Film

The few references and reviews you’ll find online about A Lady Takes a Chance (1943) tend to make the same observation: a pretty good romantic comedy that few people today have seen. The movie did pretty well in 1943 – I believe it was the third highest grosser that year. It’s also seldom referred to, or even seen, by those interested in John Wayne.

Its seeming obscurity lies in the fact that it was not a studio produced film but independently produced, or at least partially so. It was intended as a Jean Arthur vehicle, produced by her husband at the time, Frank Ross.

The movie itself is pretty standard escapist fare. It came out during the Second World War.) In his biography Jean Arthur: The Actress Nobody Knew, John Oller refers to the movie as “more warm than funny,” and that’s a good assessment. I’d add, however, that there was a least one scene that had me laughing out loud.

The movie manages to rise above its somewhat mediocre ambitions thanks to two key elements: Jean Arthur and John Wayne.

It’s a fish-out-of-water story. Arthur as Molly J. Truesdale is an urban working girl, popular with the boys, and the object of the affections of three aspiring beaus, none of whom she is enthused about. She is headed on a bus trip west, a tour. She wants to expand her horizons. The fish-out-of-water element begins almost immediately with the bus – its riders and their guide (a rather annoying Phil Silvers) are not the usual thing for Molly.

Eventually she find herself in the west attending a rodeo where she meets John Wayne as cowboy Duke Hudkins. Not only is he completely un-urban, he’s unlike the men Molly has known. He can take her or leave her. And unlike her men back east, he is emphatic in his desire to remain unhitched – to anyone. (He makes a minor exception for his horse.) Duke won’t be tied down by anyone or anything.

As you can probably tell, it’s not a storyline that would win awards for originality.

Where it excels is in Arthur and Wayne. Some say Jean Arthur was miscast as she was a bit too old for the role of a young Molly. While this is probably true, strictly speaking, I found her casting worked wonderfully. There is nothing realistic in this film or films of this kind, so the age aspect doesn’t bother me. And surely no one plays a quirky, headstrong character with such wonderful timing as Jean Arthur. She also moves seamlessly from comedic moments to more dramatic ones. And then there is the famous Jean Arthur voice which, if you haven’t heard it, you’ve missed one of the great pleasures of older movies.

John Wayne also brings a wonderful portrayal to the movie. Yes, it’s an early take on the cowboy role he would own and play endlessly, but it’s also that role done with comedy in mind, something we didn’t see very often and that he was pretty clearly quite good at. His rural characterization set against Arthur’s urban characterization make for a clash made for comedy.

Overall, this won’t be seen as one of the great comedies or even close. But it’s a pleasurable find nonetheless and certainly one any fan of either Jean Arthur or John Wayne should see. The movie’s parts are brilliant. Unfortunately the whole falls short of their level. But it’s fun!

If I have one complaint about this movie it would be with the copy I have: the Republic Pictures’ release on DVD. I don’t know if there is a cleaner version available anywhere but this one, is adequate at best (however, the movie itself quickly makes you forget its limitations. The image is soft and apparently without any kind of restoration effort made. Or so it seemed to my eyes.

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I saw on the TCM home page something that caught my eye: The African Queen (1951) being released on March 23, 2010 in a “Commemorative Box Set.” I care less about the box set business than I do about this note (found in the information on Amazon): “Fully Restored using state-of-the-art restoration process.”

I have been waiting forever to get a decent copy of this movie on DVD. You would think this would have been one of the movies that had been released as a DVD long ago — and released several times over. But that has not been the case. I believe rights problems may have made a mess of things (if I recall correctly). Maybe it was public domain? I no longer remember.

The point, however, is that it is finally coming, if a little pricey because it’s a box set. On the other hand, I find what is included intriguing. Amazon lists the special features as:

- Fully Restored using state-of-the-art restoration process

- Includes all-new hour long “making of” feature with never-before-seen images and commentary

- Collectible packaging highlighting Humphrey Bogart and Katharine Hepburn

- Second disc with the original Lux radio broadcast of The African Queen starring Humphrey Bogart and Greer Garson (Audio CD)

- Reproduction of Katharine Hepburn’s out-of-print published memoir: The Making of The African Queen or How I Went to Africa with Bogart, Bacall and Huston and Almost Lost My Mind

- Collectible Senitype®: a four film frame card illustrating the Technicolor® process

- 8 images inspired by original theatrical lobby cards

The release date is March 23. And apparently there will be a Blu-Ray version too. I am waiting.

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On the right, you’ll see a see an image/banner for the Film Preservation Blogathon, organized by Self Styled Siren and Ferdy on Films with the goal of creating greater awareness for the need (and urgency) of movie preservation and to raise funds for the National Film Preservation Foundation (NFPF).

You can learn more about it by visiting their Facebook page and by having a look at the short video that has been created for it:

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Having been the really big little movie of a year or so ago, Juno (2007) hardly needs another review and so, other than to say I liked it a lot and consider it one of the better movies of the last few years, I’m not going to review it.

But I’d like to muse a while on something Juno does that I think is very difficult to do and very uncommon. It’s a movie about nice people. In fact, to the best of my recollection, everyone in the movie is a nice person. How do you make a movie about a nice guy (or gal)? And how do you make one where every character is a nice person?

Bad guy roles are often the ones actors (and directors) like to get a hold of: it’s much more interesting and, I suspect, easier to play. There’s more to work with because there is more to explore, or so it seems. Not to take anything away from Heath Ledger’s performance as The Joker in The Dark Knight, but there are more ways into and more avenues to examine in a character like that as opposed to, for example, Victor Navorkski (Tom Hanks) in The Terminal.

So I have a fascination with movies that feature “nice guys” – at least, those where I think the movies, and particularly the roles, work. For example and comparison, look at one of the nice guy roles in a movie like The Core (2003), Bruce Greenwood as Cmdr. Robert Iverson. It’s about as colourless and bland as you could imagine. Yet with few, if any, opportunities, Greenwood makes him one of the more interesting and compelling characters in the movie. No, it’s not a huge role – the character is a minor one.

Now look at the thankless role Bill Pullman has as President of the United States in Independence Day (1996). In that case, the role is equally bland, there is just as little to work with and what ends up on screen is bland. In both cases the “nice guy” is supposed to be interesting because he’s heroic – and that’s just about all. Yet Greenwood manages, somehow, to find some shading to make his character a bit more than cardboard.

In most movies, nice guy heroes are pretty one dimensional. What goes on around them is what engages, if it engages at all, and often what surrounds them and grabs us is the bad guy, or at least the troubled character. Heroes are often, in these cases, “troubled” – they have some character flaw because, well, they’re darned boring otherwise (see Bruce Willis as John McClane in Die Hard.

How, then, do movies like Juno or The Terminal manage to make good stories that feature nice people?

For one thing, they are romantic comedies. In those movies, while there may be a “bad guy” kind of character – a spouse, significant other, a boss etc. – the movie’s drama isn’t the conflict with “the bad guy” but situational, between two nice people. We want the conflict resolved so the two of them can get together.

But it seems to me that when a movie that features nice people works best it is almost always ensemble work. Yes, one or two characters are the focus, but the movie is hugely dependent on the characters surrounding them – almost always other nice people. (Think of those classic Hollywood movies like The Philadelphia Story or My Man Godfrey or Sabrina.)

As much as Ellen Page as Juno is the focus of Juno, and as good as her performance is, the movie is nothing without the ensemble – Paulie, Juno’s parents, the adopting couple, Juno’s friends. And they all share in common, with Juno, “niceness” and (for lack of a better word), quirkiness.

While we refer to it as quirkiness, however, is it really? I suppose so but, in the movies that work, it’s also character – there are reasons for the quirky behaviour. I can’t imagine anyone, anywhere not having distinct characteristics without being a blank slate.

Everyone we know has characteristics like this. Usually, the closer we are to someone – a friend, a family member – the more aware we are of their unique characteristics. It’s often what we love about them (and what we find annoying, at the same time). In movies, however, they are sometimes emphasized, or at least focused upon, because they lend themselves to humour and more importantly to character.

In a movie like The Station Agent (2003), it’s a small ensemble – just three, really. But that’s what makes the movie work – three nice people and each distinguished by their unique characteristics.

In a certain sense, you could say the successful portrayal of niceness is always (as far as I know) communal. While there are characters that are the film’s focus, it’s the community that supports them and the community – the ensemble – we’re drawn to, and this communal aspect is something romantic comedies do very, very well.

And it’s all so nice.

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I rewatched for the nth time (I’ve lost track) Howard Hawk’s Bringing Up Baby (1938). Apart from being great fun each time I watch it, this time was a bit different having read Marc Eliot’s book, Cary Grant: A Biography, and having previously watched Cary Grant: A Class Apart (a documentary on the second disc of the two-disc special edition DVD).

Here’s why this is interesting: Seeing Bringing Up Baby, at least as I do, you would think Cary Grant is in full command of what he’s doing — the ever skillful and brilliant, Cary. However, what you find out is that that is anything but the case.

Grant had had huge success with the previous year’s The Awful Truth (1937). However, he never took credit for its success because he had no idea how he had done it. He felt it was a fluke. He had been extremely anxious over his character, not sure how to play him, copying many mannerisms and stances of his then director, Leo McCarey.

Following closely on The Awful Truth, he was worried again about how to play his character in Bringing Up Baby and, compounding this, “… he was afraid to make a movie that was too stylistically similar in which his performance would not be as good.” (From Eliot’s biography of Cary Grant, p. 178.)

“Hawks then suggested to Grant that he look at some of the films of Harold Lloyd. Grant did and was so taken with the comedian’s style of acting that he actually copied it, almost gesture for gesture, in putting together his interpretation of David Huxley, down to the thick horn-rimmed glasses, one of Lloyd’s cinematic trademarks.” (Eliot’s biography of Cary Grant, p. 178.)

Still, while his template may have been Harold Lloyd what ends up on screen is pure Cary Grant, albeit with a Lloyd influence and the Cary Grant of a certain period of his career (younger, pre-Hitchcock etc.).

Of course, background isn’t necessary to enjoying this comedy classic. It may even get in the way until you’ve seen it a few times. It’s one of the great screwball comedies, peppered with absurdities and the better for it.

For what it’s worth, here’s the assessment I wrote a while back of Bring Up Baby (the two-disc special DVD edition).

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I watched Sullivan’s Travels (1941) yet again last night because, as the main character John L. Lloyd ‘Sully’ Sullivan (Joel McCrea) says:

“There’s a lot to be said for making people laugh. Did you know that’s all some people have? It isn’t much, but it’s better than nothing in this cockeyed caravan.”

The words, of course, are from Preston Sturges, writer and director of the movie. This movie is, for me, the best of Sturges — though it’s really hard to say one is better than another when you consider movies like The Lady Eve, The Miracle at Morgan’s Creek and others.

If you’ve ever seen the Coen Brothers’ O Brother, Where Art Thou? you may be interested in knowing Sullivan’s Travels is where that title came from. It’s the movie Sullivan, a Hollywood director of light, comedic fluff, a man with a well-to-do, somewhat privileged background, wants to make. It’s to be a serious movie about how tough and awful this life is with, “…Bodies piling up in the street.” It’s to be, “A true canvas of the suffering of humanity!”

As his producers point out, what would he know about it? Realizing the truth in what they say, he sets off to find out, decked out like a tramp (from the wardrobe department) and with only ten cents in his pocket.

Unfortunately for Sullivan, despite his best efforts he keeps ending up in Hollywood.

In the third act, however, when he has finally given up his quest, that’s when he actually stumbles into the “trouble” he’s been trying to discover.

A plot summary does little to communicate why this movie is so good.

To begin with, it’s incredibly funny with the humour finding two sources: visual (slapstick) and verbal (witty dialogue). For slapstick, see the chase scene with the kid driving the rigged up “go-cart.” For dialogue, see the scene near the beginning where Sullivan argues for his idea with the producers (“But with a little sex!”).

While very funny (and a romance to boot, with Veronica Lake), it’s a satire of movie makers, particularly of the Hollywood variety. Some even argue that Sullivan’s Travels is the best movie ever about making movies. I think, however, Sturges’ satire goes beyond movies to culture overall.

His complaint is that comedy, and fluff generally, gets dismissed because, being light and agreeable when well done, it isn’t serious, or what we consider to be serious. A history of comedy at the Oscars gives credence to his complaint. It’s ignored when it comes to the “serious” categories like Best Picture.

I think his argument is two-fold: 1) audiences, on the whole, prefer lighter films — comedy, action, etc., and 2) the people who make the serious ones about such topics as homelessness, have no idea, no experience, no real understanding of what they are making a movie about. For one thing, the very people those films are sympathetic to, and that they stand morally side by side with, are the very people they show disrespect to by dismissing the kinds of films they like.

There’s a fabulous speech prior to Sullivan heading out to “learn something about trouble,” meaning homelessness. It’s made by Robert Greig as Sullivan’s butler Burroughs. He says he doesn’t think the plan is a good one because Sullivan has no clue about what poverty is: it’s not some romantic condition to be discovered but something virulent to be avoided. I think this is Sturges saying there is often a patronizing, even parasitic element to serious films and the subjects they treat. That’s probably far too extreme a view, but I think there is an element of truth in it. It makes for an interesting question though: can something not truly lived, something only experienced in a kind of vacation mode, meaning briefly, truly be understood? How often do we bring our assumptions about what something is, assumptions that come from a very different perspective, into our assessments and treatments, such as a in a film?

Of course, the movie doesn’t come across as pontificating, as the above makes it sound. It’s great fun, incredibly funny and with a beautiful Veronica Lake, romantic too. And even if the overall sentiment and the closing lines sound a bit cornball to us, I think it’s a legitimate view and never more passionately expressed as in Sullivan’s Travels.

I’ll have to watch the Coen’s O Brother, Where Art Thou? again because I’m now wondering if they were not only agreeing with Sturges and his argument in comedy’s favour but doing so by making Sullivan’s intended movie, one about a serious subject as done by a patronizing, uninformed fool? My guess is yes.

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Although it has been sitting on the sidelines in the “to be watched” pile, I’ve kept putting off watching Slumdog Millionaire. I think it has largely been due to all the media attention it received, especially pre-Oscar and then post-Oscar.

Unfortunately, I watched it last night but not under the best conditions. The weather has been dreadful in my part of the world and I’ve had headaches for about six days running, including last night as I watched the movie. With a soundtrack including a lot of Bollywood-ish sounding music and M.I.A. music, I was not the ideal audience.

So now I have to watch it again, under better conditions, in order to give it a proper chance.

As it was, my response was essentially, “It’s okay.” It was a good movie but not the wonderful film much of the hype made it out to be. Or so it came across to me.

There has been a lot of talk about the romance in the movie and, while it is there, the romance is really in the last act. It’s set up by a kind of coming-of-age story in the first two thirds, focused largely on two brothers, Dev Patel’s Jamal being the main character. I found the movie most compelling when he was on screen, as the older Jamal. Not that there was anything wrong with the rest of the movie. It’s just to say that was when I was most engaged.

I suppose, given my headache, the feel of the movie was irksome for me because, quite rightly, it tried to refect the chaos of Mumbai, the activity, the sound and so on. None of which goes over well when your head is pounding.

I suspect it is a much better movie than what came across to me and I believe when conditions improve and I see it again, my opinion of it will change considerably. Still, I’m not sure I’ll find it quite as marvelous a movie as some seem to find it. I think there may be some misplaced earnestness in some of those views, a feeling as if because of its subject matter and the part of the world it looks at, we should find it admirable. I don’t agree with that (if it is the case). But I agree it’s a good movie.

However, until I see it as I should, I’m not sure how good it is.

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Directed by Alfred Hitchcock

It’s claimed by many that Shadow of a Doubt was Alfred Hitchcock’s favourite of all the films he had made; some say he considered it his best. The claim rings true if you’re even modestly familiar with his films, his preoccupations and his humour. You can understand how the story would delight him.

Shadow of a Doubt presents us with an almost quintessential American town of the 1940’s. It’s almost Capra-esque. In a way, Shadow of a Doubt is George Bailey’s Bedford Falls from It’s a Wonderful Life except where Capra brings an angel to it, Hitchcock brings the devil.

His name is Uncle Charlie and he’s played by Joseph Cotten with delicious charm that alternates with brooding self-obsession.

Into the charmed and innocent life of California’s little Santa Rosa, into the home of the all-American family of the Newtons, comes Mom’s little brother, Uncle Charlie, for a visit of no determined length. He’s welcomed with cheerful enthusiasm by his sister Emma (Patricia Collinge), and by his namesake niece Young Charlie (Teresa Wright).

Unfortunately, no one is aware that Uncle Charlie, pleasant as he seems, is a psychopathic killer, a man who behind his charm hates the world and everyone in it.

Uncle Charlie’s secret view of the world is important as it’s in direct contrast with the Newton view, especially Young Charlie’s. Cotton’s character represents corruption; Wright’s represents innocence. The film can broadly be seen as a loss of innocence.

As the film opens, we meet Uncle Charlie and immediately become aware that he has a dark secret. Two men are after him, though we’re not sure who they are (I think we assume it’s the police though we’re not told this right away). Charlie is on the run but we don’t know why.

He escapes and goes to his sister’s family in Santa Rosa. When he arrives by train Hitchcock visually telegraphs what is about to happen. It’s a bright, sunny day and the family run down the platform to meet the train. The youngest child of the Newton’s is isolated for a moment on the platform, in the sun. As the train pulls up it’s dark shadow moves along the platform engulfing the child.

We then seen an apparently weak and ill Charlie get off the train. He’s bent over and almost hobbles. But as he sees the Newtons his face changes, he puts on a facade of charm, straightens up and in an instant is the picture of happy health.

Alone, Charlie is quiet and brooding. Amongst others, he’s vibrant and witty. Only every now and then does he reveal himself publicly. When he does, he quickly covers for his mistake.

Within the family, Teresa Wright’s Young Charlie is easily the brightest, most perceptive member. Although she hero-worships Uncle Charlie, she quickly sees there is something about him that isn’t right. But because she loves her uncle the way she does, she won’t admit to herself the truth about her uncle.

The law catches up with Uncle Charlie, however, and soon Young Charlie is enlisted by the police to help them catch him. Uncle Charlie then discovers his niece knows his secret, or at least that she’s aware he has one, and has to deal with this threat to himself.

The contest soon becomes one between Uncle Charlie and his niece and the suspense builds to its crescendo – all very Alfred Hitchcock like.

It’s a perfect Hitchcock film. It’s easily one of the best and an argument could be made for it being the best. Shadow of a Doubt is not sensational in the way of movies like Psycho or The Birds. It’s subtler and quieter and in some ways more menacing because of this.

It evokes idyllic America then slowly peals back its layers to reveal a darkness beneath. (This is wonderfully illustrated when the two Charlie’s step off the Norman Rockwell main street into the smokey bar and meet the bored, defeated waitress – a kind of dark opposite of Young Charlie.)

The DVD of Shadow of a Doubt is pretty good but certainly not flawless. There is some scratching and a few awkward jumps, though nothing alarming. The image, however, is pretty solid and the sound is good for a film of this period. The disc also has Beyond Doubt: The Making of Hitchcock’s Favorite Film, an informative feature that includes the thoughts of Teresa Wright, Hume Cronyn and Peter Bogdanovich among others.

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Directed by Frank Capra

There are good comedies and there are great comedies. Arsenic and Old Lace is a great comedy. It achieves greatness through all the elements that make any great film: wonderful script and wonderful performances.

In many ways, in making the movie Frank Capra had only one job: don’t get in the way.

He doesn’t and it plays perfectly.

Based on a hugely popular play by Joseph Kesselring (the movie was actually made in 1941 but not released till the play’s Broadway run was through, 1944), it’s a movie about two nice old ladies who happen to murder lonely strangers and bury them in their basement.

The premise makes it a black comedy but here “black” is nothing like what contemporary black comedies are – there’s no meanness or spite involved, it’s just a dark idea that gets a very silly, frenetic and hilarious treatment. There is no angry subtext here, just jokes.

While a beautifully executed ensemble piece, at it’s heart is Mortimer Brewster, played to the comedic hilt by Cary Grant.

It’s one of Grant’s best comedic performances, one in which his natural comic talent gets free rein. He delivers with facial takes, rapid dialogue and perfectly executed pratfalls.

Mortimer is a theatre critic and bachelor who marries, though he’d like to keep the marriage secret from the public as it runs counter to his somewhat anti-marriage reputation. Headed for his honeymoon, he returns home to his old aunts where he discovers a dead body hidden in the drawing room.

The discovery acts as a starting pistol to the film’s comedy. Once Grant finds it, the film moves into another gear, one that’s screwball and highly energetic.

Contrasting Grant’s slapstick performance are Josephine Hull and Jean Adair, Mortimer’s aunts Abby and Martha. They are calm and gentle and sweet and a bit puzzled by their nephew’s frantic actions. (“Mortimer doesn’t seem himself today …”)

Things are complicated by his uncle (John Alexander), who lives with his aunts, and thinks he’s Teddy Roosevelt digging the Panama Canal in the basement (burying the bodies).

It’s compounded by the arrival of Mortimer’s brother Jonathan (Raymond Massey), who happens to be a murderous maniac. He’s accompanied by a disreputable surgeon, Dr. Einstein (Peter Lorre). It seems as if the house is populated by lunatics who have run amuck.

As Grant says to his new bride Elaine (Priscilla Lane), “Insanity runs in my family.” He then adds, “It practically gallops!”

Capra likes to fill his scenes with oddball characters and a great deal of activity, such as in the movie You Can’t Take It With You.

Often, it can be a little too chaotic but in Arsenic and Old Lace it’s a bit more controlled, perhaps because so much of it had been established by the Broadway production.

Watching this movie, it reminded me of Hitchcock’s The Trouble With Harry. They are similar black comedies. But it seems obvious that of the two directors, Capra really is the one with the comedic flair.

Hitchcock is a little too dry and droll for the kind of slapstick energy that makes Arsenic and Old Lace work (which may be why Harry is a bit flat.)

And of course, with the brilliant script and exceptional performances, this really was Capra’s movie to wreck. But he doesn’t. Rather, he lets it play and the result is one of the funniest Hollywood movies.

It’s a genuine classic. And if your idea of Cary Grant is simply of the handsome leading man, this is another great example of what a fine actor of comedy he was.

The movie is also gem of an example of the wonderful supporting actors Hollywood use to populate its movies with.

Cary Grant may have been the star but Arsenic and Old Lace pays as much attention to its other characters and this is one of the big reasons it succeeds so well.

Yes, highly recommended.

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