Force of Arms (1951)

Directed by Michael Curtiz

Starring William Holden, 1951′s Force of Arms stands out simply because it doesn’t stand out at all. It is singularly bland, being neither a bit good nor a bit bad but just a whole lot of just okay.

In that sense it is “bad,” though I think that term should be used more judiciously. Here, we have a movie with a number of good elements but when they come together they don’t cohere into anything interesting. I suspect it is the kind of movie that was dreamt up to satisfy some studio goals but had no dramatic reason to be. So it feels uninspired.

And it didn’t help that just prior to seeing it I saw the movie’s two stars, William Holden and Nancy Olson, in another movie they made, the magnificent Sunset Boulevard.

Force of Arms is a movie that bounces between a war drama and a romance. Holden plays the hero with obstacles to overcome in both.

The war scenes (the battles) are well done though standard stuff. The romance scenes are … well, annoying at best. They don’t play well at all.

Nancy Olson as Lt. Eleanor MacKay and William Holden as Sgt. Joe 'Pete' Peterson.

They are weak primarily because Olson’s character, Lt. Eleanor MacKay, is weak and Olson is forced to play most of her scenes with a hang dog look or the look of someone on an interminable crying jag. You really just want her to shut up and go away. In the final scenes in particular her faced seemed etched in granite with the look of emotional devastation.

By contrast, in Sunset Boulevard she plays a character with both strength and determination, for the most part. Force of Arms doesn’t grant her this.

William Holden, on the other hand, is William Holden and essentially carries the movie. His presence is probably why the movie doesn’t come off as being awful; his performance tempers things making it at least somewhat palatable. Although it should also be said he, too, is forced to play a character that love turns into an emotional basket case.

Scene from Force of Arms (1951).

I think part of the movie’s intent was to show how war disrupts romance and life plans but what results is a movie that seems to be about how love makes people idiots and makes the horrors of war even worse.

As I write this and think of the movie, the more inclined I am to contradict what I began saying about the move: it is bad. It’s not bad in the unwatchable sense but it is in the wasted potential and in the fact that it ends up being nothing more than time wasted.

It is, however, visually good. The war scenes work well mixing scenes shot for the film with documentary footage and everything is well staged. It looks good in black and white with very nice cinematography by Ted McCord.

But in the end it winds up as wasted effort. It is an uninspired film rooted in a bland story.

One reason for this, I think, is because you can’t connect with his characters. They are at best irritating and are often just unpleasant, as in this movie.

The Shining (1980)

Directed by Stanley Kubrick

One of the confusions The Shining created when released was the fact there was a novel by Stephen King. People immediately thought it was a movie of the novel. It’s not. King and Stanley Kubrick could not be more opposite to one another.

While the movie uses a similar storyline as the book, and the same character names, the story is not the same. The visions are wildly different.

If King was not happy with the movie (which I’ve read he was not) it’s understandable. He probably thought he would see his book on screen.

Kubrick’s intent is to show an American family deconstructing and why it deconstructs. This is the real horror of the film, not the ghosts or the axe-wielding madman.

Jack Nicholson as Jack Torrance at the bar in the Overlook Hotel.

And, as is usually the case with Kubrick, he is clinical about it. It’s a very odd experience to see a supposed horror film, one with blood and bodies, and feel so detached from it. But Kubrick shoots and constructs The Shining almost documentary style.

For instance, in an early scene where Jack Nicholson as Jack Torrance is being interviewed for the position of caretaker of the Overlook Hotel, the scene is staged very formally.

The dialogue is largely irrelevant and the interactions a little awkward – quite like a real interview. And the camera tends to remain apart from the scene. There are few if any close-ups. Most of the shots are medium to almost wide shots intended, I think, to emphasise the distance between all the characters and their lack of real communication. It’s all very superficial.

Again, it feels like a documentary, as if you are a voyeur watching the scene through a window on a police interrogation room. You don’t get to know any of the characters here. In this scene, mind you, none but Nicholson’s is very important. But throughout the movie, you don’t ever get to really know, much less connect with any characters – a very Kubrick-like approach.

Shelley Duvall as Wendy Torrance protecting her son, Danny (Danny Lloyd).

We seldom see the three family members together (mother, father and son). And in one scene where the child, Danny (Danny Lloyd), sits on his father’s knee, although they are physically close the communication between them is all but non-existant, despite the fact they are talking.

Danny seems to lean away from his father, and the father tends to lean or look away from the son when they speak.

(Compare this to what you would likely find in a King novel – every character enunciated, every relationship paid attention to and played with. Not that the characters would have a great deal of depth, but his intent would be to provide something to distinguish each and get you involved with their stories.)

Kubrick’s dispassion and distance begins right from the film’s opening where we see the little yellow car driving through the mountains. It is utterly dwarfed by its surroundings. We see it from a god-like perspective, from afar, from a height.

Danny meets the twins who await at the end of the corridor.

The emphasis is on how diminutive it is and how impersonal the surroundings, and how imprisoning they are. This sense carries through the entire film.

There are those who complain about the aspect ratio presented on the DVD. The note on the cover reads, “This feature is presented in the full aspect ratio of the original camera negative, as Stanley Kubrick intended.” But why would he want this? Why, when you can take advantage of the breadth a widescreen ratio allows?

I think it’s because Kubrick thinks vertically rather than horizontally. His world is one of height and enclosures, and characters made small by these elements.

I think he intends this ratio because, in many of the scenes in The Shining, it is shot and framed in a way to emphasize how small the characters are and how oppressed they are within their surroundings.

When we see the child Danny riding through the halls, or when we are with the characters in the maze, or when we follow the little car on its way through the labyrinth of the mountains, the emphasis is on how within the world of those scenes the focus (the characters, the car) is dwarfed, oppressed. They are closed in by what surrounds them. How small and ineffectual the characters are is communicated not by breadth but by height, and the way the 1:33 ratio seems to compress the environment.

Jack Torrance going a bit mad.

Compression is a key element in the film. There is a sense of walls closing in, of something approaching; getting closer and closer. Again, the aspect ratio helps communicate this, the mazes as well.

But also notice how the occasional titles are compressed as well: “a month later,” then “Tuesday,” then “8AM.”

Visually, The Shining is a masterpiece. It is completely successful in terms of achieving what Kubrick is trying to do. But in the documentary on the DVD (done by Vivian Kubrick), Jack Nicholson quotes Kubrick saying something to the effect that while something may be real (a performance, say), it isn’t necessarily interesting.

For me, this is the problem with The Shining (as with most Kubrick films). It’s a fascinating, masterful piece of cinema. It’s visually arresting. But … it’s not very interesting as a drama.

I think it’s because the characters are not interesting. They never are in Kubrick films. It’s very hard to like any of them and forge any kind of emotional connection. Kubrick’s characters are chess pieces; they are moved around and say things to help him communicate his ideas on screen. But because they aren’t interesting (and more often than not, simply disagreeable), you just don’t care.

So … The Shining is a brilliant piece of filmmaking. Unfortunately, it’s a very dull story.

But it is interesting in its way, partly for what it might have been and partly for the sight of good actors (Grant and Kerr) working with material that lacks cogency. They appear alternately stiff and bored.

Dream Wife (1953)

Directed by Sidney Sheldon

This 1953 movie, Dream Wife, is confused at best. It has two big stars — Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr — who would later be brought together for 1957′s An Affair to Remember. It gives the impression of not knowing what to do with them but it’s a false impression.

It knows how to use its stars; it just doesn’t have anything to use them in. This is because apart from a superficially amusing idea — Cary Grant wants to marry; Deborah Kerr is too busy — it doesn’t know what it is about.

So we end up with a muddle.

Frankly, while he provides some very good moments, Cary Grant mostly looks frustrated by the realization he is in a muddle.

Betta St. John as Tarji, Cary Grant as Clemson Reade and Deborah Kerr as Effie -- all looking helpless in a confused script.

Kerr, on the other hand, appears to be doing the British “stiff upper lip” thing, moving through the film with aplomb despite the jumble.

It’s probably a more frustrating movie to today’s audience than to an audience of the early 1950s. It tackles relationships between men and women by what would then have been a role reversal. It isn’t a woman trying to get a man to finally marry; it’s the man trying to get married.

But his reasons are self-centred masculine ones. Grant’s Clemson Reade is romantic because he wants a wife to care for him, clean his house and generally devote her entire life to his wants and needs.

Kerr, unfortunately, is more practical and business-like and, most importantly, a feminist. She has no intention of devoting her life to caring for “her man.” She makes repeated references to women in history and how she, and all women, are free.

In response, Grant finds a princess from another country who has been raised for just one thing: caring for the man she marries. Her life has no meaning beyond that. Through a series of comic scenes, Grant discovers marrying such a woman (from a foreign land with different customs) is not so easy. And a woman with the devotion he wants isn’t quite the wonderful thing it seems.

Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr in a mistaken identity moment, Grant looking stiff and awkward, Kerr looking as if she's just realzed what a mess she is in.

And on it goes. The movie would have been a surprisingly feminist one had it continued along the line it heads down. But it trips up and becomes disappointingly anti-feminist when Grant and Kerr begin to reconcile and Kerr realizes that she does want to devote herself to a man. It just has to be the right man. In this case, that man is Grant.

This is one of those films that unwittingly ventures into social and cultural politics and, because it does and because it is unaware of this, creates confusion as it starts going one way then changes direction to reflect the attitudes of the period.

It’s just too in love with its one joke — Cary Grant trying to get married within a context of different cultures colliding — and never thinks anything through.

It’s just a muddle.

Nora (Myrna Loy) shows Nick (William Powell) she has picked up a few tricks of the trade from him.

Romances are usually about the obstacles a couple goes through in order to be together and they end with the pair finally uniting with the implication they will now be happy. United, they will live “happily ever after.”

William Powell and Myrna Loy as Nick and Nora Charles in the Thin Man movies show us the couple united and what life is like now that they are.

Together and happy, life is comedy. The movies aren’t romances; that part of their story has played out. (We never are shown this. The movies start after that has happened.)

The appeal of Nick and Nora is that they are united – they’re married – and they are living that happy life implied by the endings of romances. This is something audiences rarely see, certainly not seen so well articulated and charming.

The murder mystery element of the movies is key but only as an engine to allow their happy life to play out. It provides an engine to move the story forward and to provide a context within which we can see Nick and Nora behave as a happy couple.

The movies work individually but when seen as a series and in the order in which they came out they also show us their happy life evolve over time. And the way it evolves is telling. Specifics change. They look a bit older; they have a baby; the baby becomes a child … and so on.

But their relationship and what characterizes it doesn’t change. The essence of Nick and Nora as a couple remains the same.

The comedy is a mix of three elements, the ratios of which alter to varying degrees from film to film. It combines wit, slapstick and screwball/farce. The wit dominates throughout, though the other two elements are stronger in the later films.

The significance of the wit (apart from being fun to hear and see so well executed) is that it gives us Nick and Nora as equals, even in the later films when Loy’s Nora starts being presented as more of a sidekick to Nick than a partner.

The slapstick and farce elements, apart from providing some variation in the humour, allows the movies to keep the pair in check, especially Nick. He has to be clever but, whenever he starts to appear a little too clever and maybe not “a regular guy,” it’s slapstick that steps in to put him back in place (and in some cases, keep Nora in place).

Nick and Nora (William Powell and Myrna Loy).

Over a period of 13 years, William Powell and Myrna Loy had a wonderful run with their series of Thin Man movies. In all, there were six.

Although “the thin man” in the original movie, and the Dashiell Hammett novel that was the springboard for the movies, referred to a mysterious character, Clyde Wynant, (who doesn’t even appear in the original novel as I recall), in the movies “the thin man” came to refer to Nick Charles, William Powell’s character.

As movie series go, The Thin Man proved to be one of the most successful ever. And the team of William Powell and Myrna Loy worked so well that not only did they make six movies as Nick and Nora Charles, they made eight others together for a total of fourteen movies. But it is as the Charles’s in these Thin Man movies, where they are living the “happily ever after” life, that they are known best and most fondly for.

The Thin Man Series:

• The Thin Man (1934)
• After the Thin Man (1936)
• Another Thin Man (1939)
• Shadow of the Thin Man (1941)
• The Thin Man Goes Home (1945)
• Song of the Thin Man (1947)

Nick and Nora at play.

Nora (Myrna Loy) shows Nick (William Powell) she has picked up a few tricks of the trade from him.

The series of Thin Man movies answers the question, “What does happily ever after look like?”

Romances are usually about the obstacles a couple goes through in order to be together and they end with the pair finally uniting with the implication they will now be happy. United, they will live “happily ever after.”

William Powell and Myrna Loy as Nick and Nora Charles in the Thin Man movies show us the couple united and what life is like now that they are.

Together and happy, life is comedy. The movies aren’t romances; that part of their story has played out. (We never are shown this. The movies start after that has happened.)

The appeal of Nick and Nora is that they are united – they’re married – and they are living that happy life implied by the endings of romances. This is something audiences rarely see, certainly not seen so well articulated and charming.

The murder mystery element of the movies is key but only as an engine to allow their happy life to play out. It provides an engine to move the story forward and to provide a context within which we can see Nick and Nora behave as a happy couple.

The movies work individually but when seen as a series and in the order in which they came out they also show us their happy life evolve over time. And the way it evolves is telling. Specifics change. They look a bit older; they have a baby; the baby becomes a child … and so on.

But their relationship and what characterizes it doesn’t change. The essence of Nick and Nora as a couple remains the same.

The comedy is a mix of three elements, the ratios of which alter to varying degrees from film to film. It combines wit, slapstick and screwball/farce. The wit dominates throughout, though the other two elements are stronger in the later films.

The significance of the wit (apart from being fun to hear and see so well executed) is that it gives us Nick and Nora as equals, even in the later films when Loy’s Nora starts being presented as more of a sidekick to Nick than a partner.

The slapstick and farce elements, apart from providing some variation in the humour, allows the movies to keep the pair in check, especially Nick. He has to be clever but, whenever he starts to appear a little too clever and maybe not “a regular guy,” it’s slapstick that steps in to put him back in place (and in some cases, keep Nora in place).

Nick and Nora (William Powell and Myrna Loy).

Over a period of 13 years, William Powell and Myrna Loy had a wonderful run with their series of Thin Man movies. In all, there were six.

Although “the thin man” in the original movie, and the Dashiell Hammett novel that was the springboard for the movies, referred to a mysterious character, Clyde Wynant, (who doesn’t even appear in the original novel as I recall), in the movies “the thin man” came to refer to Nick Charles, William Powell’s character.

As movie series go, The Thin Man proved to be one of the most successful ever. And the team of William Powell and Myrna Loy worked so well that not only did they make six movies as Nick and Nora Charles, they made eight others together for a total of fourteen movies. But it is as the Charles’s in these Thin Man movies, where they are living the “happily ever after” life, that they are known best and most fondly for.

The Thin Man Series:

• The Thin Man (1934)
• After the Thin Man (1936)
• Another Thin Man (1939)
• Shadow of the Thin Man (1941)
• The Thin Man Goes Home (1945)
• Song of the Thin Man (1947)

Nick and Nora at play.

Hondo Lane and Angie Lowe (John Wayne and Geraldine Page).

Never one to be accused of political correctness, John Wayne’s films involving love often co-starred Maureen O’Hara, feisty but ultimately submissive.

Yet Wayne was in quite a few romantic movies and often they were very good.

In many, however, the romance wasn’t quite what we would consider our kind of romance.

Some just seem plain wrong. (See, for example, 1963′s McLintock!)

Many of these co-starred a feisty Maureen O’Hara in a contentious relationship that ended in slapstick battling, O’Hara coming out on the short end as the submissive woman.

The best of those is The Quiet Man, John Ford’s gem from 1952. It’s one of those movies you watch thinking, “That’s all wrong,” yet you love the film despite its questionable portrayal of relationships.

However, of all the John Wayne movies that were romances or involved romance as a major element, I think Hondo from 1953 is the clear winner because it is the most realistic, the most understated and most true.

The likely reason, in part, is because in the short list I made below it is the only one that is a drama, not a comedy. Of course, it’s also because it’s a very good movie.

The list below is off the top of my head.

John Wayne and romance:

• A Lady Takes a Chance (1943)
• Without Reservations (1946)
• The Quiet Man (1952)
• Hondo (1953)
• Trouble Along the Way (1953)
• North to Alaska (1960)
• Donovan’s Reef (1963)
• McLintock! (1963)

Which ones have I missed? Let me know in the comments. Thanks!

Directed by William K. Howard

It was quite a busy year in 1934 for William Powell and Myrna Loy. A look at their careers shows Powell was in five movies released that year and Loy was in six. Of those films, three showcased the incomparable team of Powell and Loy: their best known pairing, The Thin Man as well as Manhattan Melodrama and Evelyn Prentice.

It seems clear Hollywood knew it had something special with the team. They clicked (and I believe it was Thin Man director W.S. Van Dyke, aka Woody Van Dyke, who saw it first and capitalized on it.

However, other than Van Dyke, it also seems clear Hollywood didn’t know how to best use the magic, at least not initially.

They were paired in a variety of different types of movies, such as the aptly named Manhattan Melodrama. With Evelyn Prentice we get one of those movies that has a sense that it may know it has something but isn’t quite sure how to use it.

William Powell as John Prentice, successful lawyer, and Myrna Loy as neglected wife Evelyn Prentice.

Myrna Loy plays Evelyn Prentice, wife of big name lawyer John Prentice (William Powell). She’s a neglected wife who, suspecting her husband of an affair, gets involved with a petty gigolo, in a relationship that ends in blackmail and murder.

As you would guess, this isn’t a comedy and as anyone familiar with Powell and Loy as a team knows, comedy is their strong suit.

Still, the movie isn’t quite the dramatic thriller you might think it would be. It’s actually a muddle of things as it never really knows what kind of film it is going to be.

It starts well with almost a muted The Thin Man feel with its sense of elegant comedy aided by the ease with which Powell and Loy interact and aided by the comedic talents of Una Merkel as Evelyn’s friend Amy.

Merkel doesn’t need the script to contain comedy; her voice and style are enough to make anything feel funny, if she so chooses.

The movie also has as a catalyst Rosalind Russell (His Girl Friday, Auntie Mame) in her film debut as Mrs. Nancy Harrison, the woman Powell’s John Prentice is defending and who shamelessly throws herself at him, initiating Evelyn’s suspicions and all that follows.

The movie’s sense of comedy soon fades, however, as it becomes more of a romantic melodrama as the marriage between Evelyn and John is threatened by her suspicions and John’s preoccupation with his career.

Then it veers into a whodunit where we know whodunit and then evolves into an improbable courtroom drama. Muddled, indeed.

You would be forgiven for disliking the movie because of its complete lack of sense and direction (and many don’t speak kindly of the film) but I found I liked it despite that. It has a few things going for it that, for me, redeem it. For one thing, it’s short — just 79 minutes — and that usually means, as it does here, it’s tightly edited and moves at a brisk pace.

Evelyn (Myrna Loy) with her friend Amy (Una Merkel).

More importantly, it has performance — Loy and Powell’s and Merkel’s.

While part of me was watching the movie and aware it wasn’t particularly good in cinema and story terms, most of me was simply enjoying William Powell and Myrna Loy on screen acting. They are so easy and natural together it’s almost always a marvel.

I enjoyed Powell in particular and I think watching the final courtroom scenes we see something quite remarkable.

Those courtroom scenes are fantastic in the fantasy sense. They are utterly absurd in their complete indifference to any legal reality. Yet Powell’s performance in them is so convincing with his naturalness you don’t mind. He’s oblivious to the absurdity; he simply performs.

(Loy gives a good performance in the movie too but in the final act she is unfortunately saddled with the “crying woman who must be saved by her man” routine that undermines the more interesting character that had been built up to that point.)

Strictly as a movie, Evelyn Prentice isn’t very good. However, it is worth watching once and possibly a few more times for the simple fact that it has William Powell and Myrna Loy in it, working together and being as charming as ever.

Other Loy and Powell movies:

• Double Wedding (1937) (Loy & Powell Collection)
• I Love You Again (1940) (Loy & Powell Collection)
• Love Crazy (1941) (Loy & Powell Collection)
• The Thin Man (1934) (Complete Thin Man Collection)

Directed by George Stevens

This is a movie that mixes romantic-comedy and thriller, though the emphasis would be more on the former. But because The Talk of the Town mixes the two, it falters a bit. But not a lot.

It begins smartly by establishing itself with quick, mostly non-dialogue scenes. A factory burns, a man dies in the fire. Arson is the cause, and Leopold Dilg is arrested (Cary Grant with an unlikely name). It’s a rush to justice; Dilg’s guilt is a foregone conclusion.

The factory owner has the town stirred up against Dilg and everyone is calling for an execution.

Dilg, with no seeming choice, escapes prison.

Cary Grant as Leopold Dilg - nabbed by the Law.

He flees to a house where Nora (“the prettiest girl in town”) is preparing for a tenant. She hides Dilg in the attic. The tenant, the very straight-laced and famous law professor Michael Lightcap (Ronald Coleman) arrives early and Nora is in a fix – what to do with Dilg?

Up to the moment the scene shifts to the house and Nora (Jean Arthur, hair done up and shaded a light brunette here), the movie is very dramatic. While it’s quick and very well done, the shots of a brooding Cary Grant somehow don’t work.

In fact, through the whole film Grant somehow doesn’t seem quite right when playing the brooding part.

This may be less his performance than baggage brought from other roles (pre-conceptions of the Grant character), but it doesn’t seem quite right. He’s best when he finally steps out of the shadows and starts engaging both Nora and the Professor in banter.

Nora Shelley (Jean Arthur), Leopold Dilg (Cary Grant) and Professor Michael Lightcap (Ronald Colman).

The story of the film is how the three main characters work to get to the truth of things and prove Dilg’s innocence. The real story, though, is how Nora and Leopold loosen up the Professor, and the conflict Nora has with whom she loves. She loves both men – who will she end up with?

In fact, this movie is really Jean Arthur’s movie, and she is wonderful in it, even if she is playing the Jean Arthur character – pretty self-assured till she’s in a fix, then a bit scrambled.

The best performance, though, may come from Ronald Coleman. His tight-bummed Professor, and the arc he follows to loosen up, is excellent. He plays serious perfectly, while also playing innocence without any false notes.

Leopold Dilg behind bars (Cary Grant).

Overall, The Talk of the Town is a very good romantic comedy, though somewhat overlong. It works best when focused on its comedic aspects and seems to lose itself when veering off for a moment or two to be serious.

I think director George Stevens may have been trying to comment to some extent on mob justice, and the rule of law.

However, as in his movie Shane (and generally any film that has a message), all this does is bog the movie down with earnestness. It becomes an appeal to the head rather than the heart.

Films tend to operate best viscerally.

Directed by Robert Aldrich

When I was younger – oh, about fourteen maybe? – I thought The Dirty Dozen was about the coolest movie going. And over the years, I’ve seen it several times. The other night I watched it once more, the first time in a very long while, and I think my view has altered somewhat from that first time I saw it.

I like to think I’ve a more objective, critical eye now but, who knows? Maybe I’m as full of you-know-what now as I was then.

The Dirty Dozen really is a good movie. It’s a kind of template for every action-adventure, testosterone-driven movie that has followed in its wake. As the quote on the DVD cover says, “Often imitated, never bettered.”

Lee Marvin as Major John Reisman.

It partly accomplishes this by adroitly working an inherent contradiction. All of the primary characters (the Dirty Dozen plus Lee Marvin’s Major John Reisman) are in the military and all of them hate authority. Hmm.

That’s kind of like being a lifeguard and hating the water. And swimmers. And everything related to the beach.

All of these guys also have serious … umm, shall we say anger management issues? Whatever … somehow they all managed to get into the army. Of course, this may be partly because the military is portrayed as being largely run by morons. And this reflects a certain attitude prevalent at the time the movie was made – circa 1967.

Earnest Borgnine is General Worden.

The point is, there is a fundamental illogic in the movie. Chain of command is a basic given in the military, I would think, so the idea of these guys being in the military, much less taking on a key mission, is something of a stretch of common sense. But movies aren’t necessarily the proper place for logic. Emotion is the driving force and if it makes no sense, who cares? It feels right. Well, at least it feels good.

If you’re male, you can’t help but like these guys – especially Lee Marvin and Charles Bronson.

They’re tough, right-thinking guys stuck in a bad situation they must make the best of, and that they must (and do) accomplish while maintaining a sense of personal honour. (“He may be a killer but I respect him for sticking to his guns – no pun intended.”)

There is action, there is humour, there is conflict, and all of it done in a well-paced, nicely constructed way. But more importantly, there is Lee Marvin as Major Reisman. He is, oddly enough, the dominant authority figure in the film and, because of the type of authority figure he plays, he’s the glue that holds it all together. He isn’t just an authority figure, he’s a father figure. (No, I’m not trying to get psychological here but … well, that’s what he is and it is psychological.)

Joseph Wladislaw (Charles Bronson) and Major Reisman (Lee Marvin) mingle as Nazis before all hell breaks loose.

For the audience (at least the males, especially those younger ones), he’s a patriarchal archetype. It’s his respect that is important to the Dirty Dozen. He earns it by being just as disrespectful of authority (the military) and maintaining a kind of personal code. You can’t help but want to be like him – tough and true. (Nasty? Yes. But in a good way.)

The problem with all of this is that while it certainly appeals on a gut, instinctive level to boys and men, it never puts it into a social context. In fact, it does just the opposite. This kind of “maleness” is fine within certain confines but without any reference to how the rest of the world lives, it means mayhem.

And that, of course, is what the film ultimately gives us. The film ends in an orgy of explosions, gunfire and dying people. For me at least, once these guys embark on the mission they’ve trained for, the movie kind of peters out (which is ironic since this is also when everything explodes).

Ultimately, this is an extremely well made movie. I still enjoy watching it though I have problems now with how it ends: killing people, however it’s done, however many they may be, is okay as long as they’re the bad guys and their friends. I don’t think I buy that reasoning.

At the risk of sounding school-marmish, for me The Dirty Dozen is essentially a teenage boy’s movie. It addresses and satisfies all the raging hormones but without a context for dealing with them in any kind of socially appropriate way.

In many ways, that seems to be the movie’s point. What if you could just let go and do what you want? Wouldn’t that be fun? And just beat the crap out of anyone who doesn’t like it? In a way, the movie is a kind of pornography of violence.

(But that was kind of popular in movies of the late sixties, early seventies.)

In a way, this movie makes an interesting companion to East of Eden. They both deal, to some degree, with rebellion. In East of Eden though, James Dean’s youthful rebelliousness is an attempt to find an identity and to become something. In The Dirty Dozen, the Dozen (who are rebels of a kind) seem to be rebellious because it’s fun to be an asshole. Rebellion for the sake of rebellion.

Watching it, the feeling I end up with is one of relief that I’ve grown up.

The DVD:

The image quality on this one is pretty lame. It’s surprising that it’s released as Warner until you realize that it’s MGM, which probably explains it. This is probably the same MGM release but now with the Warner logo tacked on.

It doesn’t matter. The point is that while watchable, overall this has some major flaws. It’s a poor print especially at those moments when the reels change. There is quite a bit of scratching etc. (plus those annoying circles to announce the coming reel change). Poor quality DVD. This transfer should have had at least some restoration done to it.

On the other hand, I love William Powell. Fonda was probably the better actor but I’d watch a William Powell movie simply because Powell is in it, whereas with Fonda I’d probably ask, “What’s the movie?”

Mister Roberts (1955)

Directed by John Ford and Mervyn LeRoy

A very popular fictional story from the 1950s, Mister Roberts began as a novel by Thomas Heggen. It later became a stage play written by Heggen and Joshua Logan and starring Henry Fonda as Mister Roberts in over 1,000 performances.

It’s popularity was such that it was inevitable that Hollywood would turn it into a film, which they did, the screenplay written by Joshua Logan and Frank Nugent.

The film itself starred Henry Fonda and had not one but three directors — the credited John Ford and Mervyn LeRoy, and the uncredited Joshua Logan.

I’ve never seen this as a play but the film of Mister Roberts is often referred to in a misleading way because it tends to be spoken of in terms of comedy. I wouldn’t call it a comedy or even a comedy-drama. This is a drama with quite a few light, even comic moments. But it’s definitely not something I would call a comedy.

The story

Antagonists Captain Morton (James Cagney) and Mister Roberts (Henry Fonda).

The story is about a cargo ship (The Reluctant, aka the Bucket) and its crew in the Second World War suffering from the tedium and ignominy of being away from the action and, in the eyes of many of them, particularly Mister Roberts, being unimportant.

The ship is ruled over by Captain Morton (James Cagney), a self-promoting, self-interested tyrant. He is petty and indifferent to the needs of his crew, including their morale. Life on his ship is unexciting at best and he likes it that way.

Fonda’s Mister Roberts stands in direct contrast to him (and opposition): he wants to be in the action, sees the crews’ needs and is effective and efficient in a leadership role. The crew look up to him; they are contemptuous of their captain.

However, while the Captain and Roberts are antagonists and apparent opposites, they are very similar in one way: neither really sees or understands the crew and its the crew that is at the heart of the movie.

Mister Roberts is amused by, but doesn't quite "get" Ensign Pulver (Jack Lemmon).

Both Captain Morton and Mister Roberts are focused on themselves — the Captain with personal status in mind, Roberts on his personal contribution to the war. Mister Roberts sympathizes and empathizes with the crew, but he doesn’t quite get them (highlighted by his amused puzzlement over Ensign Pulver played by Jack Lemmon).

In the end, Mister Roberts finally does come to understand and appreciate them; the Captain does not.

The movie

Why three directors? The answers vary. John Ford began the movie and was replaced by Mervyn LeRoy either due to Ford becoming ill or Ford simply being replaced (some say due to disagreements with Henry Fonda). Josh Logan is said to have been brought in to re-shoot some Ford material the producers weren’t happy with.

Perhaps that is why the movie leaves me with a sense that it is close but not quite there when it comes to how well it works.

While the movie looks like a movie it feels like a play. I think this is due to certain stage elements and staging that are ported over from the stage version, such as the ongoing, “Now hear this. Now hear this …” announcements, the small potted palm and the way many scenes are staged (like the film’s ending when the letter is read).

It does make an effort to make it more cinematic, particularly with the second unit and location shots. By second unit I’m thinking of the ocean shots of ships going by (not so much second unit as stock footage of a kind, I think). I can’t help thinking this is a John Ford element, if not John Ford footage since he had been documenting the war as a director.

William Powell in his last film as Doc and Henry Fonda reprising his role as Mister Roberts.

But once a scene engages — characters enter; dialogue begins — the stage feel enters with them. I found it a bit off-putting, but that may just be me. There is also a period sensibility portrayed in the characters and in the film overall that makes the movie feel a bit anachronistic.

As much as I love the performers here — Henry Fonda, William Powell, James Cagney, Jack Lemmon, Ward Bond and others — the movie for me is a bit underwhelming given its reputation. I like it but it’s definitely not a favourite. It is said that both Josh Logan and Henry Fonda felt the film fell short of the stage production.

However, for many this is a much-loved movie and one of the best from the 1950s.

As a final aside, this was the last film appearance of one of my favourite actors, William Powell. He plays Doc, the father figure with wise counsel in the movie.