Adeptly balancing the essence of a thriller with a frequently lighthearted and comedic tone, North by Northwest displays the famous craftsmanship of its iconic director, Alfred Hitchcock, while serving as an ideal showcase for its considerably talented star. Cary Grant is perfectly cast in his role as advertising exec Roger Thornhill, a man so wily and even slimily credible that he is easily mistaken for a spy, and soon manages to actually fulfill the part as events demand. His love interest is played by Eva Marie Saint, excellently opaque and mysterious as long as the script requires, although less enjoyable as she becomes something of the reformed maiden in need of our hero's deliverance. Unfortunately the film seems to make something of a minor habit of this, presenting genuinely compelling ideas and playing with them to our torment, only to abandon them for convention once a conclusion is called for. Overall though, the film generates a considerable degree of excitement and certain scenes, one involving a crop duster and another a famous national monument, carry a great deal of momentum and form a lasting impression. The former especially shows the genius of Hitchcock at work: an innocuous thing becomes conspicuous, then ambiguously threatening, growing on the horizon until it's revealed as the image of death itself. A shot of Grant running like a madman through desolate farm field, imminent doom swooping down from behind him, is as immediately real in our sensory experience as any. But at its best, the film seems to insert subtle commentary through philosophical vectors: is there such an incredible difference between the manipulations of an ad man versus a government spook? Is the American system as benevolent as it suggests, or is it sometimes disturbingly inhumane in its adherence to pragmatism? Thornhill certainly approaches these issues as he flees from each progressive threat, but ultimately the film seems more interested in asking such questions than answering them; doubtless it thrives on this uncertainty by its very nature. For a film addressing the complexities and frequent ugliness of Cold War intrigues, it manages an impressive feat by maintaining a humorous composure despite its realistically uncomfortable premise. Although it avoids further depth, it presents a dreamlike odyssey across '50s America without losing sight of its paramount function: to entertain.
Reviews
16 Reviews
Singin' in the Rain
(1952)
Moïse Suppose
16 November 2020
Still the best of its kind, Singin' in the Rain is a brilliant example of the innate potential of musical films. Starring Gene Kelly, Donald O'Connor, and Debbie Reynolds, it combines these highly talented artists with a smart, creative script and eternally charming showtunes to produce an often euphoric energy. Kelly and Reynolds make a strong pairing and have more than a few opportunities to display their capacity for dynamic performances both during and between musical sequences. O'Connor, though, hold his own despite a comparatively minor role as Kelly's friend and sidekick; his feature act, "Make 'Em Laugh", manages to demonstrate in a nutshell the qualities that make this film so remarkable. Filmed on a set made up like a classic Hollywood studio, O'Connor moves wildly, leaping and pratfalling as he works his way through the piece until he collapses with genuine exhaustion. The actor's interaction with the set around him, as seen also in a number of other scenes throughought the film, lends an additional sensation of presence and texture to the performance; even more impressively this sequence, again like many others, was filmed in nearly a single take. Although this effort apparently left him hospitalized for days afterward, it hopefully isn't too callous to say that it pays off in spades for the viewer. Singin' is also fortunate to have, unlike some musicals of its time, a strong and relatively taut overall plot that not only justifies but also heightens nearly every performance in their context. Even simpler elements such as the sets' background and foreground objects are included with similar competence and attention to detail, playing into a number of scenes in minor but subtly impactful ways, such as when Kelly genteelly bows to a cutout model in a shop window during the title number. Not every piece is as strong as the rest, and later numbers can seem a bit lost and lengthy in the face of earlier inspirations; the "Beautiful Girl" sequence in particular seems completely misplaced. Nevertheless, Singin' is otherwise consistently strong throughout, and few moments in any film can match the sheer joy of experiencing its principal actors as they skillfully command the stage.
Top Hat
(1935)
Tip Hat
16 November 2020
Top Hat might at first be unappealing to musical fans used to the baroque showmanship of the genre's modern offspring, but fortunately this piece is largely as vibrant as ever, in no small part thanks to the energy and charisma of its legendary stars, Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. It's an excellent vehicle for the pair; their mutual love for their craft, especially while on display during numbers such as "Isn't This a Lovely Day" and "Cheek to Cheek," is undeniable and a real joy to witness. These tunes and others, all written by Irving Berlin, are probably familiar to some, although they certainly aren't nearly as popular as they were back in the day. Still, Astaire and Rogers perform them with such incredible style and skill as to enliven them, revealing the magic they must have once brought to contemporary audiences. Astaire himself is the real star of the picture, gracefully occupying the roles of master performer and sly comedian as the script requires. Rogers is given much less and largely serves a comedic role until later in the film, but she demonstrates an aptitude for quick, clever repartee long before her transformation into the shimmering, swanlike starlet of the film's climactic number. Without these two, the film wouldn't have a great deal going for it; likely it would have been a middling romantic comedy if it had been made at all. Their presence buoys even its weakest parts, and more than makes up for its minor oddities. One scene in particular shows its venerable age and mentality, seeming to blur the lines between courtship and kidnap, but such is the magic of the aforementioned duo that even this bizarre episode fades in the light of their succeeding musical union. Another conspicuous bit comes when the pair travel to Venice, which in no way resembles the actual city but rather a sort of Hollywood dreamscape, perhaps an embodiment of that era's notions of exoticism and romance. All idiosyncrasies aside, Top Hat has aged extremely well, and anyone looking for a closer look at 30's Hollywood spectacle, or simply a random film to dumbfoundedly grin along to, can't go wrong with this little gem.
Criss Cross
(1949)
The Sweet Smell of Kicked-In Teeth
16 November 2020
Although Criss Cross is often disappointingly conventional as compared to the best film noirs of the era, it has a few subtle draws that make it nevertheless a standout. Burt Lancaster as the protagonist Steve Thompson is generally excellent and more than convincing as a lumbering, painfully credulous everyman. Thompson's amour Anna, played by Yvonne De Carlo, has a fittingly petulant and cold-yet-fiery energy that imbues her fairly cliched character with a pleasant nuance. Combined, the two actors have a peculiar chemistry: their romantic scenes often feel rote and unconvincing, but once at each other's throats, they are a morbid joy to witness. This bizarre dynamic is in many ways the lifeblood of the film, delivering the electricity it otherwise seems to lack. To be fair, other pieces are genuinely remarkable as well, namely one early scene in the club featuring a sinister Latin number, and another as the plot culminates in an immediately disorienting shootout. This last scene in particular is simple yet elegant in its execution, and the image of dark figures, their faces swallowed by gas masks as they plunge through an eerie chemical fog, is perhaps the most memorable moment of the film. The last major highlight of the film has to be the setting itself: partially shot in the now entirely redeveloped Bunker Hill section of Los Angeles, we're allowed an appealing window into a bygone era, and even lone shots of trolleys and Victorian homes bestow a certain authenticity and sense of nostalgia amidst all the plotting and violence. Criss Cross might lack the appeal of better known films of the genre, but it has enough style and charm to recommend it.
Out of the Past
(1947)
"How hot can it get?"
16 November 2020
At first glance, Out of the Past seems to borrow nearly every trope film noir is famous for: a man is destroyed by fate, seduced from a wholesome existence by a painfully beguiling femme fatale; he narrates his destruction almost scene by scene as we watch his life flash by; and all this amidst a cloak of shadows and cigarette smoke, black and white at its most effective. At its best, however, this film manages to supersede every example of all the old clichés, and it does so with genuine soul and authenticity. To start with, the cast, especially the three principal actors, are undoubtedly superb. Robert Mitchum and Jane Greer, playing respectively the unstoppable fool and immovable femme, make for one of the best pairings the genre has seen and collectively they deliver a palpably magnetic presence onscreen. Add to this Kirk Douglas as the employer of the former and the lover of the latter, and we have a fascinatingly disastrous love triangle: in his pre-Spartacus form, less a physical presence but even sharper and more impressively threatening, Douglas makes a terrific adversary for the protagonist. Mitchum is completely game for this and proceeds to deliver what is perhaps his best performance, cracking the typical cynical, witty, hardboiled bit out of the ballpark while adding a significant degree of subtlety and pathos to an otherwise by-the-book character. Still, the film's best advocate is likely its cinematography, which captures everything from Northern California towns to southern beaches with incredible light and verism. Especially in the town where the film is largely set, shots of the late 40's American community and the natural landscape surrounding it are delivered with a humblingly tasteful eye for form and detail. Out of the Past has its flaws, to be fair, and not every scene finds the same heights: the plot becomes fairly convoluted in the third act and sags somewhat in style and tempo as new faces and conspiracies are introduced. For whatever flaws it may have, though, this film is really as close to a masterpiece as any; its greatest achievement, its ability to raise old forms from the typical to the transcendent.
Lifeboat
(1944)
To Boot or Not to Boot
24 October 2020
Warning: Spoilers
Like many of Alfred Hitchcock's films, Lifeboat latches deeply into the mind and leads us along a dark voyage through ample fear and suspicion. In this case, it also manages to be extremely poignant, which it fairly ought to be considering the many horrific events it depicts. The cast is game for this all the way, and Tallulah Bankhead's Connie and Walter Slezak's Kapitan Willi stand out especially. Bankhead is perfectly matched for her role, transforming Connie's glib coolness to a sort of frayed strength as she runs the film's gauntlet. Slezak, meanwhile, manages to be so subtly menacing that the viewer can't help but doubt all expectations of his character until the big reveal. Even then, he retains a wonderfully disturbing ambiguity: is he Evil, or a cold-hearted realist? What was the Conspiracy, if there was one? The film does an excellent job of surrounding this drama with convincing sets, and the scenes of flotsam and wreckage in the opening alone are enough to create a decidedly authentic feel. The supply ship scene is impressive as well, especially considering the technology available. In the end, we meet a new face, and all the moral talk and argument comes to a head when truly challenged- but while the film is masterful when asking questions, it nevertheless refuses to answer them. This uncertainty was probably a factor, among many, when certain critics panned the film upon release, but some criticisms were clearly unfair. To counter one, the film in no way disparages the people of Allied nations. It shows them as humans often are in war: struggling with uncertainty and with their own weaknesses, but for the most part essentially good-natured and collectively capable of facing the very worst. This may strike an unusual tone for a Hitchcock film, but Lifeboat is doubtless among his best.
Casablanca
(1942)
Here's Humphrey!
24 October 2020
Reviewing Casablanca runs the risk of many unpleasantries, for instance: to say again what has been said ad infinitum, to be swept up in sweet, simpering praise, and so on. At minimum I'll probably manage the two mentioned. Casablanca really has it all as films go, from masterful, iconic performances by film legends to some of the best writing ever committed to a page of script. It seems to invite hyperbole, perhaps because it's so effective when it comes to eliciting an emotional response from the viewer. The romance between Bogart's Rick and Bergman's Ilsa hits all the right notes as far as drama goes. Melodramatic but tastefully so, measuredly bitter when called for, it has an incredible ability to court excess without falling into it. Besides the two mentioned above, who do surely deserve all the praise they have ever received for their performances, the remainder of the cast is somehow nearly as excellent. In particular the unbelievably debonair Claude Rains constantly shines, and Dooley Wilson's Sam delivers at least one of the most memorable scenes in cinema with inimitable style and tenderness. However, the real star of the picture might just be the screenplay, highly effective at counterbalancing tension and romance even as it generously leaves us with a few certifiable gems for the Film Quote Hall of Fame. These elements, along with the sets, the lighting, and every other factor collectively make up some of the most potent shots I can recall: Les Marseilles in a raucous café, Bogart and Bergman locking eyes luminescent across a shadowy room, fog choking a dimly lit airfield as a great romance concludes. Casablanca may not be a perfect film, or the greatest, but it has all the qualities of a candidate at the very least.
Midnight
(1939)
Sly Cinderella
24 October 2020
Although directed by Mitchell Leisen, Midnight seems to have the fingerprints of one of its writers, the legendary Billy Wilder, all over it: the protagonist deceives, and is subsequently swept away by their deception into an unending stream of challenges and mishaps as they attempt to ride their way out by force of wit. This film, an early example of Wilder's skill at writing such tales, is constantly buoyed by such slapstick intricacies, gaining ever more momentum as deceits and intrigues collide. Claudette Colbert takes this opportunity to again prove her mastery of the genre: her protagonist, Eve Peabody, is as convincingly clever and vibrant as any leading lady of the era's comedies. Eve's dashing love interest, played commandingly and with immense charm and humor by Don Ameche also steals the show in turns, yet still the strange and gleeful aura of John Barrymore as Georges Flammarion is unsurpassable. Barrymore has less resemblance here to his past appearances, now older and not nearly as energetic, but his capacity for delightfully sly, impish humor is on full display. Barrymore and Colbert have a particularly enjoyable chemistry, frequently heightened by the stellar witticisms of the script. Nearly every other facet of the film is well-done if less noticeable, and the cast in general deserves praise. It's genuinely challenging to find much to critique in this manic rollercoaster of a film; hopefully it might someday be as well-known as it deserves.
My Man Godfrey
(1936)
"Do the gorilla!"
24 October 2020
Whether we live in the Depression Era or the age of Occupy Wall Street and the Panama Papers, there remains great suspicion of and derision for those conspicuous faces of the upper classes, and few films capture and satirize this better than My Man Godfrey. It begins, as largely it ends, with strong associations- the dump by the waterfront is cluttered and grimy, filled with cynical but tenacious men, while the ballrooms and mansions of the rich are scenes of incredible chaos. Debauched and manic, these petty denizens amuse themselves with idiotic games, notably a scavenger hunt that calls for a "forgotten man," or rather a citizen of the aforementioned dump. This turns out to be our man Godfrey, played by William Powell with masterfully dry humor and proletarian dignity. His counterpart and perfect opposite is Carole Lombard as Irene, who manages her depiction of extreme ditziness and delusion with convincing charm. Godfrey's attempts to pull himself up from the dump lead him into the circus of Irene's family life, and the film is at its best in scenes where he is forced to navigate through their various inanities. It's difficult to choose any particular moment in this company over another, but wouldn't we all like to watch a pretentious Italian artiste imitating a gorilla? It might be nearly impossible for a major Hollywood comedy to be created today that could balance sympathy for the poor with criticism of the rich without coming across as insincere or blandishing, and Godfrey sometimes seems dangerously close to doing the same, but overall the film remains strong in its message, characterizations, and acting, making it one of the most lovable examples of screwball comedy.
Imitation of Life
(1934)
Don't "Pass Me By"
24 October 2020
Warning: Spoilers
John M. Stahl's Imitation of Life, based on the 1933 novel by Fannie Hurst, retains its bite and bitterness, perhaps especially in the modern day. Claudette Colbert and Louise Beavers play Bea and Delilah respectively, two women who both lack husbands and care for single adolescent daughters, but whose statuses (the former white, the latter black) are separated by race and disparately affected by mutual success. Colbert is highly endearing as Bea, perfectly capturing her driven, caring nature that in time lapses slightly into self-indulgence as she finds herself a influential socialite in the Big City. Beaver's Delilah, meanwhile, essentially plays second fiddle to her counterpart and maintains an almost servile status in their mutual order; although the character could easily be accused of perpetuating the "mammy" stereotype, Beavers imbues her with genuine spirit and pathos. Despite more than competent acting from these two, the standout has to be Fredi Washington as Delilah's daughter Peola, a light-skinned black woman later in constant, painful denial of her identity. Nearly all the scenes between Peola and her mother are remarkable, as conflict (You've got to learn to take it!") culminates in a complete rejection of her mother and her birth-wrought burden. The film has its imperfections: many scenes have a fairly rote, in-studio feel, and the subplot between Bea's daughter and lover feels unnecessary and almost inanely self-contained compared to the rest, but overall the film has far too many strengths to ignore. Imitation may be hobbled in many ways by dated ideas and depictions, but its message, underscored by Washington's outstanding performance, leaves it as powerful today as it ever was.
Bride of Frankenstein
(1935)
A Worthy Companion
28 September 2020
Warning: Spoilers
Bride of Frankenstein is, unlike most sequels today, a complete improvement over its predecessor, preserving Frankenstein's best elements while outclassing it in almost every other category. Boris Karloff and Colin Clive make an excellent return, both overshadowing their earlier performances with no lack of style, while actors such as Ernest Thesiger make their diabolically well-conceived debuts. Bride is often a visual feast as well, exhibiting brilliant conception in its sets and cinematography, whether the camera finds itself again glaringly latched upon the Monster's ghastly face and shark-like eyes, or measuredly lounging in an Elysian forest scene. The picture's score deserves special praise in this case: adaptive and evocative, it frequently heightens the emotional impact of each scene no matter the locale. This film, despite its horror-bound nature, often finds its strength in quieter moments, and the scenes of the hermit and the Monster finding unorthodox friendship in each other's company are particularly moving. It would be a mortal sin not to finally mention Elsa Lanchester, whose performance as the Bride is wonderful in its inhuman and unearthly grace, complete with exceptionally hideous vocalizations that the actress herself stated were inspired by the hissing of swans (notoriously awful creatures). Overall, Bride is a surprisingly well-made followup to the original, far more deserving than any other film in the WB universe of the reputation the memory of Frankenstein possesses.
Frankenstein
(1931)
A Wondrous Creation
28 September 2020
James Whale's Frankenstein is at the very least entertaining and worth a view, and a few standout elements serve to uplift the film and redeem it of certain mediocrities in casting and plot. It goes without saying that Boris Karloff is iconic and often inspired in his role as The Monster, generating a memorable and oddly disturbing presence with shambling movement and simian vocalizations. Colin Clive also deserves recognition for his performance as Henry Frankenstein, suitably unhinged and frequently brimming with bourgeois pretension. The rest of the cast unfortunately lacks the same originality and style, excepting perhaps Frederick Kerr as the Baron and Dwight Frye as the consistently bizarre and (unintentionally?) hilarious Fritz. The film is quickly populated with memorable and atmospheric scenes and sets that have clearly served as inspiration for innumerable films up to the modern day. Frankenstein's second half, however, sometimes feels disappointingly rote, especially in comparison to its previous heights, but shots of a bereaved father shambling through a reveling crowd, and later the Monster glaring at his Maker through a mechanical apparatus in the penultimate scene are as inspired as any other. Frankenstein may not entirely live up to its legacy, but it is without a doubt a fine example of Hollywood mythmaking, and understandably a legend in its time.
Close Enough? Plenty
28 September 2020
Warning: Spoilers
Chain Gang might just be a masterpiece among lesser-known Pre-Code classics. Following a returning soldier as he pines for freedom and opportunity only to find himself fatefully deprived of both, this reform-minded piece is suspenseful and harrowing, engaging and full of life despite its grim subject. As the hapless James Allen, Paul Muni is deft and convincing, effectively animating this real-life tale of a man once full of optimism and eventually left broken and haunted by a brutal penal system. Glenda Farrell also stands out as Marie, and lends an eerily convincing foil to Muni with malicious, almost sinister flair. Great scenes are too numerous to include here, but the first escape in particular is remarkable, transitioning repeatedly between Allen and an overseer as suspense sharpens to a razor's edge. The following underwater scene is gorgeous as well, technically impressive and especially stunning to a first-time viewer. Chain Gang may seem to the uninitiated like another stern, moralizing affair like many films of the time, but in actuality it captures a great deal of authenticity and pathos in the retelling of an often disturbing non-fiction account.
Scarface
(1932)
A Fearful New World
28 September 2020
Warning: Spoilers
Howard Hawks' Scarface, despite its age and the meddling of Hollywood censors, remains potent and prescient even today. Following the nihilistic Tony Carmante, played with ice and fire by the talented Paul Muni, viewers are plunged into urban chaos somehow both foreign and familiar and become witness to Prohibition-era America as it contends with new technology, people and values (or the lack thereof). This film frequently roars to life with brilliant action sequences almost unbelievably well-executed for the time: both car chases and gunfights are filmed with remarkable energy and authenticity. Carmante gives himself over completely to violence and greed as the tale progresses, inevitably finding himself on the receiving end of a bullet; in the meantime the consequences for his clan are skillfully brought to life by Ann Dvorak and George Raft, notable among others. The cast alone make a strong argument for the film: it's at least uncommon that two actors, one whistling softly, the other aimlessly flipping a coin, can generate such palpable tension.
The Circus
(1928)
Der Himmel über Chaplin
16 September 2020
Warning: Spoilers
Charlie Chaplin and his Tramp are well-known icons, but his status as such perhaps overwhelms our remembrance of his capacity for thoughtful and moving conceptualization. The Circus serves as sure evidence for this, from its start (the opening title cards are accompanied by Chaplin's own soulful strains, reminiscent of Al Jolson in his later years) to the especially poignant finale. This episode finds the Tramp pursued, as ever, by ill fate, finding refuge in the chaos of a classic 20th century circus. This time, however, the Tramp finds himself an often adoring audience, although their delight in his antics is limited by their total lack of appreciation for his actual attempts to entertain them. Only when swept up in the moment, reacting rather than calculating, does he receive applause. It seems more than likely that Chaplin wrote a great portion of his own experience into the picture; the film ends with the Tramp left behind, the circus packed up and rolling on, much as film studios did with silent film and its stars following the release of The Jazz Singer the same year. The writer and the viewer can however take some measured comfort in the message of the film: no matter the calamities and indignities of life, authentic acts of compassion and creation are more meaningful, more enduring, than the crowd's applause.
Safety Last!
(1923)
Aptly Named
16 September 2020
Safety Last is a silent but nevertheless rousing comedy well-deserving of its reputation as an early American classic. Opening with an image both morbid and dramatic, seemingly an premature and disastrous end for our hero, we soon discover that all's well after all- a clever trick has been played on us. So it goes with much of Harold Lloyd's "Safety Last," in which the audience might often find itself as vulnerable to artful deception as the supporting characters. Here Lloyd is a standout as The Boy, playing him sometimes cocky, sometimes sweet, but always the trickster extraordinaire. This vibrant young protagonist's obsession with finding success in the big city leads him from mishap to mishap, but ever the resourceful young lad, our boy soldiers on, puckishly evading looming catastrophe each time. The perils of this modern world are many- pretentious bosses, deranged shoppers (naturally "people of culture and refinement"), tenacious policemen and pigeons, but true to the American mindset of the time, nothing cannot be overcome by heartfelt earnestness. Lloyd reached a certifiable apotheosis in "Safety" as the comedic every-man, and despite its age this film delivers some of the most ingenious physical comedy ever committed to film.
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