Clickety-clickety-click

 THE DESPERATE HOURS (1955)
Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Bogart was always more intrinsically watchable as a non-hero, non-chivalrous, scheming and distrustful man. Look no further than "In a Lonely Place" or "Treasure of the Sierra Madre" for such darker characters, though one should not dismiss his more heroic pictures either. Either way, Bogart steals the show in William Wyler's "The Desperate Hours."

The plot is simple enough. A random family home is invaded by three escaped prisoners from an Indiana prison. The prisoners need to stay out of sight and they need cold hard cash, and the leader of this trio is the tough, often brutal Griffin (Humphrey Bogart). A package of money is supposed to be delivered to this home address by Griffin's Ohio-based girlfriend. Of course, nothing goes as planned. Griffin's girlfriend is stopped for a traffic violation and so now, she will have to mail the money. Griffin goes head-to-head with the patriarch of this household, Mr. Dan Hilliard (Fredric March), who will not so easily bow down to Griffin's every request. The other family members in this hostage situation are Dan's wife, Eleanor (Martha Scott), who is close to getting a nervous breakdown though she's ever the dutiful wife; teenage Cindy (Mary Murphy) who is considering getting married, and the little brother, Ralphie (Richard Eyer), who insists on being called Ralph and will not kiss his father before going off to school - a simple firm handshake will do.     

As a home invasion thriller, Wyler's direction allows for much introspection of the characters and their motives, some which surprise us. One rudimentary brute is more cold-blooded than the rest (watch out for the scene with the garbage pickup man). Bogart allows a little touch of humanity when his younger brother, Hal (Dewey Martin), decides he wants to cut loose, afraid he will be jailed again. Griffin will not stop from killing but only as a last resort and Dan especially comes close to upsetting the whole situation. The tension builds and the danger of getting killed slowly becomes a realization. We side with the good-natured family of course but they are not hapless victims, and that is the strength of Joseph Hayes' script. Hilliard will vainly protect his family and switches from vulnerable to a man of potential violence when holding a gun. Cindy is no vulnerable teenager, faking an illness by collapsing on the floor with a brave attempt to take one of their guns. Ralph himself doesn't like any of the thugs and lets them know it, also bravely trying to escape through his bedroom window at one point. The wife shows courage as well when she smacks Griffin in the face. 

Bogart and March really bring the audience to their knees with their endless confrontations and verbal attacks. We also get Ray Collins appear as a Sheriff, if only for a few minutes, and there is Deputy Sheriff Jesse Bard (Arthur Kennedy) who has dealt with Griffin in the past. This deftly handled noir thriller shows that Wyler knew had to engage us with an unbearable suspense yarn in the ways Hitchcock did. It truly packs a wallop.

The children of today, that they may be better citizens of tomorrow

DEAD END (1937)
Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

There is a stunning opening shot in William Wyler's "Dead End" where we see the poor tenements below the skyline of massive buildings in the background and, as the camera pans to ground level, there is a street filled with garbage and local folks trying to make a living (a milkman is spotted) living in crowded quarters. The camera then tracks to the left to see part of the East River and an opulent looking building where the wealthy live. That dividing line is crucial to understanding William Wyler's film, part melodrama, part reality and part mob movie. 

There is a group of kids called the Dead End Kids who do nothing but stir trouble (they roast potatoes over a drum fire). They harass the wealthy people in that tall ornate building left and right, in the most harmless ways imaginable (and with the deepest New York accents you can imagine). One incident unfortunately involves the stabbing of a judge's brother, right in the man's hand. Then there is that rich kid who gets robbed by the hooligans of his watch and clothes.The Dead End Kid involved in the stabbing, Tommy (Billy Halop), lives with his big sister, Drina (Sylvia Sidney), who wants to move out to a better neighborhood. She has her eye on her childhood friend, a struggling architect, Dave (Joel McCrea), who has his eye on a glamorous looking blonde, Kay (Wendy Barrie). She lives in the expensive high-rise and when she comes to visit Dave at his apartment, she sees cockroach-infested garbage cans. Yuck!  

Meanwhile, a high-end mobster who had a little plastic surgery done, Hugh "Baby Face" Martin (Humphrey Bogart), has returned to the neighborhood with his partner Hunk and hopes to see the girl he almost married two decades earlier. Baby Face wears silk suits so he hardly has an issue with the wealthy moving in close to the picaresque East River. He also has no issue with the rowdy street urchins because he used to be one himself. 

"Dead End" is suffused with imagery of only one corner of that dead end street next to the East River (the origins of this screenplay are stagebound). Still, during the sequence of Kay going up the tenement stairs or a chase that involves relentless shootouts, we see dark, confined spaces such as fire escapes and rooftops that give this film a special noir look (this is where you can see cinematographer Greg Toland, pre-"Citizen Kane," really at work). Interestingly, there is no visual comparison with the marble-looking high rise apartments and we never see how swanky those accommodations are.

"Dead End" is well-crafted by director Wyler (along with Toland's help) and there are some strong, emotional moments that can pierce and cut through the facade of its singular location. Bogart's mobster has a scene with his mother whom he has not seen in years - her feelings of betrayal of having raised a murderer echo deeply and it hurts Baby Face to his core. I also love Drina's insistence to the police that her brother be released in her care, or how she pines for Dave and such moments feel honest and earned. "Dead End" evokes the world of the poor and the rich and how they will never coalesce. There will always be a dividing line.

If war comes, it's goodbye roses

 MRS. MINIVER (1942)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

If you watch William Wyler's "Mrs. Miniver" in principally the first half hour, you might not see anything here other than a domestic drama where not much happens. Sure, you got Mrs. Miniver (Oscar winner Greer Garson), the matron of a British household with two kids and her architect husband (Walter Pidgeon). They are spendthrifts - she goes into town to buy fashionable hats and he is ready to buy a new car rather than fixing the tire of his old car. Their eldest son, Vin (Richard Ney), has just returned from studies at Oxford and pontificates about Britain becoming a feudal system. This is all very simply presented without much fuss or troubling issues. Oh, yes, and there is the girl (Oscar-winning performance by Teresa Wright) that Vin likes whom he dances with and proposes marriage. 

Before you know it, air raid sirens are heard and the fictional town of Belham is struck by bombs from war planes overhead. This is the time of World War II where Vin enlists in the Royal Air Force and Mrs. Miniver is less than pleased though she never voices her concerns other than to her husband (who in turn is part of a riverboat mission to Dunkirk). The rest of "Mrs. Miniver" functions as sentimental war melodrama yet it works - I never felt that the film was thick in sentimental inclinations. We expect certain cliches for this kind of picture yet Wyler instead relies on irony and some unexpected lives are taken during these endless bombing campaigns. One sequence stands out with Mrs. Miniver - a wounded German soldier infiltrates her home and demands milk and food. It is a titillating sequence because we are unsure of the outcome - will he kill her or will she be able to disarm him?

"Mrs. Miniver" is often a stirring drama of the people caught in the middle of a war who are not soldiers  - "it's the people's war." The movie has been pegged as propaganda by Wyler and even President Roosevelt who, at the time, declared the picture needed to be in theaters fast to rally the troops and provide morale. Regardless of how it was pegged and trotted about, "Mrs. Miniver" benefits from a most elegant performance by Greer Garson. She is the soul of the movie - the voice who does not speak about war yet her silence speaks volumes.

Bourgeois threatened by affair

 THE UNFAITHFUL WIFE (1969)
Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Some of the critics at the time felt Hitchcockian tones present in Claude Chabrol's "The Unfaithful Wife" yet the writer-director denied such claims. He is right since his infidelity-in-a middle-class family picture is more about a slow progression of unrelenting tension felt in almost every frame without the benefits of heightened suspense by way of 120 volts of Bernard Herrmann's music. "The Unfaithful Wife" is leisurely-paced yet within its portrait of the artifice of a unified domestic family, something wicked this way will come.

Charles Desvallees (Michel Bouquet), working in the insurance business, is in a presumably happy marriage with an attractive wife, Hélène (Stéphane Audran). What's not to love; they have a son and live in a desolate French countryside manor so this all points to a beguiling bourgeois existence. From the start of the film, something is askew when Charles' mother visits, complaining to Hélène that he needs to lose weight. When we are introduced to Charles, he seems fit and jolly enough for a Frenchman who loves to drink and eat. When he is away from his heavy workload at the office, he realizes Helene needs to enjoy life a tad - sometimes they frequent a nightclub or have dinner at a fine elegant restaurant. Still, right from the start, I had the sneaky suspicion that Charles was well aware his wife was committing adultery. When she makes a phone call, we know she is calling her lover and Charles catches her without admission from either one - she claims it was a wrong number.

Charles eventually hires a private detective to check where Hélène goes when she frequents Paris. Eventually we get an address and the identity of the lover and it leads to a confrontation delivered with tension and suspense. The odd thing about Chabrol is that he refuses to indulge in heightening any moment - it is all deadpan delivery. Charles appears to be a bland individual and Helene shows a spark of sexiness that he may or may not find troubling - their bedroom scenes are nothing more than slight pecks. He knows she has desires but he has erred in thinking their domesticity is enough for their existence as a family (I suppose a sex life went out the window long before they had their son). She clearly needs passion yet the irony is that her lover (Maurice Ronet) is only a tad more animated than Charles. 

"The Unfaithful Wife" is not easy to digest or like, plainly due to the emotional disconnect to these self-absorbed characters. That is precisely the point, that a marriage has to entail something more grounded than just having a child and a pleasant home. For Charles, there is nothing else and that is his own tragedy - a man with no passion and no joy other than devotion and commitment to his family. No matter what.

Oceans of blood

 THRONE OF BLOOD (1957)

An Appreciation by Jerry Saravia

"Throne of Blood" is pure nihilistic chaos. There is no morality, only the consummation of power by any means necessary. Violence is etched in every frame of this film, and it is also encouraged and understood as the only way. Ascension of power has no limits other than someone else vying for the same climb to the desired throne. 

Set in 1400's feudal Japan, this is Akira Kurosawa's theatrical, Noh-style of Shakespeare's bloody "Macbeth" except that the dialogue from the Bard is nonexistent - only the feeling and tone are somewhat present. The sets of the Spider's Web Castle, the sole visible impenetrable fortress of note, are spare, formally empty spaces with some noticeable painted directional stripes on the walls. One other section has dried blood on the wall. Aside from the castle, the outside forest is constantly drenched from rainy weather where the spirits reside, foretelling of prophecies. There is a white witch in a hut spinning a wheel speaking in almost otherworldly tones and foretelling that samurai warrior Washizu (a terrifying Toshiro Mifune) will eventually become Lord of the Northern Garrison. Furthermore, Washizu's childhood friend, Miki (Minoru Chiaki), will lead as Commander. As the witch continues speaking of prophecies, Washizu learns he will be Lord of Spider's Web Castle and Miki's son, Yoshiteru (Akira Kubo), will also ascend to being a lordship. Is this ascension easily obtained? Perhaps, since the current Lord of Spider's Web Castle, Tsuzuki (Takamaru Sasaki), later informs the samurai warriors of their predestined positions. 

What is deeply chilling is watching Washizu's wife, Asaji in the Lady Macbeth role (truly scary performance by Isuzu Yamada), who seems to foretell her own prophecies - that is to say, she persuades with incalculable conviction that Washizu needs to kill the current lord and blame it on the guards. Asaji never makes much eye contact with her husband and when she does, she resembles the ghostly witch. Asaji is also pregnant yet there is a stillborn death, and she slowly goes insane (at one point, she washes her hands of blood stains except there is no blood or water). 

"Throne of Blood" is chock full of atmosphere and impending dread with vicious rainstorms and immense fog. Kurosawa has a crafted a story of an endless cycle of violence steeped in superstition and fulfilled prophecies. Mifune's last stand in an ocean of deadly arrows is still one of the most thrilling and intense action scenes ever recorded on film. A stone cold masterpiece.

Early Ozu comedy

WHAT DID THE LADY FORGET? (1937)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia 

I love films that exist as observational pieces on family dynamics. Yasujiro Ozu made this his own dynamic, exploring complicated relationships between families with sometimes devastating results. "What Did the Lady Forget?" is his second sound film and is more comical than his later works yet there are nuggets of truth buried in its observations.

A wealthy professor of medicine, Dr. Komiya (Tatsuo Saito), needs precious time away from his overbearing wife, Tokiko (Sumiko Kurishima). The old man is about to play golf and then decides not, opting to have a drink at a Ginza bar known as the Cervantes Bar! Since his progressive teenage niece from Osaka is in town, Setsuko (Michiko Kuwano), she follows him to the bar and drinks and smokes (oh, these rebellious teens!)  Setsujo stands up to Tokiko, refusing to cater to her demands of not drinking since Tokiko sees her as too young. The doctor is more amused than upset at his niece, and they frequent together at the bar. Of course, Dr. Komiya cannot admit to being at the bar since he's supposedly playing golf and it is raining! Komiya can't escape his wife finding about his lies and it leads to a moment of him slapping his wife in the face that almost stops everything cold. 

At 71 minutes, "What Did the Lady Forget?" explores these characters though not with quite enough depth - it is more of a treatment that could've been expanded to a longer running time (note the running time of Ozu's later efforts). I did find it to be exquisitely made and consistently absorbing in its depiction of the interior lives of this family - most of it feels like a stage play though it reads as much more cinematic. Most memorable characters are Saito's doctor, who rubs his head when he is happy, and Kuwano's luminous Setsuko. "What Did the Lady Forget?" is not a bad place to start if you have never seen an Ozu film.

When you wish to become a real boy

 PINOCCHIO (1940)
An Appreciation by Jerry Saravia

Kind, older, warm-hearted Geppetto has creates toys out of wood. His shop is filled with happiness, warmth on every inch of his place, from cuckoos clocks to a black cat named Figaro and a female fish named Cleo. A sunnier disposition cannot be had in this place until he finishes creating Pinocchio, a wooden puppet in the form of a young boy. 

Darkness enters the picture after Pinocchio is brought to life by the Blue Fairy, who has performed this miracle because Geppetto is such a good man. Like any good wooden puppet, a conscience is needed and who better than Jiminy Cricket - he consistently breaks the fourth wall making noises and sound observations. But Jiminy can't perform too many miracles himself when Pinocchio is easily deceived by a devious fox ironically named Honest John and his relatively mute partner, Gideon the Cat. This leads Pinocchio to be used as some sort of freak show at a puppet theatre, sans strings, managed by the mean, ugly Stromboli. This delights the audience but eventually our innocuous puppet is kept locked in a birdcage, presumably held captive forever. The Blue Fairy appears wondering how Pinocchio got led astray so quickly. We get the most famous scene perhaps in all of Disney's movies where Pinocchio lies and his nose grows longer and longer until tree branches start forming (Jiminy tells him quietly, "Leave me out of this.") After Pinocchio and Jiminy escape Stromboli's carriage, Honest John finds him again and lures him to Pleasure Island where all the kids are transformed into donkeys! And then we get a huge frightening whale that can probably makes waves around Moby Dick! 

"Pinocchio" is a marvelous delight, completely memorable and tightly paced from start to finish. It also has a couple of memorable, catchy songs notably "When You Wish Upon a Star" (sung by Jiminy) and amazing three-dimensional colorful animation that is among Disney's greatest efforts ever (right up there with "Fantasia"). A movie to revisit again and again (I had the good fortune of seeing it in theaters back in its 1970 reissue) - a true national treasure and a fantastic fantasy where kids will be kids but they can learn to grow and learn from their mistakes. Only Disney could make such a message feel and look so beautiful. You just might excitingly jump up and down after seeing it.     

I know thee not, old man

 CHIMES AT MIDNIGHT (1965)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Orson Welles has said that the most important character in the literary land of Shakespeare was Falstaff, the colorful overweight, boozy knight and nobleman who was friends with Prince Hal, the Prince of Wales. Falstaff was the most popular in Shakespeare's plays but never at the center of attention, certainly not as depicted here. With Orson Welles playing Falstaff in his own "Chimes at Midnight," it is no surprise to see him as the primary focus. This is where it feels right, a comical character is expanded on a story that becomes a rather serious drama by the end, about the rise and fall of a friendship and paternal love that becomes a betrayal. Shakespeare purists in the past found fault with Welles soliciting and combining certain passages and dialogue from Shakespeare's own history plays such as "Henry IV Part 1 and 2" (and a non-history play, "The Merry Wives of Windsor") but it is exciting and sometimes buoyant to see a different point-of-view from a supporting character. This is also one of the more spirited films Welles had ever made.

Buoyant would describe Welles' performance as Falstaff, a messy, jovial man who finds much merriment when he is with Prince Hal (Keith Baxter), and their gallivanting and humorous asides inside the Boar's Head Tavern can remind one of Robin Hood's own friendship with Little John. A tension is rising as Hal is admonished by his father, the austere King Henry IV (John Gielgud), for residing at that jolly tavern with its swarm of women and for hanging with Falstaff. Gielgud's reading of Shakespearean lines ("And in that very line, Harry, standest thou; For thou has lost thy princely privilege. With vile participation") is about "displacing air," a quote attributed to Welles' own documentary "Finding Othello," and it is almost musical rather than spoken - you can imagine that this amoral King can destroy with words, not actions. Hal is rash with his father yet something has affected the young prince. In many stirring and emotionally grounded scenes with Falstaff, Hal is slowly detaching himself from his friend, his second father as it were, and that words will in fact cause more damage than actions. How could they not in the land of Shakespeare?  

There are many astounding sequences particularly the Battle of Shrewsbury where we see soldiers falling on each other after being struck by arrows and swords in the thick of muddy grounds. Welles employs fast cutting and a sense of randomness in war - it feels bestial and inhuman. Falstaff stands on the sidelines, not directly involved in the battle and it is clear he is not physically able to fight this civil war. After Prince Hal (principally mentioned as Prince Henry in the history plays) kills Hotspur (Norman Rodway), a rambunctious military leader from Northumberland (both actors delivering lines of regret beautifully), Falstaff wants to take credit for the killing (more so in the play where he thrusts the sword into Hotspur's leg) with the intention of impressing a dubious King. Falstaff wants to feel a kinship with Hal even in battle (earlier it is in a planned robbery of pilgrims carrying royal money in the woods that also feels like something out of Robin Hood). 

"Chimes at Midnight" keeps you glued to the screen with Welles dominating with his immense presence, as if this part of England cannot rightfully exist without Falstaff. When we arrive at the final heartbreaking sequence of Prince Hal becoming Henry V, Falstaff is overjoyed at the news and springs forward at the coronation screaming "My king!" The king dismisses Falstaff, pretends not to know him, and has no disassociated himself from the tavern folk. The newly crowned Henry V may become as lonely and isolated as his own father. Falstaff's joy has turned to bitterness, something he may have foreseen because he felt he mattered to Hal. With Hal often walking away from Falstaff after the battle or leaving the tavern in earlier scenes, the heartbreak continues in moments that seemingly evoke Welles' own sadness and detachment from the Hollywood industry. All alone to weep for what might have been.

The Passing Barge of Romance

 L'ATALANTE (1934)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

French director Jean Vigo would surely have become one of France's greatest directors had his life not been cut short by tuberculosis. At the stunningly young age of 29, Vigo passed on and his last film, "L'Atalante," was compromised and trimmed without his approval by the studio. There had been six versions of the film since yet it wasn't until 2001 that we got a more fully-realized work that captured Vigo's swan song in all his splendor. 

"L'Atalante" is a French river barge commandeered by Captain Jean (Jean Daste) who has just married  a village girl named Juliette (German actress Dita Parlo). Their wedding procession leads them out of a village to the barge, presumably living with Jean in the barge as they travel around the world. The conditions inside the barge are not the best as evidenced by several different cats and kittens, all kept by a Pere Jules (Michel Simon), the old seaman who has collected all sorts of knick-knacks on his worldly journeys. His knick-knacks include a conductor puppet, a jar containing the severed hands of a mate who died long ago, and one too many fish nets, all inside a very cramped room.When the bored Juliette enters his room, it feels as if she is being greeted by an entire world that she had never seen. She is quite taken by Pere Jules and tries to be tender with him, though this does not lead to any intimacy beyond acknowledgement and potential friendship. In one shocking moment, Pere Jules shows her a knife he collected from his travels, cuts himself with it and she is shocked and sticks out her tongue for a second, as if she was about to lick his wound. You probably will not any moment in like that American pre-Code cinema.  

All this is interrupted by the madly jealous Jean who tears apart Jules' room. Jean yells mostly at Jules for having collected too much junk but he's mostly mad at Juliette. Promises of a night out in the town of Paris are cut short by Jules who takes off with his young cabin boy assistant to see a fortune teller, and steals a horn for his phonograph! Meanwhile, Juliette and Jean eventually visit a merry dance hall where they encounter a happy-go-lucky street peddler who flirts with Juliette and dances with her. Jean gets jealous again and they return to the barge. Eventually, Juliette sneaks out at night to Paris and Jean leaves abruptly on the ship, insulted and raving mad at her for leaving their bed. 

"L'Atalante" has a potentially flimsy story that is transformed by Jean Vigo's heart and attention to detail specifically the harsh conditions of the ship, and of Paris itself with its lack of jobs and crime in the streets, that makes it sing heartily. The movie is at times joyous and pulsates with the vibrancy of this couple's love - it gives you a lift to see the happiness in this couple and Juliette's genuine smile (I was quite moved when they sort of wrestle with each other on top of the barge). When their marriage goes sour, we feel for them and want them together - they are clearly naive and inexperienced in love. They need to mature and respect each other and know their love can overcome anything. Jean becomes a stoic man, unable to play checkers with Jules. We get parallel actions of them in bed, writhing with pleasure and wanting to be close. It is saddening for a second, then finally heartrending to see them reunite. There's a mere hesitation only because maybe neither one knows where they really stand. You embrace, you love, and now there's the rest of your life. It is a genuine romantic movie and, though it is not nearly at the level of 1927's "Sunrise," it will still give you goosebumps for days. 

C for Cinematic, H for Hitchcock

 DIAL M FOR MURDER (1954)
Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

It is no accident that the perfect murder is near impossible in reality, not to mention in movies and mystery books, because there is always a slip up. Tony Wendice (Ray Milland), a former tennis pro, is cocksure that a planned murder by a former associate of his will be delivered without a hitch (no pun intended). Just when you think of every conceivable aspect of a planned murder, however, some small detail is always overlooked. When you watch "Dial M for Murder" unfold, you are thinking where the slip up could be. Considering Wendice doesn't commit the murder, he did not think about unplanned and unforeseeable actions that derail his plans. 

The opening introduction of Wendice with his soon-to-be accomplice, Charles Swann (Anthony Dawson), and the initial discussion of buying a car leads to Swann's criminal background and the perfect murder is truly riveting stuff and holds your attention. The whole scene takes place in a single room in an apartment and director Hitchcock cleverly stages the scene with various angles, including the customary low angles and high angles of his later work. No shot is repeated twice and by consistently switching it up with occasional pans across the living room to a desk with curtains in the background and selective master shots, it becomes a master class in how to make a room with two people talking crackle with excitement. That the actors involved are suave, sophisticated Ray Milland and inquisitive, dapper Anthony Dawson are sufficient yet we also get angelic-looking Grace Kelly as Wendice's not-so-angelic cheating wife and Robert Cummings as a mystery novelist who is in love with Kelly. Adding enormously to the proceedings is John Williams as the fastidious Scotland Yard detective. You never think for a moment you are watching a filmed stage play.

"Dial M for Murder" is not great Hitchcock but it is tight, formal storytelling where everything falls in place precisely. It's just the murder that doesn't. 

College widow and swordfish

 THE HORSE FEATHERS (1932)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Harpo Marx gets to impressively play the harp for an extended period of time and catch some dogs, maybe a policeman. Groucho Marx gets to uproariously sing "Whatever It Is, I'm Against It" as a professor in front of the faculty, and makes a mockery of everyone. Chico Marx is finicky about getting the right password for entry to a speakeasy, and argues until he accidentally gives it away ("Swordfish" of course). Zeppo Marx, the most normal of the Marx Brothers, is interested in the "college widow" (Thelma Todd). Meanwhile there is some business about kidnapping two college football players.

"The Horse Feathers" is pure tomfoolery fun, though not nearly as anarchic as "Monkey Business" or "Duck Soup" (the latter is tied with "A Night at the Opera" as their greatest comical work). There is so much to enjoy here from the double, sometimes triple takes delivered by Groucho as well as his various one-liners. I howled with laughter at many but especially at Groucho who believes that a "father further" is more appropriate than "Anything further father?" The constant interruption in the college girl's bedroom from Groucho coming and sitting on her lap while opening an umbrella, to Chico and Harpo both bringing in blocks of ice and throwing them out the window (Not sure what the heck that is all about). The football sequences are insanely funny, particularly the antics of the Marx Brothers playing cards and eating hot dogs or leading a chariot with horses tied to a garbage wagon in the middle of the field. 

For a 1932 flick pre-Code, most of "Horse Feathers" is gleefully inoffensive and never crude (though double entendres are plentiful). There's also the unusual sight for its time of Groucho breaking the fourth wall and telling the audience to head to the lobby while Chico sings and plays piano. You just gotta love the glorious antics of the Marx Brothers because anything goes. 

Note: The term "college widow" refers to a young woman who remains in a college year after year dating different male students. Nothing further father.   

High School as a big garbage can

 THE BLACKBOARD JUNGLE (1955)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

I would argue that for potency alone, "The Blackboard Jungle" has not lost none of it nor is it dated. This 1950's school of juvenile delinquents may not have cell phones or computers or carry guns but their attitudes have not changed nor their propensity for violence (it has only gotten worse). In the 2020's, the grossly negligent attitudes of the 50's have now become practically nihilistic. This movie seems innocent by comparison but not completely alien by any standards.

Richard Dadier (Glenn Ford), a Navy veteran, is is seeking the most noble of jobs - a high-school teaching position in English at an inner-city school overrun with misfits and gang members. One of them, Artie West, the leader (Vic Morrow), taunts "Teach" relentlessly. First, Artie might listen to Mr. Dadier, then he ignores and scoffs at him. Eventually, there is a brutal assault on the streets of this rough neighborhood where Dadier is beaten up along with math teacher Josh Edwards (Richard Kiley). Police are called yet Dadier has no idea who beat him up or slashed his briefcase. Naturally, he suspects one of the students and it doesn't take long for him to find the culprit in Artie. Only the shenanigans go beyond the classroom when Artie starts sending letters to Dadier's wife with false adultery accusations. There are also false bigotry accusations within the classroom. A Navy man can only take so much before making a stand. Mr. Edwards quits after his jazz records are all destroyed by these students. Dadier's pregnant wife (Anne Francis) insists that her bruised husband quit and teach elsewhere. Nothing will make Dadier quit, however, not even hearing the heartless remarks by another teacher (Louis Calhern) who calls the school "a big garbage can."

"Blackboard Jungle" shows some students are willing to learn despite peer pressure from Artie and other loyal members. One of them is Miller (Sidney Poitier), who calls Dadier "chief," and he is the smart guy of the class whom others listen to. Miller also has interest in music and is preparing for a Christmas play at school. Dadier knows that with Miller's help, he might be able to reach his students. Dadier will not quit no matter how often he's pushed or threatened with switchblades. 

"The Blackboard Jungle" is a rough, tough picture for its time, showing how far juvenile delinquents have gone to defy the establishment. What may have irked some audiences back in 1955 wasn't so much the teens in the audience finding something that spoke to them but rather the cold reality of the school system. One teacher is either sexually assaulted or beaten or they have their property destroyed - no one is safe from the teens' wrath. Being destitute brings forth desperation and anger and the teens felt it and, I suspect, so did the teenage audience who danced in the aisles to the tune of Bill Haley's "Rock Around the Clock" playing in the opening credits (later the song became synonymous with "Happy Days"). The movie is ostensibly a rock and roll-type picture with the vastly underrated Glenn Ford showing he is the perfect idealistic teacher - the one who is ready to fight for what he believes in. We have had cinematic teachers for many decades but Ford has that special gift and that is, beyond his tough exterior, he shows he cares. He genuinely cares. Not dated at all.

Note: Look for Paul Mazursky and a beaming Jamie Farr (listed in the credits as Jameel Farah) as students in Dadier's class.    

Spruce Goose as a flying ocean liner

 NON-STOP NEW YORK (1937)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Starting off as a noir piece about a mob killing amidst the Depression-era of New York, "Non-Stop New York" doesn't settle long enough for a thriller dynamic with a love story and some sociological tension. The movie is a non-stop roller coaster ride filled to the brim with wit, pungent casting and a futuristic-looking plane that seems to be years ahead of Howard Hughes' own Spruce Goose. Except of course that this Spruce Goose is seemingly a mini-ocean liner with propellers!

A zestful English actress, Jennie Carr (Anna Lee), is penniless and is eager for at least a cup of coffee. Thankfully she has enough change for a coffee, which she promptly drops on the floor when bumping into a guy named Billy (James Pirrie). Billy is a mob attorney and wants out of the business, only Jeannie doesn't know that. She is invited to Billy's apartment and then ejected when the mob boss Brant (Francis L. Sullivan) and some goons arrive and a shot rings out. Jennie had seen the men but not the murder, and there is a vagrant who witnessed it and is charged for a crime he didn't commit. You see, it looks as if the film is building to another noir until we enter Hitchcock terrain via a Trans-Atlantic flight from New York to London.

What is delightfully escapist fun about "Non-Stop New York" is the eclectic cast of characters including the aforementioned Anna Lee's Jennie Carr, who's a little on the naive side. John Loder is the disbelieving Scotland Yard inspector who takes an interminable amount of time to believe Anna's story (I would have trouble with her version of events too). There's also a bespectacled young musical prodigy (Desmond Tester) who annoys all passengers with his saxophone (which leads to a great joke about a parachute); Jerry Verno as a steward who has his share of double entendres, and the grand villainy of Francis L. Sullivan as Brant who pretends to be a Paraguayan general named Costello (isn't Costello normally an Irish or Italian surname?) 

"Non-Stop New York" has a wildly contrived plot (why all the shenanigans to put Jennie in jail briefly and then have Brant follow her back to New York?) Still, I did not mind and found the film fluffy yet never less than breezy fun. Wait till you get to the parachute joke!