Coyote Moon Films

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Motion_Picture_Production_Code

http://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/1432/the-art-of-screenwriting-no-1-billy-wilder

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sunset_Boulevard_(film)

http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/19990627/REVIEWS08/906270301/1023

3.04.2013

Billy Wilder: Double Indemnity

James M. Cain’s 1935 novella Double Indemnity centers on a murder plot by a woman (Phyllis Dietrichson, played by Barbara Stanwyck) and an insurance agent (Walter Neff, played by Fred MacMurray) with whom she has an extramarital affair. They meet when Neff makes a house call for a routine renewal of an automobile insurance policy. Dietrichson asks him how she could take out an insurance policy on her husband without his knowledge; he realizes she’s plotting murder and wants nothing to do with it. She shows up at his apartment and persuades him to help her. He goes along with the plot, beginning with getting Mr. Dietrichson to sign an insurance policy that includes a double indemnity clause that doubles the insurance payout for accidental death.

The complicated plot is handled deftly by co-writers Billy Wilder and Raymond Chandler. Wilder and Chandler had a prickly relationship during the writing of the screenplay. Chandler had assumed that he would write the screenplay alone, and asked for a sample script for use as a formatting reference. Wilder thought the result was largely unusable with the exception of some lines of dialogue, and explained that they would have to work together. Wilder considered the collaboration to be helpful and that “[w]hat we were doing together had real electricity”. He considered Chandler a great writer, but not a great screenwriter. Chandler’s view of Wilder was considerably less charitable.

Double Indemnity drew great interest from several studios shortly after its publication, but when Joseph Breen of the Hays Office sent a message to the studios that the nature of the characters and plot would render the story unfilmable, all offers on the story were withdrawn. Of concern to the Hays Office were plot elements dealing with adultery, depicting the method of committing a murder, and the original ending, which involved the two main characters committing suicide. When Wilder took on the task of adapting the story to film, he altered the story to have Neff sent to the gas chamber for murdering Dietrichson and conspiring with her to murder her husband. The Hays Office considered the gas chamber scene too gruesome to pass muster with the local censorship boards; Wilder realized, however, that the film really ended at the familiar scene at the elevator, with Neff dying in colleague and mentor Barton Keyes’ (Edward G. Robinson) arms.

References

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Motion_Picture_Production_Code

http://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/1432/the-art-of-screenwriting-no-1-billy-wilder

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Double_Indemnity_(film)

2.18.2013

Billy Wilder: The Major and the Minor

The Major and the Minor was the first American film Billy Wilder directed. Wilder learned about filmmaking from editor Doane Harrison while making this film. Harrison taught Wilder about editing in camera to prevent the studio from making changes.

Ginger Rogers plays Susan Applegate, a scalp massager for the “Revigorous System,” who quits after a client makes a pass at her. She wants to take the train home, but she only has enough for a child’s fare, so she tries to make herself look like a 12-year-old in order to get a ticket. She ends up hiding in Major Philip Kirby’s (Ray Milland) cabin when she’s seen smoking. She convinces Kirby, who has poor vision, that she’s a frightened child, and he allows her to stay with him in his cabin. The train stops for flooding on the tracks and Susan is diverted from her journey home to stay with Kirby’s fiance’s family until her own family can pick her up. As with any screwball romantic comedy, the story makes the audience want the leads to get together while simultaneously throwing obstacles in the way of the desired end.

Although the story presented Wilder and his co-writer Charles Brackett opportunities to push the limits of the Hays Code, there seem to have been no issues with the story’s content.

Critical reception at the time was generally positive, but it is one of Wilder’s lesser and less well-remembered efforts. Rogers’s performance was perfectly suited to the film—she’s fun to watch without trying too hard. Milland was an excellent choice for Kirby; he’s likeable enough to allow the audience to overlook his obliviousness, both when it comes to Susan’s age and to his fiance’s character.

References

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Motion_Picture_Production_Code

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Major_and_the_Minor

1.24.2013

Billy Wilder: Some Like It Hot

The USPS recently issued a set of four stamps honoring great film directors and the films for which they are most remembered. The four selected are: John Ford (The Searchers), John Huston (The Maltese Falcon), Frank Capra (It Happened One Night), and Billy Wilder (Some Like It Hot). We will be exploring the lives and work of these directors. In this post LR Simon discusses Some Like It Hot (1959).

Sex comedies produced before the demise of the Hays Code may seem quaint by modern sensibilities, but that’s largely because of the Code; writers and directors like Billy Wilder pushed the Code’s limits on a regular basis. Wilder had been pushing the Code’s limits since his American directorial debut, The Major and the Minor, but he hadn’t released a film without the Production Seal of Approval until 1959’s Some Like It Hot.

Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon play struggling jazz musicians, Joe and Jerry, who witness the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre in 1929; they’re spotted by the murderous gangsters, including “Spats” Colombo (George Raft), so they have to flee. They do this by disguising themselves as women and joining Sweet Sue and her Society Syncopators, an all-woman band heading to Miami. Joe becomes enamored of the band’s frontwoman, Sugar Kane (Marilyn Monroe), while Jerry (as Daphne) receives unwanted attention from the band’s male manager Mr. Bienstock (Dave Barry) before attracting more attention from Osgood Fielding III (Joe E. Brown). Joe persuades Jerry to keep Osgood occupied so he, as Junior, another alter ego, can entertain Sugar on Osgood’s yacht. As things become increasingly complicated, Joe and Jerry realize they have to leave the band, but they come to this decision as a convention of the Friends of Italian Opera opens at the hotel where they are staying. Among those attending the convention are Spats and his cohort who recognize Josephine (Joe) and Daphne as the witnesses to the massacre.

Some Like It Hot challenged several rules of the Hays Code, including scenes that imply sex between unmarried men and women, blurring of sex roles (Joe and Jerry’s transvestitism), Bienstock’s sexual harassment of “Daphne,” and the suggestion that there might not be anything wrong with homosexuality, as implied by the film’s final line.

While “Junior” was seducing Sugar, Osgood proposed to Daphne, who accepted. In the film’s final scene, Daphne tries to get out of the engagement by listing any number of her faults (she smokes, she can’t have children, etc.), leading to Osgood’s famous last words: “Well, nobody’s perfect.”

Wilder relates the story behind one of the most famous lines in cinema:

“Diamond and I were in our room working together, waiting for the next line—Joe B. Brown’s response, the final line, the curtain line of the film—to come to us. Then I heard Diamond say, ‘Nobody’s perfect.’ I thought about it and I said, Well, let’s put in ‘Nobody’s perfect’ for now. But only for the time being. We have a whole week to think about it. We thought about it all week. Neither of us could come up with anything better, so we shot that line, still not entirely satisfied. When we screened the movie, that line got one of the biggest laughs I’ve ever heard in the theater. But we just hadn’t trusted it when we wrote it; we just didn’t see it. ‘Nobody’s perfect.’ The line had come too easily, just popped out.”

References

http://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/1432/the-art-of-screenwriting-no-1-billy-wilder

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Some_Like_It_Hot

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Motion_Picture_Production_Code

1.08.2013

USPS Director Stamps: Billy Wilder

The USPS recently issued a set of four stamps honoring great film directors and the films for which they are most remembered. The four selected are: John Ford (The Searchers), John Huston (The Maltese Falcon), Frank Capra (It Happened One Night), and Billy Wilder (Some Like It Hot). We will be exploring the lives and work of these directors over the next few weeks. In this post LR Simon discusses the career and influence of Billy Wilder.

Like the other directors featured in this series, Billy Wilder started his film career as a writer. He had worked as a journalist in Berlin before becoming interested in film and writing screenplays. He wrote the screenplay for Emil and the Detectives (1931), and then moved to Paris as Hitler came into power. He made his directorial debut in France with Mauvaise Graine (1934), moving to Hollywood before its release. His first big American hit as a writer came in 1939 with Ninotchka, and he made his American directorial debut with The Major and the Minor in 1942. He would go on to direct Double Indemnity (1944), arguably the best noir film; Some Like It Hot (1959), one of the best-loved comedies in film history; and Stalag 17 (1953), one of the best prisoner of war films.

Because he was a writer, Wilder believed that films were at their best when the script was honored. He became a director in large part to protect his scripts from misinterpretation. Once a director, he began to tailor scripts for actors, because he thought all actors have limits; this, however, did not keep him from casting against type—Fred MacMurray was not a likely choice to play a scheming insurance salesman in Double Indemnity, for example.

Wilder had great admiration for directors who were also writers, such as John Huston and Akira Kurosawa, but also for directors who respected the writers, such as Ernst Lubitsch, for whom he wrote several screenplays. Wilder learned much about directing from Lubitsch—not only how to respect the script and the medium, but also “to do things as elegantly and as simply as possible.” Despite directors’ having much more influence on set than writers (during the studio era, writers were not allowed on set), Wilder did not subscribe to “auteur theory”:

Film’s thought of as a director’s medium because the director creates the end product that appears on the screen. It’s that stupid auteur theory again, that the director is the author of the film. But what does the director shoot—the telephone book? Writers became much more important when sound came in, but they’ve had to put up a valiant fight to get the credit they deserve.

Wilder’s influence on cinema extends beyond the technical—many of his films pushed the limits of what was acceptable under the Hays Code. Double Indemnity centers on marital infidelity, a topic that the code made almost impossible to treat honestly on film. Some Like It Hot features transvestitism and a nod to homosexuality, and was released without a Production Code Seal of Approval; it was a huge critical and box-office success, and may have been the single most important film in terms of ending the power of the Hays Office.

While Wilder’s legacy of expanding acceptable content in films is important—invaluable, even—some of his attitudes are less honorable. For example, Wilder was never blacklisted, but he had no sympathy for those who were, and he held some blacklisted artists in disdain. Of course, nobody’s perfect.

References

http://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/1432/the-art-of-screenwriting-no-1-billy-wilder

12.31.2012

Frank Capra: State of the Union

The USPS has issued a set of four stamps honoring great film directors and the films for which they are most remembered. The four selected are: John Ford (The Searchers), John Huston (The Maltese Falcon), Frank Capra (It Happened One Night), and Billy Wilder (Some Like It Hot). We will be exploring the lives and work of these directors over the next few weeks. In this post LR Simon discusses State of the Union (1948).

As much as there is to admire in State of the Union, the more I think about this film, the less I like it. Technically, it has a lot going for it, such as a stellar cast and good production values. Frank Capra’s direction is deft as usual, and because the screenplay features political commentary that remains relevant (one character asks whether there’s any difference between the Republican and Democratic parties, a question that usually comes up at least every four years), one can see why Capra was attracted to the material.

Kay Thorndyke (Angela Lansbury) plans to make Grant Matthews (Spencer Tracy) President of the United States, using her influence via her newspapers to deadlock the Republican primary and then promote Matthews as a dark horse candidate. Matthews’ estranged wife Mary (Katharine Hepburn) agrees to campaign with him because she believes in his idealism. Along the way, Matthews compromises his positions and ideals to ensure backing from special interests. As he compromises behind the scenes, his character starts to change for the worse.

Thorndyke may be the character with the plan, but the story belongs to Matthews. He has to struggle with his ideals and his newfound ambition, and he has to decide between his wife and his lover, Kay. Most of the time, when the story focuses on Matthews, it works; there is, however, a cute but unnecessary and unbelievable airplane sequence that does not work with the rest of the film.

The main weakness in State of the Union is the treatment of the two main female characters. The characters are not written as real human people but as representations of ideas, Kay representing ambition, lust, and corruption, and Mary representing idealism and family. It’s another rendition of the virgin/whore trope that still permeates literature, television, film, and music to this day. Kay is not allowed to have any real virtues, and any characteristics she has that could be seen positively are instead used to show her in a bad light. Mary, in contrast, is not allowed much in the way of flaws, and when she starts to compromise in support of her husband, he puts an end to it—she isn’t even allowed to save herself.

Neither Kay nor Mary goes through the kind of journey that women in earlier Capra films did—in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, for example, Jean Arthur starts out cynical but through her growing familiarity with Smith (James Stewart), starts to lose her cynicism and become an optimist, even helping Smith with his apparently quixotic filibuster. In State of the Union, Kay starts out cynical and remains cynical while Mary starts out righteous and optimistic, and ultimately stays righteous and optimistic. If the characters don’t feel like cardboard, much of the credit must go to Lansbury and Hepburn.

As mentioned above, however, the political commentary was smart and strong and is not dated. For example:

“Because you politicians, instead of trying to pull the country together, are helping pull it apart, just to get votes.” Matthews (Spencer Tracy).

“Oh, I’m a good Republican, but the voters do control the lease on the White House, don’t they? Not just the Republican Party.” Mary Matthews (Katharine Hepburn).

“You politicians have stayed professional only because the voters have remained amateurs.” Mary Matthews (Katharine Hepburn).

Despite its flaws in its depiction of (especially) the female characters, State of the Union continues Capra’s tradition of smart political commentary. It isn’t in the same league as Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, You Can’t Take It With You, or Mr. Deeds Goes to Town, and overall, it isn’t Capra’s best effort, but the actors’ performances and the political commentary make it watchable.

References:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/State_of_the_Union_(film)

12.22.2012

Frank Capra: Arsenic and Old Lace

The USPS has issued a set of four stamps honoring great film directors and the films for which they are most remembered. The four selected are: John Ford (The Searchers), John Huston (The Maltese Falcon), Frank Capra (It Happened One Night), and Billy Wilder (Some Like It Hot). We will be exploring the lives and work of these directors over the next several weeks. In this post LR Simon discusses Arsenic and Old Lace (1944).

Despite featuring next to none of the hallmarks of most of his films, Arsenic and Old Lace still feels like a Frank Capra film. Theater critic Mortimer Brewster (Cary Grant) is more big city elite than populist, there’s no heroic struggle against a corrupt system (though it could be argued that there’s an inefficient system—or two—involved), and Priscilla Lane’s Elaine Harper is not cut from the same cloth as the women in the other Capra films discussed in this series. Thematically, it’s almost a throwback to Capra’s silent film work with Harry Langdon; it’s more escapist entertainment than thought-provoking message piece.

The story follows Mortimer Brewster, theater critic and author of several books severely critical of the institution of marriage (e.g., Marriage Over Matrimony), as he marries his childhood sweetheart and neighbor Elaine, discovers that his two sweet aunts have a “very bad habit” that he must put to an end, and deals with his returning brother Jonathan (Raymond Massey, in the role originated on Broadway by Boris Karloff), who has homicidal tendencies and an alcoholic accomplice, Dr. Einstein (Peter Lorre).

Attempting to keep his Aunts Abby and Martha (Josephine Hull and Jean Adair, respectively) from poisoning any more prospective boarders, Mortimer frantically works out the paperwork to get his brother Teddy committed to Happy Dale Sanitarium. Before he leaves to get a judge’s signature, he makes his aunts promise not to let anyone in the house until he returns. Shortly after he leaves, however, Jonathan enters the house with his partner in crime, Dr. Einstein. After everyone goes to their rooms, Teddy comes back down to collect the latest “yellow fever victim” from the coffin-shaped window seat to bury him in the cellar in the newest lock in the "Panama Canal."

Jonathan and Einstein try to move their latest homicide victim, Mr. Spenalzo, to the basement (“Rather a good joke on my aunts,” says Jonathan), but Elaine, who thinks Mortimer has returned, interrupts them. Einstein turns on the light, leaving Jonathan flabbergasted that Spenalzo seems to have vanished.

While Arsenic and Old Lace foregoes some of Capra’s favorite themes, it is a study in the use of dramatic irony for comedic effect. The sets are obviously sets, but the artifice serves the film—some of the acting choices would seem too over-the-top in a more realistic set (or perhaps a more realistic set would have limited the acting choices).

References:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arsenic_and_Old_Lace_(film)

12.21.2012

Frank Capra: Mr. Smith Goes to Washington

Though it was controversial at the time of its release, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington is one of the best-loved of Frank Capra’s films, and may be considered the quintessential Capra movie. Themes and concepts we’ve seen in other of his films that also make an appearance here include corruption in the political process, unconventional (even unheroic) heroes, a villain who turns at the end, women with strength and character, and lost causes. Mr. Smith Goes to Washington also features the iconic filibuster sequence that celebrates the heroism of the American political process.

The story begins with the governor of an unnamed state in fly-over country trying to decide on a replacement for a recently deceased senator. His political bosses want him to select someone of their choosing, while popular committees prefer a reformer. The governor’s children suggest Jefferson Smith (James Stewart), head of the Boy Rangers. The governor eventually decides to flip a coin, heads for the corporate stooge, tails for the reformer; when the coin lands on its side next to a newspaper story about Smith, the governor decides that Smith’s wholesome appearance would appeal to the reformers while his inexperience would make him easy to manipulate.

When Smith is introduced, he’s nervous, awkward, and unpolished. When he arrives in Washington DC, he’s dazzled by the history of the Capitol and overwhelmed by the political process. He’s easy pickings for a press that sees a hick who’s unprepared for public life. Some of these themes echo similar themes in Mr. Deeds Goes to Town, Meet John Doe, and even Platinum Blonde.

Among other lessons filmmakers can take from Mr. Smith is Capra’s dedication to characters and casting. Capra made sure that characters appearing on screen for only one scene remain in the audience’s consciousness. Small parts still serve an important function. In Mr. Smith, the President of the Senate (Harry Carey) has about 20 lines, but he serves as a surrogate for the audience, lending the character more importance than suggested by the paucity of lines.

Capra didn’t feature anti-heroes or leading characters with few redeeming characteristics because he thought the audience would care more what happens to a likeable character when he gets into trouble. He tried to make sure his villains weren’t cartoonish by giving them their own sense of ethics so they could think they were right. The conflict between opposing sides ensures that the hero, however good and sympathetic, would have to struggle for and earn his happy ending.

When it came to casting, Capra usually didn’t do screen tests—he preferred to talk with actors on a one-on-one basis, usually without asking them to read anything. He also didn’t let an actor’s reputation get in the way of casting. Jean Arthur, for example, had a reputation for being difficult to work with, but Capra considered it his job to get her on set; once there, she consistently delivered good performances,

Mr. Smith Goes to Washington features a more jaded look at Americans, particularly those in politics, than had been seen in earlier Capra pictures, but it stands out as probably his strongest statement on the change that can be effected by an individual citizen.

References:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mr._Smith_Goes_to_Washington

http://www.tcm.com/mediaroom/video/151244/Frank-Capra-Jr-Remembers-Mr-Smith-Goes-to-Washington-A-TCM-Featurette-.html

12.09.2012

Frank Capra: You Can't Take It With You

The USPS has issued a set of four stamps honoring great film directors and the films for which they are most remembered. The four selected are: John Ford (The Searchers), John Huston (The Maltese Falcon), Frank Capra (It Happened One Night), and Billy Wilder (Some Like It Hot). We will be exploring the lives and work of these directors over the next several weeks. In this post LR Simon discusses You Can’t Take It With You (1938).

If you haven’t seen Frank Capra’s You Can’t Take It With You, some of the subject matter will surprise you. His recurring themes of class relations, the corrupting influence of money, the seemingly powerless individual going against a wealthy adversary, and cynicism being overcome by the inherent goodness in people all play significant roles in the story, but some of the minor points seem timely now as well, especially Tony Kirby’s (James Stewart) interest in alternative energy.

Jean Arthur plays Alice Vanderhof, a secretary in the bank owned by A. P. Kirby (Edward Arnold), Tony’s father. Tony’s mother (Mary Forbes) strongly disapproves of the match, a feeling that intensifies when Tony brings his parents to the chaotic Vanderhof residence to meet Alice’s family. The meeting doesn’t go as Alice had planned – between an unprepared dinner for which the hot dogs are still to be purchased, the pet crow (named Jim), Alice’s constantly dancing sister Essie (Ann Miller), and a police raid, approval from the Kirby’s seems unlikely.

Like Mr. Deeds Goes to Town, You Can’t Take It With You features a courtroom scene that descends into chaos while the presiding judge watches, amused. Unlike Mr. Deeds, You Can’t Take It With You has a prison sequence, where Grandpa Martin Vanderhof (Lionel Barrymore) and A. P. Kirby talk about whether being wealthy is important at all. As a result of this conversation, Kirby has a change of heart about the Vanderhofs, and especially about Alice, when he realizes that he will lose his son if he doesn’t make significant changes in the way he treats his son. Even Mrs. Kirby begins to soften toward the Vanderhofs.

James Stewart is charming as Tony, and Jean Arthur is very good as Alice; they’re good together – but their romantic comedy section of the film follows well-worn paths leading up to a predictable conclusion. Grandpa Vanderhof and A. P. Kirby have the more interesting relationship – on first viewing, the change Kirby undergoes doesn’t seem as predestined as one might expect.

Barrymore has the unenviable task of pontificating at length during the prison sequence and making the lines seem like something a real person would say. His lines during this sequence would, with some editing, make a fine speech at a political rally. At one point he says: “Lincoln said, ‘With malice toward none, with charity for all.’ Nowadays they say ‘Think the way I do, or I’ll bomb the daylights out of you.’” Capra has a reputation for making movies that radiate optimism, but he has enough of a realist’s perspective to keep that optimism from turning saccharine.

The portrayal of the Vanderhofs’ two black servants, Rheba (Lillian Yarbo) and Donald (Eddie Anderson), can make for uncomfortable viewing for modern audiences. They play to stereotypes for laughs; Capra usually made a point of treating all of his characters with respect and love, even as he had them engage in ridiculous business (e.g., Deeds playing the tuba when he’s told of his inheritance), and while he didn’t treat Rheba and Donald with malice, it’s difficult to see the same depth of characterization that the white characters have. It’s easy to dismiss Rheba’s and Donald’s nondimensionality as being part of the time (1938), and any presence of black characters on the screen as an important step in the progress of black actors in mainstream cinema, but in other films Capra manages with other black characters – extras, really, as they have no lines – to show more dignity and depth of humanity than he does here, that his approach here is comparatively lazy, even though Rheba and Donald have more screen time, lines, and names.

Despite its shortcomings, and if it weren’t for certain other of Capra’s films, You Can’t Take It With You could be considered the quintessential Frank Capra movie – part screwball romantic comedy, part social commentary, populated with memorable characters, and a few unforgettable highlights.

References:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/You_Can’t_Take_It_With_You_(film)

Frank Capra: Mr. Deeds Goes to Town

The USPS has issued a set of four stamps honoring great film directors and the films for which they are most remembered. The four selected are: John Ford (The Searchers), John Huston (The Maltese Falcon), Frank Capra (It Happened One Night), and Billy Wilder (Some Like It Hot). We will be exploring the lives and work of these directors over the next several weeks. In this post LR Simon discusses Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (1936).

Longfellow Deeds (Gary Cooper) of Mandrake Falls inherits $20 million from his uncle Martin Semple. Semple’s attorney, John Cedar (Douglass Dumbrille), locates Deeds and brings him to New York City. Cedar hires ex-newspaperman Cornelius Cobb (Lionel Stander) to keep reporters away from Deeds, but Louise “Babe” Bennett (Jean Arthur) gets close to him by pretending to be a poor woman who’s spent all day trying to find work. She writes a series of unflattering articles about Deeds, portraying him as a hick. Deeds is eventually disillusioned with everything in the city, including himself, until a dispossessed farmer (John Wray) breaks into Deeds’s mansion with a gun, complaining about the wealthy man’s failing to do anything with his money to help people. Deeds decides to provide 10-acre farms for homeless families willing to work the land for several years. Cedar tries to have Deeds declared mentally incompetent in order to regain control of the fortune. At his sanity hearing, Deeds delivers what may reasonably be considered the message of the film:

It’s like I’m out in a big boat, and I see one fellow in a rowboat who’s tired of rowing ad wants a free ride, and another fellow who’s drowning. Who would you expect me to rescue? Mr. Cedar, who’s just tired of rowing and wants a free ride, or those men out there who are drowning? Any ten-year-old child will give you the answer to that.

Mr. Deeds Goes to Town featured many of the recurring themes and characteristics of Frank Capra’s films: class, socioeconomic relations, an affinity for working people, and the fast snappy dialogue that helps keep the audience entertained as they watch what could have been a dull, preachy film.

The studio didn’t care for this film on the grounds that Deeds was a “poor hero.” He is usually reactive in most situations, but once he’s broken, he finds his strength and fights for himself and what he thinks is right. Capra always wanted Cooper to play Deeds because of his honest, stalwart good looks—he thought the audience would believe that he wouldn’t care if he inherited $20 million.

Carole Lombard was originally cast as Babe, but just days before production began, she left to make My Man Godfrey. Capra serendipitously saw some rushes from another film with Jean Arthur, and chose her to replace Lombard. Arthur had a reputation for being difficult—she didn’t like being in front of the camera (film actress seems like an odd career choice). Capra thought she came alive on film, and was willing to deal with her idiosyncrasies.

Mr. Deeds Goes to Town takes place during the Great Depression, but Capra focused on more universal themes such as human relations where socioeconomic inequalities exist. Because it stresses these broad ideas within the context of a screwball romantic comedy, Mr. Deeds Goes to Town retains its relevance.

References:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mr._Deeds_Goes_to_Town

Frank Capra Jr. Remembers Mr. Deeds

12.06.2012

Frank Capra: Meet John Doe

The USPS has issued a set of four stamps honoring great film directors and the films for which they are most remembered. The four selected are: John Ford (The Searchers), John Huston (The Maltese Falcon), Frank Capra (It Happened One Night), and Billy Wilder (Some Like It Hot). We will be exploring the lives and work of these directors over the next several weeks. In this post LR Simon discusses Meet John Doe (1941).

Meet John Doe touches on several of Frank Capra’s favorite themes: politics, media, power, money, and society’s ill treatment of the poor. Barbara Stanwyck plays Ann Mitchell, who has been ordered to write one last column for her newspaper before clearing out her desk. She writes a letter from “John Doe” protesting the state of society and threatening to commit suicide on Christmas Eve. After a rival newspaper suspects the fraud and starts investigating, Mitchell is rehired, and she devises a plan with the editor to keep the “John Doe” story alive to push sales.

The paper auditions numerous poor men to be their John Doe. The film reduces the auditions to a montage that uses several techniques adapted from the silent era. The paper settles on John Willoughby (Gary Cooper), a former baseball player, to play Doe, rents him a hotel suite, buys him a new wardrobe, and pays him $50. Willoughby’s friend, the Colonel (Walter Brennan) has severe misgivings about the charade, and complains about the “heelots” – heels whose sole purpose in life is to snooker people out of their money. “Money goes to your head,” he says, “even just $50.”

Mitchell’s columns about John Doe and the speeches she writes for him lead to a nationwide movement and the establishment of “John Doe Clubs.” The newspaper’s publisher, D.B. Norton (Edward Arnold) sees an opportunity in the clubs to establish a ready-made constituency for a run for political office. He tries to co-opt the movement, and when Willoughby tries to speak his own mind, the publisher sets out to ruin Willoughby. Norton successfully stymies Willoughby’s attempts to redeem himself, so he decides to go through with the suicide attempt. Mitchell and members of the John Doe clubs try to dissuade him from the attempt, with Mitchell telling him, “If it’s worth dying for, it’s worth living for.”

Cooper is believable as a former baseball hero, if a bit clean to play a tramp. Stanwyck plays Mitchell with verve and just enough cynicism to make her anger at being fired believable but not so much that her softening toward Willoughby strains credulity. As usual, Capra’s affection for all of the characters is apparent on the screen.

Capra had made many films championing the poor and the downtrodden, and his work made him rich. In Meet John Doe, the audience can sense Capra working through his issues with socioeconomic classes and how money can affect one’s values. If Meet John Doe feels dated, it’s because so much of the story takes place in a newspaper office. Thematically it remains relevant because the socioeconomic issues of the early 1940s are not so different from those of today.

References:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Meet_John_Doe

12.05.2012

Frank Capra: Platinum Blonde

The USPS has issued a set of four stamps honoring great film directors and the films for which they are most remembered. The four selected are: John Ford (The Searchers), John Huston (The Maltese Falcon), Frank Capra (It Happened One Night), and Billy Wilder (Some Like It Hot). We will be exploring the lives and work of these directors over the next several weeks. In this post LR Simon discusses Platinum Blonde (1931).

In Platinum Blonde, one of his early romantic comedies, Capra continues to work on themes that would intrigue him throughout his career. Class relations, sex relations, right and wrong, and the news industry all play roles in the story.

Robert Williams plays Stew Smith, a newspaper reporter with a scoop on a scandal involving Michael Schuyler (Don Dillaway), who is being sued by a chorus girl for breach of promise. The Schuyler’s attorney tries to bribe Smith not to write anything, which the reporter refuses. When Smith returns to the Schuyler’s lavish estate to return Michael’s love letters to the chorus girl, who had planned to use them to extort more money from the Schuylers. Michael’s sister Anne (Jean Harlow) offers him $5,000 for the letters, which Smith refuses—he’ll print news, but he won’t facilitate blackmail. Smith’s sense of ethics infuriates his editor, but intrigues Anne.

Anne’s interest in Smith evolves into romance, which displeases Anne’s mother (Louise Closser Hale), especially when the romance leads to marriage. Smith’s sudden elevation to the society pages results in his being teased mercilessly by his former co-workers, the exception being his best pal, Gallagher (Loretta Young), who has hidden romantic feelings of her own for Smith.

The class humor still seems relevant, especially regarding the marriage of a wealthy woman to a poor or middle class man. The way the rival newspapers give nicknames (e.g., Cinderella Man) to Stew Smith after his marriage and the way he responds to the ribbing would feel at home in a modern romantic comedy.

The sex-relations humor, on the other hand, is dated. At one point, Smith tells Gallagher “Don’t turn female on me,” a line that today would not be given to a romantic lead who is treated as sympathetically as Smith is.

Jean Harlow represents a rare example of miscasting in a Capra film. She looks fantastic in her wardrobe, but she doesn’t fit with her on-screen family, and it’s difficult to believe her as coming from old money. Add to that the strong chemistry between Williams and Young, and it becomes increasingly difficult to suspend disbelief in order to accept Stew’s interest in Anne.

References:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Platinum_Blonde_%28film%29

11.30.2012

Frank Capra: The Strong Man

The USPS has issued a set of four stamps honoring great film directors and the films for which they are most remembered. The four selected are: John Ford (The Searchers), John Huston (The Maltese Falcon), Frank Capra (It Happened One Night), and Billy Wilder (Some Like It Hot). We will be exploring the lives and work of these directors over the next several weeks. In this post LR Simon discusses The Strong Man (1926).

Frank Capra and Harry Langdon had a short but impressive partnership in silent films in which Langdon played a character similar to the Tramp character played by Charlie Chaplin, and achieving similar, though less lasting, fame. The Strong Man was one of the first films Capra and Langdon made together with Capra directing. The film opens on a World War I battlefield, with Paul Bergot (Langdon) reading a letter from his pen-pal, Mary (Priscilla Bonner). His reverie is interrupted by a one-on-one fight in which he is armed with a slingshot and his opponent with guns.

Bergot is taken prisoner by a German soldier and eventually returns with him to the United States. They get separated in New York as Bergot tries to locate Mary. When a woman in New York (Lily, played by Gertrude Astor) stashes some money in Bergot’s pocket to keep the police from finding it on her, she pretends to be Mary in order to get the money back. This impersonation leads to one of the most memorable bits of physical comedy in the entire film.

Later in the film, Bergot meets the real Mary, who had not told him that she was blind. Bergot’s reenactment of the story for Mary uses no dialogue, and the audience follows without difficulty. The skinny Bergot eventually is pressured into taking over a scheduled performance for an unconscious strong man. In the process, he saves Mary’s hometown from being taken over by bootleggers and other criminals. The silly plot serves to provide Langdon opportunities to do the physical comedy that was his forte.

Langdon and Bonner have a genuine connection that provides the film its emotional heart. Even at this early stage of his career, Capra had an affection for his characters that made it easy for the audience to relate to them, even if the storylines were occasionally preposterous.

References:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Strong_Man

11.26.2012

Frank Capra: It Happened One Night

The USPS has issued a set of four stamps honoring great film directors and the films for which they are most remembered. The four selected are: John Ford (The Searchers), John Huston (The Maltese Falcon), Frank Capra (It Happened One Night), and Billy Wilder (Some Like It Hot). We will be exploring the lives and work of these directors over the next several weeks. In this post LR Simon discusses It Happened One Night (1934).

Frank Capra’s screwball comedy It Happened One Night was the first film to win all five of the top Oscars (Best Picture, Director, Lead Actor, Lead Actress, Screenplay), an accomplishment that was not repeated until One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest in 1975, and then again in 1991 with The Silence of the Lambs.

The film stars Claudette Colbert as Ellie Andrews, an heiress who marries “King” Westley (Jameson Thomas) against her father’s (Walter Connolly) wishes. Exercising his influence, Alexander Andrews has the marriage annulled. After a spat with her father on his yacht, Ellie dives off the boat to try to meet up with her would-be husband. She becomes a news story, and when she boards the same bus as unemployed newspaper reporter Peter Warne (Clark Gable), he gets her to agree to let him write her story exclusively.

Ellie soon finds herself penniless and entirely dependent on Peter, who tries to teach her a thing or two about being ordinary. One of the most famous scenes involves Peter trying to show Ellie how to hitchhike; all of his attempts fail even to slow down a passing vehicle. Ellie then hikes up her skirt to show some leg, and immediately the next car stops and picks them up.

Another famous scene takes place at a motel where Peter and Ellie pose as a married couple in order to hide her whereabouts. Peter sets up a clothesline between the twin beds in their room and hangs a blanket on it. He calls it the “wall of Jericho,” not as strong as a stone or brick wall, but sufficient to provide them each some privacy.

Several themes in this film would feature in many of Capra’s later works, especially the mixing of the socioeconomic classes. The differences and similarities of people in different classes and what people can learn from others’ experiences remain the most relevant parts of his films, even as some of the treatment of the sexes and the races remain entrenched in the time in which the films were made. (Capra was a favorite for actresses at the time, as he did feature intelligent female characters who had more intelligence and more business than female characters in other films, and while he rarely featured an African-American actor in a significant role, he relied less on stock stereotypes than some of his contemporaries. Still, some of the humor related to sex and race is dated.)

It Happened One Night may not be the first film people today think of when they hear Frank Capra’s name – they likely think first of It’s a Wonderful Life or perhaps Mr. Smith Goes to Washington – but it’s certainly a must-see for any Capra fan, or any student of film history.

References:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/It_Happened_One_Night

http://www.filmsite.org/itha.html

11.20.2012

USPS Director Stamps: Frank Capra

The USPS has issued a set of four stamps honoring great film directors and the films for which they are most remembered. The four selected are: John Ford (The Searchers), John Huston (The Maltese Falcon), Frank Capra (It Happened One Night), and Billy Wilder (Some Like It Hot). We will be exploring the lives and work of these directors over the next several weeks. In this post LR Simon discusses the career and influence of Frank Capra.

Like John Ford, Frank Russell Capra started directing films during the silent era. Like Ford, Capra used his experiences in silent film to inform much of what he did after the transition to sound. However, Capra embraced sound, especially dialogue, in ways that Ford did not. In fact, while much of the industry viewed sound as a passing fad, Capra understood that it was the way of the future, a prospect which pleased him as he did not feel comfortable making silent features.

Capra’s directing style relied to a great extent on improvisation. He was known for shooting scenes with only a general idea of the content—how the characters knew each other, what was supposed to happen, etc., and leaving the specifics of the performance to the actors; he considered it his job to make sure the cameras captured the action.

Capra moved the camera more than Ford did, but they shared a distaste for gimmicky camera tricks—Capra thought the camera and its movements should not intrude on the audience’s experience.

Capra’s career hit its zenith in the 1930s and 1940s. It Happened One Night (1934) was the first film to sweep the top five Oscars, including Best Picture. Capra went on to direct some of the best-loved pictures of the era: Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (1936), Lost Horizon (1937), You Can’t Take It With You (1938), Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939), Meet John Doe (1941), Arsenic and Old Lace (1944), It’s a Wonderful Life (1946), and State of the Union (1948).

With the exceptions of It’s a Wonderful Life and State of the Union, Capra’s optimistic post-World War II stories fell out of sync with the public, which seemed more appreciative of the cynicism of film noir. The director was also falling out of sync with the new post-War Hollywood—actors were gaining power that often compromised the director’s vision. Capra blamed his comparatively early retirement on the public’s growing cynicism, the increasing power of stars, and especially on an increased desire among film producers to shock audiences.

References:

http://www.imdb.com/name/nm001008/

11.19.2012

John Huston: The Man Who Would Be King

The USPS has issued a set of four stamps honoring great film directors and the films for which they are most remembered. The four selected are: John Ford (The Searchers), John Huston (The Maltese Falcon), Frank Capra (It Happened One Night), and Billy Wilder (Some Like It Hot). We will be exploring the lives and work of these directors over the next several weeks. In this post LR Simon reviews The Man Who Would Be King (1975).

John Huston wanted to make The Man Who Would Be King in the 1950s with Clark Gable and Humphrey Bogart. After Bogart died in 1957, and Gable in 1960, the two leads went through several possible casting choices before Huston finally settled on Sean Connery and Michael Caine.

Huston adapted the Rudyard Kipling story of two ex-non-commissioned officers of the Indian Army in British India. Peachy Carnehan (Caine) and Danny Dravot (Connery) decide to travel through Afghanistan to Kafiristan, where they plan to become kings. This sounds preposterous at first to Kipling (Christopher Plummer), but he shows them maps of the territory to help them, anyway.

The friendship between Carnehan and Dravot forms the heart of the story; consequently, casting was critical in making the film a success. Connery and Caine seem an unlikely partnership initially, but they perform their characters’ banter exquisitely. Even though their quest feels doomed from the outset, their optimism and cheekiness make the audience want to follow their adventures.

The Man Who Would Be King ended a period in Huston’s career when he was in less demand than he had been after The Maltese Falcon and The Treasure of the Sierra Madre. The high adventure reminded audiences of how good a relatively simple story in the hands of a master could be. Huston made some changes to the story, and he exposed moral complexity in the source material that might not be obvious on a casual reading. All of the characters have flaws, whether it’s the sense of superiority displayed by the English characters, or the sometimes brutal superstitiousness of the native characters, or the questionable ethics of the two leads.

Although the story is superficially simple, the complexity of the characters give the movie unexpected depth and sophistication.

References:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Man_Who_Would_Be_King_%28film%29

Call It Magic: The Making of The Man Who Would Be King

http://www.salon.com/2000/09/21/man_would_be_king/

11.13.2012

John Huston: The Night of the Iguana

The USPS has issued a set of four stamps honoring great film directors and the films for which they are most remembered. The four selected are: John Ford (The Searchers), John Huston (The Maltese Falcon), Frank Capra (It Happened One Night), and Billy Wilder (Some Like It Hot). We will be exploring the lives and work of these directors over the next several weeks. In this post LR Simon reviews The Night of the Iguana (1964).

If there’s a quest in John Huston’s film adaptation of The Night of the Iguana, it’s the Reverend Dr. T. Lawrence Shannon’s attempt to repair his reputation. This quest fails early in the film. The more dominant theme in this adaptation of the Tennessee Williams play is enduring (or overcoming) one’s demons. The main character, Shannon (Richard Burton), opens the film with an initially boring Bible lesson that gradually transforms into a loud and public confession that results in Shannon’s dismissal from ministry. We next see him as an unhappy tour guide, almost out of options.

The Night of the Iguana is a difficult film for a number of reasons, but chief among these is the difficulty in believing that Charlotte (Sue Lyon) would want anything to do with Shannon, which is due mostly to Lyon’s unconvincing performance. While we can believe in her rebelliousness, her attempts to seduce the shamed ex-minister make the young actress look like she's acting, not seducing.

The story centers on aimless characters, and it sometimes feels like Huston doesn’t really know what to do with them. The characters with direction are minor characters who provide obstacles for the major characters, but the major characters don’t drive much of the action, and when they do, it’s usually a reaction to a minor character’s action.

Huston’s relationship with playwright Tennessee Williams was much more harmonious than that with Ray Bradbury. Huston welcomed Williams’ visits to the remote set, even asking for his assistance when there were difficulties on the set.

The Night of the Iguana is a mixed bag of a movie, and it received mixed reviews when it opened. For all the problems with The Misfits, it at least feels more like a movie and less like a filmed play than The Night of the Iguana.

References:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Night_of_the_Iguana_%28film%29

11.05.2012

John Huston: The Misfits

The USPS has issued a set of four stamps honoring great film directors and the films for which they are most remembered. The four selected are: John Ford (The Searchers), John Huston (The Maltese Falcon), Frank Capra (It Happened One Night), and Billy Wilder (Some Like It Hot). We will be exploring the lives and work of these directors over the next several weeks. In this post LR Simon reviews The Misfits (1961).

The Misfits is an oddity among John Huston’s films—it’s more Arthur Miller’s movie than his. Miller wanted a producer for his screenplay whose vision included more than the bottom line. The result was a film with a rich Hollywood pedigree that didn’t feel like a Hollywood film.

Miller wrote The Misfits with Marilyn Monroe in mind for the part of Roslyn. Huston was one of the few directors Monroe trusted, mostly because he saw her as an actress and not merely as a sex goddess. According to Miller, Huston “saw her as some kind of a crazy genius; she liked him because he respected her ability.”

Monroe was unreliable on the set—she didn’t always know her lines, and despite the fact that her then husband wrote Roslyn for her, she was very insecure and not convinced that she could play the role. However, some of the scenes that caused Monroe the most anxiety are among the best of her career. When she dances deliriously without music and ends by embracing a tree, she creates a strong sense of longing while also closing herself off from her new friends. Miller gives her several opportunities to acknowledge the persona that made her famous while dismantling the image in devastating ways.

Clark Gable, Montgomery Clift, and Eli Wallach play the three men vying for her attention. All of the main characters are misfits, so it’s natural that they find each other.

Gable plays Gay, the aging cowboy who hates wage jobs. He’s a bit of a snob about it, really—he tells Clift at one point that he “stinks of wages.” Gay has many admirable qualities, perhaps the best being his “great regard for people,” as Miller put it. Contrast this with his distance from his family—he just isn’t cut out to be a conventional husband or father. Gable was unsettled on this film—it was a Western with none of the usual Western tropes. Miller called it an Eastern Western because the people and their relationships overwhelmed the cowboy action. It was a great role for Gable; his charm was there, but muted compared to It Happened One Night or Gone With the Wind, and Gay was more deeply flawed than Gable’s characters in those two classics.

Huston’s artistic touch makes The Misfits beautiful to watch, even when the subject is unappealing. He had a light touch as a director, but he also knew when he had what he wanted. When Clift finished the first take of his scene in the phone booth, he was surprised that Huston didn’t want a second take. Huston assured Clift that he’d never do it better than the first time.

The Misfits remains a powerful examination of the human condition, with characters yearning to connect with each other but afraid of the consequences. “It could have ended differently,” according to Miller; in fact, it could have ended any number of ways. Nothing that happens seems destined; consequently, when the film ends, the audience can’t assume anything about the future for these characters.

References:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Misfits_%28film%29

Making The Misfits

11.04.2012

John Huston: Moby Dick

The USPS has issued a set of four stamps honoring great film directors and the films for which they are most remembered. The four selected are: John Ford (The Searchers), John Huston (The Maltese Falcon), Frank Capra (It Happened One Night), and Billy Wilder (Some Like It Hot). We will be exploring the lives and work of these directors over the next several weeks. In this post LR Simon discusses Moby Dick (1956).

John Huston had wanted to film Moby Dick for ten years before he was finally able to start production. He had thought of his father Walter for the role of Ahab, but after the elder Huston died in 1950, the part went to Gregory Peck. Filming took three years on location in Wales and Ireland, the latter then Huston’s residence. While there are some minor changes from the novel (all of which tend to make the story more cinematic), this film version of Moby Dick was the first adaptation to remain true to the novel, and the first to retain the novel’s ending.

Ray Bradbury wrote the screenplay, but he and Huston argued over the script and ultimately, Huston had his name put on the screenwriting credits as well. Bradbury and Huston’s relationship was so tense that Bradbury went on the dramatize it twice, once in the story “Banshee,” which was produced for Ray Bradbury Theater with Peter O’Toole in the Huston-inspired role, and again in the novel Green Shadows, White Whale, which centered specifically on working with Huston on the writing of the Moby Dick screenplay.

Huston’s relationship with Gregory Peck also suffered during the period—Peck didn’t think he was right for the role of Ahab, and when he learned that he was cast primarily to secure funding, he felt he’d been deceived by the director. Later, Huston rebuffed Peck’s attempt to patch things up, saying it was “too late to start over.”

Moby Dick may have been Huston’s white whale—production costs more than doubled, two professional relationships were irreparably damaged, and it was not the artistic success that his previous films had been. While the film has some admirers now, for most film fans, it’s more important for what happened off screen.

References: