A note on The Devil’s Disciple (Guy Hamilton, 1959)

Seeing The Devil´s Disciple and thinking that in the space of a decade or so Burt Lancaster essayed Shaw, Inge, Williams, Rattigan, Miller, Odets: All the major dramatists of his day. I can´t think of another major star who did that (and yes I know Brando did Shakespeare and Williams). On another note, Kirk Douglas is so much better in the film than Laurence Olivier, who acts 25 expressions for every word, and every word is given a different intonation.

Olivier ‘acts’:

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Burt plays a saintly minister until he can’t take British oppression any more and is forced to take care of the action:

 

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José Arroyo

Day 9 – Trouble in Paradise (Ernst Lubtisch, 1932)

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Day 9:
I was nominated by Andrew Grimes Griffin – One movie poster a day for 10 days. The no explanation bit is annoying people so:

I get older. Lubitsch films only get younger, wiser, more inventive, more understanding, more inclusive and funnier. Time and understanding have made depths from all its delightful surfaces. I love them all but have a few on pretty constant rotation: Lady Windermere´s Fan, To Be or Not To Be, The Shop Around the Corner, and todays choice, Trouble in Paradise. As I schlep around my flat from fridge to desk, stove to sofa, the peerless elegance, glamour and wit, the graceful skating over surfaces, the intelligence of Lubitsch become more welcome than ever. And anyone who hasn´t seen the scene where MIriam Hopkins and Herbert Marshall reveal what each has stolen from the other as a a form of flirtation, an indication of attraction and then a final declaration of love, each gag topping the other, is missing out on one of THE great moments in films history, I am single-minded in trying to convert people, but a particular failure since such enthusiasms breed resistance when all that is really needed is to see the films. But this might be the moment. What could be better in Covid Times than a little Lubitsch touch?

 

José Arroyo

Day 8 – Sammy and Rosy Get Laid (Stephen Frears, UK, 1987)

sammy and Rosie

 

Day 8:
I was nominated by Andrew Grimes Griffin – One movie poster a day for 10 days. The no explanation bit is annoying people so: I loved British cinema in the 80s. The diversity: The Long Good Friday, A Private Function, Mona Lisa, The Merchant-Ivories, Dance with a Stranger, Brittania Hospital, The Greenways and Jarmans, the Bill Forsyths. And these of the top of my head. All were much discussed and remain memorable. My favourite of these was the run of films Stephen Frears had in the mid-80s: Launderette, Prick up Your Ears and my favourite of all: Sammy and Rosie Get Laid. I loved the interracial aspect, the visual inventiveness, the sexyness and cool embodied by Roland Gift, the social critique. Little did I know that it´s a film that inspired vitriol by the people I liked best in Britain….and for the moments in the film I liked best, e.g. the description of a Sunday (or was it a Saturday), holding hands with your loved one after a night of passion, walking through the Southbank, visiting a gallery, going to a movie and catching a lecture. My idea of a perfect Sunday. Who knew that would invoke all kinds of class hatred. That , if I remember correctly, it was Colin McCabe who gave the lecture in the film might have had something to do with it. But still. Anyway this raised all kinds of issues of cross-cultural analysis, what does one need to know? We understand knowing little can be a problem. But can it also be a problem to know too much?

 

José Arroyo

Burt in Scorpio

Michael Winner’s films are remarkable in that his camera placements always seems off. How he got to make so many is one of the great mysteries. Luckily you can’t go much wrong with close-ups of stars. This is from Scorpio, which also stars Alain Delon and Paul Scofield:

 

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Burt on the Trapeze

At the very opening of Trapeze, we see an aerial act on the trapeze, from a distance, then from below, and finally the acrobat lands, turns around and it’s …Burt Lancaster! Doing his own stunt! Its own thrilling moment of spectacle. No other special effect needed. We have not forgotten that extraordinary people doing extraordinary things with their bodies is graceful, beautiful, awe-inspiring, amazing, spectacular. Youtube is full of such moments from sports. But the movies seem to have forgotten. It’s not the thing being done (easily imaged through CGI) as it’s the demonstration that it is people doing those extraordinary things. This is one example:

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Day Seven: Ten Films in Ten Days — All That Heaven Allows

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I saw this as a teen at the Cinémathèque Québécoise. I was going through a Holden Cauldfield period where I thought everyone was a phony. And the biggest phonies were those who claimed this was a great movie. I think I half snorted, half-giggled my way through my first viewing, to the annoyance of my friends. They were talking about colour and screens and mirrors. I was, ´so stilted…and the deer!´. Learning to love and appreciate Sirk was my way of learning to see differently and learning different ways of seeing. The memory of that first experience has come in very handy when teaching the film subsequently. Laura Mulvey has written that one can map a whole history of Film Studies onto the history of the various approaches to Sirk: auteurist, Brechtian, Sociological, Feminist, Queer, etc. etc. and that is indeed the case. It´s now a film I never tire of watching…for the colours, and the mirrors, and the camera movement and the screens….and all what i then thought was ´phony´talk about it.

José Arroyo

Day Six – Ten Films in Ten Days: Ensayo de un crimen/ The Criminal Life of Archibaldo de la Cruz

The Criminal Life of Archibaldo de la Cruz

Day 6:
I was nominated by Andrew Grimes Griffin – One movie a day for 10 days. The no explanation bit is annoying people so: The Concordia Conservatoire ran a retrospective of Buñuel films in the early/mid 1980s. I remember packing a thermos and sandwiches because I wanted to see them all and one never knew then when one would get another chance. This experience taught me the value of seeng a director´s films in chronological order, one begins to notice styles that change and develop, one begins to recognise groupings of actors that seem to inhabit and characterise a particular director´s work, themes and approaches, in Buñuel the black corrosive humour, the attitudes to religion, the Surrealism not only of particular scenes but as an approach that envelops all his work. One begins to love even the weaker films, and seeing each becomes inhabiting the world of that particular narrative but also the world of Buñuel, a world within a world.. I could have chosen any of his films really. This one´s stayed with me because of the dummy and the leg, so wittily deployed later by Almodóvar in the opening scenes of Live Flesh.

Day Five — Ten Films in Ten Days

I began playing the Ten Films in Ten Days game on Facebook. The instructions were: ‘I was nominated by Andrew Grimes Griffin – One movie a day for 10 days. No explanation, no reviews, just the poster of the movie that greatly influenced my film-loving life.’ However, the no-explanation bit annoyed people so much that I decided to offer it, and since I am writing them, I thought I´d also share them here:

law of desire

 

Day 5:
I was nominated by Andrew Grimes Griffin – One movie a day for 10 days. The no explanation bit is annoying people so: I saw this at the Montreal Film Festival when it came out and was completely delighted and shocked it came from Spain. I then went to the Toronto Film Festival and they had a mini retrospective of his work and I was so excited about that that I went to Madrid and interviewed Almodóvar at his flat. He was watching on replay the bit in Written on the Wind where MeryLee goes up the stairs and does that frenzied dancing no one who´s seen the film has forgotten. I annoyed him by mentioning I liked Gutierrez-Aragon´s films. The result was published in Descant, a literary magazine I think no longer exists. This then led to me doing an MA on Almodóvar and The Law of Desire with Thomas Elsaesser at UEA, in the midst of which I also remember going to Spain and with great difficulty getting all his early films from his production company to aid with my research. So this film is what led to an academic career, and the irony is that the schedules and finances of academic life, or at least mine, never permitted me to do that kind of research again, the being able to travel, interview, and then having a year of doing nothing but reading, seeing and writing. Voila.

José Arroyo

The Hallellujah Trail (John Sturges, 1965)

 

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‘See how the west was FUN’ says the poster. Except we can’t really, the film is a superlong super production in Ultra Panavision 70. There are various versions, 35mm and 70mm, the longest being 165 minutes, replete with overture and intermission, and it’s neither funny nor exciting enough to support such a length.

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Burt Lancaster, now over 50 is cast as Colonel Thaddeus Gearhart, the father of a grown daughter (Pamela Tiffin), engaged to one of his underlings (Robert Hutton) but taken up with the combination of women’s liberation and the temperance movement preached by the very popular Cora Templeton Massingale (Lee Remick), who preaches that women can only be free from patriarchy and equal to men once men stop being enslaved to the demon drink. This poses a bit of a problem as the Colonel’s forces are meant to accompany 40 wagons of whisky to Denver, who’s running short and afraid of running dry once winter sets and travel rendered impossible. Thus the women accompany the army, the owner of the whisky (Brian Keith), the Denver town drunks lead by a very funny Donald Pleasance, and various tribes of native peoples who are after the whisky for themselves. It’s all meant to be funny but all that ‘poking fun’ at Indians and Feminists often crosses the line into offensiveness. That Martin Landau is cast as a greedy Indian Chief and that the role is just a patronising punch line to many of the situations is all you need to know to understand what I mean.

 

The film is shot in Ultra Panavision 70, some of the shots of horses and caravans amidst the great outdoors are truly spectacular. There is a consistency of tone established by a voice-over, often verbally ironising what one sees on screen. Donald Pleasance has some lovely moments as an oracle who can only foresee the future with the aid of whisky, with his sky-blue eyes lighting up amidst the dirt of his face every time he has a vision. It’s a dreamy, delirious and affectionate turn. One of the few things in this film that does actually work. Lastly,  I think the film is also worth seeing for the insertion of a then nascent second-wave feminist movement into the Western genre, almost certainly a response to the emerging movement in the States at that point, but which is rare enough for me to want to include the clips below:

 

 

 

The sign ‘Women Can Remake the World’, the singing, Robert Hutton’s reactions, all are pleasurable.  ‘If we are to enjoy equal rights with men then we are to respect him and if we are to respect him we must save him from himself and the poison of alcoholic spirits. Do you agree?’  says Cora/Lee Remick. Emancipation, Freedom for Women, Women Can Remake the World: These are phrases not normally heard in a Western.  The singing of the Hymn of the Republic then wraps this feminism in the flag and inserts it into a narrative of the founding of the US, gives it a history, represents the First Wave so to speak, except it’s a comic one, played for laughs, though the women are not as offensively the butt of jokes as the Native Peoples or the Irishmen threatening to strike.

 

 

In the clip above you can see Burt Lancaster’s reaction to Lee Remick’s discourse: ‘Our enemy has two heads, first the enslavement of women by men and secondly the enslavement of men by the remorseless tyrant alcohol. We must reach out for freedom and tear this tyrant from the lips of men.’ The cutting always returns to Lancasters’ reaction, which the audience is asked to identify with, particularly as his daughter has joined up with the cause.   And when the women decide to march along with the wagons to Denver, the Colonels’s underling asks, ‘What are we to do Sir? What happens if we run into Indians?’ ‘I pray for the Indians,’ says the Colonel.

 

JA

Eavesdropping at the Movies: 224 – Le Cercle rouge

Listen on the players above, on Apple Podcasts, or on Spotify.

We conclude our dalliance with Jean-Pierre Melville with 1970’s Le Cercle rouge, a heist film with an impressive cast of Alain Delon, Gian Maria Volonté, and Yves Montand. We discuss how genre conventions operate in the film – the shortcuts an understanding of genre provides allow details to make the difference, Mike suggesting that it all comes out through character relationships and quirks.

In discussing Le Cercle rouge, we think back on what we’ve learned about Melville’s style, themes and interests. For Melville, emotional attachment is dangerous and makes one vulnerable; it’s a rather bleak outlook, but José argues that his films aren’t without their romantic aspects. Mike remarks upon the way in which Melville’s style has been interpreted and appropriated by the filmmakers he influenced, noting that the vivacity with which, for instance, Quentin Tarantino effuses about Melville is not reflective of Melville’s films themselves, which are slower and more pensive than you might be led to expect. To José, it’s existentialist cinema through and through, and, naturally, he loves it.

With José Arroyo of First Impressions and Michael Glass of Writing About Film.

An observation on the blondness of Sturges’ West in Gunfight at the OK Corral

My Burt Lancaster film of last night was Gunfight at the OK Corral (John Sturges, 1957), a landmark hit of the fifties, with one of those ballads sung throughout (by Frankie Laine), that help pace and narrate and that Cat Ballou (Elliot Silverstein, 1965) would parody to great effect a decade later. What struck me most was not just the whiteness of Sturges’ West– there isn’t a black person, Indian or Mexican in the whole movie — but its blondness. Everyone seems fair haired or blu-eyed or both: not just Kirk and Burt and Joan Van Fleet, but the supporting cast as well: Earl Holliman, John Ireland, Martin Milner, DeForest Kelly, Lee Van Cleef. Rhonda Fleming’s red hair is about the only bit of diversity. Dennis Hopper as the youngest Clanton brother, fresh from his appearance in Rebel Without A Cause (Nicholas Ray, 1955), lit very beautiful to underline the tragedy of his death to come, still to shed his baby fat, and half the size of Burt, is what led to this thought.

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The film pays subtle hommage to John Ford’s My Darling Clementine (1946):

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It’s worth comparing what this film might signify in contrast to Burt and Kirk’s first pairing as two Depression gangsters caught up in a postwar world of passion, crime and shadows a decade earlier in I Walk Alone (Byron Haskin, 1947).

It’s also worth contrasting to the presence of native peoples, Mexicans and blacks –the latter often in tiny or non-speaking roles but as soldiers or figures of authority — in the Robert Aldrich/ Burt Lancaster westerns such as Apache and Vera Cruz, both released in 1954.

 

 

The film was a worldwide success that left an imprint on several generations and was easily parodied. As you can see here in the Goodies episode of Bunfight at the OK Tea Rooms that  Nicky Smith directed me to:

 

 

And Richard Layne has also pointed out to me that there’s also the Doctor Who version, complete with a song:

 

 

 

Binge-watching on the Universal Channel

 

 

Does anyone else fend themselves regressing to the comforts of childhood at this time? After a day of marking, I could have re-seen the Clouzot films on MUBI that I love — Le corbeau (1943)and  Qaui des orfèvres (1947) — but I just couldn´t think anymore and found myself subscribing to the Universal channel, where I saw Stanley Donen´s Arabesque (1966), with Sofia Loren and a stiff Gregory Peck. The film´s a bit leaden but charming and as evocative of sixties glamour as anything I´ve seen, Sofia wearing Dior throughout, and Donen filming everything in an imaginative and colourful way, with a pop sensibility one associates with Swinging Sixties. Each shot is playful if not exactly meaningful. A film that doesn´t quite work but that remains a lot of fun.

I also saw Operation Petticoat (Blake Edwards, 1959) which made me understand the whispers around Blake Edward´s sexuality — all those half-naked sailers on the submarine and, despite all the talk, such a subdued look at the nurses –and where Tony Curtis is so good he outshines Cary Grant (yes, it´s possible). I ended the evening with The Black Shield of Falsworth (Rudolph Maté, 1954), where Curtis is not good. You can see he does many of his own stunts but without the grace of movement someone like Lancaster would have brought to them — every move´s an effort for Tony.  but Janet Leigh  is at her most beautiful, Herbert Marshall is recognisable only by his voice but that´s enough, and the whole thing is a lighthearted silly medieval adventure that looks quite good. These are films that were on rotation on tv channels when I was young and I found a certain comfort in the re-visit.

 

José Arroyo

Burt gif from The Rose Tattoo

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A Note on Code Inconnu (Michael Haneke, 2000)

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Has there ever been a better illustration of Trin T. Min-ha´s precept that there´s a ´first world in every third world and vice versa´? An act of littering by a young man, Jean (Alexandre Hamidi) leads to a dispute. The wrapping paper seems to hit a beggar woman Maria (Luminita Gehorgiou), and Amadou (Ona Ly Yenke), a young black teacher, chases after him to demand an apology. Anne (Juliet Binoche) the parter of Jean´s brother, Georges (Thierry Nouvic) gets involved in the melée. The result is that the black man is taken to the police station, the migrant woman is deported and, seemingly, Jean and Anne are left to go on with their lives. But things are not so simple, the film posits a rural/ metropolitan divide. Jean lives with his father on a farm and wants a different kind of life but if he goes for it the farm will dissolve. Jean will leave the farm and we will never be told what happens to him,.

Anne and George both work with images. Anne is an actress. She´s constantly performing, inhabiting, trying out, changing, manipulating the images she helps construct. She´s had some success but her gender makes her vulnerable, and in metro cars she can be easily intimidated and harassed by Arab youths out for a lark (the youth and the older man who tells him he ought to be ashamed of himself for his behaviour will play father and son in Caché). Georges is a photographer who goes to war zones to document what he sees. He finds life simpler there, easier than the farm with his father, and simpler than Paris and his relationship with Anne. But do his pictures make a difference?

At the beginning of the film, a child performs a guess game to other children, seemingly deaf and mute, who must guess the idea or thing being performed. But they can´t. They don´t have the code to unlock its meaning. Likewise, with the rest of the film. Amadou´s family lives in Paris. But they don´t understand him. His mother likes to have her life explained according to superstitions from her village in Mali and thinks her son´s bad luck comes from seeing a white woman. The father, who drives a cab in Paris, leaves them to return home where his car makes him a rich man. Likewise, with Maria, selling papers on the streets of Paris but a woman of property in her village in Romania, building houses so that each of her daughters can marry and driven to tears because she remembers the disgust with which she gave money to a gypsy beggarwoman and realises that now people treat her in the same way.

 

All the scenes progress linearly and all these various worlds intersect in the film. But, each having its own code, these worlds, much less the events that take place in them are only understood by those who live within them and have access to the various codes of communication, ones that differ even when different peoples and cultures share a geographical space.

The abrupt cuts to black, often with characters in mid-sentence, has the effect of creating a different sense of time and space, the narrative moves forward, but at each instance one gets the sense that the other characters one is not seeing continue to inhabit the story, that there are different stories of which one is getting only a partial view. Time encompasses many spaces in this film. Even when the fim´s showing you only the particulars of one space, the lives of those who inhabit that particular space in that particular time, the abruptness of the cuts and the severe and lingering fades to black, create a feeling that all those other lives in all of those different but interconnected spaces, continue. Now if we only had the codes necessary to understand them,.

 

This lack of understanding is not just between rural-metropolitan, north and southern Europe, Europe and Africa, white versus black or Arab, but also between male and female: ´Have you ever made anyone happy? asks Anne of Georges.

It´s a great work and I´m only sorry it´t taken me 20 years to re-visit it.

 

José Arroyo

 

 

Villainous Burt in Vera Cruz

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Burt Lancaster in Bellissima

In Visconti’s Bellissima, all of Ana Magnani’s dreams of cinema get crushed. But then she hears Burt Lancaster’s voice…..Her husband’s a naysayer. But then, some people just don’t get it. It’s perhaps significant in Visconti that we see John Wayne in Red River but that it is Montgomery Clift and Burt Lancaster that are referred to by name as objects of admiration. And of course Lancaster would go on to work with Visconti in The Leopard and in Conversation Piece, and even before that, with Magnani in The Rose Tattoo.

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Eavesdropping at the Movies: 223 – Army of Shadows

Listen on the players above, on Apple Podcasts, or on Spotify.

Jean-Pierre Melville draws upon his experiences in the French Resistance for 1969’s Army of Shadows, which depicts an ensemble including Lino Ventura, Simone Signoret and Paul Meurisse working to disrupt the Nazi occupation of France, rescuing Resistance members from captivity, operating safehouses… and killing informants.

Army of Shadows‘ view of the Resistance is far from romantic, showing the ordinary people who comprise it being driven to extreme measures in the cause of remaining hidden and evading capture, and the threat of capture and death hanging over them at all times. We compare it to The Great Escape, a caper in which prisoners of war work towards a big victory – there’s nothing of the sort in Army of Shadows, the Resistance only ever staying one step ahead of the Nazis pursuing them. Resistance itself is the victory, and it comes with costs.

We think about continuities between this film and Melville’s other work. The isolation felt in Un flic and Le Doulos comes through here, the Resistance members needing to work together but constantly suspicious of one another, as anyone could turn informant; emotional connection is a danger, as it can be used as a thumbscrew. But the film depicts the courage of the Resistance, the inhumanity of the situations into which they’re forced, and elicits a range of feelings simultaneously. It’s a complex, intelligent, essential film.

With José Arroyo of First Impressions and Michael Glass of Writing About Film.