In Memoriam - Gene Hackman

 February 28, 2025
 
In Memoriam
 

Gene Hackman 

January 30, 1930 - February 26, 2025

 
We were told it would be a big star, and it was. When I first saw Gene Hackman, adorned in jeans, a white t-shirt, and an open button-down long-sleeve shirt, he was flanked by two equally casually-dressed adult men, one of either side. It created the dual picture of a man slightly wary of the public, but open enough to walk around campus in full view of potentially screaming invasive fans. He was in town filming Loose Cannons, a buddy picture with Dan Akroyd about a tough-as-nails police officer working with a partner with multiple personalities. It would not be one of his most successful films. As a working actor, he made a number of questionable films, but his presence elevated even the poorest of them, single-handedly elevating them from atrocious to strangely watchable. (See The Replacements for an example of this.) It’s an impressive feat that only a handful of actors can achieve.
 
Later, at a school-wide assembly, he would answer numerous questions from students on such topics as his views on acting to his role in Superman, and he regaled us with stories about his decision to become an actor and his college roommates, Robert Duvall and Dustin Hoffman. He had the room in the palm of his hand, yet his demeanor remained informal, that of a regular guy who just happened to be a member of an extraordinary profession. At the end of the period, he walked off to thunderous applause from a thoroughly star-struck audience.
 
If that had been it, it would have been understandable. It was after all his fiftieth birthday. And yet, after lunch, there he was, sitting in my acting class and offering aspiring actors tips on their monologues and two-person scenes. One of these interactions in particular has stayed with me all these years. My classmate Maggie had been working on a monologue in which a woman describes her experience at an unsuccessful job interview. The monologue is clever, and every time I’d seen it performed, it had been greeted with laughter and performed as if the speaker were doing stand-up. Mr. Hackman had a different view. After Maggie completed her performance, Mr. Hackman asked her a series of questions, the most intriguing of which was If this happened to you, would you think it was funny? Maggie had to admit she wouldn’t. Only someone without a care in the world would joke about not getting a job, and Maggie’s character was not such a character. Maggie was then asked to perform the monologue again, this time reflecting the fact that the woman’s disappointment in both her actions and their aftermath. The change was astonishing. The message was clear. Be real.
 
Herb Cain, the legendary columnist for the San Francisco Chronicle, would later write that while it had been Gene Hackman’s birthday, it was really the students that had received the gift. When news of Mr. Hackman’s death broke, it was this event that I remembered first. I imagine that is true for all of us fortunate enough to be in the classroom that day. He will indeed be missed.
 
A Good Place to Start:
 
The French Connection (1971)
The Conversation (1974)
Hoosiers (1986)
Unforgiven (1992)
Crimson Tide (1994)
Get Shorty (1995)
 

Review - The Testament of Dr. Mabuse

 February 6, 2025
 
The Testament of Dr. Mabuse – Germany, 1933
 

There is an eleven-year gap between Fritz Lang’s 1922 film Dr. Mabuse, the Gambler and its sequel, The Testament of Dr. Mabuse, and one can only hope that a director has a powerful – and creative - incentive for returning to a story after such a long gap in time. Students of film history know this is hardly the case, however, partly because few sequels are actually necessary. They neither complete a story or explain something pivotal to our understanding of the original film. After all, national emergencies are over, criminal threats have been thwarted, and the main antagonists are either dead or incapacitated. Thus, most sequels elect to move on to a new threat, a new romance, and often a new set of wacky or imposing supporting characters.
 
The Testament of Dr. Mabuse is such a sequel. Dr. Mabuse, the Gambler ended, as so many supervillain storylines before and after it have done, with Dr. Mabuse going mad and being sent to an insane asylum. It picks up the story years later, and we find Mabuse (again played by Rudolf Klein-Rogge) still living out his days in a mental hospital. Well, living may not exactly be the right word. In a speech given by the head of that hospital, we learn that Mabuse’s state has in fact been improving. No longer does he sit upright all day simply staring into space. Now he sits upright frantically filling page after page with intricate instructions for criminal activity, such as disrupting financial markets and flooding city streets with illegal drugs. This, it seems, is an improvement of sorts seeing as how his etchings have gone from incomprehensible scribbles to repetitious words to fully-visualized homicidal ramblings – clearly an accomplishment for the mental health profession.
 
The problem is that Mabuse is now a senile broken old man who could hardly run a global terrorist organization. Fortunately, as his doctor reminds us, he has a number of talents, one of which is the power of suggestion, and it is soon clear that someone has been following his plans. But who? I imagine most of you can answer this question already, but a co-worker of the culprit cannot, so he blurts out that he’s going to the police and, in one of the film’s most ingenious sequences, is murdered at a busy intersection. Meanwhile, a disgraced former law officer named Hofmeister (Karl Meixner) contacts Inspector Lohmann (Otto Wernicke) claiming to have traced the source of counterfeit money that is flooding the market. However, before he can reveal the source, the lights go out, and screams ring out. When he is next heard, he is singing in a high-pitched voice about a woman named Gloria. We also meet a henchman named Tom Kent (Gustav Diesel) who is in love with a young woman named Lilli (Wera Liessem) who a year earlier took pity on him when he was down on his luck. In one scene, we learn that Tom just happens to abhor murder, a position that puts him at odds with the criminal organization that he has found employment in. But can someone in love who dislikes killing really be all that bad?
 
One of my complaints about the first Mabuse film was that far too much screen time was devoted to showing Mabuse’s many exploits when it had already established his criminal tendencies, making the movie longer than necessary. For the most part, The Testament of Dr. Mabuse avoids this problem. Scenes of henchmen talking about their nefarious activities are interspersed with segments devoted to Lohmann’s expanding investigation, as well as Tom’s growing conscience.
 
And yet something is missing. For the film to work, the film’s big revelation needs to hit audiences with a bang. It needs one of those a-ha moments that brings all of the film’s many pieces together and explains the ascendency of a new crime boss, his peculiar means of communicating to the men carrying out his dirty work, and his ability to open doors despite being in sprit form. (Yes, that happens.) Instead, we get an explanation that makes it seem as if the antagonist and Mabuse sat down and thought about all of the possible things that his henchmen might say to him just so there would be a pre-determined answer, and since Mabuse is mostly immobile, the antagonist has to be present every time the henchmen get their instructions in order for the device that plays the answers to be activated. The longer you think about it, the more laughable the idea becomes.
 
Part of what has gives The Testament of Dr. Mabuse such prominence among film buffs is Lang’s use of Nazi slogans, which are whispered by Mabuse frequently in the film. This put Lang directly in the crossfire of the Nazi party and resulted in his having to leave Germany for the warmer shores of the United States. It also resulted in the film being banned in Germany until 1961. There is certainly an eeriness to the scenes in which these sickening sentiments fill the screen, yet they do not add much to our views of Mabuse himself. We already know he is evil, that he enjoys manipulating both the economy and society at large, and that he seeks to create misery for the citizens of Germany. In other words, they do not necessarily make Mabuse more monstrous than he already is.
 
And yet, I can imagine those words were the reason that Lang made the film in the first place. As Chaplin did with The Great Dictator, Lang may have been trying to warn the people of Germany of the dangers of their government’s present course. If so, he did so indirectly in a film in which the law and love win out in the end. In other words, the threat is over. Seen years later, it is hard to say that their presence is enough to overcome the film’s predictability and lack of logic. (on DVD from Criterion Collection)
 
2 and a half stars
 
*The Testament of Dr. Mabuse is in German with English subtitles.

Review - Dr. Mabuse The Gambler (1922)

January 11, 2025
 
Dr. Mabuse, The Gambler – Germany, 1922
 

If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that Fritz Lang’s 1922 film Dr. Mabuse, The Gambler started out as a one of those twelve-part serials that were shown before the main attraction in years gone by. However, knowing Lang’s habit of making episodic films that often stretched to the 180-minute mark and given that the film is presented in two parts, The Great Gambler: A Picture of the Time and Inferno: A Game for the People of Our Age, I’m inclined to believe that the film as it currently stands is the way Lang always intended it to be, which is both a blessing and a curse. More on that later. Also evident is the influence of Louis Feuilade, many of whose own works, such as Le Vampires and Fantomas, dealt with criminal masterminds and the law’s attempts to apprehend them.
 
Dr. Mabuse, The Gambler takes place in Berlin in the aftermath of World War I. Perhaps there is no other place or time for the film to take place, for 1920s Berlin was the ideal setting for a man like Dr. Mabuse to ascend. It was a time when great poverty coincided with great wealth, when, in the ruins and despair of the post-war period, powerful men could manipulate conditions to their great benefit and many people could be lulled into following a charlatan. In Dr. Mabuse, we have an amalgamation of all the great gothic German, cinematic villains of the time: the man of many disguises, the head of the criminal enterprise, the mysterious Rasputin-like hypnotist, and the madman becoming less sane by the minute. That Dr. Mabuse inspires cult-like worship from his followers only adds to his mystic.
 
Early on in the film, Mabuse (Rudolf Klein-Rogge) arranges for the murder of an ambassador to Sweden and the theft of some important trade documents he is carrying. In doing so, Mabuse helps spark a rumor of imminent retaliation, which leads to panic selling on the stock market. In a brilliant moment, we watch as Mabuse surveys his destruction while standing expressionless over the frantic sellers, their mouths agape as their once valued stock tumbles off a cliff. And then just as coolly, Mabuse proclaims himself a buyer, swooping up all of the stock before word of the documents’ recovery can reach the floor of the stock market. The stock ascends as rapidly as it fell, at which point Mabuse declares himself a seller.
 
With such a set-up, one would expect for Mabuse’s ultimate aim to be wealth, yet this does not seem to be the case, for Mabuse, in addition to all of his other pursuits, is in the business of printing counterfeit money. In fact, he has a secret room where five aging blind men sit for hours flipping through stacks of freshly-printed bills. (Just what they eat and how they relieve themselves in anyone’s guess, but I digress.) No, Mabuse, like Bane 90 years later, seems intent on watching the forest burn, on treating the wealthy as if they were his personal pawns to be shifted or removed at will. He’s a man who wants to be the kingmaker and perhaps to even wear the crown himself.
 
Of course, all super-villains need a protagonist, and Mabuse’s comes in the form of a prosecutor named Norbert von Wenk (Bernhard Goetzke), who is tasked with discovering just who is behind a series of mysterious gambling incidents. Assisting him is a well-to-do young man named Edgar Hull (Paul Richter) who is also one of the victims of Mabuse’s schemes and dating Cara Carozza (Aud Egede-Nissen), one of Mabuse’s henchman. We also meet a wealthy countess with the odd last name Told. The countess is unusual, for as much as she seems fascinated by gambling, she never partakes in it. She and the prosecutor strike up a platonic relationship which may have become more if Lang had ever made a direct sequel.
 
Much of the fun of the film comes in observing their game of cat-and-mouse, with Mabuse always a few steps ahead. Of course, we know who the mysterious gambler is, but that knowledge does not diminish the intrigue. Part of this is due to the fact that we know so little about Mabuse and each scene seems to draw us closer to achieving a complete picture of him. And if getting that knowledge means accepting Wenk’s ludicrous jack-of-all-trades persona, then so be it. After all, who’s to say that a prosecutor wouldn’t have the power to call in the military at a moment’s notice? I also found myself playing a variation of Where’s Waldo every time new characters were introduced, for he could easily be the bad doctor in disguise.
 
Like all of Lang’s films, Dr. Mabuse is a visual masterpiece, from its varying interiors to its grungy, shadowy exteriors. At one point, Lang shows one character playing cards with multiple transparent versions of himself; in another, a caravan of nomads walks off a screen and into the real world only to disappear with the snap of Mabuse’s fingers. Toward the end of the film, we watch as the objects hanging on the walls of an almost barren room suddenly become living, breathing creatures intent on toying with Mabuse’s already fragile mind. It’s impressive stuff. Lang also gets an amazing performance out of Kleine-Rogge, who adopts altogether different personas for each of his many incarnations.
 
My problem with the film – and it is not a minor one - is its interminable length, for its 270 minutes are hard to justify. Lang, who wrote the screen play with his writing partner, Thea von Harbou, includes multiple instances of Mabuse’s hypnotic skills at the card table when only two of them could really be deemed vital to the plot. Perhaps an even bigger problem is that the film does not use its length effectively. The movie seems so set on convincing viewers of Mabuse’s skills that it neglects to flesh out many of the other characters. There are no scenes in which we see what would make Cara so devoted to Mabuse, and so little time is devoted to building Wenk’s relationship with Countess Told that their sudden closeness never feels justified. Also, in giving Mabuse so many masks, the character begins to test even the most accepting viewer’s credulity. It’s one thing to accept him as a corrupt doctor and a thief, but then viewers are asked to accept that he’s a master at hypnotism and that his secret weapon, at times at least, is an unusual pair of glasses. We’re then asked to believe that a man who could hypnotize a massive audience simply by looking in their direction has no other way to ward off the police than guns blazing.
 
Much of this criticism applies to the first half of the film, for Lang indeed picks up the pace in the second. However, it does make you wonder how much more compact the story would be if the first half ran sixty minutes instead of one-hundred and fifty or if there had been any follow up to Mabuse powerful line, “Now the world will know who I am!” In truth, they never really do, for just as it seems he’s about to wreak even more havoc on the world, he announces that he’s grown tired of Berlin and intends to pack his things and leave, providing of course that the woman he’s kidnapped and proclaims as his goes with him. Once guess how that turns out. (on DVD and Blu-ray from Kino Classics)
 
3 stars
 
*Dr. Mabuse The Gambler is a silent film.

An Announcement

 Well, here's a surprise...

Release Date: February 11, 2025

Review - The Whales of August

 August 8, 2024
 
Whales of August, The – 1987, US
 

It’s almost a cliché to say of a movie that they don’t make them like that anymore, but in the case of The Whales of August, the saying seems perfectly appropriate, for rarely does Hollywood make serious films about people in what is likely the last stage of their lives. Far more likely is the film about elderly people having one last blast in the land of sin, for who can resist seeing Hollywood’s elderly statesmen getting drunk, taking drugs, and engaging in sex with much younger women? (If you look at the box office results of movies that match that description, the answer is apparently a lot of people, but I digress.)
 
The Whales of August brought together four living legends: Bette Davis, Lilian Gish, Vincent Price, and Ann Sothern. While Davis would make one other film before her death in 1989, The Whales of August would be the cinematic finale for both Gish and Sothern. Price would continue working until 1993, the year when both he and Gish passed away. Rounding out the cast is Harey Carey Jr., who, like Gish, has been appearing in movies since the Silent Era. Put together, those five individuals have just under 700 screen credits, a number I doubt we’ll ever see again in a single cast, especially in an age when A-Listers make far fewer movies than they used to.
 
The Whales of August, based on David Barry’s 1984 play of the same name, is about two sisters, Elizabeth “Libby” Strong (Davis) and Sarah Webber (Gish) who live in their childhood home on Cliff Island in Maine. In the film’s opening scene, we see them as young women running to the edge of a cliff to watch the annual arrival of the whales. There is joy in their expressions, and each one is anxious for her turn looking through the binoculars. The scene is short, but it perfectly exemplifies the innocence of youth and the excitement with which the young greet experiences that they will likely later regard as ordinary. There is a third lady with them. Later, she is revealed to be Tisha Doughty, a lifelong friend of Sarah’s, who later walks with a cane and many of whose actions may have an ulterior motive.
 
When we next see the two sisters, we observe that life has taken quite a toll on them. Libby is now blind, controlling, and bitter, while Sarah is sweet, yet unappreciated. She seems to be constantly at Libby’s beck and call, and her patient expressions are undercut by flashes of frustration. We learn they are both widows, Sarah’s husband having died in the Second World War, Libby’s much later. Sarah wears her emotions on her sleeve, and we feel the regret that she had so little time with her late husband. Watching her, I felt certain that she and her late husband had still been in the honeymoon stage of their relationship when he passed away. On the anniversary of their wedding, she turns a section of her house into a scene from a cinematic love story, even going so far as to fill a vase with a white rose for truth and a red rose for passion – two qualities that her husband had stressed were important in a relationship.
 
Into this domestic powder keg steps Baron Maranov (Price), a Russian emigrant with family ties to the deposed czar. Mr. Maranov is old school, chivalrous, and polite, and at several points in the film, he is referred to as the last living gentlemen. In other words, he is the kind of character who could come between two friends, especially given the loneliness we see in Sarah. He could easily be the villain of the piece, yet Barry wisely elects to make him a sympathetic character, an older man just looking for security and companionship. Consider what life has in store for him if he fails.
 
As I watched the film, I could understand the rationale for each of the characters in a way that I may not have been able to had I seen it in my twenties. I have learned over the years that there are choices we make to stave off loneliness and destitution – we may stay in unsatisfying relationships, remain at jobs we hate, reside in cities we have grown tired of, or put up with the kind of treatment that we may have walked away from in our earlier years. When we’re young, it is easier to start anew, for we’re filled with confidence and vigor. Later, there are other matters to consider, in particular, financial considerations.
 
Director Lindsay Anderson shows great patience as a director. He uses longer takes to give the cast time to flesh out their characters, and he edits conversations in a way that creates the illusion that we are watching a single take. Another important decision that both Anderson and Barry made was not to add flashbacks. We hear of marriages, deaths, and years apart, but we don’t see them. Anderson trusts that the audience will care enough about the characters to pick up the clues for themselves, and it is the right decision. All we need are close-ups of Gish, Davis, and Price to understand what has been lost and what they need to go on.
 
The Whales of August is an insightful film that I expect to remain relevant in the years to come because at some point we will all be one or all of these characters. Sadly, time spares no one. What Anderson has shown us though is that there is dignity in perseverance and that people deserve empathy on this journey. It is telling then that the film ends with Libby and Sarah looking out at the sea for the whales that have not been absent for years. There is still hope, and they will find a way to persevere. (on DVD and Blu-ray)
 
4 stars

Miscellaneous Musings

July 20, 2024
 
On a Missed Opportunity in a “Classic”
 

From 1973 to 1974, the divorce rate in Sweden rose from 2% to 3.3%, a bump many people have attributed to Scenes from a Marriage, Ingrid Bergman’s searing portrait of a failing couple. This is unsurprising. After all, throughout history, movies have cause a rise in the adoption of certain breeds of dogs, the purchase of clownfish, trips to the farthest regions of the globe, and increased sales of previously underselling candy and drinks. It seems logical then that movies would have the power to make viewers reflect on their own lives and question both their place in it and the views they have long held, one of which was that marriage was literally till death do us part.
 
So, what was it that so stirred and disturbed viewers about it? First, a little history. Scenes from a Marriage started out as a six-part miniseries for Swedish television, with each part representing a stage in the re-evaluation of a marriage. When writing it, Bergman is said to have drawn from his own marriages, as well as that of his parents, whom he said he witnessed violently clashing on at least one occasion. The series weekly ran from April 11, 1973 to May 1, 1973, and its audience was said to be mainly woman. The series was then condensed into a film that runs just under three hours, and it is that version that received overwhelming international acclaim in 1974.
 
The first part of both the film and the series begins with a celebration of the type of marriage that it was assumed both men and women wanted. A local reporter is interviewing Marianne and Johan, who have been married for ten years, about…well, it’s not actually clear why they’re being interviewed. Sure, they’re successful and attractive, but they do not seem particularly important to society. Marianne is a divorce lawyer, but so little of the film focuses on that aspect of her life that you could be forgiven for thinking that it’s just another nine-to-five job. The interview focuses on their apparent marital bliss, yet if you watch closely, there are signs of a façade. The body language is tense – when the camera stops clicking, the hand-holding ceases immediately, and while Marianne struggles to express herself, Johan seems more interested in talking about himself than the family. Their children appear briefly for photos, but disappear the moment they have finished playing their roles. Curiously, in the miniseries, after the interview, the interviewer peeks into another room and sees clothes and toys strewn everywhere, a symbolic lifting of the veil.
 
After a long scene involving a dinner with some married friends for whom the term on the rocks seems an understatement, the film begins to explicitly reveal the tension that exists in Marianne and Johan’s relationship and how the marriage has survived partially by sweeping disagreements under the carpet and pretending that doing so makes them go away for good. This segment of the film, the second, exposes universal truths about the impact of childbirth on intimacy and the difficulty of rising in your career after family obligations multiply. In the third part, the affair hinted at in the first two parts is revealed, and we see just how devastating the revelation is to Marianne. We also understand for the first time just how eager Johan is to get out of the marriage.
 
Scenes from a Marriage has been called one of the greatest films of all time by a number of critics. It is a sentiment I do not share, and the reasons for this all have to do with the second half of the film/series. In the fourth part, Johan returns after a year’s absence. At dinner at his old home, he flirts with Marianne while also talking about the problems with his present girlfriend – an age-old, only partially successful seduction technique. For her part, Marianne (in a relationship in the miniseries, but not in the movie) flirts back, but more importantly brings up the issue of divorce. In the end, they sleep together, but neglect to advance the divorce. In other words, he gets what he wants, and she is once again abandoned.
 
The problem with the fourth section is that it begins to make the couple less relatable. Neither of them appears to have any qualms about cheating on someone, and there is little to explain why their bond is as strong as it is after a full year of growth, self-evaluation, and separation. At least it ends as it should, with the re-exposure of Johan as the lying cheat he is, and as Johan drives away, I imagine viewers will find themselves thinking that Marianne has finally learned her lesson. Sadly, this does not turn out to be the case, for in the fifth section of the film, Marianne makes decisions that are not just completely out of character, but that continue the film’s drive to strip her of her likeability. Think about this: Marianne apparently goes to Johan’s office with two things in mind: signing their divorce papers and sleeping with him again to prove to herself that she is over him. And once again, she is in a relationship with someone else when she does this. He goes along with it of course, and afterwards Marianne returns to the issue at hand, divorce. Thus begins the darkest part of the film, a sequence in which Johan’s sudden hesitance leads to violence. The escalation shocks them both, and at the end of the segment, the documents are signed, and every flicker of love has been extinguished.
 
This is where the film should end. The marriage is over. We have seen how ignoring a partner’s needs, not being truthful about marital problems, and not doing what is necessary to keep connections strong can lead to estrangement, loneliness, and even brutality. We have seen how hate can build and aggressiveness can become more likely. And we have seen the final moments of their marriage. Here is where Bergman could have had the movie fade to black and the credits roll.
 
Only that’s not what happens. Instead, we get the final segment. Years have passed, and each member of the former couple has remarried. But here’s the kicker. At some point, they bumped into each other in a movie theater and began what we learn is a rather imperfect and not-entirely satisfying affair. Now imagine that you were watching this on television back in 1973. You would have had a week to digest the jarring conclusion of the fifth part, and you would have been more likely to accept the image of Marianne running behind a tree to steal a kiss with the man who had roughed her up the previous week. In the theatrical version, the viewer is given just seconds – seconds to go from thank goodness that’s over to what? I hope they work it out this time?
 
By continuing the story, the film becomes less about the dissolution of a marriage than an expose on weak individuals whom fate seems intent to keep bringing together in an effort to deprive them of happiness. When the film ended, I did not feel relieved they were together again. Instead, I was filled with disappointment, not just for the characters who seem to have something against joy, but for the weakening of a film whose message had been so strong. It is simply true that some marriage falls apart and cannot be reconciled, but by continuing Marianne and Johan’s story, the divorce loses its power. It does not set anyone free, and any new love or discovery in an inconvenience, a mistake that can be rectified easily with infidelity. It also sends an odd message about domestic violence, seemingly suggesting that time can change a brute into a romantic if you’re just willing to give him a second chance. It’s a terrible message, and it severely weakens an otherwise powerful film. It did enable Bergman to make a sequel, though, so there’s that I guess.

Miscellaneous Musings - June 7, 2024

 June 7, 2024
 
On One of the Strangest (and Most Pointless) Debates in Movie History
 

1997 was a fairly good one for films. The year saw the release of around 246 movies, and it started off rather strong, with Beverly Hills Ninja, Fierce Creatures, and Waiting for Guffman to name just of few of its earliest releases. February was no slouch either, heralding such releases as Absolute Power, Fools Rush In, Vegas Vacation, Rosewood, Hard Eight, and Donnie Darko. And the year didn’t let up after that. Just check out this partial list of movies that hit cinemas over the next ten months: The Game, Tomorrow Never Dies, Love Jones, Ponette, Jim Carrey in Liar Liar, Selena, Chasing Amy, Grosse Point Blank, Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion, the first Austin Powers movie, The Fifth Element, Night Falls of Manhattan, the second Jurassic Park film, Con Air, Temptress Moon, My Best Friend’s Wedding, Face Off, Disney’s Hercules, Men in Black, and Spike Lee’s 4 Little Girls. There was also Contact, George of the Jungle, Air Force One, In the Company of Men, Cop Land, The Full Monty, Event Horizon, G.I. Jane, Two Girls and a Guy, L.A. Confidential, In & Out, The Ice Storm, Boogie Nights, Gattaca, Eve’s Bayou, Starship Troopers, The Wings of a Dove, The Rainmakers, The Sweet Hereafter, Good Will Hunting, Amistad, Scream 2, The Apostle, As Good As It Gets, Titanic, Jackie Brown, Kundun, Wag the Dog, and The Boxer. The beginning of the year also brought with it the re-releases of the original Star Wars trilogy, the popularity of which demonstrated once again just how much those films continued to resonate with audience.
 
Were there controversies? Sure. The special edition of Star Wars initiated an unnecessary debate over whether Han or Greedo shot first and a number of people let out a collective sigh when the alien at the end of Contact turned out to be in the form of Ellie’s father. Donnie Darko divided viewers, and Wag the Dog has such an impact on American politics that when President Clinton took military action in Iraq, he was asked, “Sir, is this just Wag the Dog?” (Strangely, few people batted an eye when it came out that Air Force One does not really have an escape pod.) However, none of those debates has had the lasting power as one involving a remnant of a once mighty ship.
 
Back in 1997, I took my girlfriend to see James Cameron’s epically long film Titanic, and while my ex bawled her eyes out, I let out a hefty sigh. Suffice to say, I was not a fan of the film. In fact, I even went on to create a skit in which I highlighted all of my grievances with the film and even performed it in one of my Chinese classes. So, in the spirit on Shakespeare, Oh, Titanic, how do I hate thee? Let me count the ways. The greedy relic hunter. The old woman who you just know will warm his heart. Everyone sitting in front of said 100-year-old woman so that she can take them back to the Titanic. “I can’t still smell the paint.” The presence of Billy Zane means he’s the villain. His evil henchman-servant. “That water looks pretty cold.” The spitting scene. Of course, she notices there aren’t enough lifeboats on board. “I’m flying!” “I thought you would come to me last night.” (based on what exactly?) We didn’t see the iceberg because we were watching two young lovers kiss. Whose narrating this story again because Rose couldn’t possible know what happened on the other side of the ship. The blatant plagiarism of half of A Night to Remember. And finally, the Titanic as heaven, where Rose spends eternity with a guy she knew for a week and not a guy she met and married over the next eighty years of her life.
 
I realize that is quite a long list of complaints, but notice what is missing. In all my playful critiquing of the film, I never once mentioned whether there was enough space on the door for both Jack and Rose, and the reason is simple - the scene is perfectly logical.
 
Think back for a moment. Jack and Rose has just survived the sinking of the Titanic. To their great relief, they see a detached door floating on the water and feverishly swim over. Rose gets on first because, as adult Rose explains, Jack is a gentleman. Then it’s Jack’s turn. Only his hopes are dashed when the door appears to begin sinking into the abyss. Now remember Jack’s personal code – respect and chivalry. This is a young man who appears willing to jump into the sea after a suicidal stranger, a young man who is as respectful to a group of wealthy individuals just looking for a reason to mock him as he is the jovial inhabitants of the lower deck. Given the possibility of the door not being able to support both of them, his response is instantaneous - he slides into the water and assures her that he’ll be all right. Why should we expect any less?
 
As for Rose, she has fallen in love with a young man who is the polar opposite of her fiancé, and through her encounters with him, her faith in romantic love, chivalry, and destiny have all been restored. Bear in mind, this is a young man who somehow was aware of techniques that enabled them to survive a sinking ship. Why wouldn’t she allow herself to believe that he could also handle the cold water of the Atlantic Ocean until someone came to their rescue, a rescue, I might add, that she likely thinks is imminent.
 
See, the scene makes sense; the controversy, however, has its roots in something else entirely. As with many Oscar winners, time has a way of eroding past support. Titanic, at one time, was the most successful movie in the history of film (not adjusting for inflation, of course), and success like that often breeds contempt. The film also included a career-defining hit for Celine Dion, one that, unfortunately, many people got tired of hearing long before its accolades ceased. In such a situation, it is not unheard of for critics to search for something – anything – that confirms their belief that a “masterpiece” does not live up to its reputation. Star Wars has the location of the control panel for the tractor beam, Citizen Kane has its sled, and, in the eyes of many people, Titanic has its door. And that door has been used to mock and diminish the film ever since the first detractor stood up and exclaimed, “Just move over!” It’s unfortunate really because there’s just so much more to complain about.