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lordreith
Reviews
The Dark Tower (1943)
On the surface it's a circus movie -- but it's much darker than that.
A curious little movie that deserves to be better known. Based on "The Dark Tower," a play by George S. Kaufman and Alexander Woolcott, which was also the inspiration for the better-known "The Man With Two Faces," it shares little except for its title and the theme of hypnotism with the boilerplate melodrama by the two celebrated Algonquin Roundtable wits of the 1930s.
Well-acted,well-written, well-shot, and well-lit, this motion picture operates on two levels, both of them terrifying. Superficially, it's a neat horror film starring an excellent Herbert Lom as "Torg," a Peter Lorre-type -- a rather off-putting and unhappy gentleman from some Central European country who, while absolutely loathing people, can mesmerize them to do his bidding. Ingratiating himself into a rundown provincial traveling circus in a pre-war England -- think an anglicized "La Strada" -- he makes himself indispensable, turning around the fortunes of this one-lion show.
On another level, the circus can be interpreted as a metaphor for Nazi Germany, with the Lom character standing in for the master propagandist Dr. Josef Goebbels, sans a limp. Every utterance of his drives home this resemblance, as "Torg," morphs from just plain Torg to Mr. Torg to ... Doctor Torg, using his power "to cloud men's minds" to bully his way into a position of power. To draw attention to this subtext, the circus parade features a platoon of uniformed blondes marching with arms extended (are they Sieg Heiling?), and a Col. Blimpish ringmaster who could be a stand-in for Field Marshal von Hindenburg.
This secondary theme isn't all that obvious,and perhaps it may not even exist (as Sigmund Freud himself said, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar) but for one viewer it does lift this 1943 movie out of the realm of still another film of fright and frisson and instead, with its unspoken chilling and sinister message, places it in Hell.
The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
The Wizard of Oz meets The Mary Tyler Moore Show
Can a young woman make it in the big city? Will the Wicked Witch of Women's Wear Wizardry destroy her? Can her lipstick get any redder without stopping traffic on 57th St. & Fifth Ave.? All important questions, you will agree. For the answers, see "The Devil Wears Prada."
Meryl Streep's character in this movie is named Miranda. That is the name of the daughter of the magician Prospero in Shakespeare's "The Tempest" ("O, wonder! How many goodly creatures are there here! How beauteous mankind is!") In a way, Miranda in this movie is also a magician, and surrounded by the cutest elves, pixies, etc., outside of a Hobbit/Hogwarts reunion, she transmutes schmattas (rags) and sequins into treasures, or, rather she transforms the makers of these treasures from dwarfs to giants. She isn't very nice about it, but she isn't very nasty either -- and that's what makes her performance so jaw-dropping good.
Softly, softly, her voice modulating between a whine and a whisper, she holds her followers paralyzed with fear/admiration, and gets her way with a little petulance and a little pouting. This, after all, is the world of high fashion, and inference and understatement will move mountains where threats and high drama will only garner smirks and titters.
Before her withering glance, the rest of the cast can only slink and slither and hope that the gorgon's stare won't turn them into stone.
The movie is funny, the acting very good, and the sets and ambiance capture a certain time and place beautifully. While not a feel-good movie like "Funny Face," it is cheery and well worth your time.
Wind Chill (2007)
Talk plus Terror Does Not Terrify
About halfway through this handsomely rendered movie, you realize it's not going anywhere. Two immensely talented actors have to carry the weight of this film on their slim shoulders, and try as they might, it just doesn't make it.
It's such a shame, because the movie is beautifully shot and Emily Blunt and Ashton Holmes are gifted and likable performers. But apparently nobody sat down and thought the project through. Result: it's just an expensively told anecdote with a lot of dangling strings, and after a while you begin to nitpick and find trivial flaws, rather than give yourself over to the story.
The story might well have been mined from the Stephen King quarry, but the master's hand was lacking. There are chunks of well-written exposition, but you very quickly realize that you're stuck in a room possibly for eternity with a clever, ingenious but ultimately banal story-teller.
Love from a Stranger (1937)
Two very classy actors in a well-directed melodrama that's suspenseful and clever.
An extraordinarily entertaining thriller. The acting is melodramatic, and rightly so. A clever plot by Agatha Christie (how could it be otherwise?) keeps things moving along at a rapid clip. Two wonderful players -- Basil Rathbone and Ann Harding -- give bravura over-the-top performances that are breathtaking in their high-wire daring. Ann Harding especially was a revelation -- a gorgeous blonde with poise and class who had beautiful diction -- an American mid-Atlantic "Seven Sisters" voice that was as melodious as a cello. Basil Rathbone never ceases to amaze. Here, he is frightening and charming simultaneously. And two cheers for the Art Deco furnishings that grace one scene. Were those Lalique glass-paneled doors?
A Study in Scarlet (1933)
Except for the presence of Anna May Wong, this picture has little to show for itself. A typical Poverty Row product of the 1930s, it holds few surprises.
The movie has little to do with the A. Conan Doyle story of the same name. Very cheaply made, its sets are so drab as to give the impression that the film is actually an expose of living conditions in the lower depths -- a proletarian Depression saga. The actors -- especially the three rather portly middle-aged stage actors cast as Holmes, Watson and Inspector Lestrade ("Lastrade" here) -- move gingerly around the various pieces of sad furniture, obviously fearful of breaking up the sets, one of which is supposed to be "221-A" (sic) Baker Street. (Perhaps the change in address was for legal reasons.)
Again, for reasons of their own, the producers inserted a tedious scene involving some ancient English vaudevillians doing a "drunk" routine, so ancient it might have come from a medieval farce.
However, the story, for what it is, does hold one's interest and moves along quickly, even though it made little sense. The pretty little ingénue playing the heroine has the disconcerting habit of displaying emotion two or three beats after the relevant action, and her neatly mustached boyfriend may have been one of the gimcrack chairs strewn around the set for all the life he shows.
The gorgeous Anna May Wong apparently wandered in from another movie. She's on camera for only about 10 minutes, but her talent is so much greater than any other member of the cast that she makes every scene she graces memorable. Lord, how that lady could slink!
Two possible "borrowings"-- 1. A literary device holding the story together -- a children's rhyme -- may have been borrowed by Agatha Christie for "Ten Little Indians", a book she wrote long after most prints of this movie had been converted to banjo picks. 2. A cinematic device -- a claustrophobic winding staircase -- may have been borrowed by Hitchcock for "Foreign Correspondent."