Category: Best Picture

MUTINY ON THE BOUNTY (1935)

by Miguel E. Rodriguez

DIRECTOR: Frank Lloyd
CAST: Charles Laughton, Clark Gable, Franchot Tone
MY RATING: 9/10
ROTTEN TOMATOMETER: 96% Certified Fresh

PLOT: First mate Fletcher Christian leads a revolt against his sadistic commander, Captain Bligh, in this classic seafaring adventure, based on the real-life 1789 mutiny.


For me, what makes the 1935 version of Mutiny on the Bounty special is not just the cast, although it’s exceptional, or the performances – the only film in Oscar history with three Best Actor nominations – or the rousing story.  It’s the fact that the film provides a clear villain in Captain Bligh and appears to provide a clear hero/anti-hero in Fletcher Christian, while also making a great case that Fletcher was, in fact, wrong to incite the mutiny that made him famous.  Bligh gets what he richly deserves, but does Fletcher Christian have the right to give it to him?  I was reminded of Jason Robards’s classic line from the closing sequence of Crimson Tide, also about a (fictional) mutiny: “…insofar as the letter of the law is concerned, you were both right.  And you were both also wrong.  This is the dilemma…”

Gable as First Mate Fletcher Christian may not feel entirely appropriate in the role when we first see him, “press-ganging” unlucky sods into the crew of the Bounty in 18th-century England, prepping for a 2-year round-trip voyage to Tahiti.  He’s taller than just about everyone else, handsomer, and speaks with no trace of an English accent.  But his mere presence exudes “I’m the hero”, a quality not everyone can pull off just by standing there.

As the authoritarian Captain Bligh, Charles Laughton is incomparable.  He generates instant antipathy when he’s first seen boarding the Bounty, not because of how he looks, but because of what he does: he commands a punishment of 24 lashes to be applied to a sailor convicted of striking his Captain…even though the sailor has already died from his injuries.  When a crewmember faints at the spectacle, Bligh refuses to allow other crewmen to help him up.  As an omen of things to come, that’s hard to beat.

But before we get to the classic struggle between Bligh and Christian, we first have to put to sea, and there’s an exhilarating sequence/montage of the Bounty getting underway.  Nautical terminology flies fast and furious, commands are repeated, men scurry up the rigging faster than I can walk in a straight line, and I was reminded of my favorite “sailing-ship” movie of all time, Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World.  The effect, while simply accomplished, is palpable and thrilling.  Director Frank Lloyd and ace editor Margaret Booth work hard to keep that adventurous element present throughout the picture, a fact not lost to audiences who made Mutiny on the Bounty the box-office king of 1935.

After the Bounty gets underway to Tahiti, Bligh’s nasty streak gets even worse and worse.  I’ll spare you the details, but his mean-spiritedness and petty cruelty knows no bounds.  Meanwhile, Christian befriends a novice midshipman, Roger Byam.  Like virtually the entire crew, neither man can stand Bligh’s behavior, but they remember they are sworn to the King’s service and follow their orders.

Their friendship is put to the test on the voyage home after their brief, almost idyllic stay on Tahiti.  When Christian incites mutiny, the movie leaves no doubt that it’s the right thing to do.  He’s had all he can take of Bligh, and so has most of the crew.  But there are some who still swear loyalty to Bligh, not because they agree with his methods, but because, one, it’s their duty, and two, mutiny is punishable by death.  After Bligh is cast adrift in the ship’s longboat with men loyal to him, Byam wants to go, too, but there is no more room.

The dynamic here really took me by surprise.  Byam is as clean-cut as they come, but he’s no naif.  His ethical stance is not to be taken lightly.  When Christian calls Byam to his cabin for a talk, Byam refuses to look Christian in the eye, while Christian himself is apologetic and realizes that something has broken between them that may never be repaired.  To me, this exchange was eye-opening.  In many – not all, but many – other films from the Golden Age, the hero’s decisions and motivations are deemed pure and “right.”  But here, to contrast Gable’s “righteous” image, we have another “righteous” character who implies that mutiny was absolutely NOT the way to go, no matter how vicious Bligh had become.  Is it possible that Christian is the “bad guy” in this scenario?

(Towards the end of the film, there’s a court-martial scene.  In another example of the film’s even-handed storytelling, after the verdict is handed down in favor of Bligh and against the mutineers, Bligh seeks to shake the hand of the judge presiding over the court-martial…but the judge refuses, telling him in so many words, “Your superb seamanship is not in doubt, but as a captain of men…”  In other words, the law is the law, but I wouldn’t trust you as far as I could throw you.)

I love that Mutiny on the Bounty refuses to take sides, all appearances to the contrary.  It turns what could have been a straightforward story about black and white into a surprising exploration of the gray areas in between.  The sterling performances from Laughton, Gable, and Franchot Tone (as Roger Byam) are worth the price of admission.  And there are some facts about the historical mutiny itself and its fallout that I did not know or remember, so I feel like I learned something in addition to being superbly entertained.  What more could you ask for?

THE HURT LOCKER

By Marc S. Sanders

Often the most effective war movies hardly focus on the enemy.  It’s the environment that keeps us on our toes.  Like Oliver Stone’s Platoon, Kathryn Bigelow’s The Hurt Locker is a widely acclaimed depiction of the Iraq War, centrally located in Baghdad in 2004. Her film follows a frighteningly tense perspective of three members of Bravo company – a bomb disposal team.  

After their leader perishes in a surprise attack, Sergeant J. T. Sanborn and Specialist Owen Eldridge (Anthony Mackie, Brian Geraghty) welcome Sergeant First Class William James (Jeremy Renner) to the squad for the remaining thirty-eight days of their rotation. Beyond evading suicide bombers and questionable Iraqi civilians who observe from the sidelines, Sanborn and Eldridge fear they’ll have to survive James’ maverick approach to deactivating sophisticated bombs that hide in the scorching hot desert area. William James claims to be responsible for shutting down eight hundred and seventy-three explosives in his young career.  He’s good at what he does but he disregards the best interests and care for others within his vicinity.

The art direction for The Hurt Locker is most impressive.  The expected sand rubble and distressed tenement buildings are convincing as Jordan stands in place for the film’s Baghdad. Bigelow’s team goes to great lengths with sophisticated explosives.  An early moment has James gently tugging on a red cord that eventually leads to other cords and then what comes out of the desert sand is six identical underground bombs surrounding him from all sides.  With her camera positioned overhead, pointing down, this feels like a monster movie with tentacles springing out in a circumference around the hero.

Another early scene has James recklessly undressing from his bulky, anti-bomb suit, and disassembling an abandoned car to look for the suspected device that’s hidden inside.  With Eldridge and Sanborn remotely demanding updates, the wild man chooses to toss his headset away to focus on his dire circumstance, solo.  

Ahead of the film’s thrilling opening, a quote from someone named Chris Hedges appears: “The rush of battle is often a potent and lethal addiction, for war is a drug.”  A more appropriate phrase would not describe Jeremy Renner’s character any better.  There’s no denying this guy is an expert and the best of the absolute best.  However, he’s positively the worst at accounting for his team or the environment around him.

Kathryn Bigelow is an outstanding director who gets better with each passing film.  The Hurt Locker elevates her finished products that began with cops and robbers fare like Blue Steel and Point Break.  Bigelow is not aiming for laughs or Hollywood shootouts.  With Mark Boal’s Oscar winning script, the filmmaker zeroes in on how someone so proficient with dangerous work pushes beyond limits of caution.  The three characters covered within this tiny sliver of a larger war find themselves tested with each passing day.  

There’s a routine to these guys as they respond to other desert platoons as the sun rises. They are summoned to come upon bombs and mines and people strapped to bombs and mines.  They load up in their Humvee, drive to the next site and do what is expected of themselves like firefighters would in any neighborhood. The conflict is these guys just do not work in sync with each other.  At night, they return to base following a full day’s work to play shoot ’em up video games, drink, and roughhouse with each other as a means to grasp who is the dominant one of the trio.  

Psychologically, James, Sanborn and Eldridge are not on similar planes.  Eldridge is the frightened one who confides in a Colonel with an empathetic, bedside manner.  Sanborn is the sensible levelheaded one.  James seems to lack priority for anyone including his on again/off again girlfriend back home (Evangeline Lilly) and the child they share together.  He’s bent on conquering the next sophisticated, wired device.  It only gets personal for him when one of the few kids in the area meets a gruesome demise and James goes lone wolf at night, within the towns, even though he’s not covert ops. His risks are too great for this war, his squad, and maybe himself.

Kathryn Bigelow effectively sets up environments that’ll rattle your nervous system.  Using handheld cameras, this film often works like documentary footage with quick cuts to citizens of Baghdad who may be staring at what this squad is doing, or maybe they are waiting for their cue to detonate something nearby and trap them.  A local butcher with a cell phone in his hand feels like the worst kind of threat.  A kid with a soccer ball seems untrustworthy.  A guy in a suit pleading for desperate help at the other end of the street is a person I wouldn’t want to stand next to.  There’s an abundance of desert citizen extras to look for and hypothesize about.  Is it that guy with the trigger or maybe it’s that kid or that woman?  Most of these people do not even speak.  Their glazed, war torn and dusty expressions say so little while the powerful machine guns held by the Americans will not do much to prevent a horrifying possibility.

The extensive footage of explosions is very impressive.  I read that Bigelow wanted to display what a real detonation would look like, and not with Hollywood fireball extravagance.  Accompanied with Oscar winning sound editing and mixing, the bombs in this movie lift the dirt and dust particles off the ground, building and automobile surfaces and then plume into mushroom clouds that expand beyond the limits of city blocks. The Bravo Company men even predict how the blasts will take off and where exactly the shrapnel and debris will reach and descend. They think they have this down to a science. This material is entirely different than what other action or war pictures typically show.  

Sniper fire comes at unexpected moments.  An open desert plain actually has an enemy concealed somewhere and quick pierces of sound drops a someone who you might think controls the scene. Then the next someone. The shock of how quickly it’s edited together plays with your senses. Bob Murawski and Chris Innis are the award-winning film editors of this piece. They complete their job to the fullest. This all looks so real and not a product of art.

The Hurt Locker is term to describe where a militant solder will go to when living with internal pain and conflict.  The soldier goes to his hurt locker. This war puts each of these three guys in their own kind of hurt locker, but perhaps they force their situations upon themselves and each other. Mark Boal and Kathryn Bigelow’s film do not just devote time to the three characters who are most at play, but also to devices of war and destruction that drastically change these men.

The Hurt Locker is one of Kathryn Bigelow’s best films.

ONE BATTLE AFTER ANOTHER

By Marc S. Sanders

Not one of Paul Thomas Anderson’s films are alike.  In each picture, the characters speak differently.  They specialize in areas completely separate from anything else.  The porn industry is a far cry from oil drilling for example, and neither has any commonality with that of independent American revolutionaries, as featured in One Battle After Another.

Leonardo DiCaprio plays Pat Calhoun, a determined underling of a revolutionary band known as the French 75. Their will is to free illegal immigrants from a California fenced lock up, or plant mild explosives in government buildings or rob banks as modern day Robin Hoods.  It’s all one battle after another. Each mission seems to be executed more for the excitement and thrill, rather than any kind of just cause.

Together with Perfidia Beverly Hills (Teyana Taylor, and yes, that is the character’s name, Perfidia Beverly Hills) he bears a daughter named Charlene (Chase Infinity).  Though Pat wants to assume a new identity and settle down, Perfidia opts to continue with her purpose.  When she is apprehended, she is persuaded to disclose the whereabouts of her fellow comrades.  In exchange, Perfidia is granted witness protection. Exactly, who and what did the figurehead of one Perfidia Beverly Hills stand for?

One Battle After Another carries a long prologue that sets up all of these characters.  Once they go in different directions, Anderson’s film jumps forward sixteen years later when Charlene is an optimistic teenager yearning to be a regular student at public school.  The school dance is on her mind. Her father Pat is paranoid of her being out and does not take kindly to the kids she’s hanging with. Despite the weird makeup and piercings, there’s really nothing wrong with them. At least Charlene is not so apt to take any of her dad’s paranoia seriously.

Colonel Stephen J Lockjaw (a great character name for an antagonist), played by Sean Penn, carries an intimidating, militant focus.  He leads the charge against the French 75.  He ensures capture or death in the field to halt their activities.  His vice, though, is specifically his obsession with Perfidia.  Yet, the tryst he shared with her can never be revealed if he is to pass the recruitment test for entry into the very exclusive, white supremacist organization known as The Christmas Adventurers Club.  

Pat has trained his daughter to respond to certain codes, and to be alert if a pocket device should ever light up as an emergency.  Ironically, Pat, now known as Bob, can’t even remember all of the code speak.  Too much pot smoking and laziness has numbed his senses.  Lockjaw has zeroed in on Pat, and particularly Charlene who actually may be his daughter.  It’s important he locate her because her skin color could compromise his reputation and his chances of joining the Club.

I was eager to see One Battle After Another when it was first released in theaters.  It had been getting very good word of mouth, and other than a few exceptions, I’ve been a big admirer of Anderson’s work.  Regrettably, in a comfortable Dolby theatre with the best sound system available, I could not help but fall asleep.  When I watched the film on HBO MAX, a few months later though I was exhilarated.

The film seems to start in the middle of an already long-winded story.  The prologue hops around from one mission of the French 75 to another and there is minimal character development.  None of the dialogue is special either. On a first viewing I think it’s challenging to piece together who is who, what they stand for, what they mean to one another, and what becomes of them.

When the script jumps sixteen years later, the picture serves like a straight out chase story with a callously cold “Javert” seeking out his “Jean Valjean” who hides with his adopted “Cosette.” The last two thirds of One Battle After Another seem to start an entirely new movie.  

A common tactic of Anderson is to rapidly swing his camera with a kinetic and urgent pace; minimal cuts.  This especially drives his film as the pursuit is depicted with fear, desperation and unintended comedy.  Poor Pat, or “Bob” cannot recall how to accurately reply to the code speak on the other end of a telephone line.  He’s separated from Charlene, and Lockjaw is figuring everything out beginning with discovering underground tunnels located in the rendezvous town that many former members of the French 75 have taken up shelter. Benicio Del Toro, as a karate instructor, is one of the people. He’s a mentor for young Charlene.

I’m not sure if Paul Thomas Anderson is trying to deliver any kind of thought-provoking message.  Though he associates Sean Penn’s character with white supremacists, I cannot naturally accept that Anderson is saying this gang of powerful, tuxedoed men of a wealthy one percent adhere to any political party or agenda.  As well, Anderson does not seem to be applauding the actions of Perfidia, Pat, or the French 75, whose mantra especially falls apart when an innocent casualty is killed by one member’s hand.  

One Battle After Another could simply be a blender mix of ideas with blind missionary work from all of these different sects.  None of these soldiers serve a greater good.  Their arguments only work to hammer back at whoever has disdain for the other.  No one is inspiring anything that will promise a better future for America.

As I write this review, it occurs to me that perhaps Paul Thomas Anderson demonstrates that whatever action people like Pat and Perfidia or Lockjaw commit, it’s all but defeatist. Eventually, the cause wisps away, but the battle must persist. The battle is all these people have and live to serve, not a resolution or even a conquest. Fight, accomplish, and now what’s next?

One Battle After Another is not Paul Thomas Anderson’s best work, though it is exciting to watch with outstanding editing as a car chase arrives near the end of the story. I cannot say I was taken with any of the performances. Penn and DiCaprio are living up to the demands of their characters but there’s nothing outwardly sensational in what they are doing here. I’m also perplexed by the raves that Del Toro is getting for this film. It’s a small role with little to do. I do not recall one moment of acting greatness, nor a memorable line from his part.

Teyana Taylor and Chase Infiniti deliver breakout performances, however. Infiniti, in the role of the daughter, shows vulnerability, and later strength, when the story calls for it. Watch the fear and drive when she reunites with DiCaprio’s character on a barren road in the desert. She’s got a real intensity in her eyes and expressions. Taylor seems like she’s a heroine yanked from a Tarantino picture. A really impactful performance whose biggest contribution is in the beginning of the film. Sean Penn is a good scene partner for her.

Released in 2025, One Battle After Another seems like it would be ripped from the everyday headlines of ICE activities, government protests, and the revolts against those missions. I feel like Anderson’s film only gives a small glimpse into these very complex worlds, though. Other pictures like Boogie Nights, Magnolia and Phantom Thread are much more expansive with their universes of unusual industries like pornography, Hollywood social stature and the demands of dress making artistry.

I guess I’m saying I really didn’t learn much from One Battle After Another. So, forgive for saying that I’m underwhelmed.

THE LIFE OF EMILE ZOLA (1937)

by Miguel E. Rodriguez

DIRECTOR: William Dieterle
CAST: Paul Muni, Gale Sondergaard, Joseph Schildkraut, Gloria Holden
MY RATING: 9/10
ROTTEN TOMATOMETER: 92% Certified Fresh

PLOT: Prolific novelist and muckraker Emile Zola becomes involved in fighting the injustice of the infamous Dreyfus affair.


If you want to get me angry at the movies, you can do one of two things (besides leaving your phone on): Make a really terrible movie that makes me sorry I’ll never get those two hours back…or make a really good movie about some kind of social injustice, where those in power are so empirically wrong that any fool can see it, except those in power.  Matewan (1987) comes to mind, as do I, Daniel Blake (2016) and Do the Right Thing (1989).  William Dieterle’s The Life of Emile Zola falls neatly into that category, as well.

I’m tempted to give a play-by-play summary, but that would take too long.  In short, novelist and muckraking author Emile Zola is approached by the wife of Alfred Dreyfus, a French officer wrongly convicted of espionage and sentenced to Devil’s Island.  Mme. Dreyfus convinces Zola of her husband’s innocence, and Zola pens the famous J’Accuse…! article, an open letter published in the paper accusing the French military of antisemitism (Dreyfus was Jewish) and conspiracy.  The last act of the film covers Zola’s trial for libel.

The scenes that really made me angry were the ones where French officers planted, suppressed, or burned incriminating evidence of their own treachery.  Outright lies were paraded as fact, and the actual spy was acquitted in a court-martial of his own, just so the French government could continue the façade of Dreyfus’s guilt.  When the comeuppance arrives for the parties involved, it is immensely satisfying.  No one is drawn and quartered, which is what I would have preferred, but it’s good enough.

While the actor playing Dreyfus himself (Joseph Schildkraut) won the Oscar for Best Supporting Actor, it seems incredible to me that Paul Muni did not win for Best Actor that same year.  It went to Spencer Tracy for Captains Courageous, and I’m sure Tracy’s performance was exceptional, but Muni as Zola is pretty amazing.  He ages convincingly with Zola, from starving artist to a well-fed member of respected Parisian society, never less than convincing while playing a man much older than himself for much of the film.  The highlight is a late courtroom monologue that runs about six minutes.  It’s not exactly subtle screenwriting, but Muni makes the most of it.

The same could be said about the film’s screenplay as a whole.  It’s not the kind of story where the two sides have equal validity, so the script doesn’t have to be coy about where its sympathies lie.  There may be a few moments that feel like the film is preaching to the choir, but it nevertheless has great power.  That might just be me, though, given my proclivity for rooting against social injustice at the movies.

On the whole, The Life of Emile Zola is the tale of a life well-lived, punctuated by an incident that made Zola’s name immortal, and contains one of the best courtroom sequences I’ve ever seen.  It’s biography at old Hollywood’s best, not 100% historically accurate (as stated in an opening title card), but capturing the emotional essence of the story in a way no history textbook ever could.

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.

AMERICAN BEAUTY

By Marc S. Sanders

Lester Burnham declares in less than a year he’ll be dead.  When we meet him, he’s masturbating in the shower, sleeping in the back of the family vehicle on the way to work, and declaring that his wife Carolyn used to be lovely.  Heck, he’s acting like he’s dead already.  His life has nothing new or exciting to pursue.  His daughter, Jane, doesn’t give him the time of day.  He’s threatened with being laid off from his magazine call center job that he’s held on to for nearly twenty-five years.  What’s to live for anymore? 

I guess what’s complimentary about poor Lester is that at least he’s honest with himself.  All the other neighbors, except for the gay couple known as Jim & Jim, are just as unhappy it seems and might as well be dead too.  A common theme running through the suburban landscape of American Beauty centers on a sense of mental awakening. Who revives sad, lost folks like Lester and Carolyn?  Perhaps it’s the generation sneaking up behind them, who are on the cusp of taking their place in young adulthood. 

Lester is played by Kevin Spacey, in his second Oscar winning performance.  Carolyn is portrayed by Annette Bening who is way overdue for a trophy.  Jane the daughter is played by Thora Birch.  The headliners of this cast are outstanding in how different and disagreeable they portray a broken family that is forced to live in an unstimulating home while trudging through a lifeless marriage.  Look at the set designs within this film.  There’s an endless amount of blank walls within the interiors of the homes.  Almost no artwork or pictures are to be found. 

Lester pines and fantasizes about Jane’s best friend Angela (Mena Suvari) getting rained on with red rose petals while she lies naked in a pure white bathtub.  Carolyn, the real estate agent who can’t make a sale, sidles up to the dashing Buddy Kane (Peter Gallagher), her competition. Next door is Chris Cooper in a hospital cornered role as retired Marine Colonel Frank Fitts, with his near comatose wife Barbara played by Allison Janey, and their eighteen-year-old resourceful drug dealing son, Ricky (Wes Bentley). He takes advantage of his camcorder at any opportunity to collect the beautiful images found within the world he occupies and observes.  That could mean he’s capturing Jane in her bedroom window which faces his own.  Later, he’ll show you the freedom of a plastic shopping bag dancing within an autumn breeze.  An old shopping bag has more life among a breeze and brown leaves than Lester, Carolyn, Frank or Barbara.

There is a mystery to American Beauty that seems quite odd.  We know that Lester will die soon, but how and why? Maybe there’s a twist, because that outcome seems more and more impossible as we see Lester discover a spirited mindset to go after what he wants, when he wants and declare that he’s not going to allow himself to take shit from anyone particularly in his boring dead end job or from his unaffectionate wife.  Ricky, the kid with tons of money and electronics equipment, has nothing to lose because he’s not committed to anything at age eighteen and he can just quit an ordinary table-waiting job at any given moment.  Why didn’t Lester have the gumption to ever be like Ricky?   It seems so simple.

There’s a blink and miss it sign hidden in plain sight.  Pinned to the wall of Lester’s work cubicle is the message “Look Closer.”  Director Sam Mendes and writer Alan Ball gives the audience a subtle wink to dig within the cracks of suburban life sidewalks.  These homes may appear perfect on the outside, with neighborly neighbors, but if you watch with a more critical eye you’ll find an emptiness that has been unfilled for too long.  The filmmakers make it easy for you to uncover what eats away at the upper middle-class way of living.  Dinner with Lawrence Welk playing in the background is anything but uplifting.  It’s imprisoning.

When one member of this community opts to seize his moment, no matter if he’s motivated by a kid’s rebelliousness and the drugs he buys off of him, or the fact that he thinks a beautiful teenage blonde has the hots for him, he sets out to change.  He exercises and builds up his body, buys the dream sports car he’s always wanted, quits his job and grows to not caring how this may disturb his unloving wife. 

American Beauty seems to remind us how alive we can be when we are younger and not as restrained by the commitments it takes to live like adults with debts and parenthood and jobs and marriage.  Look closer though because couldn’t we live as well or more aggressively when middle age arrives?

The irony of Alan Ball’s script is that a boring guy like Lester Burnham discovers exciting things about himself just as the end of his life is approaching.  All he needed was stimulation.  He never saw his death coming, and you might forget he told you he will soon be dead, but American Beauty works to show how necessary it is to live each day to the fullest. 

I sound hokey.  I know.  Yet, that’s the direction of this film’s trajectory.  On the side, you observe those people who do not pursue what will fulfill their own lives and desperately need a modification.  Lester was limited to branch out. So is Colonel Fitts and his very sad wife.  So is Carolyn, and Jane and Angela, and maybe so is Ricky.  All of these people uphold facades about themselves to preserve a happiness on the outside when they really feel worse within. 

Sam Mendes is brilliant at drawing upon the subtle messages and insecurities of Alan Ball’s neighborhood characters.   About the only people that Sam and Alan do not dig deeper with is the gay couple.  I guess since they are happily out of the closet, what is left for them to conceal?

I could not help but compare Mendes’ Oscar winning film to Robert Redford’s.  American Beauty is more forthright than Ordinary People. Redford’s film draws out the ugly honesty of the family nucleus when an unexpected tragedy interferes.  Then it takes the entire film before the spouses take off their masks and truly declare how they regard each other.  It’s crushing to realize a sad truth. 

American Beauty rips off the layer right at the beginning, though.  A tragedy does not awaken these people to the natures that embarrass them.  Simply a hellbent, fed up mindset gets one guy going, and if that one member opens his eyes, then so will others because a simple disruption in ordinary life is next to impossible to live with.  Both films are so wise in how they criticize the very people these films were likely catered for.

What do these two Oscar winners say?  They tell the middle class, middle age American to simply look closer.

IT HAPPENED ONE NIGHT

By Marc S. Sanders

If you want to stay on top of how the world of American cinema evolved over the last hundred years, within all its categories, you must find time to watch the one film that paved the way for the romantic comedy, as well as the travel comedy.  Frank Capra’s Oscar winning picture, It Happened One Night, is the first of three films to win Oscars for every major category: Best Picture, Director, Screenplay, Actor and Actress. Nearly a hundred years later, the accolades still feel worthy.

Claudette Colbert is wealthy heiress Ellie Andrews who dives off and swims away from the captivity of her father’s yacht and buses from Miami to New York to reunite with her new husband, King Westly (Jameson Thomas).  Her father, Alexander Andrews (Walter Connolly), never approved of this marriage and insists his spoiled daughter get it annulled once she is found.  A ten-thousand-dollar reward is up for grabs to the person who finds her.

Along the way, a rogue reporter, Peter Warne (Clark Gable) ends up next to this young lady on the bus.  Complications ensue where their money gets lost, bags are stolen, buses are missed, and buses get stuck.  Then this trip becomes a walking experience.  Ellie has agreed to stay by Peter’s side though.  He promises to get her to New York as long as he gets to write about her story firsthand amid the constant headlines that recount Alexander’s desperation to get his daughter back.

It’d be easy enough if only Peter and Ellie were not falling for one another.

Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?  Any Nora Ephron script has the elements of It Happened One Night.  Screwball comedies with Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn seemed to follow a similar blueprint.  To the best of my knowledge, Frank Capra’s film was first though.  

A famous scene has Colbert and Gable on the side of the road trying to hitch a ride.  Colbert’s bare leg does the trick that Gable’s outstretched thumb could not.  Eventually, this scene for the ages evolved into Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal daring to fake an orgasm effectively while dining at Katz’s Delicatessen.

When Harry Met Sally… is what easily comes to mind while watching It Happened One Night.  Peter will tease this spoiled rich girl. Yet, he will also be gentlemanly enough to put up a blanket to divide a cabin room he shares with Ellie, allowing for some privacy.  In the middle of the night though, the two will stay up chatting from either side of their blanket wall, as both acknowledge sad voids within their personal lives.  It’s parallel to how Harry and Sally would chat on the phone from their respective apartment bedrooms while discussing their newly evolving friendship with Casablanca on TV.  

Ellie and Peter become relaxed as their sojourn continues.  They could be left in the middle of nowhere with no money or food, but Gable and Colbert’s chemistry show an easy comfort to each other.  That is what’s expected of any troubled travel film.  At first Ellie does not want to share a rear bench on the bus with Peter.  She’s married to King and the purpose of this runaway trip is to be back in her new husband’s arms.  Plus, this odd fellow on the bus feels unseemly.  His charm is overbearing to the socialite’s proper petiteness.  He’ll resort to munching on a carrot he finds in a patch. She can’t find the appetite for it. Time together breaks down barriers though, just as movies in later decades eventually accomplished with films like Midnight Run and Planes, Trains & Automobiles.  This kind of formula, with ongoing new settings and circumstances, is almost guaranteed to end in positivity once the mutual antagonism is behind the pair.  

For 1934, It Happened One Night was bold in its content, ahead of an eventual ratings system intent on upholding an acceptable level of conservatism.  Colbert’s leg is the most unforgettable.  Later, Peter feels it necessary to spank Ellie.  Then there is the fact that the two share a room together.  Comedic circumstances and shock lend to the humor of this scenario.  Plus, there’s Claudette Colbert undressing down to her slip while a bare-chested Clark Gable is only one side of a blanket away from her.  

Would It Happened One Night endure an endless admiration if moments like these were contained? I doubt it.  Frank Capra’s film hinges on sexual appeal that feels naughty and rebellious.  

The dialogue remains witty.  Clark Gable’s introduction in the film while on the phone with his editor is a precursor to what an outlandish Bill Murray might have done with the script. The material is sometimes quite brash, and the ending, which has been duplicated hundreds of times since, is a perfect example of romantic escapism.  

Over ninety years have passed but unexpected romance is what remains treasured.  When two people with nothing in common begin an unwelcome journey together, it’s still easy to hope they find a way to like each other.  They have to like one another first before they can even concern themselves with falling in love.  The progress of this east coast bus ride allows for the stages to develop naturally.  Frank Capra, Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert were the first to give it a shot and it works brilliantly and beautifully.

ANORA

By Marc S. Sanders

Anora, or Ani as she prefers to be called, had to have been a character that writer/director Sean Baker always intended on loving.  Not in an intimate way though.  Sean Baker had to deeply care about this twenty-three-year-old girl who has no connections or family or solid friendships or kinships.  Baker wrote about Anora, wanting her to be appreciated by someone who would finally embrace her. 

Anora—sorry…Ani…has a good heart.  She may be an exotic dancer at a New York City strip club, but she is someone who has every right to be respected and valued. If you choose to watch the film you’ll know why, as a pertinent prop referenced earlier in the picture suddenly resurfaces when you least expect it.  A minute or two later the closing credits appear amid the sound of flapping windshield wipers and there is no music to cue your emotional response.  You likely will have spent the last two and a half hours laughing loudly, dropping your jaw, and gasping in shock at what unfolds for Ani. In the end though, you’ll realize that you want the best for her, like her creator did when he originally drafted this script and shot the film about Ani’s episodic escapades.

Sean Baker’s film is eye opening right from the start.  Club music blares within the HQ, the name of Ani’s strip joint where she collects an exorbitant amount of dollar bills while she strategically flirts with middle-aged men and frat boys looking for an evening of debauchery.  She has a talent for one on one charm with any customer, as she repeatedly bares her chest and reveals her thong, but she also delivers a very satisfying service.  A young man named Ivan, sometimes it’s Vanya (Mark Eydelshteyn), specifically requests a girl who speaks Russian to cater to his needs.  Ani is the only one who can comply.  Ani and Ivan get to talking, mostly in Russian but limited English too.  She gets invited to his private, deco mansion, which is really owned by his Russian aristocratic parents, and a slap happy relationship of sex and more sex, and money, and drugs and drinking and partying and New Year’s Eve partying and money, and clothes and expensive coats, and travels to Las Vegas ensue.  (Yes! I know that was a run on sentence.  My elaborate text does not even come close to what these twenty-somethings indulge in though.  It must be seen to be believed.)

Anyway, since they’re in Vegas, why not get married?  Vows are taken, the bride is kissed and Ani is emptying her locker at HQ for a promising future of being a spoiled, but loved, aristocratic wife.

In the few times that Ivan calms down, he is only engrossed in his online video games while Anora lies on his chest with an expression of wanting more than to come in second to Call Of Duty. Baker focuses on Ivan’s childish habit a few times.  So be sure to observe how Ani sadly looks upon an inattentive Ivan.

A problem occurs though that neither character could ever expect.  The tabloids have reported that Vanya, this spoiled brat son of a Russian oligarch, has up and married a prostitute. Now the family image is at risk of being shamed.  Mom and dad are on their way back to the states and have summoned Toros (Karren Karagulian), an Armenian Catholic priest and the son’s Godfather, to round up Vanya and the so-called whore to get the marriage annulled immediately.  Not divorced!  Divorce does not happen within the legacy of this family.  An annulment is what is needed. 

Toros rounds up Igor and Nick (Yura Borisov, Paul Weissman) to get over to the house right away, get the marriage license and bring the kids in for the quick annulment at the courthouse.  If only it were that simple.

Watching Anora allowed me to reminisce about other films that catered to outrageous debauchery and led to a domino effect of problems.  Doug Liman’s Go for example, or True Romance written by Quentin Tarantino, or even a super ridiculous comedy known as Very Bad Things with Christian Slater and Cameron Diaz.  The first two examples are very good films because the dialogue is sharp with eclectic casts who elevated simplistic material.  Let’s not talk about the third one, but I will say it is delicious junk food.  With Anora though, just when you think you know where this story should be going it doesn’t.  You think it will turn right, but then it makes a sharp left and Sean Baker knows he just needs to keep the fighting and the screaming and the cursing at an organic natural level.  What do you do when the wards you are put in charge of will not cooperate?  What if one of them goes missing and simply won’t answer his cell phone?

Well, on a cold winter night you may get a broken nose, car sick, and your car might get towed.   Anora is not about big stunts or gratuitous violence.  It’s not mobster movie material either.  Anora works naturally for people in desperate situations, from a handful of different perspectives.

Oh yeah.  Anora—sorry Ani, is played by Mikey Madison and she is bound for marquee attraction over the next twenty or thirty years.  This performance is so concentrated in moments of natural glee, anger, and maybe despair and sadness.  You applaud her character’s strength.  Ani talks like an updated version of Judy Holliday from Born Yesterday, but she’s no dummy and she never succumbs to intimidation.  I’ll confess it right here.  If two hulking Armenian thugs approach me, I’ll do whatever they want me to do. Ani gets all my props though.  She will never settle.  She’s a married woman and no one will deny her of her rights.

Mikey Madison has such wonderous chemistry with Sean Baker’s camera.  There must be over a hundred and fifty close-ups on this young actor and each one is unique.  I was sad for Anora when Ivan would not give her attention.  I was cheerful when the two were overindulging in carefree sex and sin city fun.  I was on Anora’s side when she was restrained. I was admirable of her giving a good fight to the giants that enter her space.  I was exhausted with her as she was forced to sit in Toros’ car while brainstorming where her husband could be.  I was supportive when she makes appeals with the family to offer a good first impression.  She hates her name, but she introduces herself as Anora to Vanya’s steely mother. Ani is willing to make all of this work. Finally, I was angry—very angry–alongside of her whenever she was unfairly treated like garbage. 

Amid all of the chaos that ensues, Sean Baker works like the eyes of the film’s audience. We keep guard over Ani’s condition and state of mind as she’s coerced into looking all over Brooklyn and Coney Island for her new husband that the Armenians need to find before the boy’s parents arrive by noon the next day. 

None of the dialogue is crafty like Quentin Tarantino’s or Neil Simon’s.  I could not quote a single line.  The yelling and conversations and overtalking and interruptions are natural and raw.  Sometimes, the exchanges feel pointless until you arrive at another scene that demonstrates with brilliant insight why certain throwaway moments are preserved in the final print of the film.  It makes complete sense that Sean Baker did not just write, produce and direct this film.  He edited it as well. 

The whole way through the picture I kept wondering how this story would end.  I spelled out variations of doom for any one of the characters.  I considered gratuitous violence or swashbuckling adventure and daring escapes.  Man o’ man, have I become cliché.  Because just as you arrive at the picture’s conclusion, a meaningful prop puts the period at the end of the story and the last audible expression before the picture goes to black comes from Anora. You now realize that this girl, who is as self-reliant as many exotic dancers must be, has feelings too.  As defiant as Anora can be, she can also get pricked and bleed and the big laughs you responded to for most of the film are distant memories. Anora can feel pain like any of us.

When I drove home, I was hurting.  I was hurting for Anora, and my one wish is that I hope Anora will be okay.

Roger Ebert once gave a seminar that lasted for eleven hours as he commented on practically every shot and piece of dialogue in Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction.  My long shot wish is that on a subsequent viewing of Anora, I can deliver a similar kind of observational lecture to others who had already seen the film too.  I believe I could reveal sincerity and perception related to every close up, every chaos-stricken scene of panic or decadence, and especially when that one prop reappears. I’d likely spend a half hour simply discussing the value that this prop carries and what it means to Sean Baker’s film, and especially to Ani.

As messy and gritty as Anora may appear, it is also one of the most adoring and perceptive films to be released in a long time. 

Anora must be in my top five favorite films of 2024.  It might just be my favorite.  There are a few other candidates, but I left feeling so satisfied with Mikey Madison’s performance and Sean Baker’s sloppy, yet astute, little film. 

This is superb filmmaking.

MRS. MINIVER

By Marc S. Sanders

To watch a classic film, usually reserved for Turner Classic Movies, is to get a history lesson while realizing that people’s perceptions have hardly changed.    In the early 1940s as World War II was occurring, happiness in many corners of the world was still moving forward.  Presently, I believe that happens today.  For example, Israeli hostages are only now being released from Hamas.  Until the conflict is over though, a childhood friend of mine chooses to run every Sunday morning.  He declares that he runs because they can’t.  This friend is not a soldier bearing arms.  He is acknowledging a violent and frightening conflict that persists.  On the side, he’s a devoted New York Yankees fan.  In 1942, when William Wyler’s Oscar winning film Mrs. Miniver was released, the well to do characters were performing comparably as Europe was in the thick of staving off the Nazi militia.

Mrs. Miniver opens on a bustling metropolitan district in England.  The title character, Kay Miniver (Greer Garson), is in a mad rush for something.  She hops on and off the double decker bus and weaves her way through the crowd.  Finally, she arrives at the destination.  The glamorous hat she’s had her eye on is still available to purchase.  Her only dilemma now is what will her husband think when he learns of the extravagant purchase.

Upon her arrival home, Clem Miniver (Walter Pidgeon) hides from his wife in a brand new convertible.  When she goes in the house, he makes a decision.  It’s expensive, but he must have the car and so he buys it.

In this tranquil part of England, the most immediate concern among these well to do people is deciding whether or not to treat themselves to gifts that will bring them joy.  Talk of a German invasion seems like a possibility, but the Minivers, with their two young children and their twenty-year-old son at Oxford, insist on living comfortably and happily.

Lady Beldon (May Whitty) is the elderly and intimidating aristocrat who suffers a terrible dilemma.  It seems the bell ringer, Mr. Ballard (Henry Travers), has grown a beautiful rose that looks like no other.  He cherishes it so much that he names the flower “Mrs. Miniver.”  The real person is honored for the personal recognition.  Yet, Lady Beldon’s concern is her yellow rose will not win this year’s prize trophy cup at the village flower festival.  Her granddaughter Carol (Teresa Wright) gracefully asks Kay if she’ll convince Mr. Ballard to withdraw his entry so that her grandmother can win once again.  She’s elderly, she’s accustomed to winning each year, and it would mean the world to her.

This request will also lead to a romance for Carol with the Minivers’ son Vin (Richard Ney), who has just enlisted in the Royal Air Force so he’s ready to fight the Axis forces of World War II.

All of this seems frivolous during the first half of Mrs. Miniver.  These people live comfortably but gradually grow a little more unsettled as they soon hear planes flying overhead their homes while the sounds of battle play off in the distance.   The possibilities of war coming to their front door seems to be an unlikely scenario.  The battles and bloodshed are out of sight, but only partially out of mind. 

I appreciate the editing of this film.  Clem is woken in the middle of the night to join the other neighboring husbands at the local saloon.  They are being requested to join the historic small boat rescue at the battle of Dunkirk.  The men down a drink and sail off without hesitation.  No one gives protest or stands behind their wealth or stature.

Midway through the picture, Kay is reading a bedtime story to her children in a dimly lit room.  We never see the entirety of this cramped space.  The scene simply begins with no transition.  The walls appear to be made of aluminum and then I realize the Minivers have taken shelter in an underground bunker.  Soon, they will be living through one unimaginable night of shelling and bomb dropping. Director William Wyler never turns off the camera through the extended sequence.  The bunker shakes and rattles.  The children cry in fear.  Dirt rains down them.  Books and belongings fall among the family. The pounding explosions carry on outside.  It seems to never end and the concern over a lady’s fashion hat or a beautiful new automobile are distant memories.

When Vin and Carol arrive home from a honeymoon, the Minivers home is wrecked.  So is Clem’s boat following the Dunkirk incident.  However, they happily remain living there with the youngest child playing a welcoming number on the piano.  

Amid all of these episodes, the people of this small English town uphold their positivity, but they never lose sight of what is nearby.  It’s just a house.  The Minivers are surviving and remain together.  Their biggest concern is that one day Vin won’t return from battle. Yet, time and again he does with hugs and kisses for everyone.

I’ve provided a lot of what occurs in Mrs. Miniver because I was not entirely sure of the purpose of all of these happenings until the final act is served and surprising outcomes arrive.  For much of the film, William Wyler delivers an impression of life away from the front lines.  These people live with a devotion to help their country and abandon comfort when necessary. Flower festivals, gleeful children, young romance and materialistic tranquility will carry on regardless of terrible interruptions of war.

Amid turmoil in our present state with political divides, unjust prejudice, natural disasters, and a resurgence of Cold War threats, I can’t help but wonder if many of us live like this family.  I believe we do, and I see nothing wrong with that.  We have to escape and live happily no matter what terrible future might befall us because otherwise what is the purpose of living?  Still, we choose to remain alert and especially empathetic and ready to aid our fellow neighbors when the need arises.

Visually, a shocking set design for the final scene of Mrs. Miniver sends a message that is only enhanced by a sermon delivered by the town minister.  I learned later that this speech was written at the last second by William Wyler and the actor portraying the minister (Henry Wilcoxon).  It perfectly demonstrates the overall purpose of the entire film.  Mrs. Miniver is the story of a fight for ongoing freedom; an independence to live and to treat oneself happily and lovingly.  People perish during the course of the picture.  The minister explains with convincing validity why they had to die so undeservedly and unexpectedly.  It’s an ending that really touched me, and upon the movie’s conclusion a message appears urging Americans to buy war bonds.  

This speech had such an impact at the time that it circulated in propaganda films and on radio airwaves as a means to deliver a shared triumph among the Allied masses.  It reminded people that simply because you live at home, does not mean you are exonerated of the fight for continued freedom.  The fight is not exclusive to hoisting a rifle or dropping bombs from planes.  A unified front of country must be upheld.  

Mrs. Miniver begins as a romanticized film of people living glamorously and happily but it effectively segues to a reality of uncertain times.  I went from questioning what is its purpose to an understanding of a reason to live and to strive.  

REBECCA

By Marc S. Sanders

“The suspense is killing me!  I hope it’ll last!”

                                      – Willy Wonka

Even if the outcome does not amount to much, the journey into mystery is often all that is needed for an effective film.  Mood and eeriness, plus unsettling foreboding are reliable tools for engaging storytelling.

The one film in Alfred Hitchcock’s career to win Best Picture is 1940’s Rebecca, and if you’re a fan of the director, you’ll quickly fall in love with his deliberate shots of shadow and the panning explorations his camera gravitates towards.  Close ups of his actors have an unsettling haunt, and large hand-crafted doors are intimidating to an aristocrat’s new wife who carefully enters one room after another.  Other than a few pertinent differences, Hitchcock, with David O Selznick as producer, remain faithful to the eerie themes of Daphne de Maurier’s novel.  

Joan Fontaine works as an attentive helper to a wealthy and brutish snob (Florence Bates) who is on holiday in Monte Carlo.  There, she encounters a dashing aristocrat by the name of Maxim de Winter (Laurence Olivier).  The helper is shy and reserved but somehow Maxim allows her into his world even though she first encounters him as he seems to be stepping off into the rocky ocean depths below, looking like he’s about to end his own life.  Every day she sneaks away to be with Maxim and all too quickly, just as she is about to head off back to the States, he proposes allowing her to be relieved of her obligation to the haughty dowager she’s been serving.

Once married, Maxim brings the new Mrs. de Winter to his regal European estate famously known as Manderley.  It is here that Fontaine’s character will learn details about the mansion and Maxim’s enigmatic and deceased first wife, Rebecca, who drowned during a sailing accident a year earlier.  

Rebecca’s monogrammed R is embroidered in handkerchiefs and bed sheets throughout the house.  Her address book in her drawing room remains at the desk where she ritually wrote her letters. The cornered off west wing of the house is supposedly preserved with Rebecca’s furnishings.  Most disturbing is Manderley’s housekeeper, Mrs. Danvers (Judith Anderson), who is far from comforting or welcome to the new Mrs. de Winter.

Rebecca is quickly engaging because of Hitchcock’s haunting exposition that persists until the final act of the film.  Following the opening credits, he shoots his camera through a distant wooded drive that eventually arrives at the decrepit ruins of Manderley, with Fontaine’s voiceover guiding the viewers towards flashback.  Then we see Olivier, performing rather cold and isolated, apart from his sudden interest in Fontaine’s shyness. After the nuptials, the bulk of the film turns Manderley into a off putting locale, not ready for Maxim to have a new wife living within its confines.

Most effective is Mrs. Danvers.  Judith Anderson lends a spectral presence to a creepy individual dressed in black with a most evident paler complexion, even under the black and white photography.  Reading about the making of the film, Hitchcock wanted to make sure Mrs. Danvers hardly ever entered a scene walking into a room.  He’d cut away to a close up of Anderson simply being there, as if Mrs. di Winter or the viewer never knew she existed in the frame.  It lends to that haunted house kind of tension.  

Mrs. di Winter never feels like she belongs.  That signature letter R is a constant reminder of Rebecca occupying this home’s past.  Her wardrobe, personal bedroom and belongings remain behind too.  Maxim travels out of town often leaving his new wife alone with no family or companionship of her own.  A charming but odd cousin of Rebecca’s named Favel (George Sanders) appears outside the window of the reading room to remind the new Mrs. di Winter that Maxim is not especially fond of him.  Hitchcock left me wondering why Mr. Favel didn’t arrive by the front door.  It’s deliberately odd; certainly strange.  There’s a miser who roams around a small cottage near a beach path that Maxim insists his new wife stay away from.  These are elements to uphold Hitchcock’s penchant for unnerving his protagonist’s senses.  Delirium works to the director’s advantage time and again.

In addition to full sets tall staircases and vast, castle size rooms, a miniature model of Manderley was constructed for the film.  The background of this setting is so dense that every piece of artwork or window curtain or book seems to have a history for Mrs. di Winter to uncover in this cold and unwelcome house.  The gigantic doors to new rooms against Fontaine’s petite figure are disconcerting.  Maxim’s staff of servants may cater to his new wife’s needs, but it is Mrs. Danvers who appears to desaturate any joy or ease from this home’s new guest, and it is reasonable to consider that the housekeeper seeks to disrupt the wife’s adjustment at Manderley.

Joan Fontaine’s mousy, insecure performance works especially well next to the confident and cool tempered strength expected from Laurence Olivier.  Fontaine is also an exact opposite to Judith Anderson’s eerie persona.  How can she ask for anything of this housekeeper who maintains a fierce loyalty for Rebecca, the first Mrs. di Winter?  George Sanders also has a sense of self confidence but with his wide smile and that distinct English dialect, how can anyone feel like they can trust him? I guess it doesn’t help that he’s a car salesman, no less.

I actually thought back to Ari Aster’s Midsommer. In that film, Florence Pugh’s character no longer has a family and the only companionship she is left with is a boyfriend and two friends who she travels with to a mysterious, but intriguing destination.  Like Fontaine’s character, Pugh’s character is alone feeling helpless to turn to anyone for aid.  How can someone in a scenario like this ever feel secure or eventually rescued?  The loneliness for these women in these two broadly different films is what gives me shivers.  It leaves me shaken and terrified.  Is there anyone who would even notice they are missing or unaccounted for?  Just give them someone to trust and talk to!!!! PLEASE??????  ANYBODY????

Answers behind the puzzles found in Rebecca eventually arrive, and while the explanations add up, I did not believe they were especially sensational.  There are some twists.  The story veers off in different directions and Olivier and Fontaine drive the script quite well to a conclusion.  Though the ending is not the greatest strength of Rebecca, it is the journey that’s appealing, especially when you are seeing the film for the first time and have no knowledge of where the story is going.  Hitchcock’s trajectory is the real thrill.  

I pointed out to Thomas and Anthony, two of my Cinemaniac comrades, that in this whole expansive house we never once see a photograph of Rebecca, the first Mrs. di Winter, and then with their input I realize that’s the intended point.  Each viewer has their own design of what the mysterious Rebecca must have looked like based on what’s left behind with her husband, her devoted housekeeper, her cousin, her wardrobes and belongings, and her enormous, hidden dwelling known as Manderley.  Like Steven Spielberg committed to with concealing the driver of his terror truck in Duel or his great white shark in Jaws, Hitchcock applied to a phantom of a past, and her name was Rebecca.  

With a film like Rebecca, Alfred Hitchcock didn’t really need a knife or a gun to rattle your senses.  It’s his approach with mood that will keep you alert and unsettled.  You want to know more and see more and uncover more and more and more.  

Yet, that housekeeper suddenly appears, and those giant double doors are most unwelcoming.