Last month, I wrote about Jimmy Stewart playing a monster in Vertigo. It seems only fair that I cover one of his gentlest roles next, that of lovelorn salesman Alfred Kralik in holiday favorite The Shop Around the Corner (1940). For those unfamiliar with the film, it was later remade as the horrible You’ve Got Mail (1998), which I despised only slightly less than the man behind me in the theater, who complained, “You’ve got to be kidding me” to his girlfriend after it ended.
The Shop Around the Corner is superior to its remake for many reasons. Since this is a Ernst Lubitsch film, there’s a sophisticated touch to the little dramedy throughout; the plot is nuanced, funny, heartwarming, and occasionally heartbreaking.
The hardworking salespeople of the little Hungarian gift store are likable and driven and funny and loyal to one another.
They’re also struggling to get by, as in the moment when Alfred asks his colleague Pirovitch (Felix Bressart) if he’s ever gotten a bonus and gets a wistful “…once…” in response. The film often reminds me of workplace comedies, especially Brooklyn 99 and The Office, because the little family of coworkers commit to their work and vie for status with their boss. Shop experiences take up far more time than the romance.
The irascible, sensitive owner, Hugo Matuschek (Frank Morgan), is entertaining.
One of my favorite moments is watching Pirovitch dart out of sight when Hugo, trying to explain a specialty cigarette box, says to Felix’s colleagues, “All I want is your honest opinion.” We soon find out just how unwise it is to express your feelings to this particular boss.
Meanwhile, Alfred, the hero (Stewart), is writing love letters to an unknown respondent, who happens to be Klara (Margaret Sullavan), the prickly salesgirl the shop just hired.
She, unaware he’s her pen pal, treats Alfred with disdain. Her attitude is partially the result of misunderstandings, but also because she’s a snob who sneers at him for his job. Even though she can be conniving and even cruel, there’s something so sad about the little airs she puts on, and about how fragile her thin veneer of confidence is.
And what a savvy salesgirl! She actually convinces a customer the cigarette box the owner loves, with its terrible music, is actually a candy box that is intentionally annoying so that it prevents overindulgence. Brilliant. I can’t help but root for her even if I think Alfred is too good for her. And their dialogue is so funny, clever, and entertaining.
What a doll Alfred is. He’s so tender toward Klara once he knows who she is and is sympathetic toward the owner, who wrongs him. He bears with both of their treatment with a warmth and understanding that reveal he’s made of much finer stuff than either of them. He’s also so modest despite being the most admired worker in the shop. I love the moment he fears his pen pal will be beautiful. “Well not too beautiful, no . . . what chance does a fellow like me..?….just a lovely average girl, that’s all I want.”
Comic relief Pepi Katona (William Tracy), the confident delivery boy, doesn’t appear much until the second half, but what a joy he is every time he shows up. I particularly enjoy him teasing a doctor and the new delivery boy. He and Pirovitch are both by turns funny and warm–an unusual combination for a comedy:
You’ve Got Mail, in contrast, dials up the time spent on the romance, eliminates any humor, makes the modest hero (Tom Hanks) a big box store magnate and forces the heroine (Meg Ryan) to be bop-her-head cutesy and snarky at the same time. I’d tell you more, but I’ve blocked the rest from my memory.
Do yourself a favor, and watch The Shop Around the Corner instead.
I love a good casting against type. That’s why Scottie in Vertigo is so disarming: It’s creepy to find America’s aw-shucks sweetheart, Jimmy Stewart, playing a villain.
Of course, not all of Stewart’s parts are sugary; he was a murderer in The Thin Man series. He was a professor with disturbing philosophical beliefs in Rope. But Stewart plays innocence beautifully and so memorably—as in his iconic performance in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, or in his role opposite an imagined rabbit in Harvey. It’s in these parts—and as the lovely George Bailey in It’s a Wonderful Life—that Stewart makes the most enduring impression on viewers.
That’s why when Scottie begins to act unhinged in Vertigo, the audience gives him the benefit of the doubt, and can understand why his loves do too.
He’s just in grief, we think. It must be awful to blame yourself for your coworker’s death.
He’s just experiencing PTSD.
I know he must be a good guy…He’s George Bailey!
Scottie seems to be a good guy at first. He’s a charming, funny friend to Midge (Barbara Bel Geddes), who secretly loves him. He’s willing to help desperate college friend, Gavin (Tom Helmore). Gavin claims his wife, Madeleine, is possessed by a sad ghost and employs Scottie to trail and protect her from self-harm.
But right away, Scottie’s actions are suspect. He falls for Gavin’s wife. I mean, it’s hard to blame him. Look at her entrance:
She somehow looks even better in a rather drab grey suit:
Still, Scottie didn’t have to act on his attraction. He breaches friendship and professional ethics by hitting on Madeleine. Knowing—as we viewers do by the end—that Gavin planned it that way doesn’t change anything.
For a brief moment, Scottie and Madeleine seem to enjoy each other’s company, but the happiness is short lived.
Soon, things go terribly wrong for Scottie. Madeleine leads Scottie to a tower. His vertigo prevents him from following her, and he thinks he sees her leap to her death. What he really sees is the real Madeleine (whom he never met) thrown from a tower, while fake Madeleine, whom he’s been trailing (Novak), hides until he leaves.
Once Scottie loses fake-Madeleine to supposed suicide, we’ve forgiven him for any bad behavior. After all, look at his despair!
It’s what he does with that despair that makes Scottie a villain.
First, he follows a strange woman, Judy, to her apartment door.
Let’s start there. Stalking a woman because she looks like your lost love is deranged. Her hostile response to his knock is valid—even if she weren’t the fake Madeleine we know her to be.
Of course, Judy is hardly innocent. She was involved in a murder plot that ruined Scottie’s life. Despite her complicity, we feel for her. She’s so remorseful and almost as self-destructive as pretend Madeleine: who after such a perfect crime falls for her own mark? (Gavin would have killed her had he thought her capable of it.)
And Scottie? Had Scottie believed Judy guilty, his cruel behavior toward her would be somewhat justified. But Scottie believes her innocent. He’s an emotionally abusive boyfriend who feels ZERO guilt for expecting irrational sacrifices from his lover.
His next disturbing act post-stalking is to force Judy to wear the same grey suit as his dead love. When Judy realizes what he’s doing, she protests.
His justification for distressing her is jaw-droppingly awful: “Judy, Judy, it can’t make that much difference to you…. Judy, do this for me.”
I admit. I laughed aloud when I heard these words this time around. Can’t make any difference to YOU, what you wear? Yeah, nothing personal there.
“I don’t like it,” she says of the suit he offers her.
“We’ll take it,” he responds to the saleswoman.
Judy responds by laying her head on a desk in misery. Scottie’s answer? Ply her with liquor.
She asks why he’s terrorizing her and threatens to leave but fears he wouldn’t let her. Sadly, she wouldn’t leave anyway: she wants to remain with her abuser.
This is when we wish Judy’s friends from an earlier scene would return.
RUN, HONEY. RUN!!!!!!
Scottie then says his last few days with her (and yes, he starts on this nonsense just DAYS after they get together) are the first happy ones in a year.
She says that’s only because she reminds him of his dead love. What, besides that, does he like about her?
He replies, “It’s you too. There’s something in you that…” He starts to touch her, then WALKS AWAY without finishing the thought. Because she’s right: he only likes her for her resemblance to Madeleine.
“You don’t even want to touch me,” she says.
“Yes, yes I do.”
Let it be said that there’s no evidence to back his words.
“Couldn’t you like me, just me, the way I am?” Judy cries.
Now this is some heartbreaking stuff. But it gets worse:
“When we first started out,” Judy says, “it was so good, w-we had fun. And then you started in on the clothes, well, I’ll wear the darn clothes, if you want me too, if, if you’ll just, just like me.”
What is his response to this pathetic concession?
“The color of your hair.”
Because of course, he wants to change her brown hair into Madeleine’s blonde locks too.
“Oh no!” she says and walks away.
“Judy, please, it can’t matter to you.”
Again, as a woman, I must say, the color of one’s hair is QUITE PERSONAL.
But Judy is now ignoring red flags as tall as the sequoias she visited with him (while acting as Madeleine): “If…If I let you change me, will that do it? If I do what you tell me, will you love me?”
“Yes, yes,” he says.
“Then I’ll do it. I don’t care anymore about me.”
Her sad words don’t worry him, or even make him feel remorse. Because she caved to his senseless demands, he is finally affectionate, nuzzling her, “Here, go on, let’s sit by the fire,” and he takes out a cushion for her.
And so Judy makes the full transformation into his lost love for him.
We hear the elevator after the full makeover, watch her move toward him. She enters the room without a word, hesitant. She’s afraid. She puts her purse down.
“Well?” she says, turning toward him.
It’s clear that Judy is expressing one tiny rebellion, one last trace of self-respect. She comes back with her hair down, not up, like Madeleine’s. In every other way, she’s the dead woman’s twin.
“It should be back from your face and pinned at the neck,” says Scottie, “I told her [the beautician] that, I told you that.”
Wow.
“We tried it. It just didn’t seem to suit me,” she says, combing her hair nervously.
He grabs her hair.
She turns to face him.
“Please, Judy,” he begs.
She walks in other room, fixes it for him.
He sees her in fog as she somnolently walks toward him. She half-smiles, then smiles fully as she sees his tears.
Being the toxic man he is, he gives her a REAL kiss. After all, she’s now actually BECOME his dead love for him. Because that’s healthy.
In the next scene, we see them playful and flirty with each other—an echo of the earlier conversation with Midge, but with heat.
“Hello, my love. Like me?” She smiles and then spins for him in a pretty dress, her air and voice confident, easygoing—the tone of a well-loved woman. This is the first genuine smile we’ve seen from Kim Novak in the film. (Scary, right?)
“Mmmm,” he responds.
“Is that the best you can do?”
“Come here.”
“Oh no, you’ll muss me.”
“Well, that’s what I had in mind. Now come here.”
He then spots Madeleine’s necklace on her neck and knows Judy’s guilt. He says cryptically, “One final thing I have to do, and then I’ll be free of the past.”
Scottie drives Judy to Madeleine’s supposed suicide tower. He forces her up the stairs and through the trap door.
Then he attacks and half-strangles her, saying, “He [Gavin] made you over, didn’t he? He made you over just like I made you over, only better. Not only the clothes and the hair, but the looks and the manner and the words and those beautiful, phony trances….Did he train you, did he rehearse you, did he tell you exactly what to do, what to say? You were a very apt pupil too, weren’t you?”
It’s easy to read these words on multiple levels. Yes, he’s angry she deceived him and furious she’s taken advantage of his affliction. But he’s also angry that she’s had a former lover, Gavin. And he’s angry that Gavin was a better Geppetto than he was.
Scottie’s physical actions are brutal now that he knows what Judy’s done, but those actions are just an escalation of earlier ones.
Note how many times he pins Judy’s arms throughout this story, how many times he forces her from behind—whether it is to wear the clothes he wants, or to go up to a tower where her death awaits. Observe how many times she looks fearful, hesitant, unsure of herself. She is a victim of his cruelty, just as he has been a victim of the murderous plot.
Jimmy Stewart’s Scottie is the definition of a boyfriend who should make a woman run. If he doesn’t give you the heebie-jeebies in Vertigo, you’re just not paying attention.
Brad Pitt and Margot Robbie are discussing a remake of TheThin Man, which has its longtime fans abuzz. While many ingredients are essential to an effective remake, the most important step is to take inspiration from the original pairing–cast the unexpected. After all, William Powell and Myrna Loy were dramatic actors. Manhattan Melodrama Director W.S. Van Dyke saw the two teasing each other on the set of his film and made a gamble: pair these two up in a rom-com/mystery, and see what happens.
What happened was comedy magic, the original film leading to FIVE sequels and the names Nick and Nora becoming shorthand for cool couple–even today. Who could be wittier, more stylish, more fun, more enviable than these two in action? No wonder Loy and Powell would ultimately be cast together in thirteen films.
So, of course, I’m thinking of what my casting would be. I wouldn’t object to Pitt and Robbie. Both have comedic talents, and even the age difference matches the source material (a book that is worth many rereads). But I want to spread my net a little wider. I love stories of actors playing unexpected parts: TV actress Mary Tyler Moore blowing us all away in Ordinary People, Malcolm in the Middle lead Bryan Cranston winning all the Emmys for the bleak Breaking Bad, the numerous dramatic actors chosen for comedy masterpiece Airplane!
Here are some possibilities I see. I’m borrowing people I love from TV and drama for this classic remake. I’m eager to hear your unexpected choices too….
William Jackson Harper & Awkwafina
Harper was a revelation as Chidi in The Good Place.
I could watch his peeps-in-the-chili scene all day. I found Crazy Rich Asians nearly as boring as The Kardashians, but Awkwafina? Wow. More Awkwafina for me, please. Can’t wait to watch the film with her and Sandra Oh, Quiz Lady.
Harper and Awkwafina both have a mixture of dry humor, unexpected timing, and perfect reaction shots in their repertoire. To see them play together would be a joy.
Jodie Comer & Aldis Hodge
Comer is a rising star for her dramas, an Emmy and Tony winner with a likely Oscar nod for The Bikeriders. But Killing Eve fans are eager to see her in a comedy given her stunningly funny facial expressions (and how long she holds them!) And wow, can that woman deliver a sarcastic line!
As for Hodge, he isn’t a big name yet since he rarely plays the starring role. Straight Outta Compton, Clemency, and One Night in Miami have demonstrated his dramatic skills, but we Leverage fans have seen this guy be FUNNY.
He’s good at dead pan AND high-energy freakouts (Nicholas Cage style). I think I’d give Comer the Nick role, and Hodge the Nora role. He’s especially funny when he grumbles under his breath, which would be a fine accompaniment to Comer’s detective antics. (We need Comer to have a super-showy part.)
Michael B. Jordan & Annie Murphy
I’ve been a Jordan fan since his indelible role as Wallace in The Wire. He has PRESENCE.
I can see him at ease in a comedic role like Nick’s, a part that calls for being suave as well as funny. Sure, he’s done little to prove his comedy chops yet, but the complexity of his performances convinces me that comic mastery is in his wheelhouse. And he can be quite funny in interviews.
Annie Murphy hasn’t yet found a role to equal her star-making turn in Schitt’s Creek.
Her offbeat timing, slapstick gifts, and talent for improvisation (“A Little Bit Alexis” alone) would help her improve on the script. Given her generosity as an actress (she always highlights her partner’s skills), I think she’d help Jordan develop his comic potential.
Catherine O’Hara & Ted Danson
These humorous powerhouses are old for the parts, so it’s unlikely they’d win them. But can you imagine watching their combined talents in action? Danson would play a mean Nick, wouldn’t he? So debonair, and so funny.
And O’Hara is so used to acting as a team–so good at playing off someone while holding her own.
I can dream….
Kristen Bell & Adam Scott
Kristen Bell has already proven her ability to play a witty sleuth in Veronica Mars, and Adam Scott has always been a great straight man. These two have impressive chemistry in Party Down and The Good Place. Let’s give them a movie that’s worthy of them. Watch their mutual self-deprecation when she interviews him on Jimmy KimmelLive.
Tatiana Maslany & Stephanie Beatriz
Anyone who has seen Maslany in Orphan Black knows that she can do anything.
The woman played five major clones in Orphan Black—and you could tell when one was pretending to be the other. She has a sense for the physical ticks of each character, their intonations, their accents. (In total, her clones were in the double digits.) She’d be an ideal actress for a con artist or spy role, but it would be entertaining to see her in a traditional detective part.
Maslany sure could fool anyone she interrogated as Nick, and the mysteries were often a weakness of The Thin Man series. A more inventive plot could take advantage of her versatility. As far as her humor? Some of her clones displayed some effective dark comedy–and she clearly has the ability to do some slapstick.
I would pair her with Stephanie Beatriz playing a version of her Rosa Diaz role in Brooklyn 99–stone-faced and dry, a great foil to Maslany’s ethereal presence.
Beatriz’s tough-gal performance in her most famous role is especially admirable since she seems almost giddy in real life….
No one can shake the Powell-Loy pairing from its pedestal. Honestly, I wouldn’t want that. But if the remake is different enough, it’ll just feel like two very different takes on a brilliant novel, not a poor shadow of a classic film.
I’m eager to hear your dream pairings in the comments! If you’d like other posts on ideal casting, see my friend and podcast co-host Mike Gutierrez’s awesome guest post on Hitchcock remakes!
The File on Thelma Jordan isn’t a noir of the same caliber as Barbara Stanwyck’s more famous films. It’s not Double Indemnity, or Sorry, Wrong Number or even The Strange Love of Martha Ivers. But with Stanwyck as a femme fatale, you know you’re going to enjoy yourself.
***Slight spoilers, but far fewer than in the trailer.
Of the 1,00000000 things I love about Stanwyck, one is how adult she always is. She doesn’t play twee or girly–even on the rare occasions she uses baby talk to get her way. She’s sensual and knowing, fiercely intelligent and wry. You can never discount her. And you know–even if you don’t admit it to yourself–that she has the upper hand–or will soon.
In The File on Thelma Jordan, she finds herself an easy fall guy, Assistant District Attorney Cleve (Wendell Corey). Cleve has a lot going for him: a loving family, a beautiful wife. But his wife is a daddy’s girl, and he doesn’t like that daddy. It doesn’t help that his father-in-law has all the wealth and power Cleve doesn’t–or that Cleve owes him.
That’s why Cleve drinks and feels sorry for himself, and he’s doing just that when Thelma (Stanwyck) happens upon him in his office while seeking his boss. She wants to report attempted burglaries to her wealthy Aunt Vera’s home, but instead agrees to get a drink with Cleve. She’s game, agreeing to be his buddy during his troubles. Of course, a sexy, sympathetic buddy is what every Cleve desires.
You can guess what happens: a secret affair, the aunt’s house being broken into, a murder. With Thelma, there’s no question of innocence. The question is HOW guilty is she? Did she commit the murder, did her shady ex, or did some third involved party? Whoever did it, poor Cleve is complicit, and ends up having to prosecute Thelma in a not-so-effective, likely-career-killing kind of way.
I don’t find Wendell Corey that appealing in the role, but there’s a sincerity to him; you believe this is a good, usually bright guy doing dumb things. Cleve is a smarter version of Henry Fonda in The Lady Eve. He’s not all that wary, but he’s intelligent enough to know he’s been had.
But of course, who cares about Corey, or anyone else in this film noir? This is Stanwyck’s show. And though the storytelling never rises to her abilities, every minute with her on the screen is a joy. Whether she’s acting as Cleve’s relaxed buddy, his maybe-smitten love, a wary defendant, or a hardbitten woman of the world, Thelma is riveting. Don’t miss her in action.
Burning (2018) is the kind of film that rides on a great premise: Guy meets and falls for elusive girl. He loses elusive girl to rich guy. Elusive girl disappears. Is she just following her elusive nature, or did rich guy do her in?
None of the characters but the rich guy–Ben (Steven Yeun)–are compelling. The elusive girl, Hae-mi (Jeon Jong-seo), is annoying and so fragile. Her allure to hero Jong-su (Yoo Ah-in) is more about his own desperate unhappiness than any charm.
But it’s that very lack of charm that makes Ben’s attraction to her suspect. We see him yawning during one of her sad attempts to gain attention. WHY is he with her? He is too suave, too handsome, too lucky, too cool, too mysterious to be be seduced by her.
Also, his self-confessed hobby is arson, which is not exactly innocent. But is Ben really an arsonist, is he fabricating felonies to mess with Jong-su, or is he disguising his murders in metaphors?
Jong-su is that rare hero in noir who does NOT make possible killer Ben feel the need to murder him in self-defense. There are no flamboyant public or even private accusations. Jong-su shores up clues about Hae-mi’s disappearance and Ben’s potential involvement. But he says little and deflects when Ben tries to discover what he’s up to. Jong-su is, in fact, a pretty good amateur detective.
The film does a beautiful job putting you in this detective’s place: What would you do if you suspected foul play, but couldn’t prove it? What if everyone in a missing woman’s life dismissed her (and thus would not be filling out a missing person report)? Would you keep trying? The uncertainty haunts you as you watch Jong-su’s growing desperation.
At first, it seems Burning is a bit of a misnomer. Maybe “Slow Burn” would suit it more. The film creeps up on you. In fact, it teeters on the edge of boring until Ben enters the picture. It then becomes relentlessly disquieting. While the triangle is supposedly between the woman and two men, it’s Ben and Jong-su who play a fascinating dance with one another, with Ben seemingly befriending Jong-su, far more interested in him than he ever seemed in Hae-mi–or in the woman he may be targeting next.
The question is about the nature of Ben’s interest. Is killer Ben trying to discover what Jong-su knows? Is he innocent and just curious why a man of Jong-su’s intelligence is so fascinated by this girl who intrigued him for mere minutes? Or is this all about class, Ben wondering what makes a poor man tick? (All Jong-su has are a mother who abandoned him, a father going to jail, and one cow he needs to sell.) Ben might be seeking what drives Jong-su, what story he wants to tell or live.
But Ben’s interest in Jong-su could be more sinister: a combination of all of these possibilities. Perhaps he DID kill Hae-mi, and is genuinely curious why Jong-su would care that this poor, lackluster girl would be snuffed out.
I would have liked the movie more had the time before Ben been shortened, and the time with him lengthened. I could have used a whole movie devoted to this potential villain. It doesn’t hurt that Steven Yeun owns the role. He performs so well on that edge: not quite creepy, not quite innocent, darting from judgments. Ben has all the luck–and personality–on his side the whole time, so Jong-su’s increasing frustration at his impermeability makes so much sense. This is not an equals fighting one another situation; Ben holds every card.
The film is worth the watch. After spending the whole movie wondering about the title, I walked away knowing how suitable it was. Some conclusions are reached at the movie’s end, but so much more is still tantalizingly out of reach.
I’ve always been curious about the film that united director Roberto Rossellini and actress Ingrid Bergman in their illicit romance. How red-hot would an affair have to be to lead to a public censure in the US Senate and a six-year ostracism from Hollywood?
I was prepared for something akin to Mr. and Mrs. Smith (2005), where the chemistry of actors (and new lovers) Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt inflamed the screen.
Of course, I neglected to consider a few things before viewing: 1) the absence of the director as an actor in the film, 2) the film’s very un-Hollywood use of everyday people as actors–in this case, fishermen in Stromboli, a small island off of Sicily, 3) the plot.
The Keystone Cops would have been just as likely to show up as a red-hot romance.
But in one way, I was still on the right track about Stromboli (1950): you can’t keep your eyes off of Bergman, and she IS unbelievably sexy in the film.
The nature of that sexiness is curious because this is a very, very odd movie. I found myself siding with early American critics, who called it dull. I agreed; it was dull. But it was also haunting, with a grim take on marriage quite unusual for its time.
Bergman’s character, Karen, is fascinating because she is one of the least sympathetic, most selfish brides I’ve ever witnessed onscreen. She marries a poor but handsome ex-POW, Antonio (Mario Vitale), to get out of a displaced persons camp.
When he brings her home to his fishing village, she doesn’t even try to be civil–to anyone. She attacks her new groom for taking her there. She tells him this place is terrible, that she’s too refined for it and can’t stay. Kind of harsh right after his release from a camp, huh?
In fairness, the village does suck, at least for Karen. There’s an active volcano that can erupt at any moment. Their house is a shack. There’s little to do or see. The townspeople are super judgy and foreigner-averse, which doesn’t make Karen, a Lithuanian, feel very welcome.
But it’s hard not to pity (at first) the poor husband who just takes Karen’s verbal abuse and hostile glances–especially when he quietly accepts an underpaid fishing job to buy her a better life.
She starts filling the home with the worst decor I’ve ever seen–and hides away her husband’s family photos and religious icons, which she despises. Apparently, this process gives her some pleasure. She’s appalled when he doesn’t love what’s she done, including the weird flowers she’s painted on the walls, kindergartener style. (I told you this film was bizarre, right?) She decides to use a sewing machine in the home of an apparent madam, despite warnings. Then she’s mad at others for thinking she’s loose.
But just when I’m ready to care only about him, her husband proves he’s brutish, like she’s claimed: he beats her for making him look like a cuckold. Now, we audience members don’t have anyone to like in the film.
As for Karen, it’s not long after the house decorating that she begins to plot her escape. Her method is to throw herself at every man who might get her out of there, including–wait for it–the village priest. And the seduction act Bergman pulls is something to witness. I’m not sure how anyone resists it, transparent as her motives are, because this is Ingrid Bergman throwing herself at you, men!! And she has moves. (Narratively, it would have made sense to choose a less attractive actress, but I fully enjoyed full-seduction Bergman. It’s easy to understand how Rossellini fell for her while filming.)
But it’s not just her sensuality that has the audience enthralled by Karen. Her breathless confidence in herself in the face of hostility and discomfort and abuse and foreignness is something to witness. You can’t help but root for her even as you question her decisions. Bergman displays confidence not just through her voice and expressions, but through a kind of ease with her body typical of athletes and dancers. In another world and in another time, you think, what couldn’t this single-minded woman do!? No wonder she’s so angry about her lot!
Unfortunately, Karen soon proves that her poor judgment is not limited to her words and decor. On a lark, she stops by her husband’s job while he’s fishing for tuna with his crew in a ploy to earn his affection. WHO DOES THIS???
This choice is one of the plot devices that seems to be an excuse for Rossellini to include a beautiful neo-realistic scene. It’s easy to understand Rossellini’s reputation as a director when it comes to cinematography. It was fascinating to watch the brutal and dangerous process of catching these huge, gorgeous fish and killing them as the refined wife looks on, horrified.
Later gorgeous scenes include when the volcano erupts, and the town flees for the sea. The escape is fascinating and frightening to watch, and beautifully rendered. (In typical fashion, Karen is only concerned about her own rescue when she sees motorboats.)
**Spoilers coming**
Stromboli is most famous for its ending. Fresh from volcano PTSD, Karen takes off, despite being pregnant. She heads over the still-active volcano alone to get to the side of the island where she plans her escape. She dumps her suitcase in exhaustion after breathing in copious amounts of smoke. She passes out after admitting defeat.
But when she wakes, she calls aloud to God, asking for strength, proclaiming that her experience has been too awful to endure and that she must depart. Whether she really means awful for her or for her unborn child (or for both) is unclear despite her words. Hollywood later added a voiceover suggesting she returned to her husband, a disturbing “happily ever after,” given his violence and decision to forbid her exit by nailing the front door shut while she was inside.
But I don’t buy Hollywood’s interpretation. Karen seems more intent on the birds above her, on the flight still possible with God’s help. The end is ambiguous, it’s true–I can’t be sure I’m right. What ISN’T ambiguous is how miserable Rossellini makes marriage look–which is interesting as he’s breaking up Bergman’s and his own.
Regardless of what anyone makes of the film, Bergman’s performance is unforgettable, and not to be missed by her fans. The extended final scene of her climb and pleas is breathtaking: her resignation, her desperation, her anguish, her hope. This woman deserved all of her three Oscars and then some, and it’s a pleasure to watch her commanding the screen in this stunning finish. If nothing else, watch that.
This post is part of The Wonderful World of Cinema‘s 6th Wonderful Ingrid Bergman Blogathon. Check out the other celebrations of Bergman here!
How ridiculous is the amount of talent in Stormy Weather (1943)?
You’ve got Fats Waller and Ada Brown performing “That Ain’t Right,” a scene that obviously inspired Aretha Franklin’s “Think” in The Blues Brothers (1980).
My favorite lines in a hilarious call and response song about his greed for her money are Ada’s: “I took you to a nightclub. I bought you pink champagne. You rode home in a taxi while I caught that subway train, that ain’t right.” His responses include admissions that she’s correct; he does just want her money.
And as if that weren’t enough of a cameo, jazz legend Waller follows it up with a rousing “Ain’t Misbehavin.'”
The movie stars the dazzling Bill “Bojangles” Robinson, perhaps best known now for his tap sequences with Shirley Temple. Lena Horne costars. Her performance of “Stormy Weather” is only slightly lovelier than her duet with Robinson of “I Can’t Give You Anything but Love.” She’s at the top of her game, and he’s in the late stages of his career, but his magnetism and skill are still impossible to ignore.
And then there’s the dance sequence during “Stormy Weather” by Katherine Dunham and her troop, which is both mesmerizing and marked by a degree of smoking sensuality I can’t believe made it past the censors. (Seriously, how did anyone miss those gyrations?)
Cab Calloway is his usual charismatic, velvet-voiced self, especially in the exhilarating “The Jumpin’ Jive” (years before he’d charm Gen Xers with the rendition of his hit “Minnie the Moocher” in The Blues Brothers).
And then of course, we have the coup de grâce during “The Jumpin’ Jive”: the Nicholas brothers’ awe-inducing dance number, which Fred Astaire called the best dance performance on film.
Fayard and Harold Nicholas would wow such luminaries as George Balanchine, Gene Kelly, and Mikhail Baryshnikov. Their students would include Michael and Janet Jackson. (If you get a chance, watch fan Gregory Hines’s befuddled description of their impossible dance sequence in Stormy Weather. You can understand. Can two humans DO that???)
Sadly, it’s easy to guess why Stormy Weather is so chockfull of those at the top of their field: there were so few leading roles for black musicians, actors, and dancers in the 1940s. You can imagine why casting directors would stack that film and the other 1943 all-black musical, Cabin in the Sky, with all the big names they could get.
But that knowledge doesn’t stop you from experiencing shock the whole way through: At the flood of famous people you’ve heard of showing up on the screen. At music and performances that are far too good for a Hollywood musical. And by dancing that would have you in tears if you weren’t so busy smiling. The Nicholas brothers’ breathtaking grace and athleticism are nothing short of miraculous. And watching geniuses fully enjoy their art with that level of exuberance?
If I could bring any film characters with me to the Barbie movie, this crew would come along. We would shout, complain, and advise (quite loudly), and so an empty theater–and an earlier viewing by me–would be critical. But just try to imagine with me, how perfect this party would be….(Mild spoilers ahead.)
1: Megan (Melissa McCarthy) from Bridesmaids (2011)
This confident, hilarious, non-nonsense woman needs to give Barbie a pep talk. I did love Gloria (America Ferrera)’s speech, but Megan’s would be one for the ages.
2: Ida (Eve Arden) from Mildred Pierce (1945)
What Megan can do with yelling and pounding, Ida can do with an eyebrow. Ida’s dry, blistering one liners about Ken’s power grab would be epic.
3: Oda Mae Brown (Whoopi Goldberg) from Ghost (1990)
I’ll be honest–this may be just because I want her to say, “Barbie, you in danger, girl,” when the doll puts on fluorescent rollerblading gear.
4: Tira (Mae West) from I’m No Angel (1933)
Tira’s running commentary on Ryan Gosling’s abs and what she’d do to his character on the beach would have everyone in the theater howling with laughter. I’d love to hear her tell Barbie to keep relishing that many Kens in her life. And how much I’d anticipate her reaction to the ending!
5 & 6: Stage Door (1937) Roommates Terry (Katharine Hepburn) & Jean (Ginger Rogers)
Obviously, I’d want the ENTIRE Footlights Club to accompany me, since there simply is no wittier all-female repartee on film (the famously catty TheWomen ensemble can’t compare). Don’t believe me? Lucille Ball is in the supporting cast. These sexual-harassment-fighting, badass feminists would be FABULOUS commentators, and I’m so sad I can’t follow their pop culture podcast right now.
7 & 8: Adam (Spencer Tracy) and Amanda (Katharine Hepburn) from Adam’s Rib (1949)
What could be better than to hear a brilliant couple with perfect dialogue critique the work of screenwriting couple Greta Gerwig and Noah Baumbach? And with the way Amanda just slays in arguing women’s rights in the courtroom, I long to hear what she’d say to those fools in the Mattel boardroom.
There you have it. My eight favorite Barbie movie companions. Who would yours be?
Most film noirs are cautionary as well as bad luck tales. But there’s a particular type that seems to be created by untrusting husbands and wives, the “you’ll be sorry if you cheat” noir. The most memorable for many of us are Fatal Attraction (1987) for the disloyal husband, Unfaithful (2002) for the straying wife. But the genre has a long history. The Prowler (1951) stands out in this list because it stars Van Heflin, whose charisma highlights just how easy the tumble into marital infidelity can be.
Van Heflin isn’t a name that stands out to any but classic movie fans despite his 1942 Oscar win, but his films do, particularly 3:10 to Yuma (1957) and Shane (1953), in which he plays steady husbands who can’t compete with the glamour of flashy gunslingers. In these films you feel the stamped-down passion of a man who has been worn down by hard work and harder luck. I prefer the roles in which Van Heflin plays lighter characters, like the gambler of The Strange Love of Martha Ivers (1946), the adventurer in Green Dolphin Street (1947), or Althos in The Three Musketeers (1948). These roles capture the sexy quicksilver nature and physicality of a man who once left acting to be a sailor.
***some early spoilers ahead***
It’s that impulsiveness that makes Van Heflin so alluring as a cop in The Prowler. He might return to check on the lonely wife (Evelyn Keyes) who calls to report a peeping Tom, or he might not. He might call her back or pretend he doesn’t get her calls. He sets her at ease by sharing the Indiana roots he holds in common with her. But it’s his carefree manner of walking through her house that makes her prefer him to her older, stodgier husband, who–coded as the reference may be in a 50s film–seems to be impotent.
Unfortunately, the wife doesn’t notice the cop checking out her husband’s will in between visits to her bed. And so she doesn’t know for sure when he pretends to be the prowler in order to kill her husband whether it was an accidental killing (as the inquest claims), or not. When she marries the cop, she takes it for granted he’ll be pleased with her too-far-along pregnancy instead of seeing it as the danger it is. But as noir-aware audiences, we wonder, what happens when that bump gets bigger? I had eerie Fargo flashbacks as I watched the cop go about his plans. Will bystanders suffer the fate of those poor drivers in that Coen brother masterpiece? What about this new wife, who is now a liability? Suddenly, the unpredictability that attracted the now-widow looks less like sexiness, and more like the danger warned in the Coens’ own infidelity noir, Blood Simple (1984).
The Prowler plays its potential endings close to the vest, and the movie is bare and streamlined, as a good noir should be. It seems, in fact, like the film could have been written yesterday with a few tweaks. We audiences don’t know what the cop will do, but we are remindedthat cheating is a risky game, especially for a woman before her biological clock runs out. So beware of the sexy Van Heflins of the world, men with quick smiles and chips on their shoulder. Beware of the man who acts casual as he rifles through paperwork in your home. Beware–the jealous spouses of the world warn we viewers–and keep him safely outside of your door.
Perhaps you’re choosing to honor your cat by naming her after Mae West. (And can there be a greater honor?) You can’t go with Mae. It’s too delicate.
And you can’t go with Mae West. Too hard to say when your cat is jumping on the counter.
But you have to name her for Mae West: your feline is feisty, unrepentant, the center of her universe. So you scroll IMDB for Mae’s movie character names and land on Marlo from Sextette (1978). It has a ring to it, doesn’t it? You haven’t seen the film and don’t have time for it, so you watch a clip. Mae being Mae. It tracks. You name your little palm-sized kitty, and every time she flashes those bold eyes at her prey, you know you chose well.
Then, shortly after her third birthday, you watch Sextette, and think, “What have you done?”
Seriously, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?
This is the hot mess to end all hot messes. When Ringo Star gives one of the best performances in the film, you know something is terribly, terribly wrong.
Who sees Mae West act and thinks, “You know a good person to cast in her picture? Dom DeLuise”? It’s so hard to watch a madcap, hijinks story with Mae performing her signature slow delivery like she’s in a different film. Then there are sudden, unnecessary musical sequences–and not unnecessary in a fun way, but in a do-we-have-to-do-this? way. And is Tony Curtis playing a Russian? And what the hell is Alice Cooper doing in this mix? The whole film is jarring and weird and utterly wrong.
The strange thing is, the critiques are wrong too. Sure, you heard it was bad–that’s true. But you also heard some sexist junk about how could this older woman be attractive to this young man (Timothy Dalton)? (As if 70-and 80-year-old men will ever stop presenting themselves as attractive to young women.) The age difference is extreme, and thinking of Mae West’s character as a global sex object in her mid-eighties might be a stretch, but here’s the delightful surprise: she is the ONLY sexy person in the film. She’s so confident and brash that you can’t take her eyes off of her, same as ever. And she’s the only one who looks like she’d know what she was doing in that bed.
The single male character who has ANY sex appeal in the film is one of Marlo’s ex-husbands, played by George Hamilton. Hamilton is acting as a—wait for it—gangster. (Because when you think gangster, you think, Where the Boys Are.) But unlike the virginal character played by Dalton, the histrionic Russian played by Tony Curtis, or the flashy director played by Ringo Star, George Hamilton seems like he might pause his movements long enough to actually have sex, which puts him a long stretch ahead of his competitors, sex appeal wise.
Mae manages to share several very funny one liners along the way, especially in a scene full of athletes who look like the hunks in her former shows. Too bad there’s so much noise and chaos around her that you can barely absorb them.
Sure, you despised the film. You really did. And yet….There was something poetic in it all. That George Raft was in the cast. That she didn’t take herself seriously in the film. That the plot–like all of her plots–was really no plot at all. That she refused to change one iota to the last.
She just kept on being Mae. 70s film fashions? Why bother? She’s going to wear that full-length gown if she feels like it. She’s amusing and charming and delightful and so much fun. And just as sassy and unwilling to change as that cat peering at you from atop the shelf on your wall.
