Gilda (1946) **1/2

Director Charles Vidor’s film noir, Gilda (1946), is full of sexual angst and self-loathing.  It is also not your typical noir. I won’t spoil the ending, but anyone who has seen it knows that the usual formula is not carried out to its bitter end.  That said, it’s an engaging movie with standout performances by Rita Hayworth, Glenn Ford, and George Macready.  Stylistically, it follows all the rules of a noir, and cinematographer Rudolph Maté does an excellent job of playing with shadows and light.  Still, the ending leaves me a bit cold and takes away from any ecstatic praise I might have given it.

Hayworth was given top-billing over Ford, but in reality it is he who is the main character—Gilda (Hayworth) is just his sexy catalyst into the emotional abyss of sexual and psychological obsession. Johnny Farrell (Ford) is both a gambler and a man licking his wounds over a bad romance.  When he meets Ballin Mundson (Macready), the owner of a casino in Buenos Aires, they become fast friends and business associates.  They trust one another implicitly until Ballin marries Gilda. From the very first moment they are introduced it is clear they dislike one another. There’s a reason for this: Gilda is the woman who did Johnny wrong.  What transpires from this moment on is a deadly game of emotional chicken, with scathing verbal barbs and one of the best revenge plans ever. I have to admit, when Johnny finally breaks Gilda’s will and she’s groveling at his feet I was highly satisfied.  And, then that trite ending…

I never really found Ford all that good-looking in other films, but he is full of sexual magnetism in Gilda. I’m sure it helps that he was playing opposite one of Hollywood’s greatest sexpots ever in Hayworth, but that does not diminish the fact that I can’t recall ever seeing Ford look so good—both in his appearance and in his acting.  There’s a particular scene in the film where he gives Gilda a good slap that I found exhilarating. Of course, this could be due to my extreme dislike of Gilda.

If the role of the femme fatale was made for anyone it was Hayworth.  We first meet her character when Ballin asks Gilda if she’s decent (clothed) and Hayworth does her now infamous hair flip and we know that that question, however posed, should always be answered unequivocally no. Unquestionably, she’s beautiful and sexy, but she is also cheap and petty.  Jean Louis designed Hayworth’s gowns to play on her curves and raw sexuality, but they also befit a woman of ill-repute as well. I noticed that Gilda always seems at her worse when she’s wearing some shimmering, beaded outfit.  Of course, exception must be made in the striptease scene, where she’s wearing a black gown and elbow-length gloves—I think the striptease was enough to convey her character’s cheapness.  We get to see her do a few musical numbers, where she dances provocatively and exhibits, what one can only assume is, her burlesque training. I hated Gilda, and so for that reason alone, I have to give kudos to Hayworth.  When you play your character so reprehensibly that even at the end of the film I still hate her (even after Vidor attempts to rehabilitate her), you’ve done a good job. 

Now, to appreciate Macready’s Ballin, disbelief must be suspended.  Screenwriters Jo Eisinger and Marion Parsonnet were obviously still effected by WWII propaganda when they concocted Ballin’s backstory about a tungsten cartel ruling the world (if this is so, we have another reason to fear the Chinese).  Once you get around the outrageousness of this plot development, you can enjoy watching Macready delve into his character’s borderline psychosis of jealousy.  Still, I never really believed he was insane (as Gilda liked to claim) until the end of the film when he came back to wreak revenge on his harlot wife.  Really, she wasn’t worth it. 

Maté’s cinematography adeptly plays on the mood of the story. When a character is thinking dark thoughts (which happens a lot),  Maté employs backlighting and shoots primarily from lower angles.  In scenes where characters are emotionally distant with one another, or one is trying to lure the other to whatever response they want, Maté shoots one half of the frame much darker than the other, and usually in long, full shots in rooms with an inordinate amount of space.  As noirs go, Gilda is stylistically right on.

 

 

Finally, the other thing that stands out to me is the film’s music.  When you begin your film with “Amado Mio” playing over the credits you are making a statement. Yes, it’s a love song, but it’s one of those creepy, obsessive ones. When Hayworth does her own rendition (not really, as Anita Ellis dubbed it) it is at a time when Gilda is nearing her breaking point.  And, the way that they used “Put the Blame on Mame” was ingenious.  The first time Gilda sings it (again Ellis) she’s in a position of power and it is a restrained performance.  But when she sings it near the end of the film, in the would-be striptease number, it is a hot-mess of uncontrollable emotional spite.  I think Vidor should be lauded for this clever reversal of fortune and power.  If he had only ended the film after Johnny slaps that crap out of Gilda for this burlesque act things would have been just peachy. 

It’s a Wonderful Life (1946) ***

It is a myth that the suicide rate increases between Thanksgiving and Christmas.  However, the “most wonderful time of the year” is not always so wonderful for everyone.  Christmas cards, crowded stores, wrapping presents, and mounting debt can weigh heavily on the psyche. And, then there are those who have lost loved ones or feel as though they haven’t any loved ones at all.  For these people, the holiday season is a torturous time, full of regrets and sorrows.  What-ifs, should-haves, and if-onlys play cruel tricks on those who carry around ghosts and faded dreams in their troubled minds.  I suspect this is the reason that It’s a Wonderful Life (1946) has endured as a Christmas tradition for more than fifty years. Everyone—yes, everyone—has a little of George Bailey running around in their subconscious.  As a wise person once told me, circumstance touches everyone—no one is immune.

I enjoy watching It’s a Wonderful Life every Christmas season because I can relate to George Bailey (James Stewart). An adventurer at heart but a duty-bound person in reality, George and I both made life-altering decisions based on the cards circumstance dealt us—even if that deck was full of jokers we played the game by the rule of responsibility; I expect many others can say the same.

For those unfamiliar with George’s story, it is a simple one. From a very young age George exceeded expectation: he saved his brother (Todd Karns) from drowning and prevented his drunken pharmacist boss (H.B. Warner) from accidentally poisoning someone. When his father (Samuel S. Hinds) died of a stroke he forwent a trip to Europe and then college to head the family’s struggling building and loan company. Instead of spending $2,000 on his honeymoon he used it to stave off a run on the bank.  He invested in a town, Bedford Falls, and a group of people that at heart he wanted nothing more to do than to escape.  Along the way he married a girl (Donna Reed) he knew worshipped him, and agreed to live in a ramshackle house filled with children that required he continue in a job he hated in a town too small for his ambition. And then a bit of ironic circumstance slapped poor George in the face: his undoing was to come at the hands of his own obedience to duty and responsibility.  This, no doubt, was the last bitter pill that George could allow himself to swallow, and so he took it believing that at least he did what was best for others.  Ah, but what would have life been like for all those who benefitted from George’s benevolence and self-sacrifice if he had never existed?  It takes an angel (Henry Travers) seeking his wings to show George that what he viewed as a failed existence was of significant importance to so many others.  

In the end, It’s a Wonderful Life, is a redemption tale. Upon release some critics found the movie too sentimental and said that it idealized an unrealistic world.  By this time just about any film from director Frank Capra was labeled as overly-sentimental by many critics (perhaps you are familiar with the term “Capra-corn”?), and so many overlooked the universal theme of circumstance—it touches everyone.  And, so this corny film that lost $525,000 in 1946, now draws millions of viewers every Christmas. I’ve heard many people say that they watch it to remind themselves that perhaps they didn’t live the life they wanted, but at least they lived the life they got.  They, like George Bailey (and myself), endure the circumstances of life. Perhaps you are not a religious person—you are the perfect candidate for this film which Capra made to combat atheism—but there is one particular Bible verse that applies to this movie. It is written in James 5:11 that “we count them happy which endure”.  Happily, the spirit of It’s a Wonderful Life continues to endure today. 

The Best Years of Our Lives

The Best Years Of Our Lives, 1946
Directed by William Wyler
Nominated for 8 Oscars, Won 7
Up Against: Henry V, It's A Wonderful Life, The Razor's Edge, The Yearling

The Best Years Of Our Lives is a story about returning to everyday life after serving in WWII. This movie tells about 3 soldiers stories, all of whom meet on a plane on their way home to Boone City. Fred, who worked in planes and dropping bombs is returning to a wife he met while training, married soon after, and was deployed after only being married a month. He hardly knows her. Homer is a young bloke who lost his hands when his ship was sunk, and is returning home to a girl he hopes will still want to marry him. Al was an Infantry Platoon Sergeant, and has been married for 20 years and realizes his children have grown up while he's been away. All are returning to jobs they don't love, and find it immensely difficult to adjust. All 3 men's lives intersect with each other and even though they didn't know each other during the actual war, they make ties to each other that are unbreakable.

Though this picture clocks in at 2hrs and 50 minutes, this film had me captivated the whole time. It's not simply about soldiers returning from war (though that's a large part), it's about life, and finding value in what you do, and loving people, and falling in love, and being the best you can be and being accepted by others.

While a story about a soldier returning from war makes for a cliche story, this was one of the first films to be done after WWII. I thought the film was insightfully done. It was made very soon after WWII ended, and gave some good insight on things I'd never thought of. Al's son is talking with him about side-effects of the nuclear bombs dropped in Hiroshima, asking about side-effects. His son, knowing he'd been there, assumed he would know more. Al didn't know very much. Additionally, his daughter was telling him about the struggle on the home front, something he also wasn't aware of. It's not something I'd really thought of. You assume people knew what was happening on both sides, but this wasn't the case.

Let me just say the acting in this film was great. The man who played Homer, Harold Russell, is also a war veteran. He really did lost his hands when he was filming a training film in 1944, after an explosive he was holding accidently detonated. Harold Russell additionally won an Honoray Oscar that year "for bringing hope and courage to his fellow veterans". Harold won the Oscar for Best Supporting Actor, and did he deserve it. Having lived through the experience of actually losing his hands, I'm sure Harold was able to connect with Homer quite intimately. He really tapped into the heartbreak and the awkwardness of people around him, and made Homer become 3D. Additionally, Fredric March, who played Al, won Best Actor that year. Again, he play the part so well. The ladies in the film were also fun, especially Teresa Wright, who played Al's daughter Peggy, who finds herself in a triangle with Fred, the newly-wed who's only really getting to know the girl he married. She's whip-smart, and funny, and Wright portrayed her so well.

This movie was just well put-together and was quite touching. The scenes of the soldiers reuniting with their families and loved ones had me tearing up a little, and I found myself really getting into the story. Will Homer get over what happened and be able to love Wilma? Does Fred really love Marie? And what will Peggy do, now that she's fallen in love with Fred? It was a good tale, and it was a great example of a "full package" film that are deserving to win Best Picture. However, it wasn't my favourite film on the list. It did start to drag on at some points (being the almost 3 hour film that it is), and some story lines were a tad dry, but it was a good movie, and definitely a touching one.

7.5/10

A Matter of Life and Death (1946) ***

 

(This post is a participant of “The Archers Blogathon” hosted by The Classic Film & TV Café, which runs March 25-28. To find other wonderful blog entries on this subject please visit the CMBA website.)

The Archers, Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, collaborated on eighteen films over a thirty year period (1939-72). Usually, it was Powell who did the bulk of the directing and Pressburger who came up with the story ideas and handled most of the production chores (especially when it came to editing and music). A Matter of Life and Death (1946) was the fifth film they made as the Archers, and is considered by many as their finest. While I don’t share that view (I just love those crazy nuns in Black Narcissus), I do think it is a creatively innovative production that exhibits everything that made the Archer collaboration one of the finest in all of cinema.

Initially, A Matter of Life and Death was conceived as a propaganda film to ease the hostility some Brits had toward American military personnel stationed in England during the war. There were complaints that some American soldiers were insensitive to the deprivations the British people endured as a result of rationing and bombing. I suspect if you were watching this in a British theater in 1946 you would have picked up on some of the propagandistic elements, but these were only a small part of a much bigger message about love and art.

Love at first sight is the most common device used by writers of novels and screenplays. Thankfully, the Archers weren’t common and so the lovers of this story are given their own unique love connection. David Niven plays Squadron Leader Peter Carter, a man about to be killed in a fiery airplane crash. Wanting to say goodbye both to his family and the world at large, Peter radios in to give his coordinates so someone can pick up what’s left of him after he jumps without a parachute. He makes contact with June (Kim Hunter), an American radio operator who listens sympathetically to his last words. In that brief conversation they fall in love, which only makes Peter’s coming demise even more tragic. But then there is a literal twist of fate when fog over the English Channel prevents Conductor 71 (Max Goring) from collecting Peter and ushering him into the Other World (that’s its actual name). And, so instead of making his way up a stairway to heaven (which happens to be what the film was called in America), he washes up on a beach near where June is stationed. Their love is affirmed when they meet along the road, and for the rest of the movie they must fight whatever might try to wrest away their happiness.

What I like most about A Matter of Life and Death is its distinctive artistry. Exhibiting the vastness of the universe and the smallness of human existence must have seemed a strange way to begin a film in 1946, but what an inspired way to begin a supremely unique endeavor. Whenever I watch the opening scenes, with the voiceover of the Universe, I can’t help but think how much of an influence this must have had on directors like Stanley Kubrick and Terrence Malick. Taking a page out of The Wizard of Oz (1939), the picture was shot both in Technicolor and black and white. Yet, instead of depicting everyday life in black and white and the the fantasy world as a Technicolor paradise, the Archers did something inspired—the Other World is presented in ethereal black and white while real life is shown in color. Cinematographer Jack Cardiff does an excellent job of presenting both worlds as individual realities. His panoramic shots of the Other World’s courtroom are simply masterful. I find it extremely troubling that his work (as well as every element of the film) didn’t merit an Academy Award nomination.

Alfred Junge’s set design, especially in the Other World, is brilliant. The one image most people remember is the endless escalator to heaven. Its construction was a monumental endeavor that took three months to complete, but it was well worth it. Watching Peter and Conductor 71 sitting on the steps and pondering which great mind (usually a passing statue) should represent him in his appeal is almost surreal. The backdrop of endless space is mesmerizing and actually creates a sense of peacefulness. In addition, the design of the Other World’s courtroom is eye-catching, too. The logistics of the massive amount of spectators in the gallery, as well as creating a set design that could hold all of those people, is just mind-boggling. Yet, Junge pulls it off seamlessly.

Other standout production innovations include the use of freeze-frames, the inventive transitions between Technicolor and black and white, and creatively designed perspective shots. If you’ve seen the film you know that whenever Conductor 71 meets Peter in the real world that time freezes—in his words, “time is a mere tyranny.” The most memorable instance of freeze-frame is when June is playing ping pong with Dr. Reeves (Roger Livesey) and the ball stops in midair while Peter and the conductor move about in live action. While this is an interesting scene, it is not what I consider to be the most inspired. That honor belongs to the one where the Archers place the point of perspective behind Peter’s actual eyeball when he goes under anesthesia. The viewer sees what Peter’s eye sees: the medical team, the gas mask, the closing eyelid, then blood vessels, and finally the transition into the black and white Other World. It’s just such an unusual shot design and so different from just about anything that you would see in cinema at that time.

While the overall story is entertaining, I enjoy watching A Matter of Life and Death for its artistic merits. Powell and Pressburger’s cinematic vision is a celebration of creativity and artistry.

473. The Strange Love of Martha Ivers

473. (21 Nov) The Strange Love of Martha Ivers (1946, Lewis Milestone) 58



The Strange Love of Martha Ivers has an amazing prologue where an entitled young woman murders Judith Anderson, her wicked aunt, after she canes her kitten to death. The film then moves forward twenty years into the future and the only thing that's working in the film's favor at that point is the young woman is now Barbara Stanwyck. Kirk Douglas is totally miscast as her alcoholic husband and Van Heflin doesn't hold a candle to her either as her childhood sweetheart. There are some fun noir elements, particularly in the melodramatic finale, but a rushed romance between Heflin and Lizabeth Scott is a hindrance.

435. The Beast with Five Fingers

435. (16 Oct) The Beast with Five Fingers (1946, Robert Florey) 38



There's a definite novelty in a movie about a violent disembodied hand, but it's clear that since Peter Lorre is the soul it's torturing that it's probably all in his mind. When the twist finally comes around that it is indeed all imagined, it's pretty frustrating that the movie is so boldly pointless. There are some gothic horror elements that make this briefly fun, but it's an almost instantly forgettable B-movie.