Review - The Strong Man

 April 18, 2022
 
The Strong Man – U.S., 1924
 

Legend has it that Charlie Chaplin shut down production of his 1931 film, City Lights, for a year due to a terrible case of creator’s block; see, he just couldn’t explain why a blind woman would mistake the Tramp for a wealthy patron. While that length of time might seem excessive, I can understand Chaplin’s desire to get it right, and perhaps part of his obsession with finding the right rationale was due to a film released just five years earlier that must have driven coherency-focused writers like Chaplin absolutely nuts. That film was Frank Capra’s The Strong Man, starring former circus, medicine show, and Vaudeville performer, Harry Langdon.
 
In The Strong Man, Langdon plays Paul Bergot, a Belgian World War I soldier stationed in No Man’s Land. When Bergot isn’t firing at unseen German soldiers, he’s gazing longingly at the picture of Mary Brown, a young woman who has confessed her love for him in a letter he must have read a million times. When he lets his guard down and resumes gazing at her picture, he is captured by a rather large strong German soldier who whisks him away presumably to a POW camp. I say presumably because the very next time we see him, he’s the assistant of this very same German soldier and traveling around the U.S. as the marquee member of a strong man act. I imagine the story of their pairing would have made for quite an interesting film.
 
Slapstick is sometimes described as a collection of humorous scenes loosely connected to a romantic subplot that hardly seems to have been given the time needed for it to blossom and engage, and The Strong Man fits this description for the most part. In addition to the scene in No Man’s Land, in which German bullets actually do Bergot a favor by exterminating the cooties crawling over him, there’s a humorous bit involving Bergot, the strong man, and some rather large luggage, a clever bit in which Bergot unsuccessfully tries to get away from a woman who hid a wad of stolen money in his coat pocket (she initially claims to be “Little Mary”), Bergot’s attempts at putting on a strong man act solo, and finally a long scene in which he defends Mary’s honor against a scoundrel intent on making Mary one of his “attractions” as punishment for her preacher father’s campaign against sin and vice. In other words, the film has enough creative elements to work wonders. There’s even an extremely clever bit in which Bergot is tossed from a wagon only to tumble down a hill and crash into the very same wagon as it continues its way down a hill.
 
My favorite of these bits is the one involving the femme fatale (Gertrude Astor) because of its extraordinary choreography. In one clever bit, the woman keeps trying to reach into Bergot’s pocket only for him to turn at the most inopportune moment. There’s also a clever moment in which Bergot has realized the woman is not Mary (for rather old-fashioned reasons) and begun to walk away after she feigns passing out (really, that happens). The only problem is that a good Samaritan just happens to be nearby and calls out that he can’t just leave her like that, which in reality, he can’t and doesn’t. The scene culminates in Bergot carrying the woman up the stairs leading to her apartment and mistaking a number of things for steps. This part of the film is comic perfection.
 
And yet the rest of film does not work nearly as well as it should, primarily because the romantic angle is a headscratcher. So, here are two characters established in early scenes as being in love, and yet apparently they’ve never met. Perhaps there was a pen pal program during the First World War that I’m unware of, but it is hard to imagine how true love could flourish under such circumstances, especially 80 years before the idea of social media existed (and I’m still not entirely sold on the idea that it can flourish there). In fact, much of what passes as narrative in the film involves Bergot searching for Mary and knowing her so poorly that he runs in the direction of anyone whose names just happens to resemble hers.
 
And then we meet her, and the romantic pairing makes even less sense. See, Mary Brown (Priscilla Bonner), like the little flower girl in City Lights is blind, which begs more than a few questions, not the least of which is Who wrote the letters? I’ll add a few more. How did they start corresponding? Who took the picture? And finally, What was her plan for their eventual meeting? Again, the film has no answers. It seems more content to make Bergot her knight in shining armor, which is fine, yet its disinterest in justifying its characters’ deep feelings, reminiscent of the way it avoids explaining how two soldiers on the opposite side of a war could end up a Vaudeville team, hurts the film, for why should viewers invest in a couple or partnership if the makers of the film had no interest in rewarding that investment?
 
Sure, the two characters share a sweetness after they actually meet, and the film’s closing moments evoke the kind of warmth and contentment that accompanies most happy endings. However, here those feelings feel unearned, a bi-product of our natural disposition to smile whenever a princess gets her Prince Charming, even as we sense how ludicrous their pairing actually is.
 
Still, The Strong Man remains a decent film. Perhaps my misgivings have more to do with the curse of looking back, for seeing things in reverse order can make progress look like reversion, stripping a film of its rightful role as a necessary step in the development of cinema. One would hope story rises above aesthetics, but sometimes it does not, and having seen an idea done better can make another rendition of it less impressive regardless of whether one can mentally put the two films in chronological order. City Lights spoiled us, and its greatness makes similar movies – whether predecessors or successors – pale in comparison. It’s unfair, but…really, who wrote the darn letter? (on DVD as part of Kino’s Harry Langdon… the Forgotten Clown)
 
3 stars

Review - It's a Wonderful Life

December 20, 2012

It’s a Wonderful Life – U.S., 1946

During the Decembers of my childhood, viewing Frank Capra’s It’s a Wonderful Life was an annual tradition. It was shown on television every December, and it was so beloved that the owner of The Magic Theater would hold free screenings of it. It was his gift to the residents of Nevada City, Grass Valley, and all of the towns nearby. Perhaps because of this oversaturation, I developed a bit of a love-hate relationship with the film. What I could remember of it, I loved, but I hated the idea of sitting through it again. (Bear in mind that this was during my “black-and-white movies are boring” phase, which I didn’t really grow out of until after I graduated from high school.) In honor of the holidays this year, I decided it was time to give it another spin, to return to the wonderful small town of Bedford Falls and all of its joyful and optimistic residents. And like a movie character who returns to his childhood home after a long self-imposed exile, I now find it hard to resist saying that old cinematic cliché: I shouldn’t have stayed away for so long.

It’s a Wonderful Life is the story of George Bailey, a man whose instinct even as a young child is to fight, not to flee. This is a little ironic given the fact that his lifelong dream is to leave Bedford Falls and lead a life of excitement and purpose. See, George, like many young people, wants to be someone, and he’s convinced that he will never amount to anything in a small town. I suspect that many people these days would echo those sentiments, especially those with visions of being the next Internet-made millionaire. One reason George’s head is filled with visions of adventure and excitement is that a magazine featuring the world’s many exotic places and people has started publication – National Geographic. To people of George’s time, reading this magazine must have been the equivalent of watching the moon landing in 1969 or viewing Curiosity’s most recent discoveries on the surface of Mars. New world’s – be they terrestrial or intergalactic – stir in people the impulse to leave their comfort zone and explore, and so upon his graduation from high school, George Bailey is determined to go to college outside of Bedford Falls and then never look back.

However, life has a way of disrupting carefully-made plans and delaying lifelong dreams, sometimes forever. George’s dreams are put on hold after the death of his father, and they are further postponed after he agrees to take over his father’s business. He does this for the noblest of reasons, but it is clear that his heart is not entirely into it. The explorer in him still has dreams of scaling the world’s tallest mountains, and the architect in him still envisions himself building the kinds of skyscrapers that inspire awe in every person who sees them. His dreams certainly don’t include working at a bank for the rest of his life. I suspect that many viewers will see someone they know in George Bailey. He’s the person who loved singing but never got the chance to become a famous singer, the athlete who didn’t get a chance to play in the major leagues despite having considerable talent, the potential doctor who got a job in a factory because his family needed the money.

Like many of the small towns in films, Bedford Falls is a pretty marvelous place to raise a child in. It is a place where everyone knows each other, where it is normal to marry your high-school sweetheart, and where father always knows best. It is also a place where the men are all gentlemen and the women are generally the type any mother would love for her son to bring home. However, the film wisely does not build Bedford Falls up to be as idyllic as it could have, for doing so would result in George coming across as a bit of an ingrate. No, the world is changing, and Bedford Falls has its share of problems, most of them having to do with economics. There is a clear line between the haves and the have nots here, and therefore, the villain of the film is not the big city with its numerous temptations and vices, but the town’s wealthiest resident, Mr. Potter, who, if he had his way, would evict every struggling resident from their homes instead of extending them a helping hand. This George’s father did, and George has followed in his father’s footsteps. At one point, we become aware of Bailey Park, a section of town build from scratch and financed by loans from George’s bank, loans, it should be pointed out, which would never have been approved by any of the other banks, most, if not all, of which are owned by Mr. Potter. In fact, in one scene, we see what a Potter-financed city would look like, and like the alternate universe that Marty McFly steps into in the second Back to the Future film, it isn’t pretty. George, therefore, is David to Potter’s Goliath, and his bank is more like Bangladesh’s Grameen Bank than any of the major ones that exist today.

There is much to admire in It’s a Wonderful Life, from the beautiful way the film is structured to its smart and realistic screenplay by Francis Goodrich, Albert Hackett, Jo Swerling, and Frank Capra. Director Frank Capra gets impressive performances from his cast, in particular from the always reliable Jimmy Stewart. Part of what remains admirable about Stewart’s performance is that he never forgets two of George’s most memorable traits, his need to pursue his dreams and his spunk. In the film, we see George as a teenager displaying an impressive amount of swagger; we see this from time to time in George after he has grown up, too. Also memorable is Donna Reed as Mary. Mary sees something special in Bedford Falls, and in one crucial moment, she makes it clear that its residents come first. Reed plays the moment just beautifully.

Like many of the best films, It’s a Wonderful Life was a box office disappointment upon its initial release in 1946. It has since found a place in the hearts of both moviegoers and critics, and deservedly so. If there is a flaw in the film, it is its final act, which plays like a collection of flashbacks, the sole purpose of which seems to be to remind viewers of what they have already seen. Therefore, we’re told again about George’s ice rescue, his ear condition, his childhood boss, and so on. It is as if Capra and his co-writers didn’t think the audience would remember all that came before. However, while I suspect that most viewers will not need the reminder, I honestly can’t think of another way for the film to end.

The film reminds us that there has always been a struggle between those whose response to human suffering is cold and unemotional and those whose response is sympathetic and caring. It reminds us of the power and connection of communities and of the lifelong respect that comes with being a help to society. Moreover, it reminds us that sometimes life throws roadblocks at us for a reason, that sometimes we are more valuable in a field other than the one we would have chosen for ourselves. We should all be as rich as George Bailey. (on DVD and Blu-ray)

4 and a half stars

Capsule Review - Arsenic and Old Lace

Arsenic and Old Lace (U.S., 1944) – Pity Mortimer Brewster (Cary Grant). Just as his life was just starting to seem normal, he returns home to announce his recent marriage, only to find that his brother (John Alexander) believes he is Teddy Roosevelt and his two sweet aunts (Josephine Hull and Jean Adair) have developed the nasty habit of “helping” lonely old men go to a better place using a concoction of arsenic and wine. Adding to this stress is the sudden arrival of his other, much more homicidal brother, Jonathon (Raymond Massey), a man who bears an unfortunate resemblance to Boris Karloff in Frankenstein. The cast is excellent, and the film is consistently funny. Grant, as always, steals the show, playing a man whose life is suddenly turned upside down by the most unexpected of circumstances. Peter Lorre has a memorable role as well. This is truly a great comedy. (on DVD)

4 stars