Film Noir/Crime/Thriller & Mystery | Cary Grant Won't Eat You

Hitchcock Didn’t Get Jamaica Inn; Vince Gilligan Would

04/10/2016 by leah@carygrantwonteatyou.com 4 Comments

**Warning: Some spoilers (though I don’t reveal the mastermind in the novel; Hitchcock alters the story enough for it still to be a mystery).

I just finished watching Breaking Bad, and was struck by the thematic similarities between it and Jamaica Inn, one of my favorite novels as a teen. Both involve major characters refusing to own the horrific nature of what they’ve set in motion, both include a slow-burning menace that frequently breaks into sudden violence, and both demonstrate the moral costs of greed–and the many innocent victims left in its wake.

While Walter White is the leader of a meth empire, the villain of Jamaica Inn is the mastermind behind a group of wreckers, who lure ships with false lights and then kill everyone aboard to get the loot without hanging for their crimes. While Joss, the rough-talking inn owner, initially seems to be the head of the operation, we soon learn that there’s a much colder and smarter man working above him.

Joss (Leslie Banks)

And though Joss has sympathetic qualities and weaknesses, the mastermind–whose identity we don’t learn until late in the story–cares for no one. Joss is terrified of him.

The heroine of the story is Mary (Maureen O’Hara in the film), who comes to Jamaica Inn completely unaware of the criminality of its keeper, her uncle.

MaureenOHara-JamaicaInn
She soon discovers that something is off. The coachman doesn’t want to drop her off there. The inn doesn’t have any inhabitants besides the owners. The bar is full of shady characters.

Bar inhabitants

There are odd noises at night. And then there’s her uncle’s warning: “There’ll be nights sometimes when you’ll hear wheels on the road…and those wheels will not pass on, but they’ll stop outside Jamaica Inn. And you’ll hear footsteps in the yard, and voices beneath your window. When that happens, you’ll stay in your bed, Mary Yellan, and cover your head with the blankets. Do you understand?”

Our fear as readers is slowly discovering what is going on. That mixture of unease and hope that things will improve keeps us engaged. And yet in the film adaptation, the director cuts that fear instantly by starting with the wreckers destroying a ship. Who, you ask, would make such a critical error? Ummm. Hitchcock?

Two of Alfred Hitchcock’s best known films–Rebecca and The Birds–originated in the writing of Daphne Du Maurier. In both cases, he displayed a sharp understanding of her intent, carefully reproducing the psychology of the narrator in the former and quietly building on the creepiness of the birds in the latter. That’s why his failure with Jamaica Inn (1939) is so baffling. The book is brilliant, the movie mediocre. The master of suspense completely botches the book’s beautifully crafted, slow-burning sense of menace with his timeline. He gives away Jamaica Inn’s mystery in the first scene. He reveals the mastermind (whose identity is uncovered late in the novel, when Mary mistakenly runs to him for help) within the first twenty-five minutes. As a result, I found the movie full of some nicely done set pieces, but very little suspense.

Similarly, Hitchcock just doesn’t get the characters. Jamaica Inn is terrifying because the characters feel powerless. Patience (Marie Ney) may love her husband, Joss (Leslie Banks), but it’s her fear that keeps her submissive to him–her fear of his violence toward her, of the violence he inflicts on others, and worst of all, of her moral corruption in enabling him.

Patience (Marie Ney)

She has become a flitting, barely there woman, purposely dwelling in a fantasy world to avoid facing what he and she have become. She can’t leave him because she’s been beaten down by psychological abuse. Mary (Maureen O’Hara) is terrified for her, must stay with her, because Patience’s utterly unable to act for herself. Basically, Patience is Season 5’s Skyler White without the will or resilience. The stand-by-her-man character Hitchcock has given her instead makes no sense (though Skyler White haters might have approved).

Even odder is the characterization of Mary. In the novel, she’s independent, sassy, and quick tempered, particularly when it comes to male arrogance and unwelcome handling. Yet there she is in the film, letting Sir Humphrey (Charles Laughton) paw her as he did his horse. She smiles; she claims he’s a gentleman. WHAT? Mary is no fan of the upper classes in the novel, nor is she easily charmed or manipulated.

Her enforced trip with the wreckers is terrifying in the book because she keeps witnessing–and is unable to prevent–the murders that enfold in front of her. What we witness in the novel is the annihilation of what was left of her innocence, and we feel how we do when we watch Breaking Bad‘s Jesse’s wrenching reactions to a child’s death. Yet in the movie version of Jamaica Inn, there Mary is, conveniently preventing the wreck, as if one woman could accomplish that when surrounded by men trying to force themselves on her. This is the work of a cheap action director, not a Hitchcock.

Clearly, the director got carried away by his desire to let Charles Laughton, a minor character in the book, dominate the film.

The eyebrows alone are unforgivable

Laughton also co-produced, so his elevation isn’t surprising. Because he is Laughton, mugging and having a field day with the material, the movie contains a number of funny moments, and a picturesque conclusion. Much can be forgiven, of course, since the film debuted O’Hara, gave us striking action scenes, and included understated humor (via the servants of Sir Humphrey). But so much is missed by turning this film into camp: that suspicion Mary feels when she hears but never sees a man alone in a room in the inn (the mastermind), or finds the rope hanging from a beam but can’t be certain it implies a hanging.

What a film it would have been with just a few glimpses into Patience’s fear, or her equally frightening resignation: “…if you came to guess but half of what I know, your hair would go grey, Mary, as mine has done, and you would tremble in your speech and weep by night, and all that lovely careless youth of yours would die, Mary, as mine has died.” Or for one scene like Mary’s eerie walk into her uncle’s house after an absence, when she sees the collapsed clock, hears the silence, and senses what’s happened. A fragment of fear, a suspicion, is so much more sinister than outright knowledge. Hitchcock knew this. As a New York Times reviewer wisely put it, “Having set his own standards, Alfred Hitchcock must be judged by them….” And by Hitchcock standards, Jamaica Inn is a failure. Too bad he chose such an excellent book to butcher. I see that just a few years ago, a miniseries attempted the story. I’m sure it’s better. But wouldn’t you like to see what Vince Gilligan could do with it?

This post is part of the Beyond the Covers blogathon, hosted by Speakeasy and Now Voyaging. Check out the wonderful entries here.

Creepy Antihero: He Walked by Night (1948)

04/02/2016 by leah@carygrantwonteatyou.com Leave a Comment

**Minor spoilers only**

There’s much to appreciate about the police procedural noir, He Walked by Night, in which a crafty thief (Richard Basehart) kills an LA cop and then eludes the force aligned against him, altering his targets and appearance to outwit his pursuers. The focus moves back and forth between the police’s strategies for capture and the villain’s efforts to trick them, and our allegiance shifts in spite of the killer’s cruelty.

The film is famous not only for the striking cinematography of John Alton and gripping performance of Basehart, but for launching the idea for Jack Webb’s Dragnet series (Webb plays a CSI in the film). The movie’s realistic portrayal of police work was no accident; the story benefited from a cop’s consultation and is based on the spree of Erwin Walker, whose brutal crimes and daring storm drain escapes inspired the film.

Although we get little of the killer’s character, two relationships give us insights that disturb rather than enlighten. The true-life murderer attributed his crimes to tragedies in his war-time experiences. The film doesn’t include such explanations; instead, we’re left to wonder at the imbalance between antihero Roy’s actions, and his seeming lack of motivation.

Perhaps most disturbing is his relationship with his client, Paul Reeves (Whit Bissell), who offers Roy a job experimenting with audiovisual equipment due to the quality of products he’s rented to him (products that Roy upgrades with electronic tinkering). Roy clearly takes pride in his secret reasons for saying no: why take a job, when he can keep stealing?

BissellandBasehart
This same secret superiority becomes more transparent later in the film, when he deliberately frightens his former client.

Frightened victim
Paul has reported Roy’s theft of a projector due to a customer complaint. The cops are staking out Paul’s house to trap Roy, assuming the two are collaborators. The smart move for Roy would be to avoid Paul, but instead, he sneaks past the cops, and then torments and steals from his former client, supposedly due to anger at the betrayal and a desire to get the scoop on police knowledge about him.

BissellandBasehart-confrontation

BasehartthreatensBissell
But are any of these reasons sufficient to risk capture and certain death (given the state’s death penalty)? He actually seems unsure of what to do with Paul, of why he’s there; there’s a strange but convincing ambiguity to Basehart’s looks and actions, and the actor’s complex portrayal adds to our uncertainty and fear: How can such an unpredictable killer be avoided or stopped?

Roy’s only affection is reserved for his dog, who warns his owner at the cops’ approach late in the film, with frequent looks and whining that is nearly the only sound for some time period.

Dog-TheyWalkedbyNight
This scene is very upsetting. It is long, especially in such a taut film, and we’ve seen the two together earlier, and feel some affection for the dog. We therefore experience unease for an uncomfortable period as the dog is announcing the danger, and strangely, his protection makes us suddenly (and disturbingly) sympathize with the killer. This innocent, after all, loves Roy. What will happen to him if Roy doesn’t make it? John Alton’s eerie cinematography adds to the tension.

I won’t reveal what happens; just watch the film for free on Archive.org or Amazon (if a Prime subscriber). And then see if you can get it out of your head.

Hitchcock Fans, Watch The Gift (2015)

12/13/2015 by leah@carygrantwonteatyou.com 2 Comments

The beauty of watching The Gift (2015) is how often our own reactions to the film are reflected in Rebecca Hall’s expressive face: compassion, fear, doubt, suspicion.

RebeccaHall-TheGift
Her character, Robyn, is in a vulnerable state when she and husband Simon (Jason Bateman) move to a new town: She’s given up her job; she’s lost a child. Perhaps that’s why when Simon’s high school acquaintance, Gordo (Joel Edgerton), stops by frequently, Robyn considers him merely sweet and socially awkward, and her husband wants to cut all ties, avoid encouraging the creep.

Gordo’s weird to assume such intimacy, her husband suggests. In fact, he’s always been weird. She shouldn’t encourage Gordo, Simon warns; the creep must have a crush on her. As viewers, we tend to agree with Simon’s instincts, and yet….Simon’s behavior to Gordo verges on cruelty. And so much hostility seems to suggest he’s lying about their past. When Gordo pens a letter in response to the end of their friendship, he writes that he was willing to let bygones be bygones. But not now…

JoelEdgerton-TheGift
When seemingly vengeful acts start occurring, Robyn is unsure: Is it Gordo? Or is her susceptible state making her paranoid? More troubling than her fears are her observations of her husband. He seems to be undermining her confidence at work and dinner parties. There’s a hint of ruthlessness about him she clearly didn’t notice before. And she starts to catch him in lies. Whom exactly has she married? And what has he done?

JasonBateman-TheGift
All three performances are stellar, with ambiguity in every shot of their faces, every word they speak. Edgerton seems sketchy from the start, but also kind and sensitive. He does triple duty as the costar, writer, and director of the film.

As Simon, Bateman appears loving toward and protective of his wife, but also condescending, and casually inconsiderate of others. Usually such a great everyman, Bateman plays this ambitious, morally questionable businessman with ease.

Robyn doesn’t know whether to trust herself at all, and so Hall’s gestures and smile are hesitant throughout. Hers is a winning, understated performance. As viewers, all we know for sure is that Robyn is far too nice, and we like her too much to be comfortable with her exposure–especially with all of those inadvisable, big glass windows in her home.

Women’s fears about the men in their lives are convincingly captured by Edgerton’s script. Others have written gorgeous pieces about Hitchcock’s similar insights. I can’t reach these authors’ eloquence, but I now always observe those traits in the latter’s films. As in Hitchcock’s Suspicion (or George Cukor’s Gaslight), The Gift is essentially about a marriage. While Edgerton has been praised for his building of suspense in the film, I like his subtle characterizations more, as when Robyn’s disgust at her husband’s callousness is echoed in the face of a neighbor, Lucy (Allison Tolman). I soon became less interested in the Should I be afraid? question, and more intrigued by another, much harder one: If my spouse treats another human being in a certain way, can I still like him? Is a momentary past cruelty just that, in the past? Or does it reflect who he is?

Joan Fontaine’s character always troubled me in Hitchcock’s film because she was too wrapped up in her own vulnerability to and love for her Johnnie (Cary Grant) to judge him as harshly as she should have for his immorality toward others. Robyn, despite her fragility, speaks up even for maybe-dangerous Gordo, and as a result never loses our investment in her–and that, Edgerton knows, is what keeps us hooked. If this is his first effort as a writer/director, I can’t wait to see what his next attempt will be.

A Legacy of Self-Amusement: Drew & John Barrymore

08/13/2015 by leah@carygrantwonteatyou.com 19 Comments

Charlie’s Angels (2000) is the epitome of how seriously Drew Barrymore takes herself: the hair flips, the silly punk rock past of her character, action sequences so absurdly, self-consciously over-the-top that they make you smile.

Playfulness seems to be Barrymore ‘s signature, what distinguishes her from her lesser rom-com peers. So it wasn’t surprising that this was a film she chose to produce, an ode to a dumb TV show celebrating sexism/female empowerment/both (depending on your point of view).

The show (1976-81)– for those younger folks out there–featured a wealthy but reserved guy (Charlie), who hired three beautiful detectives (the angels) for his agency. All we ever got of Charlie was his voice, as he never appeared in person and let all arrangements be managed by his assistant, Bosley. The term ‘angel,’ use of possessive, Charlie’s condescending voice, the quick rotations of actresses for the roles (suggesting they were interchangeable)—any of the four could make a feminist cringe. But the women were tough and smart, using their looks to blindside unwary men, much as Columbo used his folksiness.

The film is both a parody and tribute, using the TV show’s theme music, graphics, and basic concept, but mocking the silliness of it too. Cameron Diaz plays the supposed airhead (Natalie) to perfection. Lucy Liu takes on the kind of tough role she always plays, even imitating a dominatrix/efficiency expert in one ploy as detective Alex. As Dylan, Barrymore mocks the over-the-top femininity of her predecessors by embracing a badass, punk rock aesthetic. The strange connection the women have to Charlie is brought to the forefront when their client (Sam Rockwell) suggests that Dylan has daddy issues.

Thinking they get to meet Charlie in person...

Hopeful to meet Charlie in person…

Whatever part she’s in, Barrymore always seems to be playing herself, and part of what keeps us watching her is just how likeable she is, this woman who went through a painful past of abandonment and substance abuse as a kid, and emerged as a woman with empathy for those who contributed to the conditions that put her there. She is both the most tender of the three actresses onscreen—Barrymore always captures vulnerability effectively—and the most sarcastic. Perhaps hers is an earned playfulness, but Barrymore wears it lightly. (How else could you repeatedly perform with Adam Sandler, and more bafflingly, not only star with, but marry Tom Green? Tom Green!) While her acting never wows me, she does.

In Drew’s performances, I don’t see much of her forebears, that famous acting dynasty whose members mesmerize audiences still today. Only in her youthful roles did I ever see traces of the Barrymore family’s skill with drama. I would argue that Irreconcilable Differences (1984); an underrated film about a girl who wants to separate from her narcissistic, divorced parents (in an eerie foreshadowing of Barrymore’s own decision years later); was her strongest dramatic role. Perhaps it just was a part she knew really, really well.

But usually, the actress just prefers, and does better, at comedies. Certainly, Drew lacks the intimidation or gravitas of her great-uncle Lionel…

the nuance of her great-aunt Ethel…

or the presence of her grandfather John…

Of course, her troubled past brings to mind her grandfather’s. But it’s in her self-deprecating goofiness that I see the clearest link to the Barrymore dynasty. While it’s certainly not present in all of the Barrymores’ roles, I see it in John’s charming turn in Grand Hotel, and, of course, in his hilarious supporting character in the glorious Midnight (1939). There’s such a lightheartedness to his approach to the role of Georges Flammarion, and though he was already at the cue card stage of his decline, his humor, at least, had not reached the self-parody stage.

John Barrymore in Midnight

Such lightheartedness is key to Dylan’s (Drew Barrymore’s) character, even when she’s in the direst straights. In the best action sequence in Charlie’s Angels, Dylan has been tied up by her sleazy client, Eric Knox (Sam Rockwell), who has betrayed her after sleeping with her, and tried to kill her already. Knox departs to perform his nefarious schemes, leaving her to his five henchmen. After managing to get her lighter back, she spells out what she will do to escape, buying time but also revealing her confidence.

As she sits in her chair, she calmly explains, smiling at her adversaries all the while, “By the time this is over, every one of you is gonna be face down on the floor, and I’m gonna moonwalk out of here.”

As they rush toward her, she interrupts, looking at each man in turn, “You’re not listening to me. See first, you’re gonna help me out of my chair, and then I’m gonna leapfrog over you, before I break his nose…I’m gonna do all of this with my hands tied behind my back.”

She does exactly what she says:

And her moonwalk is a joy:

You can see the full clip here.

Any actress could have had fun with such a sequence, but there’s so much self-amusement in Drew Barrymore’s portrayal that I kept thinking of her grandfather in Midnight. Sure, he had much more range and talent than she does, but in self-amusement, the two are matched.

This post is part of the Barrymore Trilogy blogathon, hosted by Crystal of In the Good Old Days of Classic Hollywood. See the fantastic entries here!

They Live by Night: The Romeo & Juliet of Noir

08/09/2015 by leah@carygrantwonteatyou.com Leave a Comment

When I see a movie described as Bonnie and Clyde-like, I’m expecting an adrenaline-junkie couple, exciting escapes, violence. Imagine then my surprise to find They Live by Night is a surprisingly sweet tale of young newlyweds who long to–wait for it–go out to dinner together.

It’s true that initially, this film seems a typical noir. Bowie (Farley Granger) is an escaped convict, sprung by fellow criminals Chickamaw (Howard Da Silva) and T-Dub (Jay Flippen) so that he’ll be the getaway driver for their bank robberies.

Jailed seven years for a murder he didn’t commit, Bowie goes along with their plans, thinking the loot will help him pay for a lawyer to prove his innocence. (Yes, that’s how naïve he is.) This supposedly scary criminal looks like this when he’s afraid a girl will disapprove of him:

Bowie, looking like a scared Ralph Macchio.

Resembling a scared Ralph Macchio….

But innocence is the theme of this movie–and not the corrupting of that innocence (as a noir might lead us to expect). While he does commit robberies, Bowie doesn’t seem very interested in them. He’s loyal to his partners, but ready to quit at any time. In fact, we see very little of his robberies in the film, and very much of his quiet time with his love. What makes it a noir is simple: he’s trapped by his past actions, and escape isn’t looking likely. His hopes for getting out of the mess he’s caused are sad to hear, even if they do endear him to Keechie (Cathy O’Donnell).

Keechie, whose drunken father hides the escapees, falls for Bowie after his fumbling attempt to talk to her (she seems to be the first girl he’s met). When they spend time together after an injury and his partner Chickamaw’s bloody response to it given Bowie an undeserved reputation for villainy, the two become even closer. Their impulse decision to marry after she runs away with him shows them fearful, hesitant as they approach the altar–like the kids they are.

These two are so innocent I kept wondering if they were even going to kiss.

At points, there’s so much giddiness when they smile at each other it’s easy to forget that these dark shadows on the screen portend something, that their romance probably isn’t headed anywhere better than Shakespeare’s famed lovers.’

(I should mention, by the way, that I’ve never found Rome & Juliet romantic; I regard it as the tragedy of teenage-think-gone-wrong, when a new crush means forever-love, and a life without him/her is THE END. It’s difficult for me to fathom that others find fickle Romeo–who was in love with Rosaline the day before–romantic.)

While there’s no feud between the couple’s families in They Live by Night, Keechie’s father helps the police catch Bowie, and the latter’s partners refuse to let him go straight, giving us a bit of that lovely, narcissistic Capulet-Montague spirit.

Despite the odds, Keechie and Bowie do manage to escape the patent absurdity of their names and the triteness of their situation, making us root against others hunting them. O’Donnell plays that same almost-too-sugary supporter as she did when portraying Wilma in The Best Years of Our Lives, but with enough toughness and grit to make us like her. Granger perfectly captures the blustering young lover trying to do the right thing, but kind of clueless about how to pull it off.

While the criminal partners of Bowie’s are fairly stereotypical, others the couple meet are not; the strange, quirky hotel proprietors and marriage officiants seem to promise sympathy and add interest to the story–though no one deserves as much trust as these two are willing to shell out. You just keep wondering how this kid could survive 7 years in prison and STILL be this childlike, or a girl could have a corrupt, alcoholic father; a criminal for an uncle; and remain such an optimist. And yet, they come across as real on the screen, and the freshness they bring to their experiences is enchanting, as with this scene of them ecstatic about going out for dinner.

I won’t reveal how it ends, but the film is suspenseful enough in spite of many slow interludes, and the characters compelling enough, to keep you watching, and hoping….

The Man Who Knew Too Little: an Underrated Bill Murray Gem

05/28/2015 by leah@carygrantwonteatyou.com 2 Comments

The Man Who Knew Too Little (1997) received a 41% on Rotten Tomatoes. It was panned by critics as only moderately funny. Experts claimed it was undeserving of the talents of Bill Murray, relied on broad stereotypes, and centered around only one gag.

Most of these critiques are true. But the film is also hilarious.

To describe the movie as a parody of The Man Who Knew Too Much (the 1934 or ’56 version) would be a stretch. Call it instead a Hitchcockian parody, and you’ll have it. Hitchcock asked us all what becomes of a civilian when mistaken for a spy (North by Northwest), or thrown into a conspiracy once in contact with one (The Man Who Knew Too Much/The 39 Steps)? Director Jon Amiel and writer Robert Farrar extend the question: “and he is totally oblivious to what’s going on?”

A suspected spy arrives in London

Here’s the tissue-thin plot: Blockbuster employee Wallace Ritchie (Murray) shows up for a surprise visit to London. His brother (Peter Gallagher) sends him to a participant theater act called the Theatre of Life until after his business dinner. Ritchie answers the pay phone call that’s supposed to begin the show. But the call that comes in (a few minutes early) isn’t from the theater, but from the employers of Spencer, a hit man tasked with killing the defense minister’s mistress, Lori (Joanne Whalley). She knows too much about a conspiracy plot to reignite the Cold War and is blackmailing the minister with incriminating letters. Thus begins Ritchie’s confusion: he thinks he’s acting; the bad guys–and Lori–suspect he’s a spy undermining their plans.

Because there is essentially no storyline, Murray is let loose to be the playful, odd guy he seems to be in real life, at least according to encounters with strangers in clubs and in cabs. In fact, I’d argue that in some ways this film is more typical of Murray’s personality than any other: the man knows how to improv his way through life.

As Ritchie, Murray has a blast ripping on a number of tough guy acts–most notably, Clint Eastwood’s. Of course, he mimics “Here’s Johnny” from The Shining. He pauses before saving Lori to put on his sunglasses. He asks for retakes, explains his life of espionage to cops, applauds a corpse for the realism of his acting.

Impressed with a dead killer’s supposed acting

In a favorite moment, Ritchie creeps out some muggers by sobbing, “I got a couple of kids,” and then, embarrassed by his poor performance, abruptly trying another approach: “You know it’s getting so that decent people can’t even go out on the street anymore without scum like you trying to step on whatever’s decent in this world. Well you know something? Your type are just gonna be the kind of crap that sticks to the bottom of a good man’s loafer.”

Murray faux-beseeching

Imagine Murray’s fake crying (pictured above) and his enunciation of “a good man’s loafer,” and you’ll have a hint of just how hysterical this film can be.

The extent to which Ritchie remains deluded stretches belief, of course: he never catches on. But who is looking for realism in an unapologetically silly comedy? And, if we’re being honest, how plausible are Hitchcock spy stories and their ilk (Foul Play, Gotcha!, Frantic, The Tuxedo, etc.)? I think we can agree that all of us would live approximately 5 seconds if mistaken for a spy or harboring the secrets of one, a likelihood this parody clearly asks us to consider.

And truthfully, the film could be about anything. What matters is this: Murray is in almost every scene, and an hour and a half of Murray goofing off is about the best mood elevator I can imagine. I watch this ludicrous flick when I’m blue, scared, angry–and I never stop enjoying it. The critics gave it a 41 percent on Rotten Tomatoes; the audience gave it a 70. As usual, the critics are missing out on the fun to be had here; don’t make the same mistake.

The Nerdiest Scene Ever: Encyclopedia Writers Trumping Gangsters in Ball of Fire

05/16/2015 by leah@carygrantwonteatyou.com 28 Comments

This post is part of the My Favorite Classic Movie Blogathon in celebration of National Classic Movie Day (May 16th). Click here to view the schedule listing all the great posts.

Nerd alert: I used to sit in the basement, reading my parents’ World Books for fun. I think it started with A Tale of Two Cities. A few hours into the encyclopedia set’s entries on The French Revolution, and Sydney Carton was forgotten.

Now, of course, my addiction is Wikipedia, despite my warning students away from it with Colbert. The other day I attended a Renaissance Faire featuring a pirate show (yes, I know how ridiculous that is), just after reading about Blackbeard in The Smithsonian. The combination led me on a Wikipedia binge on female pirates.

Thus it should be no surprise that a film about professors writing an encyclopedia (and their unexpected romantic interlude with a gangster’s moll) would thrill me. I’ve already explained why Ball of Fire should be viewed by all English majors. Today I’m advocating it for history buffs as well, particularly due to one scene starring the professors, two gangsters, The Sword of Damocles, and the mirrors of Archimedes.

**Spoiler alert.**

For those who’ve never seen the film, here’s the basic plot: Sugarpuss (Barbara Stanwyck), girlfriend to gangster Joe Lilac (Dana Andrews), hides out from the D.A. in the home of the encyclopedia writers, pretending she’s there to help with Professor Potts’s (Gary Cooper’s) entry on slang. Potts falls for and proposes to her, and she (to her great shock) falls for him too. But when her scheming is exposed, Potts lets her leave with Lilac, who needs her “I do” to prevent her from testifying about his crimes.

Sugarpuss knows she’s earned Potts’s disgust, but refuses to marry Lilac, instead explaining her love for the professor. She describes his poor kissing technique, his “giraffe” fashion, and other traits that have somehow inspired her love for him.

“I’ll never see him again,” she tells Lilac, “but I’m not gonna marry you, not if you tie a ton of cement around my neck and throw me into the East River, like you did all the others.”

To force her, Lilac sends two of his henchmen, Pastrami (Dan Duryea) and Anderson (Ralph Peters), to take the professors hostage.

When Potts discovers how much Sugarpuss loves him, he wants to yodel he’s so happy. His fellow professors share in this enthusiasm, even holding down Pastrami’s gun. The gangster retorts,”Better look out, it’s gonna spit.”

At this exciting juncture, their garbage man arrives with questions on a quiz, including one about the Sword of Damocles. Professor Jerome (Henry Travers–a.k.a., Clarence of It’s a Wonderful Life) explains the legend, realizing its pertinence to their situation: A sword is suspended above the head of Damocles by just a hair, just like the portrait above Pastrami.

Jerome’s quick-witted colleagues soon catch the reason for his storytelling. Suddenly, they have a strategy–and perhaps as importantly, hope.

After Potts shares another story–Archimedes burning the Roman fleet with well-aimed mirrors–Professor Gurkakoff (Oscar Homolka) moves his microscope so that it’s catching the sunlight, and directs it at the rope above the portrait.

Potts then notices that Anderson is pitched precariously on a high chair.

He therefore refers one of his colleagues to a passage that gives him a mission once Pastrami is handled.

The approach is working. Two of the professors have spotted a carpet they’re ready to pull to topple Anderson, and the fire is burning through the rope above the picture.

Now all the professors need to do is distract the criminals’ attention from the fire. Potts insults the gangsters in a pseudo-intellectual style, beginning a nonsensical speech with “Your inferiority is a question of the bony structure of your skulls.”

Anderson is unaware how truthfully he speaks when he complains, “This mixed-up talk is giving me a headache.” Pastrami argues that guns, not smarts, make the world go round, and proves it by shooting their globe.

While this gun play has the whole room worried, it’s Pastrami’s decision to leave his chair that leads to panic. Professor Oddly proposes that Pastrami shoot a dime out of his hand, but only if he returns to his seat. Realizing the risk he’s taking, poor Oddly switches to a quarter, then a 50-cent piece. The tension in the room has obviously reached quite a pitch.

Oddly’s expression as he waits to lose his hand is priceless:

Of course, Pastrami is knocked over first.

And Anderson falls via the carpet move. Oddly faints–quite theatrically. And the professors rush off in a garbage truck to save Sugarpuss, with Potts studying boxing strategies to use against Lilac en route. With scenes as delightfully geeky and ridiculous as this one, it any wonder that this classic film remains my favorite?

The Epitome Of Teen Queen Cruelty: The Heathers Of Heathers (1989)*

04/16/2015 by leah@carygrantwonteatyou.com 23 Comments

This post is part of the second annual Great Villain Blogathon, sponsored by Ruth of Silver Screenings, Karen of Shadows & Satin and Kristina of Speakeasy. Click here to read about other fascinating villains!

The Three Heathers: McNamara, Chandler (queen), and Duke

Before there were Mean Girls, there were Heathers, the heroines of the late-80s teen flick. If you haven’t seen it since high school, watch it again immediately on Netflix. It’s so much funnier than you remember, one of the sharpest satires about group behavior you will ever see. Mean Girls (2004), entertaining though it may be, is just a pale copy of it.

There are multiple villains in this black comedy, but the wicked trio are my favorites, a group of snotty popular girls, all named Heather. One outsider, Veronica (Winona Ryder), is allowed to share their company. She narrates their cruelty (and her own) in angsty teen fashion until J.D., a new crush (Christian Slater), urges her into revenge.

Cliché as this group might be, the Heathers are so extreme in their behavior that they’re mesmerizing, with their lead, Heather Chandler (Kim Walker), the most interesting of the bunch.

To capture her fascination, I’m categorizing the queen Heather’s words, preferences, and actions below.

(Note: Some of the best lines are so profanity laced that I decided not to include them; the line ending in Mother Theresa is a favorite.)

Power Accessory
Heather’s red scrunchie is clearly one of the symbols of her dominance. It’s the first thing we see in the film.

Her School Armor
These shoulder pads speak for themselves:

Lunch-Time Polls & Other Bits of Wisdom

Heather creates a regular poll** for her fellow popular kids. One of Veronica’s pathetic minor rebellions is to insist they seek answers from those Heather considers “the scum of the school” as well, those who in the queen’s estimation won’t help them brush up on their “conversational skills” before a college party.

Representative Poll: “Now check this out. You win five million dollars from Publisher’s Sweepstakes, and the same day that that big Ed guy gives you the check, aliens land on the earth and say they’re going to blow up the world in two days. What do you do?”

I just love the level of importance attached to this idiocy in the movie.

Signature Aphorism: “Real life sucks losers dry.”

Idea of Fun—and Urgency
The two Heather minions (Duke and McNamara) tell Veronica she’s needed right away in the café. When she arrives, their queen huffs, “Veronica, finally…I need you to forge a hot and horny, but realistically low-key note in Kurt’s handwriting and slip it onto Martha Dumptruck’s (Carrie Lynn’s) lunch tray.”

When Veronica protests that she doesn’t have anything against the poor target, Heather responds, “You don’t have anything for her either,” then suggests (with typical color) that this will give the girl fantasy material for when she’s alone. The Heathers’ excitement in anticipating the results of this cruel plot is evident:

Sense of Furniture
“Veronica needs something to write on. Heather (Duke), bend over.”

Favorite Game
There’s really nothing like croquet for sociopaths; Heather Chandler has a loving ritual with her ball.

Just after it, she hits Veronica’s head with it in a dream sequence.

Her real-life game isn’t much more cordial. When her red ball knocks into Heather Duke’s green one, the latter asks, “So what are you going to do, Heather? Take the two shots or send me out?”

“Did you have a brain tumor for breakfast?” the queen snaps. “First, you ask if you can be red, knowing that I’m always red.” She then proceeds to knock the ball out of play.

After Heather Duke miraculously manages to rebound, Heather Chandler gets a chance to ruin her chances again, and does.

“Why?” says Heather Duke.

“Why not?” her frenemy responds.

Self-Reflection
“Does it bother you,” Veronica asks Heather #1, “that everyone thinks you’re a piranha?”

The queen scoffs in response that of course she doesn’t, desired as she is. “I’m worshipped at Westerburg,” she explains, “and I’m only a junior.”

“You wanted to be a member of the most powerful clique in school,” Heather reminds Veronica when the latter protests bullying. “If I wasn’t already the head of it, I’d want the same thing. Come on, Veronica. You used to have a sense of humor.”

Insults & Threats

Her entire demeanor belittles those around her, but Heather Chandler really has some classic lines. Here are a few examples of this sweetheart’s empathy at work:

“Grow up, Heather (Duke),” she says as her friend is puking. “Bulimia is so ’87.”

“You blow it tonight, girl,” Heather warns Veronica before their party at Remington University, “and it’s keggers with kids all next year.”

“What’s your damage?” (when Veronica refuses to sleep with an annoying college guy)

“You were nothing before you met me,” Heather snaps after Veronica embarrasses her by not putting out and getting sick at the university party. “You were playing Barbies with Betty Finn. You were a Bluebird. You were a Brownie. You were a Girl Scout cookie. I got you into a Remington party. What’s my thanks? It’s on the hallway carpet. I got paid in puke…Transfer to Washington. Transfer to Jefferson. No one at Westerburg’s going to let you play their reindeer games.”

“Is this turnout weak or what?” (response to a friend’s funeral in a dream appearance)

Other Heathers’ Honorable Mentions

**Spoilers ahead***

The minions have their moments as well. Here’s Heather McNamara (Lisanne Falk), fixing her hair with holy water after her friend’s funeral:

And Heather Duke (Shannen Doherty), celebrating Heather Chandler’s death:

If you’ve seen the movie, you’ll remember that Veronica accidentally kills the queen, which leads to the latter becoming a martyr in the school, more popular than ever. Afterward, J.D. exploits the school’s fever for suicide, killing two football players and passing the deaths off as self-inflicted with Veronica’s unwilling assistance. And that’s just the beginning.

Much of the humor of the story comes from others’ reactions to the bloodshed, including Heather Duke’s. She dons her predecessor’s queenly mantle, even wearing her power scrunchie. Here’s her response after hearing her clique’s bullying victim attempted to kill herself: “I mean, Heather and Kurt were a shock, but Martha Dumptruck? Get crucial. She dialed suicide hotlines in her diapers.”

Why, Veronica asks, must Heather Duke be such a jerk?

The replacement queen smirks, “Because I can be.”

The film suggests with the interchangeability of the Heathers that the death of a clique queen just leads to another who may be worse. As Veronica says of her friend’s newly acquired status, “I’ve cut off Heather Chandler’s head, and Heather Duke’s head is sprouting back in its place….”

In terms of filmmaking, this movie spawned creatures such as Mean Girls’ Regina George, queen of the Plastics. We might no longer call the teens in them “Swatch dogs and Diet Coke heads,” but clique comedies are alive and well in the Heathers’ wake, which will probably be true as long as high schools continue breeding ugly class structures. As J.D. says about geography, but could just as easily apply to time, “Seven schools in seven states, and the only thing different is my locker combination.”

*1988 international release
**Mean Girls gave a nod to the film with a poll of its own. Did you catch it?

Edward G. Robinson and My Cat

03/19/2015 by leah@carygrantwonteatyou.com Leave a Comment

“Suave,” the receptionist at my vet’s office said the other day, reacting to my cat’s name. “Sorry,” she added quickly. “I couldn’t resist.” I laughed, having forgotten that Gerardo’s infamous 1990 song is the first association most people have with the name Rico. My cat does share some traits with the character described by that one-hit wonder, but “suave?” Not so much.

My husband and I had seen Little Caesar a few months before adopting our cat. We’d wavered over a name, and then started noticing some familiar traits. Like our cat’s ego, which seemed to be vastly disproportionate to his size.

A head so big they'd need a "special sized noose" for him.

Cops say they’ll need a “special noose” to fit his “swelled head.”

We discovered that our newcomer wasn’t exactly sane, and that he felt entitled to what wasn’t his. He wanted our food as well as his own, and jumped up on the counter to paw some while we were eating it. That’s when we realized his actions reminded us of something, and that something was Edward G. Robinson’s breakout role.

Increasing acquaintance with my cat’s past and behavior has proven that those traits are just the beginning of his resemblance to Edward G. Robinson’s antihero. He was returned once to the shelter because he couldn’t handle associating with other dominant male cats. Sound familiar, Edward G. Robinson fans?

And then there’s his survival instinct. My cat is scrappy. He was discovered outside a dumpster in a New England winter he somehow survived. As if to prove his history, he has knocked over the trash can so many times seeking leftovers that we’re considering the metal tamper-proof kind others purchase to keep out collies and labs. And if a jalapeno potato chip, a piece of broccoli is dropped, he devours it before we can retrieve it. Rico never takes anything for granted, assumes he has to fight for everything he gets. Just like Little Caesar.

And like Robinson’s character, my cat is always voracious (despite a now hefty belly). Little Caesar hungered to be part of the “big time.” He begins the film envying Diamond Pete Montana, a successful gangster, not a nobody like himself, ripping off gas stations. “Money’s alright,” he says to his partner, who admits he’d quit crime if he had enough, “but it ain’t everything. Yeah, be somebody. Look hard at a bunch of guys and know that they’ll do anything you tell them.” He even expresses his longing with a butter knife.

As Little Caesar begins to rise, he can’t help eying others’ pins, diamond rings…

Of course when you think of Robinson, you can’t forget that voice, and how much he liked to use it. My cat too has a great desire for self-expression, and sees no reason to ever cease meowing. Maybe that’s why my husband and I started referring to him as “the Rico,” recalling Robinson’s famous line when he talks of himself in third person: “Is this the end of Rico?”

I think one of the reasons Robinson’s role made his career is because in spite of all of his criminal acts in the film, in spite of his arrogance, there’s something haunting and sympathetic about Little Caesar’s need to prove himself, to be envied.

He is in so many ways the embodiment of the American Dream filtered through a shaky understanding. He’s hardly the first—in fiction or real life—to be destroyed by his belief in it. Because he’s played by Edward G. Robinson, we are enthralled by Rico even as we condemn his actions. And in spite of everything, his loyalty to his best pal is always there, even when he most wants to lose it.

Perhaps Little Caesar’s real tragedy is that he was born into the wrong species. In feline form, the ambition, ego, hunger would all be endearing. We’d smile, hug, and pet him for those characteristics, and acknowledge his superiority without any need for proof. After all, it was the thirst for that recognition that inspired Little Caesar’s crimes. Poor man. He should have been a cat.

A Showcase for Garfield, Neal, and Hernandez: The Breaking Point (1950)

01/07/2015 by leah@carygrantwonteatyou.com Leave a Comment

The Breaking Point is tense from its first scene, with fishing boat captain Harry (John Garfield) arriving on dock to find that his credit is no longer good enough for the gas he needs for his next trip. Money troubles mean he can’t feed his wife and kids, can’t pay his partner, Wesley (Juano Hernandez), can’t keep his boat, and likely can’t avoid a humble future of working for his father-in-law.

Unfortunately, that’s the peak of Harry’s fortune. After a couple sails to Mexico with him, the man skips out on his romantic partner and the fare. The woman he’s left behind, Leona (Patricia Neal), asks Harry for a ride home, causing the captain to snap, “Who’s going back? I need 100 bucks to clear the port and I got 80 cents toward it. If I can’t scrabble up some dough, we all better learn Spanish.”

Harry agrees to smuggle Chinese men into America with the help of fixer Duncan, a slimy attorney (Wallace Ford) whose mantra is “Relax, let it happen.” Harry tries to steer Leona and Wesley ashore and away from his criminal acts, but the former is too flippant and the latter too loyal to listen. As might be expected, Harry’s moral compass and prospects unhinge from then on out.

According to the Self-Styled Siren, Hernandez’s role was greater than it would have been thanks to Garfield’s intercession. Once you watch the film, you know how right Garfield was.

The heart of the film is in the relationship between these two men struggling to make it. Honestly, I cared little for Harry’s every-wife, the long-suffering Lucy (Phyllis Thaxter). She’s sympathetic in theory, yes, but she’s so devoid of individuality I felt no connection to her, except in a brief moment she dyes her hair to look as sexy as Leona, paining her guilty husband and embarrassing her kids.

One of the issues with the film is the disconnect between the director’s choices and the caliber of the acting. Much time is spent showing that Harry is hovering closer and closer to the title’s breaking point. But with a man as expressive as Garfield, why spend so long establishing it? Why not instead put more energy into the exciting smuggling scene, into his intriguing relationship with temptress Leona (Patricia Neal), and into developing the chemistry between these partners? It’s amazing that even with so few scenes, the pathos of Wesley’s situation comes through so much more clearly and vividly than that of Harry’s whole family, who get so much more screen time. I suspect that’s because Hernandez’s acting is just that good, and because the family really only serve to explain Harry’s stress and motivation.

Of course, the film thankfully gives a lot of screen time to Garfield, who plays the stubborn, ex-war hero to perfection, and makes us root for him even as we see him putting his pride over ethics and loyalty to others.

As always, Garfield’s understated style is fascinating to watch, as in a moody scene between him and the lawyer who has helped him ruin his life. Duncan has realized he’s too embroiled in the crimes of the gangsters Harry’s about to provide transport for to play the distant—but safe—role he’s accustomed to in his sketchy dealings.

“We’re in it. Let’s hope we get out of it,” Harry replies to Duncan’s worries, and then, recalling the number of times the glib lawyer has told him to take it easy, he snarls, “Roll with it. Relax, let it happen.”

Although lured by Leona’s attractions, Harry doesn’t hesitate to turn his temper on her either, especially when she mocks his earlier admission, when he fell into the usual routine of “I-love-my-wife-but….”

“You women,” he returns. “You remember everything a guy says and then you hit him with it.”

Leona’s (Patricia Neal’s) party-girl attitude and unfailing good mood make her fun to watch in spite of her clichéd role as a siren. Neal’s superior performance and cool presence make the audience feel torn: we want Harry to stay with his beloved wife, but we find Leona as alluring as Harry does. She is so real and alive, and so attracted to the guts, recklessness, and sex appeal that are becoming Harry’s most noticeable traits. In a surprisingly modern take on love, she explains how she looks at her casual romances: “You don’t let it mean anything, it won’t mean anything.” But we don’t ever see the degree of temptation we could have between the two, even if he never did succumb.

This film ultimately seems like it’s about a man’s battle with his own courage, to the exclusion of others’ worries, as Harry admits shortly before the climactic sail, “All I got left to peddle is guts. I’m not sure I got any. I have to find out.”

The Breaking Point, with a shift of emphasis, could have explored the full tragedy of these three flawed characters. But in spite of these defects, it’s impossible not to be caught up in our anxiety for them all, and the film has one of those ending shots so full of understated tragedy I couldn’t get it out of my head. The film’s not easy to get access to (I had to use interlibrary loan), but it’s worth the effort.

*I will post again this weekend due to my holiday-driven lapse last week.*