5 Ways for the Oscars Not to Suck

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While I have my favorites among this year’s nominees, my most fervent wish is for the ceremony itself. I don’t expect anything so lavish as entertainment. I just really, really hope that for once the ceremony doesn’t vie with a tractor pull for most boring event of the year. I can’t have a repeat of 2011, when my main source of joy (and a critic’s too) was the Kraft mac & cheese commercial.

So here, in no particular order, are my wishes:

  1. Chris Rock Has a Blast with Trump Jokes. There’s some precedent here. When he last hosted, Rock roasted President George W. Bush by comparing nonexistent WMDs to a toxic tank tops war between the Gap and Banana Republic. This outspoken comic has it in him to alleviate the Oscars’  tedium. Do it, Rock. I beg of you. (His advance jabs at the whiteness of the show give me hope.)
  2.  Nominated Songs’ Performances Are Cut. We don’t watch the whole movies, right? And this ain’t the Grammys, people. Medleys are sufficient. For every bright spot, like last year’s “Glory,” we have years of suffering through songs so lacking in rhythm they may as well be coming from a dying jack-in-the-box.
  3. The In Memoriam Isn’t Insulting. Should a tribute be seen as an opportunity to snub those you consider unworthy? Are we watching Mean Girls? If not, refrain from the snobbery, Academy. Go for more faces. They’re only on the screen a second anyway. Oh, and give those classic stars more love!
  4. Everyone Lays Off the Wrinkles and the Botox. Your demographic ain’t the millennials, Academy. We middle aged and elderly folks love the stars who’ve gotten past their pimples. The classic fans among us even want to see those few luminaries left to us. Kirk Douglas is still alive. So is Kim Novak. Who cares if your ageism has turned them plastic, if they don’t stun like they did in 1978? Neither do the rest of us.
  5. The Academy Learns to Trim. I realize this is the vainest among my hopes, as Hollywood, despite those awards to be presented Sunday, has lost the art of the edit. But let’s review why some cutting makes sense, Academy:
    1. Very few actors can riff. Do you still not get this after all your hosting blunders? They can’t. Ask poor Neil Patrick Harris. Ask Anne Hathaway. Let’s give actors fewer opportunities to do so.
    2. Song-and-dance numbers aren’t your expertise. Leave those to the Tony Awards, I beg of you.
    3. We need our sleep. Since you are still reaching parents with young kids, and the retired. Since you are broadcasting to those of us stressed about Monday morning meetings. A little thoughtfulness about our energy levels would be appreciated.
    4. We don’t need to wooed into loving film. Montages, clips, and performances about appreciating movies aren’t for us, remember? We’re the fools still watching!! In spite of your bloating of movie times. In spite of the lack of diversity of race or gender in front of and behind the camera. We’re even watching this wretched monstrosity of a show, out of masochism and nostalgia and an entirely unjustified hope you will change. We still love you, Hollywood. That’s how damn much we love film. So nix the reminders, and let the show go on.
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To Kill a Mockingbird–the Film that Spread the Word

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“In surveys asking what one book every civilized person should read, Mockingbird routinely finishes second to the Bible, and in one (if I may go a bit Maycomb on you here) it up and finished first.”  —Charles Leerhsen, Smithsonian

ToKillaMockingbird-Peck
I don’t know how to put into words how thankful I feel to Harper Lee, the day after learning of her death. I doubt many of us can. But I want to express my quieter gratitude for the film. When I first saw it, I was disappointed it didn’t capture as much of the novel as I’d hoped. But I’ve grown increasingly impressed with it in time; not just because it is, indeed, a very good movie; but because it popularized a novel most of us agree “every civilized person should read.” Three Oscars, a mostly faithful rendering of the moving story and a beautifully understated turn by Gregory Peck can do that.

I recognize that the price for the book’s popularity (in part due to that film) was the shy Harper Lee’s withering under our gaze (I once read she compared herself to Boo, rather than Scout). And it’s hard to believe, given the timing of her newest novel’s emergence, right after her sister-protector’s death, that she wanted what was an early draft printed–or the subsequent attention it aroused.

No, Lee wasn’t ready for the degree of our attention, 54 years ago, or today. But she approved the movie anyway, helping so many more of us learn of and then be haunted and changed by her novel. Lee was delighted with Peck’s performance, according to his biographer, even made sure he met her father. So in the beginning of expressing my gratitude to Lee, let me just thank her for approving the film, for putting us all before her own needs, and helping make possible the saving of many other mockingbirds, just as fragile, but likely far less brave than she.

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Big Fish: A Kettle of Oscar Snubs

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EdwardandgiantBigFish
Director Tim Burton’s beautiful Big Fish was shut out of all Oscar nominations in 2004 but for original score (which it didn’t win). The director’s work is often dismissed as creative, but too weird, or lovely, but lacking in feeling. The same critiques, by the way, the Coen brothers and Wes Anderson hear often. Yet in Big Fish, Burton vividly renders the elusive, big-hearted whimsy of Daniel Wallace’s book, telling a father-son story that is sad, wise, and funny all at once.

Let’s discuss the many nominations it should have received, starting with the most egregious omission:

Best Actor in a Supporting Role

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Billy Crudup, not Albert Finney, is the star of the film. Will (Crudup) resents his father, Edward (Finney), for always traveling away from home while he was a kid, even suspects he had a second family. The yarn-telling skills that endear others to Edward annoy his son, who considers his father a liar. “You’re like Santa Claus and the Easter bunny combined,” Will says, “just as charming and just as fake.” The two haven’t spoken in several years, until Edward’s final illness draws his son home to resolve their issues. Edward prickles at his son’s anger: “I’ve been nothing but myself since the day I was born, and if you can’t see that, it’s your failing, not mine.”

Finney’s performance is magical. There’s no other word for it. How much personality and spirit he’s able to convey, even though he spends most of the film in bed! And Ewan McGregor exudes his usual charm, as he captures Edward as a youth, full of outsized ambition and enthusiasm. Burton lets us see Edward’s young adulthood not through the actual events, but through the imaginative way he recounts them: the boy spits out of his mother’s body like a cannonball when born, he sees his death in a witch’s eye, saves his town from a giant. When Edward leaves home and travels down a forsaken road, he spots a sign: Warning: Jumping Spiders. Edward’s description of this obstacle illustrates both the amusing cadence of his language, and his indomitable spirit: “Now there comes a point when a reasonable man will swallow his pride and admit that he’s made a terrible mistake,” narrates McGregor. “The truth is, I was never a reasonable man.”

In 2004’s Academy Awards, the supporting actors were Benicio Del Toro (21 Grams), Alec Baldwin (The Cooler), Djimon Hounsou (In America), Ken Watanabe (The Last Samurai), and Tim Robbins (Mystic River). I admire all of these actors, and have seen all but 21 Grams. I’d put Finney over them all, and Ewan McGregor (also supporting) over most. Baldwin was very good, but it’s not his most nuanced performance. Hounsou played a very one-dimensional role (as he typically does despite his skills), and I barely recall either Ken Watanabe’s or Tim Robbins’ performances.

But Finney’s? I’ve never been able to get it out of my head. As Edward, he is haunting and lovable, resentful and stubborn and inexpressibly sweet.

Had he been mistakenly chosen for a Best Actor nomination, Finney still should have been in the list, which included Sean Penn (Mystic River), Jude Law (Cold Mountain), Ben Kingsley (House of Sand and Fog), Bill Murray (Lost in Translation), and Johnny Depp (Pirates of the Caribbean). I would have been torn between him and Murray as deserving of the win.

By the way, Jessica Lange plays Edward’s wife. She wasn’t in the film enough to earn a nomination, I suspect, but what an impact she makes in her few lovely moments, capturing the endurance of the love affair that is at the root of 90 percent of his stories. (No wonder she doesn’t share her son’s anger.) Here are the sweethearts in a tub together, fully clothed:

LangeandFinney

Best Director, Best Picture
Nominees, Best Picture: The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King (winner), Lost in Translation, Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World, Mystic River, and Seabiscuit.

Nominees, Best Director: Winner Peter Jackson (The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King), Fernando Meirelles (City of God), Sofia Coppola (Lost in Translation), Peter Weir (Master and Commander), and Clint Eastwood (Mystic River)

Jackson and his film probably deserved the win among those nominees, as the weight of translating Tolkien to film was so daunting that the man deserved a medal simply for attempting it, much less succeeding. And Meirelles created one of the most riveting and best edited films I’ve ever seen. It must be the foreign language that knocked it out of best-pic contention, to the Academy’s shame (as it definitely deserved the win).

But I do quibble with the other best picture and director nominees. Lost in Translation was a creative film, but without Bill Murray at the helm, would have been forgettable. The unspeakably dull Master and Commander proved to me once and for all that male voters dominate the Academy. If “chick flicks” can’t be nominated, why do I have to put up with something that’s one step up from a video game? Seabiscuit was a winning story, but a bit too saccharine, and Mystic River, like everything Eastwood does, was overwrought and completely lacking in subtlety.

It’s hard to imagine many of the voters bothered to watch Big Fish, as surely it outranks Seabiscuit in sentiment, and manages to say something meaningful about the power of story, its capacity to help us not only overcome obstacles, but survive loss. Surely storytellers—i.e., those involved in film—would have gravitated to such a theme?

Best Writing, Adapted Screenplay
Nominees: The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King (Fran Walsh, Philippa Boyens, Peter Jackson, winners), American Splendor (Shari Springer Berman, Robert Pulcini), City of God (Bráulio Mantovani), Mystic River (Brian Helgeland), and Seabiscuit (Gary Ross)

This category was tough in 2004, but it’s clear that few voters read the novel, understood the challenge of translating it to film. Unlike Seabiscuit, for example, this was not a traditional narrative. It’s a recursive, poetic recounting of moments. It’s even divided into fragments rather than chapters. The book intentionally circles, the author explaining in interviews that myth does as well. And in truth, so do our lives: so many moments in our existence recall others. Our bodies may decline in a chronological fashion, but our minds, our experiences, don’t work that way at all. As the film’s script explains, “Fate has a way of circling back on a man, and taking him by surprise.”

The scene of Edward’s death, for example, is repeated multiple times throughout the book, each version telling readers something different. John August distilled the story, threaded enough of the moments together to form a comprehensible narrative, and yet retained the recursive, fanciful spirit of the original. His achievement, quite simply, is a triumph. And though I would leave those first three films on the list, I think Mystic River or Seabiscuit should have been bumped to include August’s work.

Best Art Direction-Set Decoration; Best Cinematography
I’ll confess that I feel in deepest water when I discuss the visuals of a film. I don’t think, however, that many would dispute that the enchantment of Big Fish is largely a result of its execution of Burton’s vision; it’s rare that I am so enthralled by what I see that I long to take a snapshot of every moment. I’m curious why this film wasn’t considered worthy of awards based on artistic merit, if nothing else for the images’ perfect cohesiveness with the storytelling. Edward complains that his son doesn’t tell stories well, that he gives “all of the facts, none of the flavor.” That certainly cannot be said of the art direction of this film. In parting, I’ll just leave you with a few of my favorite visuals:

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This post is part of The 31 Days of Oscar blogathon, hosted by Aurora of Once Upon a Screen (@CitizenScreen), Kellee (@IrishJayHawk66) of Outspoken & Freckled, and Paula (@Paula_Guthat) of Paula’s Cinema Club. Visit their sites for all of the wonderful entries. Kellee is hosting the snubs.

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Canada Lee: Blacklisted Actor, Civil Rights Activist, Benefactor

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In 1940, a white kid shows up at actor Canada Lee’s door in Harlem. Lee knows him, met the lonely teenager backstage while starring in Broadway’s Native Son.

The kid asks to stay; Lee says yes, lets him remain a year. Introduces the kid to the lights of the Harlem Renaissance, loans him money for college. Later, the kid becomes a Civil Rights activist, goes on to found Physicians for Human Rights, creates the first US community health center, eventually leading to 1000 in America alone.

It’s the kind of story that baffles comprehension, but then, so does Lee’s whole life: jockey, boxer, musician, Broadway producer and star, groundbreaking film & radio actor, Civil Rights leader. He played Banquo as part of an all-black cast in Orson Welles’ famous production of Macbeth. Helped his generation empathize with black men’s plight in a racist culture through his smash performance of Bigger Thomas onstage. Even played whiteface.

His most famous film role, that of Joe in Lifeboat, is a complex one. The moral center of the story, Joe fails to succumb to mob violence, as the white passengers do. And though his companions have racist moments (the names they use, their shock at his having a wife), they respect him. It would be easy to just credit the characterization to Alfred Hitchcock. But much of the credit goes to Lee himself. He convinced Hitchcock into changing a belittling part into a fascinating one.

Lee’s insistence on dignified roles, paired with his blacklisting, may have given us too few of his films to appreciate (his early death is often attributed to the ban). But what performances they are. The viewers of Body and Soul, Lost Boundaries, Lifeboat, and Cry, the Beloved Country can thank him for selecting and affecting the development of roles that not only revealed the force of his talent, but his integrity in the face of unspeakable odds.

And despite his unjustly forgotten contributions to film, Lee’s influence is still felt in our communities today. Just ask those who’ve benefited from former runaway Jack Geiger’s medical and human rights work. All 17 million of them.

***

For more on Lee’s life, check out this well-written Wikipedia entry, a This American Life tribute to his kindness, the biography (Becoming Something: The Story of Canada Lee) by Mona Z. Smith and the following reviews of her text: Blue
, Howard. Rev. of Becoming Something: The Story Of Canada Lee, by Mona Smith. The Black Scholar 35.2 (2005): 65. Print; Gautier
, Amina. Rev. of Becoming Something: The Story Of Canada Lee, by Mona Smith. African American Review 40.2 (2006): 387-389. Print; and McGilligan, Patrick. Rev. of Becoming Something: The Story Of Canada Lee, by Mona Smith. Cinéaste 30.4 (2005): 73-74. Print. Geiger just posted about the situation in Flint.

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Mae West Quote of the Week: Religion vs. Jewels

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She Done Him Wrong
“You know it was a toss-up whether I go in for diamonds or sing in the choir. The choir lost.”

The line would be funny regardless, but West does so much with it: She pauses in between the sentences for emphasis. She follows up the words with an arch look at her love interest of the hour (Cary Grant) and then smokes. She struts up and down the room an unnecessary amount of times in their short conversation. She makes a number of references to position and anatomy before and after the gems (which are clearly a stand-in for her sexual escapades).

Thought for the day: Ever wondered whether any woman in this world could be as suggestive in an hour as She Done Him Wrong‘s Lou (West) in five minutes?

This quote is part of my monthly tribute to West.

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Joel McCrea: Stalling Director Preston Sturges

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McCreaPalmBeachStory
This essay is part of Cinema Maven’s Symbiotic Collaborations blogathon, featuring wonderful director/star pairings. Click here for all the great entries.

When I was a kid, my sisters and I used to play with the record player. We loved to speed it up to make it sound like Mickey Mouse. I mention it because when I watch Preston Sturges’ films, I feel like the record player has become stuck on Mickey Mouse mode: everyone is running, shouting, falling, frantic. There are actors whose characteristics are uniquely suited to Sturges’ pace: Eddie Bracken’s exaggerated physicality, for example. Barbara Stanywck’s rapid speech.

Much of the humor of writer/director Sturges’ worlds is when someone slower enters the stage, and can’t keep up. Henry Fonda in The Lady Eve is so out of place that Sturges felt the need to underline it by having him reach the ship full of con artists and gold diggers in a small boat that’s been “up the Amazon.”

But certain actors do more than act as foils to Sturges’ frantic pace. They change the terms, slow things down, act as resistors to his electric current. They are part of the Sturges world, and wise about their companions, not naive, like Fonda’s Charles. We don’t laugh at them, but with them as they, like older siblings, view The Miracle of Morgan’s Creek-type mania around them, and urge everyone to settle down. Joel McCrea was the perfect Sturges resistor.

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In The Palm Beach Story, he arrives in Florida to discover his wife Gerry (Claudette Colbert) flirting with J.D. Hackensacker III (Rudy Valee), scheming to apply the millionaire’s funds to her husband’s projects. As he tries to reason with her, Tom (McCrea) finds the dizzy chatterbox The Princess Centimillia (Mary Astor) flitting about his handsome form, and his own competition so woefully naive that he serenades Gerry. On McCrea’s face you can see as well as hear the sigh, the “Now this,” the years of putting up with his wife’s silliness, and now these idiots, and you can’t help but laugh.

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Without grandstanding, without chewing the scenery, McCrea has stolen our attention from the mesmerizing Colbert with a few perfect expressions and the solidity of his presence. Suddenly, we’re rooting for him, for them, not for her success. Given the amount of his screen time, it’s a remarkable achievement, and makes you realize why Sturges would nab him for three of his films.

McCrea was even more essential, of course, to Sullivan’s Travels, which came out the year before. Consider the challenge: The lead must act as a stand-in for Sturges, pronouncing the need for comedy in times of trouble. Sullivan (McCrea) is, like Sturges, a director, who thinks he should experience poverty so that he can direct meaningful dramas instead of his usual farces. If the star of Sullivan’s Travels preaches the final lines or overplays his insights (in the theater with the convicts) about the value of comedy, the film becomes hokey. If the character comes across as stupid in not realizing humor’s importance earlier, the ending will feel forced. The actor must, in short, act naive/be deluded at the start of the film, but not be naive. An intelligent, understated performance is essential to delivering Sturges’ message, which is really an endorsement of his entire career (and thus not something he could have taken lightly). And so Sturges chose McCrea.

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When we talk about comic timing, we often think of rapidity. But McCrea’s calming presence is part of what makes him so funny. While others around him continue their frantic scrambling, he walks and talks fairly slowly, his deliberation in sharp contrast to their quicker motions and thoughts. He underscores their rush, and makes us laugh. As Sullivan, he is very observant, as a comedic director should be, and gives us just enough of a pause to witness, to understand as he does. As in The More the Merrier, a brilliant comedy Sturges didn’t direct, McCrea gives us the space to recognize the layers of his personality, with Sturges’ regular troop (in this case, following their director in a motor home) left to be the screwball types who summon the simpler laughs.

Although I think most would call Sullivan’s Travels the perfect Sturges-McCrea pairing, I wish fewer people would dismiss The Great Moment. Because it’s not a comedy, of course, it flopped. (A drama? From Sturges?) But it’s truly a remarkable biopic. A dentist, Dr. W. T. Morgan (McCrea), publicly demonstrated the use of ether in an operation in 1846, and therefore helped make all of our surgeries since less painful. But it seems Morgan displayed less admirable behavior afterward, was more intent on getting credit than in the useful application of his discovery. Sturges highlights something beautiful about the man’s life by beginning after his death (after a short scene celebrating his biggest success), and ending the movie with Morgan’s decision to expose his discovery in this public demonstration (thus making unlikely his success in patenting).

The movie isn’t about the main character at all, but instead about an idea: Does an “incandescent” moment, a moment of self-sacrifice for others, make up for the pettiness of one’s life? It’s this rising above the history of events that I so rarely see in biopics, this understanding that recording events isn’t enough; you have to be saying something about them. McCrea’s measured timing lends a kind of gravity and dignity to the role, lets us see the heaviness and pain of Morgan’s decision to sacrifice for others.

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And because McCrea is so likeable, we’re able to acknowledge the character’s usual selfishness (at least as Sturges saw it), and understand it too. I can’t say it’s my favorite film of Sturges’, but it has stuck with me; I find it haunting, which is surprising given Sturges’ light touch. I wish more aspiring directors would learn from it.

Joel McCrea was in three of Preston Sturges’ films, two of his most famous. I know I should be grateful to have that many, but oh! How I wish there were more.

Don’t forget to check out the other entries in the blogathon!

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A Classic Christmas Romance for Any Day

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RemembertheNight
How do you create a Christmas film that is sentimental, without dripping it in eggnog? Especially when you’ve agreed to make it a romance between a shoplifter and her prosecutor, and set it in *gulp* Indiana, which is  peppered with cornpone clichés in every cinematic portrayal? Miraculously, Remember the Night (1940) not only steers through these dangers, but manages to be fresh, original, funny, even moving, thanks to four very wise decisions:

1. Trusting Screenwriter Preston Sturges

Tone is a tricky thing, and Sturges was a master at it. He knew how long he could get away with sentiment, when to cut it with humor.

In trouble for trespassing

Caught trespassing

He developed complex leads. John, the hero (Fred MacMurray), is introduced to us as a wised-up NYC DA. He comes across as jaded and unfeeling in his treatment of the repeat shoplifter (Barbara Stanwyck). Yet we can’t help but laugh at his humorous take on the defense attorney’s silly ruses to win the trial, and admire his own tricks to postpone it. His decision to later assist Lee reveals a soft side Sturges further develops when the character is home with his relatives.

The shoplifter, Lee, is played by Stanwyck. I know I don’t really need to say anything else (see below), but during the trial, expressions–hope, disillusionment, amusement, anger–move quickly over her face, revealing that her hard life hasn’t completely hardened her. When John, feeling guilty about her jail time over the holidays, springs her until the second trial, she (thanks to the dirty mind of his bondsman) ends up at his apartment. At first, she assumes the worst. But when she discovers the mistake, she starts to enjoy John’s company, and the two end up traveling home to Indiana for Christmas–he, to see his beloved family; she, to visit the mother she hasn’t seen since she ran away.

In other hands, the plot wouldn’t have worked; I wouldn’t have even watched it had someone else written it. I am tired of portrayals of my home state, which is typically drawn as either the embodiment of (a) homespun happiness or (b) hickville. But Sturges avoids the trap by giving us a variety of Hoosiers. Stanwyck and MacMurray are both streetwise, smart, and sophisticated. While John’s mother and aunt initially appear to be simple souls, neither is a stereotype. Sturges gives each insight, making the scenes with them far more complex than they initially appear, and allowing us to enjoy the sentimentality of a homey xmas when it comes. Similarly, the scene with Lee’s cold mother, which could have played as far too maudlin, is beautifully understated and short.

True, Sturges does have some missteps. He makes the servant/helper Willie a rube (Sterling Holloway). He’s even an aspiring yodeler. Seriously? I decided that Willie was OK because he canceled out John’s simpleminded African American butler in New York, Rufus (Fred Toones, one of Sturges’ stock players). (I’ll take cinematic classism over racism any day.)

As the director, Mitchell Leisen doesn’t get enough credit for the film’s quality (nor did he get enough credit for Easy Living or Midnight). I’m particularly impressed with his choices of which look to linger upon, which face to highlight, in which moment. But more importantly, the story’s pacing–one of its chief charms–is due to Leisen choosing to cut some of Sturges’ script, according to Ella Smith. Given that there’s a breeziness to many of Leisen’s comedies, it’s hard to argue pacing is all to his writers’ credit. Surely, too, it should be seen as an asset when a director trusts his writers, as Leisen surely did. According to Smith, he even agreed to keep the title, despite having no idea what it meant.

2. Selecting Talented Actresses as the Resident Hoosiers

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Character actresses Beulah Bondi (John’s mom) and Elizabeth Patterson (his aunt) would win acclaim for The Waltons and I Love Lucy, respectively, later in their careers; it’s not hard to understand why. The two, familiar faces in a number of 30s and 40s hits, mesh so beautifully it’s hard to believe they aren’t really sisters. Watch Patterson’s reaction when she shares a dress from her past with Lee, or Bondi’s worry as she watches her son’s increasing attraction to the shoplifter he’s prosecuting.

3. Casting an Understated Actor as the Hero

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MacMurray is good in everything. He and Stanwyck would, of course, pair up again for the landmark noir, Double Indemnity. But this is the performance that won me over. Watch the scene when he meets Lee’s mom, how gracefully, subtly he handles it. The brevity and tone of the scene, of course, help, but another actor would surely have overplayed his reactions. Instead, MacMurray’s smooth, simple words, with just a twinge of emphasis, say just what needs to be said: this mother is a monster, and Lee’s criminality is no longer mysterious. (Spielberg would have launched a huge, weepy score; thank you, Leisen, for not doing so.)

4. Choosing Stanwyck as the Star

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The soul of the story is Stanwyck’s. She has to sell the moral quandary: Will she give in to romance with John, knowing it will kill his career? We have to care about her, about her struggle. We have to root both for the couple’s happiness AND for morality winning the day. We have to sympathize as John’s occasional denseness hurts her feelings, and laugh at her quick bursts of anger when it does. We have to even let some realism in (how’s that for a rom-com shock?): acknowledge that love does not, in fact, conquer all; in fact, sometimes it’s very much in the way (at least temporarily). It’s quite a balancing act Stanwyck must play; if she gives him up, the movie could become soapy very easily. If she doesn’t, how could her performance come across as real; how could we continue to root for her? Other actresses might have missed the target, but not this one. Sentiment, comedy–the woman did it all, beautifully, and as naturally as any performer I’ve ever seen. Because of her, you will love the film, December 25th or July 2nd.

At the Golden Globes the other night, Tom Hanks mentioned Stanwyck’s name in his fantastic presentation of the Cecil B. DeMille Award. He explained that the winner, Denzel Washington, was one of an elite group of great actors who “demand” our attention, who can’t be duplicated. “The history of film,” he said, “includes a record of actors who accrue a grand status through a body of work where every role, every choice is worthy of our study. You cannot copy them. You can, at best, sort of emulate them….Now it’s odd how many of these immortals of the silver screen, of the firmament, need only one name to conjure the gestalt of their great artistry. In women, it’s names like Garbo, Hepburn, Stanwyck, Loren.”

The speech, of course, justified watching the rest of the show. I’m not always a fan of Hanks’ work (he’s far better in comedy than drama), but his wisdom is evident. So was Sturges’; in his third turn as a writer-director, his first with a female lead, he would cast Stanwyck as his Eve and make movie history. The Lady Eve so impressed us all that this quieter, earlier effort has been forgotten. It shouldn’t be.

This post is part of the Barbara Stanwyck blogathon, hosted by Crystal at In the Good Old Days of Classic Hollywood. Check out the fabulous entries on my favorite star at her site.

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Turning My Sister into a Classic Movie Fan, Bout 2: Abject Failure

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For anyone who is interested, a long while ago, I made a bet with my sister: I would watch Breaking Bad, and she would watch ten classics. When I reminded her that she hadn’t honored our bet while I’d made it through four seasons, she said, “Yeah, but Breaking Bad is good. And you like it.”

Classic movie fans, please weep with me now.

A year after nagging my sister into watching the first classic film on my list, I forced her into a second just after Christmas. (I had to be present for her to watch, you see.) As before, she drifted off multiple times during the movie. For the first film, Body and Soul, I could understand. It was slow, and the hour was late. But this time, we watched a movie earlier, and this time, Rachel was watching this woman:

MaeWestImnoAngel
I mean, who can’t be entertained by MAE WEST?

My husband, who had urged I’m No Angel be the film I chose, watched Rachel in action and said, “Sorry, Leah, you need to give up. She’s not that tired.”

He was right. Until Rachel is more receptive to the possibility of liking classic film, I’m wasting my time. Naturally, I was feeling down, but shortly afterward, my friend watched the same film. She told me her husband said, “I give it 20 minutes,” and then was so amused that he was imitating West’s walk afterward. This is the kind of love I hope newbies to West will feel. So while I’m giving up on converting my sister to classic film, I am sharing her list for the hesitant watcher among your friends and family. But learn from my example: Make sure you choose someone who IS receptive. (You can, of course, check out this wonderful blogathon too). The list for Rachel has gone through many versions, and I’m cutting my first choice. But the other films are good starting movies for others; thanks to all of you who offered suggestions for Rachel in previous posts. Here the movies are (in no particular order):

  1. I’m No Angel
  2. The Third Man
  3. Smith Goes to Washington
  4. M
  5. The Awful Truth
  6. Scarface (1932)
  7. On the Waterfront
  8. The Manchurian Candidate (1962)
  9. The Man Who Knew Too Much (1934)
  10. Notorious

I wish you all greater luck than I had. Hopefully, at some point, my sister will change her incredibly stubborn mind all on her own, and give these wonderful films a try.

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Thanks to Love Letters to Old Hollywood!!

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Thank you, Michaela, for nominating me for a Liebster. And thank you even more for your wonderful blog, and all of the hours of enjoyment I’ve gained from it.

Here are my answers to Michaela’s great questions. She has posted her own answers here:
1. What’s your favorite thing that you’ve posted, or one of your favorites?
I’m attached to my post on Harold Ramis & Preston Sturges, just because I feel so strongly about comedy being underappreciated.
2. If you could change anything about classic movies, what would that be?
Michaela, you’ve hit it with the issues w/race. Racial stereotyping is really the only reason I’ll concede when people object to classic film. I think the 2nd thing I’d change would be the Production Code. What a glorious path we were headed on, right before it, and how many more people would watch classic film had it never happened.
3. Do you have a favorite modern day actor?
Bill Murray. I love his acting. I love his soul. I am simply happy he’s in this world.
4. Favorite modern day actress?
I don’t think I can pick a favorite, but I love Kate Winslet.
5. Tom and Jerry or Looney Tunes?
Looney Tunes. So clever.
6. What do you wish you had known when you first started blogging?
To be patient. To trust that with time, my blog would actually appear in search engines.
7. Do you have a favorite pet from a classic film?
The dog in The Awful Truth. Who else could accompany Cary Grant on the piano so perfectly?
8. Who is your favorite character actor?
I adore Eugene Pallette’s froggy voice.
9. What’s your favorite holiday and why?
Halloween. Because it’s all about silliness and fun and candy. Because it has no religious or ethnic associations (at least not anymore). Because it has no emotional weight to it, so everyone can enjoy it instead of mourning loved ones they’ve lost.  And because I have an irrational love for costumes, and own quite a few of them. It’s a glorious holiday.
10. Do you have a favorite episode of I Love Lucy? I don’t! I regret to say I’ve never gotten into her show, though I love her. I think it’s because I find Desi Arnaz smug. I just can’t get over it.
11. Favorite holiday film?
The Ref is my favorite. It’s hilarious. For classics, I have a soft spot for It’s a Wonderful Life and Remember the Night, of course.
Nominees/Rec
Since I listed many classic film bloggers the last time someone kindly nominated me for a Liebster, I’d just like to skip the nomination and instead give a shout out to  Girls Do Film, BNoirDetoir and Silver Screenings, who were not on my list last time only because they’d already received nominations. I just want you to check out their posts this week, which are amazing, as always.
11 More Facts about Me
To avoid repetition from the previous Liebster, all of these facts are related to the past 30 days:
1. I have watched the fitness parody of Adele’s “Hello” at least five times in the past week.
2. I want all classic movie fans to stop what they’re doing and watch the “Uptown Funk”-backed tribute to classic dance. I don’t care if you’ve seen it. It’ll make you happy to see it again.
3. My memoir about my aunt (also a classic movie fan) is ready for an agent. I hope you will all keep your fingers crossed for me.
4. I just spent many hours today rereading a spy novel I despised to avoid my writer’s block. And then I read reviews of it to discover others who hated it too. I am not proud of this fact.
5. I purchased a classic film poster of The Third Man for my office today. It’s perfect.
6. I just returned from a trip to my native Indiana. I had a wonderful time visiting with friends and family but experienced a sad setback in my attempt to turn my sister into a classic movie fan. I will blog about this travesty shortly.
7. While my sister has let me down again classic movie wise, I did just convert a good friend’s husband to Mae West love. Yeah!
8. I just finished Errol Flynn’s My Wicked, Wicked Ways. I’m simultaneously fascinated and feeling in need of therapy. That whole slaver segment messed with my head. I’m hoping it was the fictional part of his bio.
9. I have watched my first mystery series with subtitles (The Swedish/Danish TV series, The Bridge), and am afraid I’ve discovered a whole new method of procrastination. It was great.
10. I resisted watching Going My Way. I told my mother I was way too cynical for Bing Crosby. She said it was a classic movie, and I liked classic movies, so I should give it a try. I did, and I liked it. I stand corrected. I am not too cynical for Bing Crosby.
11. I’m very happy about Sylvester Stallone being nominated for a Golden Globe.
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5 Classic Movie Resolutions

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My regular resolutions are never met (or are so ambiguous I can’t tell if they have been), so this year I’m setting some for this blog. Who knows? I may even honor them. Here goes:

  1. More noir. I have so many great sources for recs that I’m not sure why I don’t watch or review more noir than I do. Perhaps since I eat Chandler, Hammett, and MacDonald books like candy, I reserve my film time for lighter fare. But given all the fascinating connections between recent TV shows & noir I’ve noticed just this year, I’m neglecting far too many writing opportunities.
  2. Lesser-known classics. I rely heavily on Amazon Instantly. This choice is idiotic considering the limited scope of their fare and my extensive access to free sources, including Sister Celluloid.
  3. More blogathons, including, hopefully, one I host.
  4. Fun with series. Obviously, the Mae West Moments will continue because…Mae West! Given how much I’ve enjoyed my time with West, I’m dreaming up more series.
  5. Jeff Rapsis Time. I’ve viewed silents It and The Last Command with live music, but when someone as talented as Rapsis is creating musical scores near me, why am I not attending silents more often?

So that’s it! My hopefully manageable goals for classic film viewing & writing in 2016. What are yours?

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