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.

Review - The Falls

February 12, 2024
 
The Falls – Taiwan, 2021
 

While watching Chung Mong-hung’s 2021 film, The Falls, I was reminded of something one of my child development teachers remarked, that tears and anger are often the result of an accumulation of frustrating experiences – tough mornings, disagreements with friends, difficulty at work or school – not just the result of what has recently happened. However, there are times in history when the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back is so powerful and unexpected that it has the potential to send people spiraling into the abyss. For some people, Covid-19 was such an event, and The Falls is the first film I’ve seen that attempts to show the impact of the pandemic on both people’s personal and psychological states.
 
The Falls begins with a scene of dysfunction, one that I’m sure many people are unfortunately familiar with. It is a school day, and for Lo Pin Wen (Alyssa Chia), just getting her daughter up and out the door is a momentous task. It should be easier, of course. Her daughter, Xiao-Jing (Gingle Wang), is 18 and a senior in high school, yet their morning is filled with a string of unfeeling inquiries and caustic backtalk. And it only gets worse as the day goes on.
 
At work, Pin Wen receives a double whammy. First, there’s a rather heartless email requesting that all staff members decide how much of a “voluntary” pay cut they receive. Then, as if that weren’t enough, she is informed that one of her daughter’s classmates has tested positive for Covid, automatically triggering home quarantine for the entire class. Pin Wen offers to keep working, but her boss tells her to take some time off. It’s an understandable decision, but it deprives Pin Wen of the one thing that she needs to feel in control of the chaos surrounding her, and without it, her descent is rapid and severe.
 
The Falls could easily have focused solely on the ensuing two weeks, detailing what quarantine is like and how these characters deal with their unwanted joint confinement. Instead, it elects to pivot in a way that allows for Pin Wen and Xiao-Jing to switch roles. Covid gives way to mental illness, and Xiao-Jing must now effectively become the head of the household. Unfortunately, the change is too abrupt, and Xiao-Jing’s sudden maturity seems unexplained. This is a character who, while possibly infected, was so spiteful as to take off her mask while standing close to her mother and tell her to keep away, a move that can only be seen as an aggressive attempt to create both emotional and physical distance. To see her acting kind and responsible so quickly was more than a bit jarring.
 
Hurting the film more is its apparent desire for its characters to resolve problems with very little effort. Need your mother’s financial information? Just make an emotional plea to a bank employee. Have money problems? Just sell your house. Never mind that by your own admission the market is bad. Have low savings? Perhaps you too can live off of NT $40,000 (about US $1,300) a month. Writers Chung and Chang Yao-sheng seem to think that there are easy solutions to everything, and that they can be discovered and dealt with in less than ten minutes of screen time. The result is less a journey of discovery than a series of simple steps.
 
Perhaps the most egregious of these “simple steps” is the notion that people with mental illness can, with enough introspection and awareness, eventually diagnose the source of their problems themselves. Twice in the film characters detail sudden flashes of awareness when developments like those are much more likely to be the result of therapy and strenuous reflection. It is as if the spectre of A Beautiful Mind had somehow taken possession of the writers as they looked for another rapid resolution and made them make the following erroneous calculation, Well, if worked in A Beautiful Mind, it will work here. Fortunately, the scenes in which these revelations are divulged are quite moving, and like Nash, one of the characters has developed a somewhat realistic method of coping with something that she knows is not really there.
 
Other aspects of the film also ring true. Many of the companies most directly affected by the pandemic did in fact either reduce their staff or ask them to take pay cuts, despite already having what can only be considered extremely low salaries, and yes, many workers were indeed asked to choose how much of their salaries they would lose. Given that they were told that the alternative was job loss, was it really a choice, though? More importantly, periods of quarantine were not always times when families came together. Those that were already dysfunctional did not magically come together – For many people, there were more arguments, more drinking, more friction, and even suicidal thoughts. Thus, it is not surprising that Pin Wen and her daughter do not come together during their quarantine. Realistically, their journey takes much longer. Also, I admired the way the film slowly puts the pieces of the mother’s condition together. As a result, we get a remarkable understanding of what leads to Pin Wen’s decline.
 
Still, I can’t help thinking of The Falls as a compromised film. The idea behind it is a promising one, and the two lead characters are fascinating to watch. However, the film’s frequent shortcuts undercut the drama, robbing it of much needed momentum. A better film would have left difficulties unresolved for a time, adding them to other conflicts and raising the stakes for its characters. This one does not. A better film would also not have to rely on a shock ending to make its point, for in a family drama, what resonates is the final state of the family, and that point had already been made. In the end, The Falls is a good film, one about sympathetic characters coping with tragic circumstances. It had the potential to be great, though; it just lacked to attention span to pull it off. (on DVD in Region 3; on Netflix)
 
3 stars
 
*The Falls is in Taiwanese and Chinese with English subtitles.
*The Falls won Best Narrative Film at the 58^th Golden Horse Awards in 2021.

Review - Wild and Woolly

December 3, 2023
 
Wild and Woolly – U.S., 1917
 

It seems strange to admit this, but for most of my time spent watching movies, the career of Douglas Fairbanks had been a blind spot. Sure, I had seen The Thief of Bagdad, but that had been as an avid fan of Anna May Wong, not as one eager to discover one of film’s first superstars, and subsequently, I did not pursue Fairbanks’ other films. My curiosity was eventually piqued by a plot summary of his film The Half-Breed and by Bosley Crowther’s inclusion of Fairbanks’ Robin Hood in his 1967 book The Great Films: Fifty Golden Years of Motion Pictures. While neither of those films earned rave reviews from me, his performances in them were enough to rope me in.
 
John Emerson's Wild and Woolly was Fairbanks’ seventeenth film, and while already a star, he had yet to make the swashbuckling, heroic films that would ultimately make him a legend. However, he was well on his way to establishing himself as a romantic superhero. Just a year earlier, in The Matrimaniac, he (and a reluctant priest) had gone through a series of physical challenges just to be able to marry the love of his life over the objection of her traditional father (a common theme in early silents), and his role in Flirting with Fate had audiences awe-struck upon seeing his physically challenging attempts to elude a hit man he’d regrettably hired to whack him. It may not always have made sense that his characters were suddenly able to do such acrobatic moves, but there’s no denying their impressiveness.
 
In Wild and Woolly, he plays Jeff Hillington, the son of Collis J. Hillington, who, in this film at least, was responsible for taming the Wild West with the railroad. In fact, the film begins with a series of comparisons between the West as it was in the olden days – replete with cowboys, shoot-ups, and wagons - and as it is today – “ruined” by technology. Jeff, we soon learn, has a massive obsession with the Wild West and his room is practically a shrine to the days he idolizes. It is here where he practices the “cowboy” skills he has so often seen romanticized in Hollywood movies (using real bullets!). At one point, he lassos the family butler and later offers some modern businessmen some of his tobacco block. He even looks at an actress on a poster for the latest Hollywood western and proclaims her the kind of woman he wants to marry. All of this gets him the reputation of being a nut.
 
Early scenes are fun, even though they make Jeff more akin to the kind of man-child that Harry Langdon played so often in his career than a full-fledged character who just happens to have an unusual interest. The film further stretches believability when it shows Jeff playing in his room alone atop a life-size toy horse with the same amount of energy as a genuine cowboy likely showed during an actual competition or stampede. As for how he acquired the impressive horseback-riding skills he later displays, we can only surmise that it has something to do with the fact that his father is extremely wealthy and that he appears to have a lot of free time on his hands.
 
The film kicks into high gear upon the introduction of two plot threads. The first involves a mine in a small Arizonan town that comes to the attention of Jeff’s father (Walter Bytell) and his decision to send Jeff to investigate it. The second has to do with the greedy schemes of a Caucasian Indian Agent named Steve Shelby (Sam De Grasse), whose nefarious activities have made him rich but wary about hanging around dodge too much longer. When word of Jeff’s impending arrival and his fascination with the West reaches the mining town, the residents decide to recreate those special times in an attempt to win his support for the mine (which, curiously, he never actually visits), while Shelby decides to use Jeff’s visit to pull off a final heist and then skedaddle out of town with a young lady named Nell (well played by Eileen Percy) who couldn’t care less about him, thus setting the stage for an actual western adventure. This part of the film is highly entertaining, as Jeff is an unsuspecting participant in a series of staged events right out of a movie screenplay, including a train robbery and the rescuing of a damsel in distress.
 
The film is of course a product of its time, and some contemporary viewers will likely object to what could be interpreted as stereotypical portrayals of nameless antagonistic Native Americans. However, I chose to see their role as the result of the unique circumstances of this particular tribe. It isn’t a stretch to conceive of their alcoholism and eagerness to attack the town as being the results of Shelby’s efforts to enrich himself at all costs, for what better way to bend people to one’s will than to deprive them of basic necessities and make them dependent on an addictive substance? Seen in this light, the only real villains are Shelby and his partner in crime, Pedro (Charles Stevens). Much less explainable is the exaggerated fractured English in the intertitles, again an unfortunate and distracting product of their time.
 
Still, as with many silent films, Wild and Woolly remains charming and entertaining, despite such elements. Fairbanks plays naiveté and innocence rather well, and his stunt work remains impressive. The cast seems to be having a ball in the scene in which the town stages events from the past, and Fairbanks and Percy are convincing as a pair of young people falling in love steadily. It is said that many silent films had musicians near the set playing music designed to help actors express emotions more clearly. For this film, I’ll bet it was Elger’s “Salut d’Amour.”  (on DVD as part of Flicker Alley’s box set Douglas Fairbanks: A Modern Musketeer)
 
3 and a half stars
 
*Wild and Woolly is a silent film.
*Eileen Percy appeared in 72 films from 1917 – 1943. I look forward to seeing more of her performances.

In Memorium: Dariush Mehrjui

 Gone, but Not Forgotten

Dariush Mehrjui

December 8, 1939 - October 14, 2023

There are days when the world makes little sense. The fourteenth of October was one such day, for that was when someone broke into the home that 83-year old Iranian director Dariush Mehrjui shared with his wife, Vahideh Mohammadifar, and stabbed them both to death. Words seem trivial here, and speaking of movies while their family and friends are grieving feels rather heartless.

However, I will be eternally grateful to Mr. Mehrjui for helping to open my eyes to Iranian Cinema, its history, and Iranian culture. I will remember the humanity he gave to the central character of his 1969 film, The Cow, a man struggling to accept both the loss of his pet cow and the status having the only cow in the village afforded him. And I will always be grateful for the chance to see Leila, his 1997 meditation on tradition and its affects on a young woman whose inability to conceive threatens to make her a second-class citizen in her own home. I was both moved and enlightened by these movies, and I offer my sincere condolences to his family. 

Review - Robin Hood (1922)

 October 9, 2023
 
Robin Hood – U.S., 1922
 

It is said that the script for Douglas Fairbanks’s 1922 film Robin Hood consisted of just a few sentences scribbled on a piece of scratch paper. While I imagine scenes were more carefully planned out later on, the lack of foreplaning may account for the jarring sudden shift in tone midway through the film. After all, this is a film that for more than an hour seems much more like a drama than a comedy. It’s as if halfway through production someone ran what they had filmed so far and insisted on the insertion of humor and tights. So jarring is the switch that it makes you wonder if the man formerly known as the Earl of Huntingdon had suddenly developed amnesia regarding the degree of suffering being experienced by the residents of Nottingham.
 
Robin Hood begins with a feast celebrating King Richard’s soon-to-be-embarked upon mission into the Holy Land, more commonly known as the beginning of the Crusades. This is presented as a cause for pomp and celebration and as the fulfillment a personal mission. Current students of history may watch this and roll their eyes, especially at the rather positive view of a historical figure who ordered the massacre of 500 unarmed prisoners, yet it’s also easy to believe that at the time many people considered not only the Crusades to be worth fighting but also the men going off to fight it to be heroes. King Richard (played by screen legend Wallace Beery) places Prince John (Sam De Grasse) in charge during his absence, andit is a mistake of astronomical proportions, as the prince quickly raises taxes, seizes household possessions when people cannot pay, reinstates execution, and tortures women who spurn his advances. It’s truly brutal stuff.
 
The first half of the film also contains the first meeting of Huntingdon (Douglas Fairbanks) and Lady Marian (Enid Bennett), and this is portrayed much less romantically as later versions. Instead of linking eyes and feeling the early pitter-patters of love, Huntingdon spies Prince John stalking Marian as she flees upstairs to escape his unwanted and potentially violent advances. After saving her from a potential assault, he is surprised by her humble and soft-spoken manner, and soon the two are gazing into each other’s eyes, theirs faces adorned with the kind of expression that enthusiastically whispers, “Can you believe this is happening to us?” It’s hokey, but it works.
 
Director Allan Dwan does an excellent job of building up the tension, cutting between scenes of Prince John’s increasingly belligerent nature and the men’s blissful ignorance of what is going on in their absence. Dwan plays up Marian’s innocence in a series of close-ups that reflect both the hopefulness of a someone in love for the first time and the naïve practicality of someone who believes that a few sound words of advice are all a tyrant needs to be able to change his ways. Dwan also knows how to film Fairbanks, and his camera is frequently placed at the ideal angle to capture Marian’s and Huntingdon’s torn expressions and looks of concern. I would also be remiss in my duties if I did not mention the impressive sets.
 
By the end of the first half of the film, one character is thought dead, while another is heartbroken and hell-bent of revenge. Perhaps this is why what follows felt so jarring. We suddenly see that Huntingdon has taken on the name of Robin Hood and become known for his habit of stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. Now there are a number of ways one could convey the commitment Robin feels both to help the people survive and to get revenge on Prince John. Unfortunately, Fairbanks and Dwan opt to make Robin Hood a character that leaps practically every other moment, stops and laughs mid-escapade, and grins while engaging in pretty deadly swordplay. In other words, he’s now a comic character in a swashbuckling adventure, the kind whose duels inspire both wonder and fun and fill you with amazement at the skills involved in his physical deeds, such as climbing up a long castle drape and fighting off gangs of Prince John’s men the way martial arts heroes do their legions of enemies. It can be argued that, seeing as how this is a Robin Hood film, the shift was necessary. However, the change in tone is too jarring, and it hurts the rest of the film.
 
As the Earl of Huntingdon, Fairbanks is simple amazing; as Robin Hood, while he certainly gives it the old college try, he’s less so. Sure, he does some remarkable stunts and impresses with his physical prowess, yet all of this comes at the expense of the film’s emotional pull. It is hard to remain concerned about the lives of a population living under a brutal regime, while simultaneously being asked to marvel at a character’s acrobatic wonders. Again, this is fault of the script, not the performers. This is not to say that the second act does not contain a certain level of charm, but it makes the film escapist rather than dramatic, something easily forgotten, rather than pondered on and analyzed. In the end, Robin Hood is two films – one cinematic and the other pure Hollywood, and I simply preferred the former. (on DVD and Blu-ray from Cohen Film Collection)
 
3 stars
 
*Robin Hood is a silent film.
*Playing Little John is none other than Alan Hale, better known as the Skipper from Gilligan’s Island.