Kubrick went and did a funny thing

DR. STRANGELOVE: OR I LEARNED TO STOP WORRYING AND LOVE THE BOMB (1964)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

As cynical satires go, there is nothing as audacious, thought-provoking and scary as "Dr. Strangelove," Stanley Kubrick's superb film on what if the United States and Russia were involved in an accidental nuclear attack, and what if it was the fault of the U.S.

The unstable, loony General Jack D. Ripper (played by the commanding, towering presence of Sterling Hayden) is the C.O. of the Burlepson Air Force Base who has access to the code that can send an SAC (Strategic Air Command) wing on its way to bomb Russia. The general initiates the order to bomb Russia, but the irony is that no immediate war is taking place and Russia has no intention of bombing the U.S., though they have every intention to counterattack with their prodigious Doomsday Machine. This is cause for concern at the Pentagon where the President of the U.S. (Peter Sellers) has a meeting in the War Room trying to pinpoint why this unplanned attack was initiated. The President is joined by an ex-Nazi strategic adviser, Dr. Strangelove (again played brilliantly by Peter Sellers), and the stubborn General Buck Turgidson (George C. Scott), the head of the Joint Chief of Staff, among other officials. General Buck sees no harm in destroying the Commies and risking the lives of innocent people whereas Dr. St rangelove sees a future where mine shafts will have to be utilized to accomodate the population before being affected by radiation ("Ten women to every man.") In the meantime, the President calmly explains to the Soviet Premier that it all boils down to a crazy man who went and "did a funny thing."

"Dr. Strangelove" was released back in 1964 at the height of the Cuban Missile Crisis when nuclear missiles were a worlwide threat - a "Fail-Safe" error could possibly happen and there is nothing in the film that exaggerates that possibility. That is why it was so controversial - the satire in it bit everyone loud and clear. In fact, outside of 1983's "Testament," "Dr. Strangelove" is one example of what can go wrong in a nuclear crisis and why all nuclear weapons should be disarmed. We may be at peace with Russia now but back then, the potential for such a disaster was a strong reality (in a sense, it could happen today since nuclear weapons still exist).

The suspense builds and becomes wire-tight in the hands of director Kubrick, who helmed the similarly chaotic, suspenseful "The Killing" - both films dependent on time as a factor in a crisis. Here, it becomes a chaos for the audience since the attack is inevitable unless the code is revealed to recall the several nuclear-armed planes. One of them is led by the B-52 pilot, Major "King" Kong (Slim Pickens), who reminds his crew that medals and promotions will be handed out when all is said and done. Naturally, Kong has his reservations about the deliberate attack, but his questioning it is reserved in favor of his patriotic duty, even if it means to literally ride on one of those bombs himself.

General Ripper, however, has no intention of revealing the code, especially to the British military attache (also played by Sellers), and they have a couple of humorous scenes together where Ripper explains that distilled water and preservation of bodily fluids is essential in the face of the Russians who want to control everything.

"Dr. Strangelove" is an anti-war, anti-nuclear weapons statement done with biting humor and bitter irony, but it is more effective than Sidney Lumet's serious "Fail-Safe" because it takes such a no-holds-barred approach with its satirical pull. As Kubrick said while writing the film with Terry Southern ("Candy"), "the things you laugh at most are really the heart of the paradoxical postures that make a nuclear war possible." From its phallic symbols of B-52 planes to the sexual connotations of Ripper's philosophies and General Buck's relationship with his secretary ("Of course, it is not just physical") to the hysteria and absurdity in the War Room (a memorable set piece), "Dr. Strangelove" pokes fun but remains scarily real - the threat and the inevitable doom of nuclear fallout is felt from first frame to last. Like Kubrick's "A Clockwork Orange," you are left unsure whether to laugh or to take it seriously. But when you hear Vera Lynn's "We'll Meet Again," you can feel Kubrick's pathos of a world at war with itself.

Countess Zaleska has Risen

DRACULA'S DAUGHTER (1936)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

"Dracula's Daughter" is the fabulous and eerie sequel to Bela Lugosi's original "Dracula" film from 1931. This one has Countess Marya Zaleska (Gloria Holden) as the daughter of the infamous Count, who was staked to death by Professor Van Helsing (Edward Van Sloan, who for some reason is named Von Helsing in this film). Interestingly, Von Helsing is about to be arrested for murder so long as the body can be recovered. At the beginning of the film, Zaleska retrieves her father's body and burns her it to free herself from her vampiric tendencies. Of course, you can never keep a good vampire or good countess down for long since she continues to stalk and drain the blood of female victims in London. The Countess hypnotizes her victims with the use of her magical, glowing ring, and often succeeds. However, she doesn't want to continue with her deeds and requests the help of a psychiatrist! This must be the first vampire in the history of cinema to ever seek help for his/her condition. In 1945's "House of Dracula," John Carradine's Dracula sought the help of a doctor to cure him of his vampirism but it is rarely touched on in any vampire film.

The psychiatrist in this story is Dr. Jeffrey Garth (Otto Kruger), a former colleague of Dr. Van Helsing - he is entranced by her piercing eyes and wants to help her. Zaleska has another plan, however, and that is to get eternal life and bring Dr. Garth with her. Her assistant, Sandor (Irving Pichel), sees things differently since he was promised eternal life. Sandor's appearance is a devious combination of Karloff's character in "The Raven" and Lurch from "Addams Family."

Based on Bram Stoker's "Dracula's Guest," "Dracula's Daughter" was released back in 1936 and was the first vampire movie coming out of Universal Studios since the Lugosi original. Why it took so long since Lugosi's film was a box-office hit is not clear. This film is notable for the subliminal lesbian tendencies of Countess Zaleska and her cunning ability to lure her female victims to her lair (she does lure one male victim though). Consider the controversial, memorable sequence where Zaleska lures a blonde, petite female to her studio to model. All we see is the girl's face and shoulders, and once again she is startled by the Countess's eyes and ring.

"Dracula's Daughter" is a splendid film with some of the gloomiest and most elegiac black-and-white images I've ever seen in a Universal production or in any horror film for that matter (not counting 1922's "Nosferatu"). There are stark, foggy images of London and a town called Chelsea where evil awaits near bridges and bookstores, always at night. Gloria Holden is excellent as the Countess whom you sympathize with, even when she's undressing a female victim before biting her. Irving Pichel is impressively solid as Sandor, who assures the Countess that she will always be overcome by darkness. I also like the continuous bantering and arguing between Dr. Garth and his secretary, Janet (Marguerite Churchill), who always fixes his tuxedo tie. But it is Holden who walks away with the film, showing us a helpless vampire who wants to be consoled for her unfortunate habits. It was a model for Anne Rice's "Interview With a Vampire" in more ways than one.

An underrated film and a classy, sophisticated picture in a less than reputable genre, "Dracula's Daughter" is a definite classic.

The Monster demands a Mate

BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN (1935)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

1935's "The Bride of Frankenstein" remains one of the great horror films of all time. It is cheerful, dark, mysterious, comical, compelling and quite frightening at times. It is the sequel to 1931's "Frankenstein," which starred Boris Karloff, and is significantly superior in every aspect.

The opening prologue is set in 1816 with Elsa Lanchester as the lovely author of the "Frankenstein" novel, Mary Shelley, who tells her close admirers, Percy Shelley, her husband, and Lord Byron, "London's greatest sinner," how her story didn't really end. Thus, we get the sequel with the Monster (Karloff again) escaping from the burning windmill and wrecking vengeance on everything and everyone who crosses his path. He attacks village women, gypsies, peasants and so on. He encounters a blind old man in one of the most famous sequences in history as the old man teaches him the virtues of fire, smoking, music ("Ave Maria"), and how to speak. Of course, two men (one of them is played by John Carradine) find the Monster and try to kill him. The Monster escapes again and is caught by all the villagers, tied to a pole in crucifixion-style, and eventually chained in prison before escaping yet again.

Dr. Frankenstein (Colin Clive) managed to survive the fiery debacle of the original, and is all set to marry his sweet Elizabeth (Valerie Hobson, who was only 17 at the time) before being convinced to create a mate for the Monster by the evil Dr. Praetorius (Ernest Thesiger). Naturally, they create a mate with the help of a drooling assistant, Karl (Dwight Frye, in reportedly a combination of two roles) who memorably shrieks "It's a very fresh one" after killing a bystander on the street to get a fresh heart. The Monster finally has a new mate (Elsa Lanchester) who memorably shrieks herself and turns her head in jerky, robotic movements recalling Brigitte Helm in "Metropolis." The film ends with the fiery explosion of Praetorius's castle, and the good doctor and Elizabeth manage to escape and embrace in a happy ending devised to let the good doctor live.

"The Bride of Frankenstein" has some oddball moments although I can't say I know what era the film is set in. At one point, Dr. Praetorius lets Frankenstein communicate with Elizabeth through a voice transmission device! However, the villagers and every other citizen travel by horse and carriage, so is it set before the 1900's? And there's an abrupt finale where simply pulling a lever causes an explosion (this is how most mad scientist movies would end).

Still, "The Bride of Frankenstein" is a great film with some horrifying moments and some weirdly funny ones such as Dr. Praetorius's own creations which are life-like dolls in glass containers, including a smitten king, a ballerina, and a mermaid. "This is not science. This is black magic," says the dumbfounded Frankenstein. The scene is darkly comic yet there's something fundamentally horrific about it too - it shows a man who has gone at extreme lengths to give life to dead beings for his own pleasure, like Frankenstein himself. There are also several religious symbols throughout, especially during a quixotic moment when a crucifix shines brightly in the background while the blind man weeps after finding a companion in his home again. The entrance of the Bride towards the end is one of the loveliest sights in history as we see a ravishing beauty given life to please a monster whom she despises.

The performances are top-notch. Colin Clive is credibly and constantly uptight - he gets to yell the immortal line "She's alive! She's alive!" Ernest Thesiger plays the most evil villain in eons, and is unmatched in its baneful nature until Henry Fonda's cold killer in Once Upon a Time in the West. Thesiger has some delicious quips throughout and appears to be more frightening than the Monster itself. Karloff is given more to do this time as he's allowed to speak threateningly to Frankenstein, and even laugh! Elsa Lanchester is grandly beautiful and tremendously adept playing two roles: first as a delightful Mary Shelley in the wonderful prologue, and then in an extended cameo as the shrilly Bride with Nefertiti-shock hair and piercing eyes (if only screenwriters John L. Balderston and William Hurlbut gave her more to do). Also noteworthy is Una O'Connor who is hilarious as Frankenstein's maid servant, Minnie, who screams every time she sees the Monster - I love the way she utters "Dr. Praaeeetttorius!" when the doctor enters the house. Her role is quite similar to her equally delectable parts in "The Invisible Man" and "The Adventures of Robin Hood." Another small but significant role is the pompous burgomaster played by E.E. Clive with a big mustache - he was also cast in "The Invisible Man."

Other pluses in "Bride of Frankenstein" are the moody, evocative cinematography by John Mescall, including the justly famous graveyard scenes populated by fog and crucifixes; the creepy music score by Frank Waxman that is among the greatest ever composed for the silver screen and was used in many films since; and James Whale's fine direction and his extraordinary feel for the supernatural and the monstrous ironies in Shelley's text. There is simply not a better film about Frankenstein to see and, although it doesn't follow the novel too closely, this is among the finest and most visually spectacular Universal horror films ever made.

Nondescript freak of nature

THE INCREDIBLY STRANGE CREATURES WHO STOPPED LIVING AND BECAME MIXED-UP ZOMBIES!!? (1964)

So we have a carnival where the palm reader throws acid in your face, especially at pizza owners! The palm reader is Estrella (Brett O'Hara) and her assistant smokes cigars and looks uglier than Rondo Hatton! We have some older teenagers, possibly leftover extras from "Rebel Without a Cause" and one of whom is a foreigner, who enjoy going to this carnival quite possibly because there are showgirls on the order of Bettie Page who sing and striptease!

What we have here is a mess called "The Incredibly Strange Creatures Who Stopped Living and Became Mixed-Up Zombies," which is the most surreal, wacky and nonsensical movie I've seen in some time (complete with the wackiest title of all time). The lead role belongs to the director himself, Ray Dennis Steckler (also using the alias Cash Flagg), who plays Jerry, a teen troublemaker who like to frequent the carnival (who wouldn't with all those peep shows and bad comics?) It turns out that Estrella, the palm reader, has thrown acid on one customer after another and has kept them in some sort of underground dungeon. They aren't exactly zombies, just some angry customers I would imagine with largely disfigured heads. Jerry is hypnotized into killing people at Estrella's command - he goes around wearing a blue hooded sweatshirt and brandishing a knife. He bears an uncanny resemblance to Charles Whitman, the infamous rifleman who stood on top of the University of Texas and shot several students.

The reason this movie has achieved cult status is because it makes no sense and contains more musical numbers than suspense. The benefits are that it is technically proficient and astoundingly and superbly photographed, considering one of the cinematographers is Laszlo Kovacs (although a lot of scenes are badly staged).

Other than that, it is quite a strange experience that can't be put in any real category. Not quite horror, not quite a suspense film, and not much of anything else other than a colorful blend of gaudy music numbers and some loose serial-killer subplot. There is an erratic energy to it that keeps you glued to the screen - it is a freak of nature. Describing what it is all about is another story.

A two-fisted, pistol packin' Ronald Reagan

LAW AND ORDER (1953)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

When I think back to Ronald Reagan, the actor, I think of "Bedtime for Bonzo" and "Knute Rockne." I tend to forget he was in some westerns and that, overall, he was quite the lawman (and an adept horse rider) in "Law and Order," a two-fisted, colorful, highly romanticized and thoroughly exciting western. It is the top-of-the-line western for those who believe that heroes were once heroes, and the villains were easy to pick out from a lineup.

This remake of a 1932 film of the same name takes the same idea of Tombstone and the Wyatt Earp legend and, basically, changes the names and settings. Frame Johnson (Ronald Reagan) is the retired marshal who wants to own a ranch and live with his dynamic girlfriend and saloon owner, Jeannie (Dorothy Malone), in a new town called Cottonwood. Of course, easier said than done when there are some old scores to settle. Mr. Johnson had been rumored to have amassed a high body count in his day, and many want to see if it is true (though he rather bring a man to justice than shoot him). Mr. Kurt Durling (Preston Foster) lost his hand in a gun battle with Frame and wants no part of this man in his town, which he practically runs. The judge wants Frame to be sheriff and Frame is quite reluctant, so Lute Johnson (Alex Nicol), Frame's brother, becomes sheriff. And all hell breaks loose in typical Technicolor western fashion, replete with exciting shoot-outs and very well-choreographed fistfights.

Reagan has a tough sincerity that is refreshing for this Wyatt Earp revision, and he has the dynamite presence of those red-blushed cheeks of Dorothy Malone to smile at often. The Durlings (including a young Dennis Weaver) are properly villainous to the nth degree, and the settings and locales are authentic. In short, "Law and Order" is not a great movie nor is it among the twenty-five best films the western genre has to offer. But as a Saturday matinee on a rainy day, it will do just fine.

Preacher, gunslinger, classic Glenn Ford

HEAVEN WITH A GUN (1969)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Gunslinger: 'I am burying a man.'

Cowpoke:    'That's a sheepherder.'

Gunslinger: 'I know.'

This small dialogue exchange is the opening sequence of "Heaven With a Gun," a strange western that somehow manages to work even if it shouldn't. The parts of the film do not make a cohesive whole but they do make a watchable film, if nothing else.

"Heaven With a Gun" stars Glenn Ford as the gunslinger in that sequence, a man named Jim Killian who certainly doesn't like to see sheepherders, particularly Hopi Indian sheepherders, hanged. Nonetheless, after burying the man and forcing two cattle cowpokes to make wave, Jim arrives in the town Vinegaroon, populated by the usual kinds of characters such as drunk cowboys, genial storekeepers, loose prostitutes who demand prompt payment for their duties, and so on. And, as always, there is a poker game involving high stakes with the former cowpokes Jim had confronted earlier. One of them is Coke (David Carradine), "the wild mustang," who is ready to kill Jim. And we get the obligatory scene of an impending act of violence at a poker table interrupted by the owner of the saloon/bar (known as the "Road to Ruin"). In this case, it is a breath of fresh air named Madge (the fabulous Carolyn Jones), who knows Jim from the past.

Jim's intention is to start a church in town called "The Mission Church of the Good Shepherd." That's right, he is not only a gunslinger, he is a preacher! He is heaven with a gun, similar to the character Eastwood would later play in "Pale Rider." He hopes to bring faith and communion into the town, and also hopes that the sheepherders and the cattle herders will agree that both animals can graze on the same range. Naturally, Jim's plan is met with plenty of disapproval from the cattle herders, including the grizzly Asa Peck (John Anderson). And there are also other obstacles, such as a Hopi woman named Leloopa (an unrecognizable Barbara Hershey), who wants to cook and clean for Jim since he buried her father. And perhaps Madge is a little jealous of this woman, considering that she thinks Jim is the man for her.

"Heaven With a Gun" does have its flaws. The introduction of a man named Mace (J.D. Cannon) who served prison time with Jim simply marks time - the character is evil yet has charisma and yet you wish there was more of him. Also there is a rape scene in the film that also feels extraneous, not to mention a near scalping of another character. The violence is so heavy and the sheepherders are so clearly without redeeming value that you wish there was something more than the ending that is given. It all feels anticlimactic but I will say this - it is a rare kind of ending for a western and must have been placed there because of the pacifist times in which it was made.

On the plus side, Glenn Ford is in fine form, exuding toughness, sweetness and a tinge of humor - he also makes the character of Jim soulful and forgiving. Ford's scenes with the lovely Carolyn Jones are wonderful if short-lived. I also like Barbara Hershey, despite the fact she looks too pristine to be a Hopi Indian (check out those sparkling white teeth!) Scenes of a barn being turned into a church and a nude woman sitting outside a house are rarities in this genre, not to mention the ending. "Heaven With a Gun" is fine, two-fisted entertainment but it does ring a little hollow. Nonetheless, the cast makes it as close to heaven as a western could ever be.

Kubrickian Path to War

PATHS OF GLORY (1957)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

"Paths of Glory" is one of the greatest war films ever made, an indictment on war and the complex morality behind the decisions made in trench warfare. What helps make it so complex and involving in every scene is the direction by Stanley Kubrick and the exquisitely precise and multilayered screenplay by Kubrick, Calder Willingham and Jim Thompson.

Set in France in 1916, the film begins with the arrival of General Broulard (Adolphe Menjou) at a French chateau where he meets with General Mireau (George Macready) to discuss the golden opportunity of taking the "Ant Hill," a no man's land held by the Germans. The notion is that if Mireau takes the command, he may be promoted and it is also an event for the media to focus on. Mireau, the determined optimist, immediately tells Colonel Dax (Kirk Douglas) of the news, much to Dax's dismay. Dax defends his position by quoting from Samuel Johnson ("patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel") and feeling his men are not up to the task so soon. Accompanying Broulard is Major Saint-Auban (Richard Anderson, best known for his role in "The Six Million Dollar Man" TV show) who refers to the soldiers as having a herd instinct, or stated as "an animal sort of thing." Dax corrects the major, reminding him they are human after all. Nevertheless, Dax is convinced of taking the "Ant Hill," perhaps in fear he will be rep laced by someone who will not take proper care of his men. Thus the colonel tells his men that they must be prepared to attack, though the fact that the weather will be clear and sunny as opposed to foggy and cloudy establishes this battle as a losing proposition.

"Paths of Glory" has two scenes of battle, one quiet and serene and the other noisy and confusing. The first scene is of a patrol organized to navigate no man's land. They include the alcoholic Lieutenant Roget (Wayne Morris), Corporal Paris (Ralph Meeker) and Private Lejeune (Ken Dibbs). The area is already littered with shell holes, corpses, lots of wire and rubble. Lejeune is inadvertently killed by Lieutenant Roget, the first accused of "cowardice in the face of the enemy" by Corporal Paris.

The other battle is of course the taking of Ant Hill, which becomes a haelstorm of explosions and bullets in and around the trenches. The men fear getting too close to the German wire because of the intensity of the explosions, and are almost killed by General Mireau who is infuriated that they would stay in the trenches to avoid enemy fire. Three soldiers under Dax's command are arbitrarily chosen to be court-martialed and face execution for "cowardice in the face of the enemy." One of them is Corporal Paris, who is ironically picked by Lieutenant Roget.

"Paths of Glory" follows the trial leading to the execution, seen as justice for men who refused to fight, and Kubrick and the writers Willingham and Thompson ask tough questions with little in the way of a clear-cut resolution. Should these men be executed for acting cowardly and not advancing in no man's land? Is General Mireau any less guilty for almost having his men killed by their own troops for not advancing? At one point, Colonel Dax even asks to be set as an example for his men by being executed, but is instead left as a defense lawyer for the three charged men in the court martial proceedings. What Kubrick shows, and what has become a staple of his later work, is that the powerful men at the top, namely General Broulard and General Mireau, see these soldiers as nothing more than animals and treat them as such, stating that if the enemy fire was so intense, the result would have been corpses littered around the trenches, not cowards. Ironically, during the penultimate final scene in the chateau, General Mireau reminds Broulard that the man he stabs in the back is a soldier. The inhumanity and lack of sympathy is powerfully shown in Kubrick's treatise on war, and lead the way to many more ambiguous moral lessons in human behavior in films such as "Dr. Strangelove" and especially "A Clockwork Orange."

Based on the 1935 World War I novel by Humphrey Cobb, "Paths of Glory" is emotionally wrenching and thrillingly realized. Every sequence is masterfully composed and framed, including the dolly shots through the trenches where Dax and General Broulard frequently travel while explosions are heard in the background. The court martial sequence in the chateau is as tense and nail-biting as the execution itself.

The dialogue is also crisp and direct. I loved the conversations between Broulard, Mireau and Dax in the chateau, a setting for a different kind of battleground where words and strategies are exchanged in reference to the lives of the soldiers. Backstabbing and political ambition are primary goals, though Dax is an idealist - he cares for his men and says or does nothing as a means of promotion from his rank. The higher-ups are of different mindsets, and it is extraordinary to watch Kirk Douglas's blunt, sympathetic Dax, Adolphe Menjou's arrogant, pitiless General Broulard, and the cold, remorseless General Mireau brilliantly portrayed by George Macready commingle and argue over the reality of war's traumas and heartaches.

"Paths of Glory" is a tough, demanding work that generated a lot of controversy over its cynical presentation of how men of power handle their own men in the face of war. But there is beauty too, as evidently shown in the final shot where a German farm girl (Suzanne Christian, who became Mrs. Kubrick at that time) sings a sentimental song from the "Musical Memories of Germany" and causes the audience of soldiers to weep when they were initially jeering her. I also like what could be a throwaway moment where Private Arnaud (Joseph Turkel, who later appeared in "The Shining") describes how being shot down and killed instantly is preferable to being wounded. There is humanity in these men, these soldiers who fight in the trenches for the benefit of pleasing some higher-ranking officials and, of course, to win the war. Here is an anti-war film that sticks to its guns and shows, in the words of Ernest Hemingway, that war is a crime no matter how justified.

Matt Helm entry needs a wrecking ball

THE WRECKING CREW (1968)

Reviewed By Jerry Saravia

The Wrenchingly Awful Crew. This last Matt Helm entry is such a stilted, forced, bland and stupendously awful film that I am surprised it was even released in theatres. Dean Martin is the superspy but he seems so indifferent to the chaos of the story (something to do with the movement of gold bars) that, well, you kinda wish Dino would've passed on this and sang more songs with the Rat Pack at the Stardust.

The whole movie is meant to be a joke, a parody of James Bond, if only the cast was in on the joke. The late Sharon Tate is one of many women that bed Matt Helm, though she seems uncomfortable playing a supposed klutz of a spy. Nigel Green is the bad guy, though he seems almost as indifferent as everyone else in the movie. The fight scenes are idiotic (sorry Mr. Bruce Lee but the staging is flat), the sophisticated weapons include nothing more than a black sock that is hurled at Green's minions, a film camera that emits green fog (!), a briefcase that contains the parts to assemble a helicopter, and so on. To top it off, some of Dino's songs are heard at the oddest moments, ostensibly more of an intrusion than a helping hand to advance the nonexistent plot.

One curious note: I know this movie is a joke but I am curious about Green's sophisticated surveillance. He is in a control room in his house where he has a camera in every part of his estate, including areas where cameras couldn't possibly exist. For example, he keeps an eye on a train that contains the gold and can view it through his various monitors from many different angles, including several aerial shots, medium shots on the sides of the trains, etc. How does he get the aerial shots if he has no helicopters keeping track of the train? How come the boxcars don't seem to have any cameras attached to them? That's about the only humorous gag I can think of for this sad piece of horse dung known as "The Wrecking Crew."

A three-second kiss is still a kiss

NOTORIOUS (1946)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Of all of Alfred Hitchcock's love stories, "Notorious" is one of the most romantic and truly illuminating. Illumination is the key to the film's success. With a plot centering on Nazis and uranium, the heart of the film is really the electric chemistry between Cary Grant and Ingrid Bergman, and a suspenseful final act that will leave you breathless with excitement.

"Notorious" begins with a fabulous shot of Ingrid Bergman as Alicia Huberman, who is having a party after learning of her father's conviction for Nazi spying. She tries to forget, and we notice the back of a stranger's head seated at the party but we don't who he is except perhaps Alicia's possible suitor. Later, she is drunk and recklessly drives with the man (Cary Grant), who turns out to be a CIA agent named Devlin. Devlin has a job for her, and she is reluctant to participate and is annoyed she did not get a speeding ticket. The job entails Alicia getting intimate with a former lover of hers, Sebastian (Claude Rains), who runs a spy ring and may be involved with hiding uranium in wine bottles (a substance used in making bombs). Eventually, Sebastian deeply falls in love with her and marries her. Devlin grows jealous, realizing he loves her. Unfortunately, Sebastian watches Alicia like a hawk, and Hitchcock is brilliant at showing that subjective sense of looks and stares as he does in the party sequence..

"Notorious" has a special degree of illumination provided by its lighting schemes, and by Bergman's iridescent beauty. Along with Catherine Denueve, Bergman is indeed one of the most beautiful women in film history and Hitchcock exploits that beauty to great effect. Whether she is seated at a cafe or in bed writhing with pain due to the effect of arsenic in her tea, she never looks less than glamorous.

Cary Grant is the straight man, and more subtle than in his other films - he is passive and grows jealous but it is his dialogue that speak great truths of his emotions. At one point, while hearing about the CIA's plans, he refers to another agent's bridge-playing wife as boring in contrast to Alicia's looseness and promiscuity. Devlin holds his emotions in check, acting stern and disapproving of Alicia and her immediate marriage.

Claude Rains is one of the finest most astute actors ever, and here he is also restrained - his looks and glances suggest everything. There is also the sense that he does care for Alicia...and perhaps is more trustworthy than Devlin even after learning her secret.

Hitchcock has a tremendous number of tricks up his sleeve, and some shots are astounding in their impact - they greatly help build tension and suspense. The three-minute kissing scene between Grant and Bergman is as sensual and sexually charged as any scene from today's steamy thrillers - what makes it so luscious is the interruption of the kisses and the embraces. At that time, the Hollywood Production Code would not allow for kisses to last longer than three seconds. This scene foreshadows the final moments from the bedroom to the staircase where Grant descends while helping the sickly Bergman - the spy ring and Sebastian watch. There is also a superb zoom-in shot from the top of the staircase to a close-up shot of Bergman's hand holding the key to the wine cellar where the uranium is hidden. The wine cellar sequence is also bewitching - Grant carefully removing bottles that obstruct the view of a wine schedule while one slips away and breaks revealing uranium particles - and it also builds to a great kissing scene. This film is definitely one of Hitchcock's prime examples of visual elegance.

"Notorious" is not as densely complex as "Vertigo" or "North By Northwest," but it is packed with suspense and thrills galore. And its emotionally romantic love story shows the Master knew how to deal with human relationships.

Smitten Hepburn in the Summer

SUMMERTIME (1955)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Katharine Hepburn was one of the most vigorous, attractive, sophisticated women to ever appear on the silver screen. She was also one of our most versatile actresses with a body of work that included "The Philadelphia Story," "Adam's Rib," "Guess Who's Coming to Dinner" and, one of her last great roles, "On Golden Pond." "Summertime" is one of the most beautiful movies to ever take place in Venice: a luscious, delicate comedy-drama by director David Lean ("Dr. Zhivago"). For those of you who remember 1994's "Only You" - the sappy romantic comedy with Robert Downey Jr. set in Venice - this is far superior to that film.

Based on Arthur Laurents' play "The Time of the Cuckoo," Hepburn stars as the independent, lonely Jane Hudson who has just arrived in Venice: a secretary from Ohio who is looking for romance and adventure. She stays at the "Pensione Fiorini" hotel, converses with other fellow Americans such as the Yaeghers, an older couple, and an unknown artist (a very young Darren McGavin), and she spouts such Italian phrases as "bravo" and "prego" while filming every landmark she sees with her 8mm film camera. One sunny day at a cafe, Jane notices a handsome Italian gentleman staring at her - she is overcome with feelings but she resists them (She wants to be around people but somehow finds an inner peace when isolated). Eventually, she runs into him again at an antique store just before buying an 18th century red goblet. The gentleman's name is Renato de Rossi (Rosanno Brazzi), an antique store owner and, before you know it, they fall madly in love. Naturally, Jane discovers that Renato is married.

"Summertime" is a slight film compared to Lean's other works, such as "Dr. Zhivago" or the underrated "Ryan's Daughter," but it is superbly acted, well-written, and subtly directed. Hepburn manages to be likable, stubborn, fierce, and loving. Brazzi makes a perfect companion for Hepburn: romantic, charming and charismatic. Who can ever forget her her unforced and hysterical walk into the river while filming with her camera? You'll have a delightful time with the invigorating "Summertime" - it is more than a travelogue of Venice.

An existential punch to the gut

POINT BLANK (1967)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Richly textured with blazing images and oblique sounds, John Boorman's "Point Blank" might well be the type of movie David Lynch would've made back in 1967 had he been a director then. It is a souped-up, rough and tough noir picture of machismo crossed with surreal imaginings, mostly from seeing the world inside of the protagonist's mind that is Lee Marvin's Walker .

The story is very simple. Walker has participated in a bungled heist at Alcatraz that results in his friend, a mobster named Reese (John Vernon) shooting him several times and leaving him for dead, and escaping with Walker's wife. Walker miraculously survives his seemingly mortal wounds, swims across the river, and a year later, he exacts revenge on his friend and everyone else. He also wants his 93,000 dollars he was to receive from the heist. After Walker has beat and shot several people linked to this heist, he still can't get his money. Nobody will pay him. And when a moment arrives when it looks like Walker will receive his money, something goes awry.

After watching "Point Blank" I felt a little dismayed and disappointed with it, asking myself, "what on earth is this movie about other than a thief trying to get his money?" But it is also the kind of noir picture that sticks with you, and it helps that Lee Marvin, one of the best tough guys in cinema history, makes it all palatable and nuanced. Especially effective are the placement of flashbacks to a kinder, smitten Walker with his wife-to-be. Then are also recurring flashbacks to Walker seeing his friend Reese at a loud party in one of the most frenetic party sequences ever filmed, made all the more flashy for noticing how little we can actually hear their conversation until, bit by bit, it becomes clearer.

For those who have seen Steven Soderbergh's "The Limey," "Point Blank" is more than an inspiration or an homage, it is to some degree the same movie. Whereas Soderbergh's film ends with an emotional punch, Boorman's film is more an existentialist punch to the gut. "Point Blank" substitutes general murkiness for substance, though to be fair Walker lacks any real substance possibly by design, yet Lee Marvin packs in a lot of two-fisted excitement in the role and John Boorman's direction is most assured. Not my favorite modern noir but it is one of the best.

Shut up and play ball!

THE JACKIE ROBINSON STORY (1950)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Jackie Robinson playing Jackie Robinson! It is so Joe, and that is one of the many strengths of "The Jackie Robinson Story," a Hollywood biography that glosses over many aspects of Jackie's life yet retains the public abuse and scandal of being the first black man to play baseball.

The narrator states that the Jackie Robinson Story could only happen in a country which is truly free. This is true but it doesn't mean Jackie didn't have to jump over many obstacles to get to his legendary status. He plays many sports at UCLA, including track and field and football, but he is worried that once he graduates college, nobody will hire him as a coach. This is due to his brother Mack (Joel Fluellen), who was a superb athlete and college graduate but ended up as nothing more than a street cleaner. Jackie's girlfriend and fiancee Rae (Ruby Dee) encourages him but Jackie feels that after one rejection letter after another, he'll never amount to anything.

After his Army stint which is only briefly alluded to, Jackie plays baseball for the Black Panthers (a fictional team - the actual team was the Kansas City Monarchs) in the Negro Leagues. However, his batting average and pitching stirs up interest from the Brooklyn Dodgers. This is where the sprightly Branch Rickey (Minor Watson), the manager of the Dodgers, hires Jackie with one major stipulation - don't let the racism from the white folks get him down. No reaction, no confrontation - just play ball.

Jackie Robinson is very low-key as himself, and possibly on purpose to illustrate the demands by Rickey to play it cool and calm and never engage in a fight with white people's racist insults. However, in his very few scenes with the delightful Ruby Dee, he is still somewhat stoic and inexpressive. The baseball scenes is where he really comes alive, though the sequences themselves are ill-conceived in terms of framing and composition (sometimes we can only guess that Jackie hits a ball because he swings his bat and we hear the sound of a ball being hit, except for one low-angle shot from the point-of-view of the catcher).

Despite some shortcomings in the visuals and in Jackie himself, "The Jackie Robinson Story" is an enjoyable and rousing picture that runs a bracing 76 minutes. Minor Watson steals the shows as the colorful old codger Rickey, and one can't help but root for Jackie and Rickey as well, both defying all odds in a racially charged climate. The fact that this movie even got made in 1950 is something of a miracle.

The Year is One

ROSEMARY'S BABY (1968)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

If schlocky horror director William Castle ("House on Haunted Hill") had directed Ira Levin's bestseller "Rosemary's Baby," it would have had minor shock effects and some scare tactics. It might even have included a hovering demon baby and black carriage in the theater! Such is the style of Castle (who appears briefly in a phone booth scene) and the difference is lucidly demonstrated in Roman Polanski's adaptation and direction of this chilling, slow-paced horror film - a distinguished classic in a genre that has been cheapened in the ensuing years by gore and more schlock.

"Rosemary's Baby" begins in New York City where a couple, Guy and Rosemary Woodhouse (respectively played by the late John Cassevettes and Mia Farrow) rent a high-rise apartment at the Dakota. They are introduced to their new home by the superintendent (wonderfully played by Elisha Cook, Jr.). Things go wrong from the get-go. There is a dresser obscuring a closet, voices and chants are heard, various shadows are seen on walls, a young woman is found dead in the street, and so on. The dead woman, a runaway, had lived with the next-door neighbors, the Castavetts, who adopted her. The Woodhouse couple meet the next-door neighbors for dinner as a sign of respect, an affable old couple who dress in loud outfits, Roman and Minnie Castavett (Sidney Blackmer and Ruth Gordon). They are talkative, nosy people and have conflicting opinions about Catholicism and the Pope. As they talk over dinner, the wise Roman curiously remembers Guy's supporting role in the play "Luther": 'I was struck by a gesture you made. It had a wonderful sense of authenticity'. Roman also seems to have been a former businessman who has travelled all around the world. Minnie is simply nosy, and almost every time she appears, Beethoven's "Fur Elise" is playing in some tenant's piano.

While the film progresses, there is a growing feeling of something unnatural about to take place. Rosemary undergoes physical and emotional changes in her character, from cropping her hair in a "Vidal Sassoon" style to getting pregnant. Her pregnancy is handled by two different doctors: one is Dr. Hill (Charles Grodin), a "Charlie nobody" as Guy calls him, and there is the renown Dr. Saperstein (Ralph Bellamy) who prescribes herbal drinks and tanis root for Rosemary. Meanwhile, Rosemary's husband Guy grows distant while successfully landing numerous acting jobs, though he occasionally brings her flowers as a sign of love. Her good family friend, Hutch (Maurice Evans), discovers that her neighbors are in fact part of a coven of witches. That could explain the scratches on Rosemary's back and some of her weird dreams where she is raped by Satan! Slowly, Rosemary begins to believe that the Castavetts are after her unborn baby.

Polanski places a great deal of ambiguity in "Rosemary's Baby" making us feel as though Rosemary is simply paranoid and is imagining that there is a conspiracy, and that her husband is one of the conspirators. There is a sense of unease and unseen menace in the film thanks to Roman's claustrophobic direction and cinematographer William Fraker's disorienting compositions (my favorite being the hallway shot of Minnie making a phone call to Dr. Saperstein, showing that she is partially obscured by the entrance door to the bedroom so that we never see her face). Throughout the film, we are never sure if the supposed coven of witches mean well or if they intend to do harm - could they care a little too much about Rosemary? Is Guy's stoic demeanor a sign that something is wrong? Could Hutch's suspicious be erroneous? Or is Rosemary going crazy a la Catherine Deneuve's similar state of paranoia in Polanski's nightmarish "Repulsion"?

"Rosemary's Baby" was reviled by Catholic groups back in 1968, condemned for its view of Satanism (maybe the shot of the Time magazine cover with the "God is Dead" title did not help). Otherwise, it was critically well-received and placed Roman on the star director map leading to many more Hollywood offers. After more than forty years, "Rosemary's Baby" still retains its implicit power of genuine forces of evil unseen by Rosemary's eye, including the famous final sequence which still rattles the nerves. For its unnerving sense of doom and menace coupled with sharp doses of black humor, you can do no better than this baby. This is Polanski at his devilish best.

Harryhausen's Meditteranean Monster

20 MILLION MILES TO EARTH (1957)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

I've been a fan of Ray Harryhausen since I was a kid, especially the sights of stop-motion animation in everything from "Jason and the Argonauts" and its dueling skeletons, to the rampaging dinosaur in "Valley of the Gwangi" to all those mythological creatures come to life in "Clash of the Titans." So I approached and received the same wild-eyed pop enthusiasm from "20 Million Miles to Earth" as I had from Harryhausen's previous work. It is a terrific ride of a movie

The opening scenes of this movie have an EC comics feel. A Sicilian kid named Pepe (Bart Braverman, "Match Game" fans rejoice) helps his father rescue a couple of astronauts inside a crash-landed spaceship, which had just made a trip to Venus and was on its return voyage back to Earth. While on shore and nursing them back to health, Pepe finds a cylinder that he decides to open and touches some jelly-like substance in it. It turns out to be an alien creature's fetus (known as the Ymir, the film's original title) that proportionally grows in size and strength. Need I say more?

The last surviving member of the Venus trip is Col. Robert Calder, who is seemingly stoically played by William Hopper. I say seemingly because the screenplay does occasionally allow him to be animated and humorous. One particular example is when Calder tries to woo a scientist's daughter (Joan Taylor) with thoughts of a nice dinner and wine. How sweet! But who has time for lovemaking when Calder and the U.S. and Sicilian goverments have to trap this destructive creature. Sulfur might help! Dogs and elephants might not!

"20 Million Miles to Earth" could've been the cheesiest and silliest monster movie ever. However, it has a charm and an innocence that resonates with its peculiar aspect of adding a monster to the most romantic environment in the Meditteranean Sea. That and peppering the movie with the scene-stealing tyke Bart Braverman, who only wants a few hundred lira and a cowboy hat from Texas for his scientific discovery, adds some excitement for kids who probably wish they would've found a cylinder like the one he finds (but a warning label should've been attached to it). The monster is believable enough and causes enough destruction to almost ape King Kong's own methods (he even battles an elephant in a scene that could have yielded laughs but its primitiveness makes it more thrilling).

So with astounding direction by the late Nathan H. Juran (an accomplished fantasy and science-fiction director known for "Attack of the 50 ft. Woman") and bravura touches of humanity and humor in equal doses by William Hopper and Bart Braverman, "20 Million Miles to Earth" is pretty damn exciting and thrilling enough for anyone who is a fan of monster movies and Ray Harryhausen.

The Lost World of Native Americans

THE EXILES (1961)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

 

When a lost film is rediscovered, it is always a pleasure, like unearthing a treasure that has only ripened with age. "The Exiles" is a rare treat of a film, a near-documentary expose of Native Americans living in the sordid sections of L.A. in the late 1950's.

By sordid, I do mean seemingly run-down, beaten paths of streets that are often seen at night bathed in neon signs and decorated with cigar shops and bars in every corner. That is not to say that the section of downtown L.A. shown in the film called Bunker Hill is sordid, but it has the look of noirish city streets with no end in sight, especially the tunnel that looks almost uninviting. I am sure that this is all by design since the story, centering on a group of Native Americans who reside in the city to get away from the reservation, seems to indicate a land of no exit, no hope and complete despair wrapped around a liquor bottle.

This group looks like young American adults with shaven faces, pressed shirts, nice convertibles, slicked back hair and an appetite for a night life of uncontrollable boozing, rock and roll music and scoring with women. The film plays like an existentialist version of "American Graffiti" in its evocation of a life with no meaning since these guys have no ambition, no goals. Yet, interestingly, they are aware of their place as dictated by voice-overs - they all sound like guys with a Mike Hammer fixation on an uncaring world. Heck, these Native Americans were exiled by the white man, forced to live in reservations, and now they leave it behind for, in a word, nothing.

One man seems to implicitly lose his patience with the world he lives in. That is Homer, a young, stocky Native American who never seems to get too drunk. He has a brief moment where he receives a letter and a picture from his parents who are still living in a reservation. There is a tinge of sadness to this, as if Homer is realizing there is more to living than drinking and women. That realization may or may not have a lasting impact on him.

Yvonne Williams is Homer's wife, and she is pregnant. She is the only character to express any measure of hope, particularly with her unborn son. She has no communication with Homer whatsoever - he simply waits for her to iron his shirts and fry his pork chops.

Beautifully shot in black-and-white by Erik Daarstad, Robert Kaufman and John Morrill and tinged with much despair and tension, "The Exiles" is a unique and tantalizing picture, a forerunner to films like "Mean Streets" and John Cassevettes films. Though it never got a proper theatrical release in 1961, it can now be placed in the real context of American cinematic equivalents to the French New Wave (just ahead of Cassevettes' own debut, "Shadows"). Stunningly directed by Kent MacKenzie, "The Exiles" has no real conventional narrative thrust - it sort of exists as an observation of lives lost in a city with boundaries that do not allow for freedom as one might ironically find in a reservation. At one point, the wild and unruly group find themselves on a hill (known as Hill X) chanting and beating drums only to be later followed by more fighting, boozing and a near-rape. And the final devastating scene of Yvonne peering through her bedroom window will leave you haunted for days. "The Exiles" is an essential and lasting masterpiece.

Feather-brained pow-wow

FRONTIER FUGITIVES (1945)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

One of the last films in the "Texas Ranger" series in the low-budget PRC (Producers Releasing Corporation) production line, "Frontier Fugitives" is the standard western tale told with very few dramatic flourishes, some bizarrely comical phoniness that could come out of Abbott and Costello, and a couple of memorable songs sung by Tex Ritter, John Ritter's dad. At less than one hour's time, there are worse ways to waste time.

Dave O'Brien

This time, the Texas Rangers (headed by Tex, Dave O'Brien and Guy Wilkerson) go after a gang that killed a fur trader. Wilkerson, who plays Panhandle Perkins, pretends to be an Indian Chief complete with full get-up, while one of the gang members try to go incognito as well. Amazing how easy it is to find Native American garb and play dress up and utter the stereotypical Indian catchphrases: "Me do some pow-wow." Veteran actor I. Stanford Jolley is one of the bad guys and has one of the least funny and incredibly offensive scenes where he performs an alleged comedy routine with Wilkerson as they pretend to be Native Americans doing a ceremonial dance and smoking a peace pipe. Too much pow-wow, too little humanity. And Native American groups had a problem with "The Searchers"?  

"Frontier Fugitives" is merely a diversion but it is a vacuum in terms of story or plot. Tex Ritter sings "Too Late to Worry, Too Blue to Cry" and "I'll Wait for You, Dear," there is a ridiculous shooting at a general store that shows Texas Rangers had no idea how to aim a gun before firing, and more singing. It is an absurd B-movie with little value beyond showing cowboys and Indians lollygagging. 

Kubrick's Killer Instincts

KILLER'S KISS (1955)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Stanley Kubrick's first foray into film noir, "Killer's Kiss," is acceptable and often crude but certainly an interesting experiment for the late master. Released in 1955, it did not cause much of a stir but it has an almost dreamlike vision of noir in its documentary-like staginess.

The film begins with voice-over narration by a Davy Gordon (Jamie Smith), a lonely New York boxer who seems rather unenthusiastic about his profession. Essentially, he seems tired of fighting, living an isolated existence in a low-rent, bland apartment. He is ready to leave for the farmlands of Seattle with his Uncle George. Across from his bedroom's window, he can see his neighbor Gloria (Irene Kane), a hostess for Pleasureland, a shabby dance hall that only seems to play the instrumental song "Once." Gloria's boss is Vincent Rapallo (Frank Silvera), a beastly, sad man who is also lonely and insecure. He sees himself as "low and worthless," and is unable to hold on to to the things he loves including Gloria.

One night, a scream is heard in Gloria's apartment, and Davy comes to the rescue. She was apparently attacked by Vincent, whom she wants out of her life. Naturally, Davy and Gloria get intimate and fall in love (rather abruptly, even for a noir tale like this one). Gloria wants to leave Rapallo and the dance hall but Rapallo's rage and jealousy grow stronger, resulting in an accidental murder and the kidnapping of Gloria.

This kind of tale has been told countless times before, and if you have seen "Double Indemnity," you'll have some idea of where the story is headed. Fortunately, Kubrick is a master stylist and employs effective use of shadows, and his screenplay evokes ironic twists of fate. The accidental murder is one brilliantly shot example where two henchmen walk through the inside staircase of the Pleasureland dance hall, ready to kill the man waiting outside the door while the sign "Watch Your Step" is seen overhead. There is also the voyeuristic use of mirrors, particularly Davy's apartment where the reflection in his mirror shows Gloria's nocturnal activities of undressing before her bedroom light is turned off. For Kubrick to show the drab surroundings of these three lead characters, including Rappalo, makes quite a statement about the post-war 1950's where farmlands were a dream to be pursued in lieu of the big city life.

"Killer's Kiss" is often awkwardly edited, with the exception of the climax set on the rooftops of loft buildings and a room full of mannequins. But there are also some terrific visceral moments backed by a tense jazz score, often the counterpoint of any scene involving the Pleasureland setting. One scene, quite avante-garde for its time, is shot as a negative leading to the aforementioned attack on Gloria.

Jamie Smith and Irene Kane are somewhat weak in their acting skills, but the two argument scenes between Irene and Silvera are marvelously dramatic and ironically funny. My favorite line is when Silvera says: "Like the man says, can happiness buy money?" Her response is: "Oh, and you are a comedian too. See what I am missing." There is no question that the best performance is by Silvera as Rapallo, showing a side of pathetic weakness crossed with rage and contempt for his persona. When Gloria refers to him as "an old man who smells bad," you can almost feel his temperature rising.

If nothing else, at a breezy 67 minutes, "Killer's Kiss" is required viewing for anyone who is a Kubrick fan or interested in film noir. It is heavily flawed but often entertaining enough to warrant a viewing. It became the stepping stone to Kubrick's greatness as seen in the far superior "The Killing" (released the following year) and, well, the rest is history.

Menace to Society

CAPE FEAR (1962)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

J. Lee Thompson's "Cape Fear," based on John D. McDonald's "The Executioners," is one of those lurid melodramas of the early 60's that caused a stir in the American public for its view of the destruction of the nuclear family by some menace. Okay, that is perhaps a bit harsh but nonetheless true since it represents a squeaky clean family with no scruples or flaws hunted and sullied by a relentless, evil force. And even today, there are scenes in Thompson's film that still terrify.

Gregory Peck is Samuel Bowden, an illustrious lawyer with a devoted wife (Polly Bergen) and a simply delightful daughter (Loni Martin), who loves her puppy dog. What we are seeing is a perfectly goody-goody family that would be at home on "Leave it to Beaver." Before long, an ex-convict named Max Cady (Robert Mitchum) begins stalking Sam. Apparently, Sam had been a witness and testified against Cady who had attacked some girl and served a long jail sentence as a result. Cady is mad and wants revenge and, with oozing menace, suggests that he will go after Sam's wife and daughter.

"Cape Fear" is essentially a standard crime thriller with overtones of noir in its shadowy black-and-white look. Noir often involves fatalistic heroes and Sam is one to an extent - he and his family cannot escape Cady's wrath. Sam can't do anything legally since Cady is always one step ahead of him on the legal meter. After Sam's daughter is supposedly chased by Cady and and is almost run over by a car, Sam calls on a private detective and hires men to beat some sense into this relentless madman. That does not work either and, finally, the family relocates to a houseboat at the Cape Fear River to trap Cady and kill him.

One major difference between the original and the Scorsese remake is Samuel Bowden's moral character. Peck's Bowden is a righteous man who does take the law into his own hands and is practically disbarred from law practice. Still, there is no way one can find his actions immoral since he has to protect his family. All Sam did was rat on Cady for a crime he witnessed. Cady wants revenge for all the years he was in prison, period. In Scorsese's film, Sam Bowden is a flawed man who did not protect his client, Cady, and had evidence that would have resulted in a shorter prison term for the convict. Essentially, Bowden committed an immoral act by withholding the evidence and has to pay the price. It is the difference of thirty years in film time and how attitudes and values have changed.

If I was alive in 1962 and saw this film, I would have scoffed at the depiction of this wholesome family with nary a trace of negativity. Just two years prior, we had Alfred Hitchcock's "Psycho," which featured a less than wholesome heroine at its forefront (Janet Leigh) whose sins are washed away during a brutal shower murder. "Psycho" cut the innocence of the 1950's with its brutality and shocking depiction of a clever psychopath. "Cape Fear" wants to pretend that innocence prevails over evil anyday. Somehow, Cady's evil seems less than cunning or stinging with poison the way one would hope. I never got the impression that Cady's attacks were as severe as one would think (with the exception of the unseen violence towards a club girl). The moment where Bowden's daughter runs around the school thinking Cady is chasing her when, in fact, he was standing outside the school gates the whole time ruins the tension a tad. He instills fear in them but it is not as viscerally felt as it should have been. A title like "Cape Fear" should be ablaze with tension and thrills. I mostly got chills through Robert Mitchum's splendid performance but nothing more. J. Lee Thompson tends to hold back often, which may be a result of the Production Code that would not even allow the word "rape" to be said in a film.

On the plus side, the film is taut for the most part and has decent performances by Martin Balsam as the chief of police, Telly Savalas in pre-"Kojak" mode as the private detective, and Jack Gruschen as Cady's righteous lawyer who is dismayed by Bowden's actions. But it is a delight to see Robert Mitchum as the sleazy, muscular, sarcastic Max Cady going against the stolid, serious-minded Gregory Peck. The finale at the houseboat is especially stirring. When you see Cady slapping and smearing himself against poor Polly Bergen, you can feel some real heat and tension and, yes, a literal slap across familial innocence.

Biblical Southern Gothic extremes

THE NIGHT OF THE HUNTER (1955)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Melodrama can often fail or succeed based on how exaggerated the characters and situations are in a story. For "The Night of the Hunter," it is the case of extreme exaggeration and laughable execution in the most stereotyped of performances. I know some consider this a milestone in the annals of film classics from yesteryear, but I found it to be one of the most ridiculously over-the-top films to portray Southern caricatures I have ever seen. It is Southern Gothic to be sure, and all I can see is Charles Laughton's contempt for these characters.

The story involves a Ben Harper (Peter Graves), who is sent to prison at the beginning of the film after hiding a large sum of money in the house. He leaves behind his two kids and his wife, Willa Harper (Shelley Winters). Enter fellow convict Harry Powell (Robert Mitchum), who gets wind of the missing money in prison. Harry eventually gets out of prison, woos and marries Willa and hunts for the money. Only the two kids (who know of the money's hiding place) are too smart to let anything happen to the money, yet they have also underestimated Harry and his murderous ways.

The revered Charles Laughton had directed "The Night of the Hunter," his only film behind the camera. Whatever he found unusable in James Agee's script (thoroughly revised though Agee still receives credit) was thrown out by Laughton himself, who completely rewrote the screenplay. I am not sure Laughton's improvements enhanced the film in any way. Though I had only seen this film once, I can say that every character is stereotyped to the nth degree. From Bible-spouting citizens who laugh and scream a little too loudly to the sometimes chilling Harry, a supposed Reverend, who hounds and disturbs kids to the high-pitched Missouri accent of Shelley Winters to two thoroughly bland kids being hunted by Harry, and on and on. Only the character of Rachel (played by the phenomenal Lillian Gish), the dear woman with a shotgun who tends to runaways, is given a shred of depth and dignity and Gish underplays wonderfully. The rest of the cast could have done the same. As powerful a presence as Mitchum is, he was far more menacing in 1962's "Cape Fear."

The two runaway kids seem unable to respond or emote in any effective manner at all. Laughton reportedly hated directing kids since he despised them, handing the reins to Robert Mitchum to direct them. The result shows on screen, especially in two instances. One is where the girl, Pearl (Sally Jane Bruce), cries in desperation before her brother, John (Billy Chapin), is about to be brutally wounded by Harry. It is a reaction that a normal child in a real situation would have reacted with far more horror than is shown. Another is where John cries at the sight of Harry arrested by the cops as he is handcuffed to the ground, reminding him of how his father was pinned to the ground and similarly handcuffed. These reactions seem forced and unnatural, and we are supposed to be rooting for the kids!

There are some beautifully composed shots in black-and-white that certainly stand out and have influenced many filmmakers, thanks to the great cinematographer Stanley Cortez (he also did the beautifully pristine "The Magnificent Ambersons"). I like the perspective of the Reverend on horseback as daybreak arrives while the kids hide in a hayloft. The scene where Harry stands at the top of the basement stairs and utters those famous words, "Chilll....dren!" The fantastic shot of Rachel sitting in her rocking chair with a shotgun and singing in harmony with Harry who sits outside the house waiting to grab the kids. Also worth noting is Wllla's demise underwater - a staple of great noir shots that is quite eerie. But these are all images that work in spite of the movie - as a whole, the movie is just too overplayed and overdramatized to warrant such great images. Think of it as Southern Gothic noir, only the Southern aspect is so damn melodramatic with its Bible hymns and choirs and irritating music score by Walter Schumann that you are likely to stay away from churches for some time.

"The Night of the Hunter" is considered a cult film and a classic for many movie lovers, and I can see where the appreciation lies. But its overly melodramatic and unsubtle notes undermine any clarity or suspense for the story to work. I suppose it is too Southern with a capital S for my tastes."Baby Doll" it ain't.