Love in the Afternoon: Love Audrey Any Time

I don't mean to sound hyperbolic, but you could show me a film with Audrey Hepburn spending two hours counting dimes and I'd probably still give it a six out of ten. For my part, she's just that mesmerizing to watch. Of course, it doesn't hurt that in this 1957 seductive romantic sex-comedy, Hepburn plays the shy, seductive french (? - well, they say she's french) girl, who lures in the strapping American, Gary Cooper as Gary Cooper, and begins a tantalizing affair.

So, that's about thirty minutes of the two+ hour long film taken care of. What for the rest? Well a lot of montages, waiting for the characters to get back together, and then more seductive talk as Hepburn's character grows into a full woman, and Cooper begins the slow transition process from Master of Debauchery to Love Sick Womanizer. Oh, and don't forget to throw in some Gypsies and Maurice Chevalier for a bit of flavor (not exactly a sentence you get to write every day - shame).

And it's lucky for Love in the Afternoon that it has such a strong cast. Because in all honesty, I love you Billy Wilder, but this one is a bit of a bore. The middle just doesn't end. Once the setup is gone, the movie's footing is swiped out from underneath it quicker than a foot on top of a banana peel in a '30s slapstick film. The scenes were Hepburn and Cooper are apart are just agonizing to watch. It's not that they're bad, but rather that they don't go anywhere. So much rush for the setup only to sit around and wait for the film to roll back around again.

But that's OK, because you get to pass the time staring at one of Hollywood's finest stars. Hepburn may not have to pull off a french accent, but she knows how to work a camera. And few have ever come close to her level. Maurice Chevalier is always a delight to behold. Gary Cooper oozes manliness, even if it does come with a bit too much of the grandpa smell. Then, you have the gypsies, who are a solid recurring gag throughout the whole affair.

Wilder's direction is tame, and lacks the oomph of so many of his efforts. The dark, cynical edged, comedy he so often interspliced throughout his rom-coms is visibly missing from this affair. If it weren't for the opening credits, this film would lack the markers of a Wilder installment. Which is fine in some respects, but I couldn't help but long for that exaggerated zany, anti-romantic sentiment. Yet, what the film lacks in laughs it makes up for in torrid passion. A highly sexualized blend, stirred together using some of Hollywood's finest, and thrown into an era where such talk was far from the social norm. Now that's the Wilder I know and love!

Overall Rating: 7.00/10

Public Service Announcement:

Warning - Films starring Audrey Hepburn have been officially labeled aphrodisiacs by the Food and Drug Administration. Those sensitive to such 'energetic expressions' may want to consult their doctor prior to seeing any of her films. Ah screw, it live a little!

His Kind of Woman: A Priceless Affair

Is it too great a pun to call His Kind of Woman, Priceless? If so, slap the cuffs on me and take me away to jail because His Kind of Woman is a film which lives and dies by the vocal wonder that is Vincent Price. A constant reminder that the greatest flaw our society will always face is that he failed to live long enough to do a GPS voice over.

When dealing with a movie of the flair of His Kind of Woman, it's important to categorize just what kind of film it is. Setup and packed with all the markings of a fly by night, run of the mill noir tale, His Kind of Woman injects a lovely dose of self-awareness, and light hearted adventure along the way. The interplay and romantic tinglings between our picture of masculinity (Mitchum) and the epitome of sex appeal (Russell), reaches a chemical overload, exploding off the screen. And it's a good thing to, because the story just isn't that great.

But His Kind of Woman has a good enough story to do what it wants to do: spin noir on its head. Vincent Price's overblown tour de force finale, matched with Mitchum's tough guy looking for answers setup, all at the background of a beautiful costal resort in South America, it's just too much to handle. In most other hands, this film would be inept, generic, or so cheesy even milk would pass. Yet, it never falters.

True to the course, and willing to take a chance, His Kind of Woman shines in the most nuanced, twilight lit light. Of course, it doesn't hurt that the film features Jim "the Thurston Howell III Mr. Magoo" Backus as a bumbling background loafer - obviously present to supply this film with the necessary street cred. Oh, this is just a joy to be had.

Every character just works. Not only on their own right, but with respect to the personas of those around them. Their conversations bounce off one other flawlessly. It's almost as if the cast was born to work together. From bit players to big stars, everyone pulls their own weight. And the film is all the better for it!

Overall Rating: 8.00/10

What Do We Know About 'Mendacity?'

Cat on a Hot Tin Roof

What do we know about 'mendacity?' More than we're ever likely to let on. And that's a truth you can bet the farm on.

Such is the case of Tennessee Williams' classic play, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, adapted for screen by Richard Brooks and . Fresh off the news that he is not dying of cancer, Big Daddy (Burl Irves) returns home to his multi-thousand acre farm, worth millions of dollars, and two children sitting on entirely opposite end of the spectrum. On the one hand you have Gooper, the loyal son who seeks for nothing but to appease his father... and if he's lucky get a large piece of the inheritance pie. Gooper is the archetypal child. Well mannered, well wed, and full family, with the business sense to see the farm into prosperity. Then, there's Brick (Paul Newman), the wild child, the star... the alcoholic. With his glory days behind him, Brick finds himself in a marriage he doesn't want, a life he can't stand, and remorse piled on so high he couldn't see daylight for miles. There's no denying something is eating away at Brick, but damned if he's going to let anyone in on it. That includes Maggie (Elizabeth Taylor), his wife.

Now, Maggie is by no means a saint. She knows time for inheritance talks are on the horizon and she'll be damned if she's going to let Brick lose out because of Gooper's trying ways. Only one problem: Brick doesn't want it. So caught up in trying to escape, Brick wouldn't care about the inheritance unless it was a ten feet tall bottle of Bourbon. Everyone can tell he's hurting, and the only one who cares enough to try and get in is the last person he's going to let anywhere near, Maggie.

Such is the world Big Daddy finds himself returning to. But even Big Daddy isn't the same. A brush with death has inspired a burning desire for life inside of him. He wants to do all the things he never did. Be the person everybody tries to tell him he isn't. Like Brick, he also wants to escape. He wants to escape his family, the pressures of death, the tales of inheritance, the conniving, the planning, the cunning and cheating. He wants peace, tranquility... and a beautiful girl with inviting arms for him to collapse into.

Yet as Tennessee Williams so masterly proves, for all their tales, complaining, and selfish ways, the one person each of them lies to most is thyself. It is in that spirit that throughout the next two hours, our characters do everything under the sun to convince those whom live in their tiny world that fault lay at the feet of everyone else.

However, there was one aspect of the film that struck me in a most unusual way: the submissive attitude of women. Perhaps it was the time it was written, or set, but despite some strong and commanding female presences, each woman feels beholden without question to the man. The man is the stronghold, the maker and breaker, and through his actions they define themselves more than anyone probably should. I do get that they are often the voice of reason in their respective relationships, but even still they seem to be voices of reason without conscience. What few actions they take on in absence of their other half, are often conniving, conceited, or just downright cruel. And while I won't argue that their male counterparts are any better, they at least show some sentiment of self-dependability. Something decisively lacking in the women.

Alas, that characterization seems limit minded and unfulfilled giving the overall greatness on display. From the lyrical styling to the volatile confrontations, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof is a classic to behold

Musings on Sweet Smell of Success

Condemnable, sycophantic, and pleonastic, J.J. Hunsecker (Burt Lancaster) is so cold ice melts within a five mile radius of him. To look at the man is to see a machine, calculating and uncaring. To know him doesn't mean to understand him - it merely means you're being used by him.

With a linguistic style all his own, Hunsecker is the country's number one columnist. Rash, quick-witted, and always on the lookout for the next real scoop, you'd be surprised by how little mind he really seems to pay the surrounding world. They don't matter in his eyes, and nor do their inhabitants. They're a means to an end. Part of a wide stretching game, only he knows and only he can really play. Which makes it surprising that such a magnanimous character is not the star of Sweet Smell of Success.

Told through the eyes of aspiring PR man Sidney Falco (Tony Curtis), with infinite charm and matching wit we see Hunsecker as he truly is. However, Falco is no saint. He bends his morals to the needs of those around him. Though the only need ever on his mind is numero uno. He wants the good life, the best life... he wants Hunsecker's life.

So, when Hunsecker calls upon Falco to do one last favor for him - remove his sister's boyfriend who is encroaching on his idealistic life - Falco will go the distance to carry it through. Still, while he may not be the most admirable, Falco knows right from wrong. He despises some of the actions he takes, even feels remorseful for them, but at the end of the day he won't stop just because of it.

The chemistry between Lancaster and Curtis is downright explosive. If this were a romance they'd be one of the most volatile in cinematic history. The manner in which they go at one another, and others, gives deft insight to the way they view the world - and just how far they are willing to go to maintain that view.

It's one of the things that helps make Sweet Smell of Success such a treat to watch. Where many films of similar ilk would try to find redemption, here we only get destruction. Their meddlesome, amoral ways are bound to catch up to them, and director Alexander Mackendrick is there to capture it.

The two of them use women, men, and each other as pawns more so than humans. It's a dog eat dog world out there, and they see themselves as masters overlooking the ring. They'll hop in if it suits their needs, but seldom by choice. However, as Sweet Smell of Success tells us - even the most distant masters of their own domain care about something. And when that something is challenged, the actions they take will forever define who they really are.


Thanks to Anna (Life of a Cinephile and Bibliophile) for recommending this film to me.