Two sides of the same coin

 THE SCAPEGOAT (1959)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Switching identities with someone who bears a passing resemblance is one thing, but what if you switched with someone who is a clearly unmistakable doppelganger? And what if the switching of identities is done without your consent? Oh, the glory days of British Cinema when such unspoken caveats would lead to formal acceptance, from one identity to the other. That is at the heart of 1959's very formal, exquisitely made and highly refined adaptation of Daphne Du Maurier's novel, "The Scapegoat."

Alec Guinness is John, a forlorn French teacher who is on holiday in France. In those Parisian streets at night where a cafe is seemingly right out of the corner of every staircase, John orders a cognac and is recognized by a woman of mystery to him. John leaves for another cafe as he is being followed by some silhouetted stranger only to find himself at the bar face-to-face with Jacques De Gué (also played by Guinness) who is his identical twin. Only they are not twins and their worlds seem far apart; one is a professor and the other is some French aristocrat who comes from inherited wealth. Nevertheless, after Jacques invites John to his hotel room and gets him drunk, John finds that the following day he is now seen as Jacques! Jacques has disappeared and the chauffeur Gaston (Geoffrey Keen) has arrived to take him back to the chateau. John tries to convince everyone he is not Jacques yet within time, he accepts his title with little reluctance. Now he is welcomed and needed, something John did not possess as a lowly professor. The question then becomes - what has happened to Jacques and why did he give up his title? Is Jacques taking over John's position as a teacher? Not so fast.

"The Scapegoat" may initially yield little in the way of surprise or suspense other than the revelation of Jacques' motives (and John's motives as well). Clearly John enjoys the luxuries of being a Count, but he also enjoys the company of the Count's nosy daughter Marie Noel (Annabel Bartlett, her sole acting credit). There is also the Count's frustrated, emotionally frail wife, Francoise (Irene Worth), and the sharp-tongued, uncouth mother from hell (Bette Davis, a gloriously colorful performance) who spends her time bedridden. I neglected to mention the Count's mistress (Nicole Maurey) who slowly but surely discovers this Count is not the man she loves - she actually falls in love with this new Count. That is one way to know that deception has taken place.

The movie ends a little abruptly (and leaves a gaping plot hole that I will leave others to discuss after you have seen it) yet I found the whole film very watchable and it kept me invested trying to guess where this might lead. Sure, the Count's family is not that memorably portrayed overall yet it is Alec Guinness who keeps us watching. Whether it is the Count's richly lived life or the professor's lonely world, it is sneakily suggested that either life produces the same kind of restrained existence. Only John finds love is the key. A romantic thriller in every sense of the word. 

Hey there, Monkey Face!

SUSPICION (1941)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

When you reach the finish line of Alfred Hitchcock's often disarming yet somewhat compelling "Suspicion," you realize that the finish is not sound. It is not an ending that makes sense and can lessen what has preceded it. Still, it is quite something to see how it ends, if for no other reason than the subtle touch sprinkled on it. 

Joan Fontaine is the spinsterish Lina, who reads Child Psychology books and perhaps yearns for a responsible adult man. That man might be Johnnie Aysgarth (Cary Grant), a rakish playboy of sorts whom right from the start we know he's either irresponsible with money or doesn't have any. They meet on a train, which should spell trouble in a Hitchcock film, and he's already asking for some money from a complete stranger since he's riding first class, not third as indicated on his ticket. When they see each other again, there is already friction as he grabs her wrists ("I am not trying to kill you.") Next time out, they are dancing at a ball, presumably because Lina overhears her parents' concern about her being a spinster - she wants to show she can get a man and who better than this Johnnie. 

What is fascinating is how Johnnie is told by friends not to pursue Lina. Lina, in turn, is told not to pursue Johnnie since he wants her fortune (which she doesn't have). Once they are married and live in a luxurious home with a maid, trouble spews due to Johnny not having any job or any finances. This man owes money and, slowly but surely, we discover along with Lina that Johnnie is a fraud - a likable fraud but a fraud nonetheless. But is he a potential murderer? And his potential business partner, the jovial Beaky Thwaite (Nigel Bruce), may be in danger with Johnnie. Of course, these are all suspicions on the part of Lina. Are they unfounded and simply delusional suspicions?

RKO studio preferred the latter explanation as the ending was hastily changed because they presumed the audience wouldn't want to see Grant as a charming killer (I guess if Richard Widmark had been cast, the darker ending would've stuck). Grant had already proven to the most likable and charming romantic lead in movies like "The Philadelphia Story," "Gunga Din," "His Girl Friday" and "Topper" so a murderer was not in the cards. Yet watching Cary Grant and his implied dialogue exchanges, not to mention his rough handling of Lina in certain key points of the film, point towards the inevitable. Director Quentin Tarantino offered his opinion recently on the ending of "Suspicion" suggesting that Johnnie might be the killer because of the creepy manner in which he puts his arm around Lina as they drive back to their home. I certainly sense that - Hitchcock has often suggested more than meets the eye. "Suspicion" is not remarkable Hitchcock but it is often startling and watchable because you keep thinking that Johnnie is the killer. Even if the ending offers excuses to suggest it was all in Lina's head, we know it might not be. 

Tempestuous emotions in a tempestuous storm

SUNRISE: A SONG OF TWO HUMANS (1927)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Never has pure love, tempered with a deep darkness, seemed so enthralling, exhilarating and so precious. Such is definitely the case with "Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans," a unique and artistic picture. Yes, those were the words given by the Academy that bestowed it with such an honor - unique for sure. Artistic? I never agreed with labeling any film "artistic" because I would gather that it was implied. Nevertheless, "Sunrise" is an exquisite beauty of a movie with a darkness that is hard to forget and an ending that almost tramples what preceded it.

"Sunrise" is set in some anonymous village where the Man (George O'Brien) lives with his docile wife (Janet Gaynor) in a cottage - they have a child. The village is close-knit but there is a disturbance in the form of the Woman from the City (Margaret Livingston) who has an affection for the Man. She dresses up at night, has her shoes polished, goes out near the swamps after whistling for the Man's attention and waits, holding a flower in hand by the moonlight. The Man might be infatuated with this girl but when she suggests that he sell the farm and kill his wife by drowning her so they can go back to the city together, a shadow of darkness has enveloped the man. 

One day, the Man and the Wife venture out to the lake on the way to the city. Slowly, he starts to stand on the boat ready to attack. The Wife knows what he is about to (she is not ignorant of the Woman from the City either) and he breaks down and can't go through with it. She runs, trying to escape and leaves in a streetcar for the City but he catches up. What unfolds in leisurely and remarkably powerful fashion is how the Woman starts to see that he really loves her - he can't kill her and we know he can't. In our modern times, especially ever since the 1940's, this would have been the melodramatic template for a film noir or a contemporary sleazy 1980's/90's thriller yet director Murnau invests wisely in developing their relationship by the places they frequent. A restaurant turns the situation even more dour when the Wife can barely look at him or eat, but then there is a photo studio, a church wedding, a barbershop, an amusement park and finally a dance followed by the imbibing of liquor. They have had a full day of fun activities and their love remains unadulterated, untouched. You may be forgiven if you think you've wandered into a Charlie Chaplin movie.  

"Sunrise" then explodes with a tempestuous finale that could have gone either way. A horrific storm catches them unawares while rafting back to the cottage and they are swept up in it, and it is assumed that the Wife has drowned since she can't be found. Now the Woman from the City surely believes that her supposed man had done the deed. Murnau's film explodes with aching irony though one can't be sure if the ending is what he intended.

 "Sunrise" is also quite humorous throughout though not ostensibly a comedy. The photo studio bit involving the breakage of a statue while the couple waits for their pictures is hysterical, especially when the photographer sees a weird looking doll head on the statue. I love the Midsummer dance they perform, much to the delight of all patrons at the dance hall. With such upbeat scenes, there are also deeply unsettling ones such as the terrific storm; the moment when the Man almost strangles the Woman from the City not to mention the Wife; the baby crying in his bed during the storm; the Man weeping while searching for the Wife; the walk through the city where motor vehicles threaten to hit them (one shot looks like a cut-out of them walking into traffic and back to the cottage and it is something to see) and that moonlight shot is something out of either a nightmare or a bad dream. "Sunrise" doesn't collapse with its ending, something I won't give away, but it does leave some residue. We know what the Man is capable of doing, even if he doesn't do it. He loves his wife...but at what cost? Fascinating, disturbing, dazzling filmmaking that leaves you with some frightening questions.