-year-old daughter since she had no idea of that hair gel scene.  If you don’t know, don’t read about it.  Just watch and look at how well Diaz holds the moment together.  I remember SCREAMING in the movie theatre next to Miguel.

Stiller and Dillon are two dumbasses you likely never would have envisioned in a film together.  Nevertheless, they are perfect foils of stupidity against one another.  Matt Dillon is often recognized for his tough guy dramatic roles.  Yet, he puts it all on the line.  Stiller is primarily known for comedy, and this film is the first of a series where he becomes the unfortunate victim of circumstances (Along Came Polly, Meet The Parents).  I wouldn’t want anyone else in these scenarios though.  You laugh at what Ben Stiller ends up in but also feel sorry for the poor guy.  I would have no objection if Matt Dillon and Ben Stiller paired up again for another comedy, even all these years later.

Other cast members also lend their level of comedy from Chris Elliott to Lin Shaye to Sarah Silverman, Jeffrey Tambor, Markie Post and especially Keith David, who knows he belongs nowhere in this movie, but that’s exactly why he should be part of the cast.  He’s utterly hilarious.

A nice touch to the movie are the series of outtakes during the end credits while the cast lip sync to The Foundations celebratory number “Build Me Up Buttercup.”  This had to have been such a party to film and finally the audience is assured that they can laugh along in front or behind the camera as well. 

There’s Something About Mary is the movie so many of us need right now.  Turn off the news and turn on what went on between Ted and Pat and their pursuit of Mary. 

TO CATCH A THIEF (1955)

by Miguel E. Rodriguez

DIRECTOR: Alfred Hitchcock
CAST: Cary Grant, Grace Kelly, Jessie Royce Landis, John Williams [no, not THAT John Williams]
MY RATING: 7/10
ROTTEN TOMATOMETER: 93% Certified Fresh

PLOT: A retired jewel thief in the French Riviera sets out to prove his innocence after being suspected of returning to his former occupation.


Alfred Hitchcock’s To Catch a Thief is somewhat of a paradox.  It contains all the hallmarks of the master’s touch during what was arguably his most fruitful decade of work: exotic location shoots, a breathless romance, sly comedy, daring innuendo, and, of course, a vivacious blonde.  But there is little to no suspense.  There’s an intriguing mystery that admittedly left me guessing until almost the very end, but I never felt invested in the hero’s predicament.  I cared way more about L.B. Jefferies [Rear Window] or Roger O. Thornhill [North by Northwest] or even “Scottie” Ferguson [Vertigo] than I did for John Robie.

The story opens right away with a typical Hitchcock wink-and-nod.  The camera pushes in to an inviting travel brochure for the south of France, then there’s an immediate smash cut to a woman screaming.  Is she being murdered?!  This is a Hitchcock movie, after all!  No, she’s distraught because someone has stolen her precious jewelry.  There has been a rash of burglaries, in fact, perpetrated by a shadowy, unseen figure whom French authorities believe is none other than the infamous John Robie (Cary Grant), aka “The Cat.”  But Robie has retired comfortably to a stunning villa and claims he’s innocent of this new string of daring crimes.  To clear his name, he must do what the police can’t: identify and capture the burglar himself.

There’s a subplot about how Robie was involved in the French Resistance during the war, but his former comrades, who now all work at the same restaurant (!), are distrustful of him.  I was never quite clear on why.  Something about how the law could catch up to them if Robie was ever arrested?  But if they were Resistance, why would they be considered criminals?  Did they help him with his previous string of burglaries?  The screenplay is not 100% clear on this, unless my attention wandered at some point.

Anyway, in the course of Robie’s investigation, he meets (by chance?) the stunning Frances Stevens, played by the inimitable Grace Kelly in one of her three films for Hitchcock.  At first, she is aloof towards Robie, but when he escorts her to her hotel room after rebuffing him all night, she boldly plants a firm kiss on his lips before closing the door on him.  Not only that, she reveals the next day she knows exactly who Robie is and practically dares him to steal the fabulous diamond necklace she’s wearing.

While Frances is certainly no shrinking violet, her attitude and character felt…forced.  The screenplay explains (in a roundabout way) that she is a bit of a thrill-seeker, so she’s getting her kicks by tweaking a known criminal.  Okay, fair enough, I guess, but later in the film, she abruptly declares she’s in love with Robie, almost out of the blue.  This and other incidents, too numerous to mention, had me thinking that the new burglar was actually…Frances herself?  Watch the movie and tell me I’m wrong for thinking that way.  She throws herself at him in a male-fantasy kind of way because, duh, it’s a Hitchcock movie, but this aspect kept me locked in to my theory of her as the burglar, because what other motive could she possibly have?

Without giving TOO much away, let it be said that the mystery of the new burglar’s identity is cleverly hidden until the final scenes which demonstrate Roger Ebert’s Law of Economy of Characters.  This law posits that a character introduced with no clear role will turn out to be important to the plot.  In hindsight, it’s an obvious choice, but I must admit, it did keep me guessing.

But, again, while there was mystery, there was no genuine suspense.  The whole film is so light-hearted and airy that to introduce real danger might have ruined the atmosphere.  It’s not just comic, it’s downright slapstick, exemplified in a scene where Robie runs from the police only to fall into a bunch of flowers at a market and the elderly flower-seller starts beating him with a bunch of lilies.  In an earlier scene set in a hotel casino, Robie drops a 10,000-franc chip down the cleavage of a female guest as part of a ruse.  These and other instances almost make me want to classify this film as a romantic comedy rather than a suspense thriller.

Which brings up another point.  To Catch a Thief might be the most unwittingly prophetic film in Hitchcock’s filmography.  Consider:

  1. There is an early scene when Robie gets on a bus and sits next to a woman who is holding small birdcage.  Shades of The Birds, released eight years after To Catch a Thief.
  2. One scene features Robie in a motorboat, running from the police who are chasing him in…an airplane.  Four years later, Cary Grant would be running from another airplane in North by Northwest.
  3. A late scene features a key character dangling from a rooftop, which immediately reminded me of Vertigo, released five years later.
  4. The scene at the flower market takes place at an outdoor market that looks uncannily like the same one Cary Grant visits while looking for some rare stamps in Stanley Donen’s Charade, released TEN years later.  (Not a Hitchcock movie, but one featuring a very similar romantic relationship, this time with Audrey Hepburn.)

Having said all of that, I still must confess that this movie did not exactly stir up my emotions the way many other Hitchcock films do, even after repeated viewings.  To Catch a Thief is beautiful to look at, not least because of its sensational location photography and, of course, Grace Kelly.  The mystery at the center of the plot is sound, and I appreciate Hitchcock’s sense of humor, which occupies front and center as opposed to his other films where it lurks at the edges of the danger.  But I was never on the edge of my seat.  I know, I know, this isn’t Psycho or The Birds, but…there you have it.