THE LAST TEN MOVIES I WATCHED….AND WHY I WATCHED THEM (April, 2018)

April 15-Chinatown (1974, Roman Polanski, Umpteenth Viewing)

To see how I felt about this chilly masterpiece in the first age when Hollywood, at least, would have to be circumspect about celebrating its statutory rapist director. I feel pretty much the same. It’s chilly and it’s a masterpiece. One thing I noticed, though, is that Faye Dunaway brought a human quality it’s hard to imagine coming from any other actress of the age–just like she did in Bonnie and Clyde. Two Egg strikes again.

April 16-Patriot Games (1992, Phillip Noyce, 4th Viewing)

To see if Harrison Ford–even Harrison Ford–could improve how I feel about the CIA. He couldn’t. Not even in this helluva entertainment (the thing moves) where he has at least one brilliant moment that transcends craft or star power. His response when he finally kills the rogue IRA terrorist (a menacing Sean Bean) who has been after his family is worthy of a Golden Age western. Too bad nobody thought to remake High Noon with him.

April 16-Robin Hood (1991, John Irvin, Umpteenth Viewing)

To be reminded of how superior this nearly forgotten take is to the contemporaneous box office smash with Kevin Costner. To revel in Patrick Bergin’s definitive Robin Hood. To marvel at the strong cast and excellent direction and script overcoming poor Uma Thurman (is she the only actress to have been both Weinsteined and Tarantinoed?) being so badly miscast as Marian. And, of course, to hear Friar Tuck greet the worst of the villains with a hale and hearty “Welcome….to Hell.”

April 17-No Name on the Bullet (1959, Jack Arnold, 5th Viewing)

To see Audie Murphy play, without a wasted word or gesture, a man who killed more men than Audie Murphy.

April 18-Midnight Run (1988, Martin Brest, Umpteenth Viewing)

To see a modern comic masterpiece (and perhaps be reminded that making a comedy is the only way to make a masterpiece in a fallen culture–absent absurdity, the old tropes required for any kind of drama or heroism or mythos simply don’t hold). And, however great DeNiro and Grodin are (neither was ever better), the whole cast is operating at the same level. Dennis Farina you’ll have remembered, even if you only saw it once…but don’t sleep on Yapphet Kotto’s FBI agent. He’s like a slow-burning cigarette that can’t quite be extinguished. Only if that were funny.

April 19-The Searchers (1956, John Ford, Umpteenth Viewing)

Well, I don’t need a reason to watch The Searchers for the fiftieth time. But here’s a challenge: Try picking one image, just from what’s available online. Is is even fair that every frame of the greatest narrative film looks like a classical painting? Or that you can take a frame like this one and spin a hundred stories out of it that have nothing to do with what actually happens in The Searchers? Or that, in this one frame, the doll, the dog, the rocking chair and the child’s dress will all play a vital part in the story that does get told? Or that you might have to watch it fifty times to notice this?

Just asking.

April 22-Life of Crime (2013,  Daniel Schechter, 4th Viewing)

For what I’m starting to think might be the best adaptation of one of Elmore Leonard’s crime stories (not prepared to go all the way there yet–the competition is tough). This is the first time I really understood it as an absurdist comedy first and foremost. I gave myself permission to laugh out loud five minutes in and then I couldn’t stop. Every performance is a comic gem. On the commentary track the director says he asked Jennifer Aniston on the set why she didn’t do more movies like this. He didn’t record her answer so I’ll give it for her: Because it’s not the seventies anymore. I don’t know whether recognizing how far out of her time she is should make her accomplishments as the last true persona actress more impressive, or just make us all sad.

April 23-Rob Roy: Highland Rogue (1953, Harold French, 3rd Viewing)

Mostly to see if this entry was worthy of inclusion in a potential “Handy Ten” of Disney Adventure films. I was lukewarm on past viewings. This time, I started to think it just might make the cut. The action scenes aren’t all they might be–French was clearly no Ken Anakin. But there’s a scene of a Highlands wedding that would be grand even if the bride and groom were less fetching than Richard Todd and Glynis Johns. And there’s another of a Highlands funeral that might have been just as striking if Sir Walter Scott hadn’t insisted on it being broken up by the bloody English. Also, I hadn’t quite caught how much better the backbiting politics were played than the battle scenes.

Worthier than I thought then.

And it’s always refreshing to recall that, from the beginning of Hollywood to the toadying present, Disney was the only studio that wasn’t afraid to kill Redcoats–or pretend to forget that the British Empire was the first in history upon which–as the proverb and the wag had it, respectively–the sun never set and the blood never dried.

April 23-Heat (1995, Michael Mann, Umpteenth Viewing)

For the action scenes. For the way two of the three main “family/personal” angles work, mostly because of sensitive, convincing performances from a pre-Weinsteined Ashley Judd (Appalachian girl playing an L.A. street tough) and Amy Brenneman (New Englander playing an Appalachian transplant, so far adrift in the L.A. wilderness it’s really not that unlikely DeNiro’s brooding sociopath could win her over with simple acts of kindness–or that she could transform him with kindness in return). For the way Judd’s street tough refuses to give up her powder keg of a husband (Val Kilmer) because she knows he would never give her up.

For all of that, I’ll put up with a lot of Al Pacino chewing scenery in between not insignificant stretches where he reminds you he can also act.

…Til next time!

WHAT OLD HOLLYWOOD COULDN’T DO…THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE (And Then There Was Hollywood: Ninth Rumination)

The Red Badge of Courage (1951)
D. John Huston

John Huston shot a two-hour version of Stephen Crane’s lean, mean novel of war that he went to his grave considering his masterpiece. Considering all Huston had done with the rest of his time was helm The Maltese Falcon,  The Asphalt Jungle, The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, The African Queen, The Misfits, Fat City, Prizzi’s Honor and The Dead (just to hit a few high points), that’s saying something. Having just seen his Red Badge for the first time, I”m inclined to think he might not have just been woofin’.

My first thought when the film began, though, was “Oh, no.”

It has that Old Hollywood Narration that almost always meant ponderous with a capital “P.” This was no exception. More like Exhibit A.

It wasn’t the words (which were mostly straight from Crane), but the tone. It always said, You Are Now in the Presence of Art. Never louder than here.

The shame is that, my second impression–borne out by nearly every frame of the movie that followed–was that, if ever a movie didn’t need such claptrap, it was this one.

Huston fought furiously, with support from his star, an even more perfectly cast than you could imagine Audie Murphy, to keep the film intact, at or near its original two-hour running length. Instead, after a poor preview, the studio cut it to a truly crippling 69 minutes, turning it into a B-level feature on the level of Francis the Talking Mule or Ma and Pa Kettle.

And adding the dread Narration.

The suits then proceeded to destroy the pruned footage. When they approached Huston decades later, in hopes of restoring it for a post-Viet Nam-So-The-World’s-Finally-Ready-For-It re-release, he had lost his personal print.

And you wonder why directors drank?

Absent a miraculous discovery of a surviving original print (unlikely but not impossible–Crane’s original novel had been censored as well, and has only been restored to its full length in recent decades), we have what we have.

Which is still well worth seeing.

What remains certainly catches the spirit of a novel that might well have been deemed unfilmable in any age. Despite its brevity and lack of pretension, The Red Badge of Courage pointed the way towards nearly everything that was good in literary modernism. Even in truncated form, the movie may well have done the same for the modern battle film. It seems likely that Daryl Zancuk, who made The Longest Day and Ron Maxwell (Gettysburg), were aware of it–though even they didn’t catch up to Red Badge‘s signature achievement, which is catching the tone of every aspect of battle. The lead up’s state of endless boredom crossed with an air of anticipation that amounts to an unscratched itch is matched by combat’s uncertainty and head-spinning anarchy of emotions–dread one minute, fear the next, then exhilaration and, finally, resignation, as the generals march the survivors off the ground they’ve risked all to take.

When our national epitaph is written by the keepers of some near or distant future, they’re sure to note that Huston’s film–likely turned into a pulled punch by studio interference in the name of commercial considerations which yielded no fruit**–was made at almost the exact instant when Americans lost their ability to imagine war as a matter of taking and holding ground. Every soldier who has fought one of our “holding actions” that began when Matthew Ridgway  (wisely) stopped at the 38th parallel in Korea during the very moments The Red Badge of Courage was being chopped up on the cutting floor, would nonetheless recognize the attitudes of the soldiers who march away at the end of the film, unsure of what exactly it was they fought for. No American solider since Red Badge was made and mutilated has been asked to hold any ground he took. Too much trouble for this strange sort of Empire we’ve built, which has all a traditional Empire’s burdens and moral compromises, and very few of its common rewards.

One needn’t be entirely existential, though, to appreciate this Red Badge on its considerable surviving merits.

In addition to Huston’s fine feel for every aspect of battle’s tedium, fatigue, excitement and even glamour (fully catching the spirit of Churchill’s old line about being shot at and missed as life’s most “exhilarating” experience)–not to mention the full-blooded ironies of fear of cowardice turning into the real thing as readily as fear of being thought a coward creating a false courage which also turns into the “real” thing, the very elements I would have thought impossible to catch without Crane’s language)–there is also the superb cast.

Here you can find the very best work of Arthur Hunnicut, Royal Dano, John Dierkes and Murphy himself, every one of them laid in the shade by WWII’s most famous cartoonist, Bill Mauldin, as the youngest, greenest recruit. I saw his name in the credits and then promptly forgot to look for him until the final credits, when he was revealed as “Wilson,” a part he embodied so fully it never occurred to me it might have been an amateur acting in his first film. He made another the same year and never acted again as anyone but himself. More’s the pity.

Perhaps he was playing himself here as well. God knows he had seen enough Up Front to have some idea of how first-timers behaved before, during and after their first combat. In any case, his performance here is the jewel in a substantial crown.

We will win no more wars. But The Red Badge of Courage, even in its present still-mutilated state, can hold its place on the small list of films which remind us–and the future–of what was required, back when victory was deemed something more than a luxury.

Bill Mauldin and Audie Murphy: The Red Bade of Courage

[NOTE: **The movie bombed anyway–testimony to a kind of cowardice beyond the ken of even this, the most famous American study on the subject.]