Review – Eyes Wide Shut: Director’s Cut

February 17, 2010

Eyes Wide Shut: Director's Cut – U.S., 1999

At some point in a relationship, a nice, comfortable routine sets in, for certain actions such as getting up, heading off for work, eating dinner, going to sleep, taking a vacation, and visiting relatives seem to frequently occur at an established time. I suspect it is this kind of predictability that men especially like, for it makes them feel secure. Life, for them, is as they always dreamed it would be – they have love, emotional stability, and family. Add financial stability to the equation, and you may have all the ingredients necessary for a husband to be perfectly happy. Notice I said “husband” and not “family,” for what may make men feel entirely content has the potential to make women either bored, uneasily, or completely miserable. And therefore, you have all the necessary ingredients for disaster. Soon, the content one in the relationship begins taking the other for granted, and the other begins to believe that something is wrong with the relationship. Sadly, I know this from experience, and yet that experience has only made me recognize the signs of danger in a relationship. It has not given me any special insight into how to avoid many of the pitfalls that a couple can find themselves in.

Let me give you an example of what I mean. In Stanley Kubrick’s excellent 1999 film, Eyes Wide Shut, a husband and a wife are beginning to be intimate after having attended a rather formal party. While there, both of them had been the objects of other people’s advances. The wife wants to know what happened between her husband and the two young, slim models she saw him talking to; he inquires about the well-dressed man he saw his wife dancing with. Her tone is angry and distrustful; his is surprisingly confident. He doesn’t even seem to mind it when his wife all but accuses him of infidelity. He assures her nothing happened, despite the young women’s offer to take him “where the rainbow ends.” She informs her husband that the man at the party had indeed wanted to sleep with her. Now, what exactly should he do? Should he say nothing? Should he get angry or act surprised? I’m not sure. Perhaps there is no right answer. What is clear is that his answer begins a chain of events that could potentially destroy their marriage. Exactly what is his answer? “I guess that’s understandable.”

The conversation that follows is fascinating yet uncomfortable, for with each word, we sense the two of them are sliding down a path that neither of them quite knows how to climb up from. She gets angry, and he tried to calm her down by reassuring her of his faith in her, a remark that provokes an equally frustrated response. It seems to her that she is being taken for granted. And then, the woman reveals one of those details that may be better off unsaid, you know, the kind that can destroy all illusions of security. Moreover, along with her stunning revelation comes a very unintended consequence – a mental picture that slowly expands in her husband's head, eventually becoming so vivid as to cause him to contemplate actions that he would likely never have seriously entertained previously. It matters little that the image that haunts him now never in fact occurred – the mere fact that it was a possibility is enough.

The man in this relationship is Dr. William Harford (Tom Cruise), and the woman is his wife, Alice Harford (Nicole Kidman). They have been married for nine years and have a beautiful seven-year old daughter. They have undoubtedly had plenty of arguments before. However, it’s unlikely that any of them are as important as this one, and this is why what happens next is so unfortunate. Just when they need to talk to each other the most, he is called away. A patient of his has died, and he must pay his respects. However, the image in his head won’t allow him a moment’s rest. It starts out simple but then develops into such a graphic picture that he seems to believe that the act in his head is one that must be avenged, and perhaps the only way to avenge such an act is to replicate it. An eye for an eye, as they say.

The film focuses almost entirely on Dr. Harford, as it should, for the film is really about his journey into the abyss. For the film to work, therefore, Dr. Harford must be a compelling – if not entirely sympathetic – character, which he is. He begins the film the picture of confidence. He’s the kind of person who carries a load of cash with him at all times, as if he were the kind of person no one would dare rob, and he has the habit of flashing his medical license as if it were a police badge entitling him to do as he pleases. He believes in his marriage, and therefore does not notice his wife looking at her own reflection in the mirror as he kisses her. As events progress, as his faith in his marriage begins to fade, Harford unravels to such an extent that he finds himself journeying into a world he never knew existed and should never have been part of. Later, he has to find his way back again. I, for one, wanted him to. Some reviewers have suggested that Alice Harford is a more interesting character and have therefore criticized the film for its "erroneous" focus. Here again I disagree. Alice has already come to terms with the events and feelings she describes. The question is whether William will be able to.

Throughout the film, we meet many characters, some of them decent, some of them morally questionable. Kubrick seems to know just how much time viewers need to understand each of these characters, and when that time is up, the film moves on. This is particularly true of Mr. Milch (Rade Serbedzija), the owner of a costume shop. He allows viewers to observe just how quickly the opportunity for money can change a man, providing of course that his earlier anger was not staged for Harford’s benefit. I also like the way Harford’s college friend Nick Nightingale does not reappear later on. His absence makes Victor Ziegler (Sydney Pollack), another of Harford’s patients, the only one who can explain to Harford, as well as to the audience, what exactly happened at the mansion earlier in the film. His explanation makes sense, but the fact remains, there’s no way to verify it.

Eyes Wide Shut is one of the more challenging films I’ve ever seen, and it is a film that had divided filmgoers and reviewers. There are currently 1,391 reviews of the film on IMDB, and they range from one to ten. It should be said that the film was poorly promoted with an ad campaign that featured steamy, tantalizing scenes of its lead actors in the throes of passion. This did not prepare the audience for its non-standard pacing and its rather serious, decidedly unerotic subject matter. Moreover, it is probably the kind of film that demands a second viewing to be fully understood and appreciated. From my point of view, it certainly deserves one. I’m still on the fence as to what the movie is saying about relationships. Is it suggesting that some secrets are better off not revealed? Is it advocating complete honesty? I’m not sure. Perhaps the film is simply saying, “Open your eyes. It may not be as rosy as you think it is.” (on DVD)

4 stars

Review – Lolita

January 9, 2010

Lolita – U.S., 1962

Stanley Kubrick’s Lolita takes place in a world undergoing immense social change. Nine years prior to the release of the film, Alfred Kinsey had released the second of his Kinsey Reports, “Sexual Behavior in the Human Female,” which began to break down social taboos regarding women and sexuality. Then just seven years later came the FDA’s approval of the first oral contraceptive pill, enabling women to control when and if they would get pregnant. For women, this must have seemed like a miracle, like a form of liberation. I’m not sure men felt the same way, as throughout history, they have often had a harder time embracing social change. I imagine many men in the sixties clung to long-held notions of what it meant to be a “decent” woman and therefore looked down upon a woman who appeared a little too eager to be in the company of a man. To me, Professor Humbert Humbert (James Mason), the lead character in Kubrick’s fascinating yet disconcerting 1962 film, is one of these men, and because of that, I have a great deal of sympathy for Charlotte Haze (Shelley Winters), a lonely widow looking for love in all the wrong places.

It’s clear towards the beginning of the film that she has taken an instant liking to Humbert. While she is showing Humbert a room for rent, her intentions are easy enough to see. She speaks a bit too fast, stands a little too close, consistently acts slightly dramatic, and doesn’t want to give him a moment to have second thoughts about the room. Humbert’s unease is apparent, even if he doesn’t mention it outright, and it is only the sight of Charlotte’s teenage daughter Delores (Sue Lyon) – stretched out in the back yard in a big hat, sunglasses, and a two-piece bikini – that convinces him to stay. Charlotte is delighted at this of course and inquires as to just what the deciding factor was. He lies, but Charlotte is content with the lie, for it offers her hope.

Like Kubrick’s later film Eyes Wide Shut, Lolita is centered around a character who is unable to put an image out of his mind or to remember where his true priorities should lie. In Eyes Wide Shut, it is an image of an event that in fact never occurred that almost destroys a marriage. In Lolita, it is the image of a young girl, dressed in a way that he finds intoxicating, that begins Humbert’s fall from grace. As for Delores (a.k.a. Lolita) herself, she does nothing to discourage Humbert’s infatuation with her. In fact, she subtly encourages it, taking Humbert’s hand during a horror movie, using a hula hoop in front of him, and kissing him good night on the check. However, she does little more, and because of that, Humbert is conflicted. At one point, he mentions to Charlotte his concern that she is being too liberal with Lolita, a charge she scoffs at. And so he and Lolita’s deadly dance continues until Humbert can no longer stand the idea of ever being without her. It is a realization that sees him rest face down on her pillow and weep. In truth, there are many times in the film in which Humbert seems truly worthy of pity. However, by the end of the film, it was hard for me to see Humbert as anything other than a somewhat moral villain who preys on the naïveté of a young girl in way over her head and completely mistreats another woman who simply wants to be happy again. However, such feelings are hard to come by when a woman is married to a man who stares at the picture of her teenager daughter while kissing her neck and holding her in his arms.

If there is one aspect of Lolita that doesn’t work as well as it should, it is the character of Clare Quilty (Peter Sellers), a writer for television. Quilty is supposed to be something of a genius, but the only thing we see evidence of him being is a master of disguise. While it is true that plenty of eccentric geniuses have been fixated with the sins of the flesh, for a character to be convincing as a genius, he must do or say something important or intelligent. Quilty never does. Most of the things we hear him say involve inappropriate remarks about either that “lovely little girl” or his sexual escapades with a strange woman dressed from head to toe in black. In the film’s opening scene, Quilty rambles on about ping pong and music in a way that never struck me as the way a man in his position would genuinely act. If writer Vladimir Nabakov’s intent was to make this character odd and creepy, he succeeded. If his intent was to make him realistic, I’m afraid he failed.

Before seeing Lolita, I was well aware of the term “Lolita.” Now after seeing the film, I have come to believe that the term is misunderstood. Lolita is not a temptress in the way that many of the characters that women in film noir are, for she does not have any ill-will or evil intentions towards the men who find her attractive. There will always be young women who develop physically faster than other women or who adopt behavior that wise parents do their best to discourage. But young girls like Lolita are not responsible for how men view them. Perhaps then Lolita should serve as a cautionary tale, as an example of just how mentally and morally unhinged people like Humbert can become when they don’t follow their initial impulses. After all, it is the second impulse that usually gets people into trouble. (on DVD)

3 stars

Review – The Shining

October 1, 2009

The Shining – U.S., 1980

Good horror films are tough to make. I say this because far too often what begins as horror devolves into rather uncomfortable comedy. I remember watching Scream 2 and being completely involved in the story until the killer makes an appearance and David Arquette’s physically challenged character “Dewey” valiantly leaves the woman he loves to deal with the killer himself once and for all. I could heard several audience members chuckle and a few others mutter an incredulous, “What?” In a movie about characters who know the horror genre inside out, Dewey’s actions seemed utterly ridiculous, and, sure enough, pretty soon, Dewey found himself on the receiving end of the killer’s knife, something that at that point in the movie was no longer unexpected. Other horror films ask viewers to accept that certain conditions exist in the world or the times in which the films take place - an immortal sucks blood and can turn into a bat, someone becomes a wolf when there is a full moon, an indestructible killer will only bother people if they intrude upon what he considers to be his territory. The list is endless. As long as a horror film is consistent with the conditions that it establishes early on, it can be considered believable within the context of the film.

Here are just a few of the conditions that one must accept for Stanley Kubrick’s 1980 film The Shining to be believable: A form of telepathy exists, but only a small number of people have the ability to use it, entities that can live within someone are also real, and some people are able to see ghost and apparitions. Dealing with just one of these conditions could be a challenge for a character, yet in The Shining, all three of them are given to one character, a young boy named Danny Torrance (well-played by Danny Lloyd). Danny can communicate with others without using words, seems to have a spirit named Tony living inside him, and continues to see the frightening image of two sisters whose father went crazy one winter, killing himself, his daughters, and his wife in a severe case of “cabin fever.” Danny’s father Jack (Jack Nicholson), upon hearing of this tragedy, assures his employers, the managers of a hotel in Denver called The Overview, that he won’t have such problems.

In fact, on the surface Jack seems perfectly suited for his new job looking after a vacant hotel during the winter months, for the job would give ample him time to write the novel that’s been eluding him of late. During the film, we see him sitting at a typewriter desperately trying to come up with an idea for a novel. At other times, however, when ideas are scarce, we see him playing a variation of handball to pass the time. The process takes a toll on him, and soon he is berating and swearing at his wife Wendy for not understanding what it takes to be a great writer. His abrasive behavior is meant to contrast with his earlier calmer, more respectful demeanor. This would be effective if it weren’t for the oddly formed smile that comes upon Jack’s face during several scenes in the first part of the movie. That smile hints at a problem lying just under the surface, and as we later learn, this family is indeed dealing with some serious trust issues caused by an unfortunate incident in which Jack injured Danny during a fit of anger and alcohol intoxication. A month after moving into the hotel, Jack finds himself talking to the hotel’s deceased inhabitants, proclaiming that he wants to live there forever, and deciding to eliminate his family. This element of the story is certainly interesting, but it unfortunately prevents Jack’s character from being able to completely go from nice guy to villain, an arch that allows viewers to feel that a tragedy has taken place when such a change occurs. Because Jack already has problems and at times seems annoyed by his wife and son, his descent into violence is not as shocking as it should be.

As the film progresses, some of the conventions that the film establishes early on begin to break down. For example, what had previously only been visible to Danny is suddenly visible to Wendy as well. In addition, some ghosts have physical forms, while others don’t. This is especially convenient for Jack who is trapped one moment, yet free the next due to a ghost’s amazing ability to open a locked door. In addition, The Shining also contains moments of incredibly illogical behavior. One of them involves Wendy, an otherwise protective mother, deciding to take a nap after locking Jack, by then truly insane and admittedly homicidal, in a storage room. I don’t know anyone who could sleep with a killer in the same building, even one seemingly trapped. Later Danny shows a level of intelligence far beyond his years as he is being pursued through the maze outside the hotel. However, the film has not established Danny as having this kind of intuition. Some may argue that it was “Tony” that did this, but bear in mind that “Tony” went around repeating "redrum" over and over as if it were an actual word in English.

I find myself split over The Shining. I liked the way the film began, with a rear aerial view of the yellow Volkswagen that Jack Torrance is driving to his job interview. It’s as if something mysterious is following him wherever he goes. I also liked most of the characterization given to “Tony,” especially the way he communicates openly at times but flees at others. Equally interesting is the way the movie allows Danny to exhibit the same traits. In addition, I was mesmerized by one pivotal conversation that takes place between Danny and the hotel’s chef, Dick Hollorann (Scatman Crothers). It’s unfortunate that the rest of Mr. Hollorann’s role in the film follows a predictable pattern and too closely resembles that of Sherriff Buster in Rob Reiner’s Misery, which, it should be said, came out ten years after The Shining. I also disliked the way the film’s soundtrack makes it rather obvious when something weird or scary is about to happen. If a moment is truly scary, there is no need for musical accompaniment.

The Shining moves slowly for a horror film, which is not necessarily a bad thing. However, much of what happens in the film is never fully explained. We’re simply shown a photograph at the end of the film and expected to understand all that has transpired based on that one photo. It’s a good technique if it works. In this film, I’m just not sure it does. The Shining tries hard to be suspenseful and terrifying. It ends up only being puzzling and somewhat unsatisfying. (on DVD)

2 and a half stars

Review – Spartacus

August 30, 2009

Spartacus – U.S., 1960

I’m ashamed to say it, but I’ve been spoiled by Star Wars. Ever since that epic trilogy, I’ve watched battles between sword-carrying individuals and expected precision timing, loud clanking, and physical feats befitting only the most nimble of Olympic athletes. So it came as a bit of a surprise to me how realistic the combat scenes in Stanley Kubrick’s Spartacus looked. Some of these battles, I must admit, were over before they started – two soldiers run at each other, one is slightly faster to the draw than the other, and soon the slower one is lying on the sand dying. Other battles are held between two more equally-skilled adversaries, and therefore their potential moments of glory last longer – but not much longer. And, it must be said, even these men occasionally misstep, the result of which - more often than not - is death. Because of this, the soldiers in Spartacus are more human than the ones we are used to seeing in movies, and that makes their stories all the more involving.

Spartacus (Kirk Douglas) is a man of conscience who yearns for a time when he and others like him, people born or forced into a life a servitude, will have the freedom they so cherish. As the film opens, we see an example of his humanity – he tries to help a worker who collapses of exhaustion. For his benevolence, Spartacus is beaten, tied to a rock, and left out in the sun to die. He is saved by Lentulus Batiatus (Peter Ustinov), an odd man who comes to the deserts of Libya to find slaves that he can train to be gladiators. Impressed by Spartacus’ strength, reflexes, and teeth, Batiatus offers to purchase him. As a result of this, Spartacus is trained in the art of combat, and soon it is clear just how skilled with the sword his is.

There is a woman, of course, another of Batiatus’ slaves named Varinia (Jean Simmons). One night, Batiatus pairs the two of them up. Once in Spartacus’ basement prison, Varinia displays virtually no emotion as Spartacus gently caresses her skin and hair. “I have never been with a woman,” he says, and at that moment, it looks as if he has determined that this will be the night he will be. He is stopped, however, by the voyeuristic nature of his master and his right-hand-man and boldly declares his humanity. “I am not an animal!” Varinia looks right at him and makes the same assertion. Their mutual claims to dignity are all it takes for the two of them to bond.

Later, Varinia will watch as the man she has grown to love is forced to fight to the death, not out of necessity or for glory, but to satisfy the curiosity of two women who want to know what it’s like to fight to do so. To make the spectacle even more pleasing, they request that the gladiators dress “modestly.” Their pleasure at seeing two men go at it is in stark contrast to the horror written all over Varinia’s face as she watches the duel. The duel itself is tense and a bit sloppy, but it contains the first of Spartacus’ many surprises. As Varinia watches the match, little does she know that Marcus Licinius Crassus (Laurence Olivier), one of the men also watching the bout, has decided to purchase her.

In Spartacus, we see Rome as it existed before Julius Caesar ceased absolute power. It is a land in which the military is dangerously extended, a land that is riff with political distrust, as men jockey for the best position at which to attain political power. We also see the sad moral state of Rome at that time. There, two kinds of people existed, those who were slaves and those who weren’t, and given the opportunity to treat those who were slaves in the most despicable way possible, few did the honorable thing. We are introduced to Sempronius Gracchus (Charles Laughton), a member of the Roman Senate who feels that Rome is stretched too much as it is to take on another conflict. More importantly, he just happens to dislike Crassus immensely. However, he is also no friend of emancipation and even gets along quite well with Batiatus.

As Spartacus and his army move toward what they hope will be their much sought-after freedom, their numbers increase, as does the number of people sent to stop them. The quest send Spartacus’ band of men, woman, children, and gladiators over tough, unforgiving terrain. There are casualties along the way. In one scene, Kubrick focuses on a man and a woman burying their infant child, as members of Spartacus’ “army” slowly pass behind them. It’s not the first death, and it won’t be the last, for Crassus has two goals: to stop the rebellion in its tracks and to “kill the legend of Spartacus.”

Spartacus is tense, thrilling, and fascinating from start to finish. Kirk Douglas delivers an astonishing performance as the great, but slightly flawed Spartacus. I say slightly flawed because I couldn’t help wondering why he would reveal his plans to the enemy. Only someone with too much confidence or extremely loose lips would do that. Olivier’s and Laughton’s performances are also worthy of praise. I should also mention that Spartacus has an incredibly poignant final act, and not just for the uplifting “I am Spartacus” scene.

Spartacus goes wrong though when it drags Crassus’ sexual orientation into the film. It is one thing to portray Crassus as a sadistic man hell bent on achieving power. It is another thing to present his sexuality as somehow being indicative of his moral character, which Crassus’ slow, deliberate illumination on his appetite for both “snails” and “oysters” is meant to convey. The scene simply has no place in the film and seems to only exist to explain why Antonius (Tony Curtis) flees Crassus’ home. However, isn’t the opportunity to be liberated enough of a motivation? I would have thought so. I should say that this is a minor part of the film and that audiences in 1960 did not see it. I doubt contemporary audiences need to either.

That said, Spartacus works in every other way. We care for this gentle giant and hope that he and Varinia achieve their must-deserved happiness. We marvel at the political back-story and wonder how it will all end, even though part of us already secretly knows how it must end. Simply put, Spartacus deserves its place in film history. (on DVD by the Criterion Collection and Universal Studios)

4 and a half stars

Review – The Killing

June 29, 2009

The Killing – U.S., 1956

Stanley Kubrick’s 1956 film The Killing achieves something rare in a heist film. It makes you care about a group of people planning a crime. Think about it. How many times have you watched a heist film and marveled at the intricacies of the crime itself while not caring one way or the other about the people attempting to pull of the caper? I can think of plenty of examples off the bat, such as David Mamet’s The Heist (2001), Frank Oz’s The Score (2001), and F. Gary Gray’s 2003 remake of The Italian Job. Too often these films are about overly attractive criminals who seem far too young to be experts in their field cracking jokes or trying to outsmart each other. More times than not, I simply don’t care. I don’t lump the Ocean’s 11 series in this category because these films successfully created three unscrupulous villains for the audience to root against.

What separates Kubrick’s film from others films in its genre is its characters. They are not young or full of life. They don’t have computer expertise or dress like the just stepped out of a recent edition of GQ. In contrast, they are men beaten down by age and broken dreams. They view themselves as personal failures, as people for whom that special, lucrative lucky break simply never surfaced. More than one of them speaks of their future ill-gotten gains as representing the fulfillment of their promises to loved ones. I suspect most men will at the very least empathize with their feelings, for most men have at one point in their lives spoken of their potential in rather fantastic, almost mythical terms, promising their fiancées or brides a life free from financial worry and replete with material belongings such as jewels and diamonds. Instead, the would-be thieves in The Killing carry their perceived failures on their shoulders for all to see. And yet when they talk of the lives they hope to lead after the robbery, their faces light up, as if they had just drunk from the fountain of youth.

Also working in the film’s favor is the way the film is structured. We first meet the men and get acquainted with their lives. We meet Johnny Clay (Sterling Hayden), recently released from jail and just reunited with his girlfriend, a sympathetic woman named Fay (Coleen Gray) who explains her decision to wait for Johnny for five years by saying, “I’m not good enough for anyone else.” The scene is quite emotional. Then there’s Mike O’Reilly (Joe Sawyer), whose wife is sick and bedridden. In one scene, he promises her their lives will vastly improve soon. She just wants him to take good care of himself. Perhaps the most unfortunate one of them all is George Peatty (Elisha Cook Jr.), whose wife Sherry (Marie Windsor) begins to hurl insults at him the moment he returns home. While the audience will automatically recognize a villain when they see one, George only sees a woman whose unhappiness is due to his personal failure to make good on his pre-marriage promises. To keep her happy – at least in his mind – he talks when he shouldn’t and reveals way too many details about the upcoming scheme. These details find their way to Val Cannon (Vince Edwards), Sherry’s man on the side.

Most films like The Killing build up to a robbery and then show it in its entirety. However, The Killing uses a different, much more interesting approach. Just when you think the robbery is about to take place and sometimes even after it has started, Kubrick takes you back in time to show you either an aspect of how the crime took shape or a conversation that somehow resonates well after it is over. One such conversation involves Johnny and his long-time friend Marvin Unger (Jay C. Flippin), as they discuss the fact that after the robbery, they will likely never see each other again. To them, it’s the equivalent of a father saying good bye to the son he never got the chance to raise properly. We also meet the two people recruited to help out with the crime, and neither of them are hardened criminals. One, a man named Maurice Oboukhoff (Kola Kwariani), even speaks quite idealistically of the importance of love and happiness. And yet we are not made to marvel over the complexity of the planned caper or over the ingenuity of the criminals themselves. Rather we watch their actions with a degree of tension, knowing how little it would take for their efforts to fail and that others are somewhere plotting against them.

If there is a weakness to The Killer, it is its final ten minutes. We’re asked to believe that a character that had been as meticulous as someone could possibly be up until then would suddenly stop being so. It’s quite a stretch. Moreover, once he does, it’s not impossible to predict how it all will end. In this respect, the film is a product of its time, for it would be a few more years before the Hayes Code was completely dismantled, and therefore, the idea that a villain could end up on top was still somewhat taboo. However, Marie Windsor’s performance, reminiscent of Barbra Stanwyck’s in Double Indemnity, is proof that the code was starting to crack. The Killer remains a fascinating, tense film about ordinary people making an extraordinary yet foolish attempt at greatness, at the kind of life they believed would be theirs through hard work and perseverance. I may not have ever rooted for them, but I certainly understood where they were coming from. (on DVD)

4 stars

*The Killing currently ranks #162 on the IMDB's Top 250 films of all time.

Review – Paths of Glory

May 17, 2009

Paths of Glory – U.S., 1957

Sometimes the possibility of power is all it takes to corrupt even the most noble of men. For proof of this, all one needs to do is observe General Paul Mireau’s sudden about-face in the opening scene of Stanley Kubrick’s masterpiece Paths of Glory. When asked to commit 800 men to a mission that he sees as practically impossible, the taking of a heavily protected area called Ant Hill, he doggedly proclaims the request to be “out of the question.” It is then that his friend General George Broulard (Adolphe Menjou) plays his trump card: it seems that Gen. Mireau (George Macready) has been mentioned as a candidate for promotion, one that he has craved for some time. The general pauses a moment, and then reiterates his earlier objections, yet this time something is missing from his voice – earnestness. In his mind, the mission has already shifted from being all but impossible to being costly, but somewhat workable. Soon, the general is inspecting the troops in the trenches and asking as many of them as possible, “Ready to kill more Germans?” as if that desire were all the men needed to attain victory in the upcoming battle.

The task of leading the attack falls to Colonel Dax (Kirk Douglas), a criminal lawyer with an impeccable record. Despite his misgivings – and he has several – he assures the general that he and his men will indeed complete their mission. As the time for the attack approaches – they are attacking in broad daylight and without any air support – Dax emerges from his quarters with his war face on. His pace is quick, and his eyes stare straight ahead of him, as if fixated on the spot at which he will depart the trenches and lead his men into battle. As artillery shells land just outside of the trenches, the men flinch; Dax does not. However, as the barrage continues, Dax begins to slouch a bit, and he appears to show a hint of anger. It seemed to me, at that moment, that Dax was a man fully aware of what was about to happen, of the horrendous cost in lives that the coming battle would bring, and equally aware of what was happening just out of harm’s way, that the general who ordered the attack was somewhere safely watching and waiting for the victory that would ensure his ascendency in military rank.

As I watched Paths of Glory, I was reminded of Robert Redford’s film Lions for Lambs, in which Redford’s character laments the fact that the best men are far too often led by the weakest of leaders. Much of what we see in Paths of Glory demonstrates this. Generals with ulterior motives dish out orders that must be obeyed and then have the gull to punish the soldiers who tried their utmost to carry them out. The film shows a world in which those in leadership positions, with the exception of Dax, are too timid to be affective. Some in fact are downright cowards. To such military “leaders” are entrusted the lives of some of the bravest men that France has to offer.

I had expected much of Paths of Glory to be about the battle for Ant Hill. In truth, the battle occupies only the middle of the film. The final third of the film shows us just how far some people will go to shield themselves from blame and protect their own self-interests, and General Mireau is not the only one involved in doing so. As trials are held to punish those whom Mireau calls “cowards and scum,” we see just how far the military brass is willing to go to deflect blame and maintain their treasured and secure positions. It is both shocking and eye-opening.

There is much to like about Paths of Glory. I particularly liked the role of Cpl. Philippe Paris (Ralph Meeker), a dedicated soldier whose only reward is to be offered up as a sacrificial lamb. And as always, Kirk Douglas gives an incredible performance. His walk through the trenches is one of the most powerful scenes I have ever seen in a film. In addition, the film’s script, co-written by Calder Willingham, Jim Thompson, and Kubrick himself, is tight, emotional, suspenseful, and never predictable. The film’s final scene serves to remind us of just how connected we all are, despite borders and languages sometimes driving a wedge between us.

As the film ends, the bombs continue to fall, and men are once again mobilized for battle by generals who may or may not have their best interests in mind. As a soldier, I suppose, you cannot allow yourself to think about that. You receive orders, you follow orders. However, for those of us not partaking in the battle, for those of us who watch it from afar, the film seems to be suggesting that we have a moral responsibility to make sure that what they are doing is for the greater good, not for the personal benefit of men like General Mireau. We must make sure that the path to glory is an honorable one. (on DVD)

Five stars

Review – Barry Lyndon

January 10, 2009

Barry Lyndon – U.S., 1975

The world in which Barry Lyndon is a part of is one filled with civil cruelty. This may seem like a bit of an oxymoron, but consider these images – an army that lines up in a perfectly horizontal line and advances stoically towards oncoming enemy fire, soldiers who form a square around two new recruits and cheer them on as they engage in a rather one-sided fist fight, and one man nervously waiting for another man to shoot at him because the rules of the duel state that he must. Add to this the polite way that two bandits rob Barry at gunpoint – they even apologize for feeling it necessary to steal his horse – and you’re left with the sense that something in society has broken down, that what is supposed to hold people together – a sense of culture and decency toward one’s fellow man- has been replaced by a world in which civility is just a means to an end, and that end, it seems, is either military victory or the acquisition of wealth and women.

It is hard to know just when Barry Lyndon (Ryan O’Neal) officially accepts the notion that these are the goals he should try to obtain, for when we first see him, he is a young man full of romantic notions and youthful anxieties, sentiments that apparently his cousin does not share. Sexually aggressive and opportunistic, his cousin Nora (Gay Hamilton) has no qualms with seducing Barry with a variation of the game hide-and-seek. In Nora’s version, a necklace is hidden somewhere on Nora’s person. The object of the game is simple - seek the necklace, no matter where it lies. Sensing the implications of the game, especially considering the location of the necklace, Barry nervously declares his inability to find it, but his cousin does not let him off the hook so easily. Rather, she shows him exactly where it is, and even after Barry resists temptation for a second time, Nora will not be denied. Soon she and Barry are involved in an affair that will ultimately rattle and unnerve Barry to a dangerous extent. When Nora is pursued – rather willingly I might add – by a British captain named John Quin (Leonard Rossiter), Barry is determined to avenge his honor, but just who is he angry at? It seems to me his anger should be directed at Nora for leading him on and then casting him aside, yet Barry makes the object of his anger the captain who is simply trying to find himself a wife. It’s almost as if he is saying, “If I can’t have her, no one can.”

After a duel that forces him to go into hiding, Barry sets off for the exciting streets of Dublin. He never makes it. What follows is a set of what might be called misadventures. He is robbed, joins the British army, and eventually finds himself wandering the countryside as a deserter. If he was ever righteous before leaving on his journey – and I’m not sure there’s much evidence that he was – he is certainly not by the end of it. As time passes, Barry shrugs off all of his youthful notions of romantic love and accepts that the only path to happiness and security is through marriage. He sets his eyes on the Countess of Linden (Marisa Berenson), and the fact that she’s presently married makes no difference to him at all.

Stanley Kubrick’s Barry Lyndon is an intriguing movie but one that remains somewhat elusive. What exactly are we to make of Barry? Should we feel sorry for him? He is after all a man without a stable, noble father figure in his life, but there comes a time in everyone’s life when this kind of excuse no longer holds water. So should be root against him and hope for his rapid demise? Even this sentiment is difficult to completely commit to because for every moment in which he displays rude or vulgar behavior, such as when he blows smoke in his wife’s face after she politely asks him not to smoke around her, there’s an equally touching one, most often involving his relationship with his son Brian. To me, it is this issue that keeps Barry Lyndon from being the masterpiece it could be. In a way, Barry Lyndon is a film without a protagonist, and without one, I felt less invested in the film. I didn’t like Barry very much, but I also didn’t hate him. I sympathized with Lord Bulingdon, Barry’s stepson, but his final act is one that is hard to completely justify. I felt sympathy for Mrs. Lyndon but grew frustrated that she didn’t realize the powerful position she was in. Only Brian remains a completely innocent and likable character, but his character enters the film too late and his storyline is somewhat predictable.

However, there is much to recommend Barry Lyndon for. The film is well-directed, well-acted, and impressively shot. I particularly liked the intensity and pacing of the battles and the gun duels. Also interesting were the characters that Barry meets throughout the film, and I admired the way Kubrick was willing to leave the fate of some of the characters, in particular The Chevalier and Capt. Potzdorf, unknown to the audience. Towards the middle of the film, Barry receives a reward for saving Capt. Potzdorf. During a ceremony instead of being praised for his bravery, he is chastised for having fallen morally and told that he will come to no good. Barry tells his son a very different version of this day, one is which he is a leader and a model of bravery, the man who is solely responsible for an improbably military victory. Perhaps it is in this moment that we can most clearly see the reason for Barry’s failure. He wanted to be a hero, but he settled for being an opportunist and a liar. (on DVD)

3 and a half stars