The Maltese Falcon

Upon his arrival in Hollywood, Humphrey Bogart had essentially been reduced to playing bad guys, appearing in countless Warner Bros. stock company productions, usually in gangster movies. He had significant supporting roles in "Angels With Dirty Faces" and "The Roaring Twenties" and towards the latter end of the 1930's finally cracked through with some starring roles, in "The Petrified Forest" and "High Sierra", but both of these roles were ambiguously heroic at best. It was not until the 1941 production of Dashiell Hammett's hard boiled detective novel, "The Maltese Falcon" that Bogart was elevated to full blown leading man status. As brilliant and bitter detective Sam Spade, Humphrey Bogart would create his best and most vivid screen persona, until he eclipsed it a year later in "Casablanca" and then traded off it as Phillip Marlowe in "The Big Sleep". But it was here first that Humphrey Bogart's star first exploded into the realm of Hollywood royalty.

Like any good hard boiled detective story, the plot is not what it first appears. Initially Spade and his partner are contracted to follow a man, a simple enough request in the private eye business. When Spade's partner turns up dead later that night while tailing the man however, Spade finds himself first suspected by the San Francisco police, and gradually gets drawn into a web of intrigue involving femme fatale Mary Astor as Brigid O'Shaughnessy and an assorted cast of characters, all of whom are desperately searching for the titular Maltese Falcon. As only a hard boiled detective can, Spade keeps everyone off of his back, while working to the bottom of the mystery. The deeper Spade digs the more he finds out about the lady he thought he was protecting, Ms. O'Shaughnessy, who it turns out has been frantically trekking across the globe, doggedly pursued by Kaspar Gutman, and his two henchmen Joel Cairo and Wilmer Cook. The falcon itself is a 16th century golden bird, studded with precious gems, but coated in a black enamel to distort its true value. Many have died tried to find this bird, and O'Shaughnessy and Gutman are two of the most ruthless people hot on the bird's trail, and it is just Sam Spade's luck that they turned up in San Francisco looking for it, the violence and intrigue netting Spade in the process. By the end of the film, a fake bird has been revealed, Gutman and his goons are bound for some new exotic location following a tip, and O'Shaughnessy is in the hands of the San Francisco police, via the hands of Sam Spade himself. As only Bogart can, he tells the prison bound O'Shaughnessy that he will wait for her, then casually goes back to sipping his gin and smoking his cigarettes, as if he kisses girls off to Alcatraz everyday.

The beauty of this film lies in its character work. Sam Spade and Rick Blaine might as well be the same character, just in different locations. Both are noble but loathe admit it. Both are extremely cynical and bitter, yet are bound to romantic deeds and actions. Both are tough and smart, playing multiple sides off of each other until a safe (for your's truly of course) resolution presents itself. The film too utilizes many of the same noirish elements that later turn up in "Casablanca", specifically smoky interiors and a brilliant use of darkness and shadow. Another notable similarity is the presence of Sydney Greenstreet and Peter Lorre, working together here for the first time. The duo would later appear in eight other films together, becoming a B movie odd couple duo, what with Greenstreet's imposing girth and Lorre's pitiful appearance. The weak link here however is Mary Astor as Brigid O'Shaughnessy. While she plays the damsel in distress part adequately, the few scenes she is required to carry as the femme fatale are not as convincing as say Barbara Stanwyck in "Double Indemnity" or Rita Hayworth in "Gilda". Physically both are more appealing, and both display the necessary backbone required for the part of a conniving, scheming woman. While Mary Astor does not ruin the film, even more remarkable considering this was John Huston's directorial debut, her presence does weaken it, however Bogart is in impeccable form, Dashiell Hammett's mystery is top notch (what else to expect from the man who also gave us Nick and Nora?) and the supporting cast is also perfect. For these reasons, "The Maltese Falcon" is an extremely worthy detective story, after all, it's "the stuff dreams are made of".

Some Like it Hot

When considering the legacy of a comedy, obviously one of the most important traits a movie must display to be worthy of "classic" status from generation to generation is "is it still funny?" If the movie is dated the humor of the film usually suffers. Concessions can be made though, when considering a film's historical significance. This is where "Some Like it Hot" adamently maintains its "classic" status. To say that this film is dated though, does it a disservice. The jokes and gags still hold up brilliantly, however the film's main conceit, that stars Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis dress as women for the majority of the film, today seems dated. This ties into my second point however. While Billy Wilder was hardly the first director to realize the comedic potential of putting a man in a wig and a dress, his spin on it has to be recognized as the blueprint for how to successfully pull it off, mining it for as many laughs as it will yield. Dozens of imitators have come and gone in the 45 years since its release in 1959, but revisiting Billy Wilder's seminal cross-dressing comedy is well worth the time.

The film, unlike most screwball comedies, has a surprisingly strong and succinct plot. Musicians Joe and Jerry (Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon, respectively) witness the infamous Saint Valentine's Day Massacre in Chicago. Fearing for their lives the two become Josephine and Daphne and join Sweet Sue's Society Syncopaters, an all girl band bound for Miami Beach. Among the obvious problems and complications that arise simply trying to maintain their masculine selves, Joe falls for Sugar Kane, the volutuous singer/ukelale player of the band, played (in an art imitating life manner) by Marilyn Monroe, and randy old millionaire Osgood Fielding III falls for Daphne. The genius of Billy Wilder's comedy writing is wonderfully apparent during the film's time in Miami, specifically Joe's plan to win over Sugar. In another gender bending switch, Joe becomes "Junior" a Cary Grant-esque playboy who "can't fall in love". Shrewdly utilizing vacant yachts and perfectly nailing Grant's cockney accent and "Bringing Up Baby"'s tortoise shell glasses Joe manages to seduce Sugar Kane into falling in love with him, as Junior of course. Jerry, however, while initially keen on marrying a millionaire, soon finds his attention drawn to another problem: Spats Colombo, the Al Capone-esque mob boss of Chicago, has chosen the resort hotel Joe and Jerry are staying at with the band as his meeting place for a convening of Mafioso. Joe and Jerry of course avoid Spats, played with coin-flipping flair by George Raft as a parody of....himself, and Joe ends up revealing his identity, his real one, to Sugar, while Jerry tries desperately to convince Osgood that marriage would never work, finally informing him that he's a man, prompting Osgood's classic final line "Nobody's perfect".

While I mentioned earlier that Marilyn Monroe plays Sugar in an art-imitating-life manner, the truth is that the vulnerability and melancholy that plague Sugar are the same demons that cursed Monroe through much of her life. Despite being beautiful and talented, Sugar cannot find love and happiness, a perfect summation of Monroe's tumultuous love life, which saw her married three times; her husbands included baseball superstar Joe DiMaggio, and powerhouse playwright Arthur Miller, as well as numerous (alleged and substantiated) affairs, most famously both Kennedy brothers. While Sugar eventually does find Joe, Monroe's life unfortunately did not end with the same happiness, as she was found dead of an apparent suicidal drug overdose just three years after "Some Like it Hot" was released. It is extremely telling that as her career (what would turn out to be) wound down, Monroe's characters became more and more reflective of herself, and it is no surprise that she was the studio's choice to play Holly Golightly. While I do not know if this would have been the right choice, Truman Capote's novella is definitely darker and more melancholy than Blake Edwards' film, and perhaps Monroe's channeling of her own inner demons would have translated extremely well into the emotionally scarred Holly. We will never know; instead we are left with the roles of Sugar Kane and her role in "The Misfits" another somber, late career "comedy" in which the real Marilyn Monroe truly inhabits her roles, an ominous sign of the tragedy which would soon follow.

The Searchers

One of the most melodramatic, melancholy westerns ever, this came in the latter half of John Ford and John Wayne's careers. After making a living (and a legacy) directing and starring in westerns, respectively, often working with each other, the two collaborated here to create a deconstruction of the Western myth. John Wayne's Ethan Edwards is no different from many of his other characters: a natrual born leader, war hero, gunslinger, tough, brave, but also an outcast. This is where John Ford dared to break new ground. Ethan Edwards is such a similar character, yet so strikingly different. His family is scared and confused by him: he disappears for years at time, is indiscriminately violent and malevolent towards Native Americans (this in itself is a key difference from many Ford and Wayne films, where Native Americans were often portrayed in a more sympathetic light, mostly because Ford forged friendships with many tribes, using them as extras and on his crews for many years), and his titular mission of finding his missing niece borders on an unhealthy obsession. Many of the John Ford elements are on display here as well, including: spectacular Monument Valley landscapes, Ward Bond's presence, and an overarching theme of family and reunion, but still, the character of Ethan Edwards dominates the entire proceedings.

After returning to his brother's family's ranch, several years after the end of the Civil War, in which time it is alluded to that Ethan had been doing mercenary work, Ethan finds himself alienated from his brother and sister-in-law, whom he secretly loves. Shortly after his return the family is massacred by a Comanche war party and the youngest of the children, Ethan's niece Debbie, is kidnapped by the tribe. Ethan vows to find her and bring her back, and the man who loves her, half-breed half-brother Martin, pledges his service to his "uncle" Ethan. Ethan is an extremely complicated man however, he resents Martin's mere presence (owing to the Indian blood which runs through his veins), and a simple (in theory) resuce mission becomes a five year obsession, in which Ethan searches virtually every inch of the American South West, before taking his crusade into Mexico. Never really going on much more than hearsay and hunches, Ethan soon fixates his vengeance on the figure of Scar, the war chief of the Comanche tribe that took Debbie and killed his brother's family. Throughout their search Ethan's behavior becomes incresingly violent (he ruthlessly shoots as many buffalo as he can in the hopes of starving as many Comanche as he can), and Martin becomes increasingly concerned that Ethan intends to kill Debbie upon finding her, since she undoubtedly would have been "corrupted" by her time spent with the Comanche. Finally, after tracking Scar deep into Mexico, Ethan and Martin find Debbie, resulting in a climactic chase where Martin valiantly puts himself in the way of Debbie and the wrathful Ethan. Humanity wins Ethan over though, as he cannot bring himself to kill his niece and the trio somberly returns to the ranching community where they set out from so many years ago.

The reunion now intact, one would think that John Ford would be content to let the film play out "into the sunset", with the happy couple reunited, Ethan redeemed, etc, but instead, keeping with Ethan's ambiguous character and the film's tonal deconstruction of the western mythology, the film ends with Ethan perhaps even more of an outcast than he was when the film began. As the film ends Ethan slips out from the party and steps through the front door in one of the most iconic shots in cinema history. The void between him and his reunited family is dramatically portrayed in the space of a few feet as he steps out from the festive atmosphere in the house to the bright, wide open spaces before him of Monument Valley. Ethan pauses for a moment by the front door, clutches his arm (in a nod to his late friend Harry Carey), then continues on, leaving behind the family he spent five years of brutal searching to reunite. The statement is grim but bold, Ethan has no place in a happy family. This is not the family's fault, he simply is filled with too much hatred and too much vengeance to ever be contented with a normal happy life of settling down and farming. Whereas John Wayne's characters usually end up happily in the arms of a young lady, the town villain dead, Ethan Edwards returns to the wilderness, to the roaming expanses of the southwestern desert, where he truly is home. This film is the first of the John Ford/John Wayne reflective, deconstructionist westerns they would make in the later 1950's and into the 1960's; among others are "The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance", "Cheyenne Autumn" and "How the West Was Won". All are exceptional, especially considering their contrast to the gung-ho, jingoistic Westerns they two had become famous for, and this sentiment of their "need to tell the real story of the West" is brilliantly realized in that stunning final shot.

Duck Soup

Only in a Marx Brothers movie could a man named Rufus T. Firefly be president of a country. Only in a Marx Brothers movie would someone who looked like Groucho be president of a country. But that is the nature of the Marx Brothers. They took the inexplicable and played it for laughs, a full 40 years before irony and irreverance was a standard form of comedy. While most of their comedy was based on slapstick and word play (all of it funny mind you), when they really set out to lampoon a sacred institution, in this case politics, they proved themselves to be masters of satire and social humor. Rufus T. Firefly, for instance, insists he must go to war because "I've already paid a month's rent on the battlefield". He also instructs one of his subordinates to build trenches six feet deep so they won't need any soldiers. It is jokes like these that set the Marx Brothers apart from other, different comics of the time. Not to take anything away from the genius of Chaplin or Keaton, but their comedy was more predicated on emotion and pathos. The Marx Brothers could seemingly care less about making you cry, or think. All they wanted from their audience was laughter. All of their movies are funny, but in movies like "Duck Soup" and their other classic "A Night at the Opera", the Marx Brothers pushed the bar into the stratosphere, with countless jokes, gags, and pratfalls.

The film opens with the coronation for new dictator Rufus T. Firefly, who of course has overslept and arrives via firemen's pole. Relations with neighboring Sylvania are strained and Firefly is not exactly a diplomatic diplomat. Prone to insulting anyone and everyone, he makes quick work of Sylvania's ambassador Trentino, who has designs on the Freedonian throne and its biggest patron, Mrs. Teasdale. Trentino, representing the much stronger nation of Sylvania, would still prefer to marry Mrs. Teasdale and peacefully segue onto the Freedonian throne, but Firefly proves to be more of a challenge than he anticipated and soon the two countries are preparing for war. To help the Sylvanian attack Trentino enlists two spies, Chicolini and Pinky, to infiltrate Freedonia and steal military secrets. That is all well and good, except the two spies happen to be the clueless Chico and the silent Harpo, who spend more time frustrating a lemonade vendor than they do shadowing Firefly. As the film progresses little things like plot and characterization become less and less of a priority as the jokes and gags continue to pile up. In one scene Firefly is offering Chicolini a post in his cabinet, and the next he's on trial for espionage. The trial scene is a hilarious example of Marx Brothers nonsense. Groucho, always playing foil to some stuffed shirt, inexplicably comes to Chicolini's defense and then leads the entire congregation, err, courtroom in a bizarre folksy rendition of "Freedonia's Going to War!", complete with choreographed dance moves. What follows is in my opinion the Marx Brothers greatest sustained sequence from all of their films.

The final "war" scene is literally overflowing with gags and jokes. After Firefly calls in the reserves (cut to men, women, children, dogs, cats, monkeys, elephants, etc.) we cut to presumably the last safe house in Freedonia, where Firefly, Chicolini, Pinky, Bob Roland (boring name for the boring Marx, Zeppo) and Mrs. Teasdale are desperately avoiding the Sylvanian assault. Peppered throughout this sequence are 1) Pinky "combing the countryside for new recuits" (walking amidts tanks and bombs with a sandwich board that reads 'Join the Navy, See the World!'), 2) Pinky getting locked in a closet full of explosives which of course all go off, 3) Firefly wearing five different military costumes (my favorite being the Davy Crockett ensemble) and getting a large water jug stuck on his head, which Pinky helps identify as Firefly by drawing his likeness on it, 4) Groucho keeping score of the number of Sylvanian troops the men disengage as he would a billiards game, then declaring game when they capture Trentino, and 5) pelting Trentino with fruit until Mrs. Teasdale begins wailing the Freedonian anthem, then turning the fruit on her. This extended, bravura sequence is a worthy finale for the Marx Brothers, for after this film their careers, while thriving for almost another decade, were never the same. "Duck Soup" was the Brothers last film for Paramount, and with their change to MGM came momentum-killing musical numbers (not the silly irreverent tunes all of their Paramount films had), silly romantic subplots (usually involving Kitty Carlisle and Alan Jones and said momentum-killing musical numbers) and no Zeppo, which frankly, was not really a loss. The Marx Brothers definitely reached their zenith with "Duck Soup", but for several years were still going strong at MGM with "A Night at the Opera", "A Day at the Races", and the underrated "At the Circus". But pound for pound, "Duck Soup" is their funniest, most sustained comedic masterpiece. "Hail! Hail, Freedonia!"

Mary Poppins

This movie smacks of Walt Disney. The imagination, innovation, creativity, and emotion are all Disney trademarks, and this was one of the last films Disney himself personally oversaw throughout production. That being said, I do not know how much of P.L. Travers' book actually appears here on screen and how much sprang from the mind of Walt Disney, but I am willing to bet that Disney endowed this film with plenty. One thing he can definitely be credited for: shrewdly casting Julie Andrews in her first leading role, after the much ballyhooed fallout from "My Fair Lady", Andrews was a star waiting to happen, and Disney rolled the dice by putting an otherwise unproven box office draw in his lavish and extremely expensive production. Walt Disney's imagination is definitely the showcase here, but so much of this movie is perfect, specifically the casting of Dick Van Dyke as jack-of-all-trades Bert, David Tomlinson as the frustrated Banks patriarch, and Jane Darwell, in her last role, as the "bird woman", and the Sherman Brothers wonderful score. So many of these songs are still used today in children's videos and materials, not to mention frequently revived for various Disney endeavors. "Step in Time", "Spoonful of Sugar", "Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious", "Let's Go Fly a Kite", "Jolly Holliday" and "Chim Chim Cheree" are some of my personal favorites. To fully discuss a movie like this, with so many little asides, gags, and spurts of imagination, let alone the bravura set pieces like the extended scene within the chalk painting, and the knockout song-and-dance number on the rooftops of London at the end of the film, would require much more space than I have here. To anyone who has not seen this film then, let this be a hearty recommendation, and to those who have, simply a recounting of how "practically perfect" it is.

As the film opens Bert introduces us to Cherry Tree Lane, where the unhappy Banks' household is. Mr. Banks is a grumpy, exasperated father of two, who has no time for his children and devotes all of his attention to pleasing his impossible bosses at the Bank. Mrs. Banks is a little more sympathetic than Mr. Banks, but she too virtually ignores her children, spending her time marching and rallying for womens' suffrage. Viewing this from high above London on a cloud is Mary Poppins, and she descends with quite a flourish, blowing away the multitude of nannies who have lined up at the Banks' house to assume responsibility of Jane and Michael. Mary Poppins barely gives Mr. Banks a moment to speak and before he can protest any further she is sliding up the bannister, to the shock of the children. Mary Poppins immediately dazzles the children with her tricks, pulling potted plants and 5 foot tall lamps out of her hand bag, and making beds make themselves and toys put themselves away simply by snapping her fingers. But nothing the children see prepares them for or could compare to their leap into a chalk drawing. Together with Bert, the amiable renaissance man who befriends the children, the quartet leap into Bert's drawing of an idyllic country setting, enjoying a ride on a merry go-round, dancing with penguin waiters, and partcipating in a fox hunt come horse race, which of course Mary Poppins wins.

The second half of the film is a bit darker, as Mary Poppins' real motive becomes apparent: she appeared to help reunite the Banks family, not to be the children's permenant nanny. After a series of emotional and intense episodes, Mary Poppins heartbreaking song "Feed the Birds", the children go to work with their father, inadvertently cause a panic at the Bank and run away, causing Mr. Banks to be fired and humiliated, the film upticks in grand Disney fashion. Bert finds the children in a dark alley, and together with Mary Poppins takes them on a tour of London from a perspective they never could have imagined: its rooftops. Traveling via staircases made of black smoke the children then are treated to the rousing "11:00 number" "Step in Time" by a multitude of chimney sweeps, which spills down into the living room of the Banks house. By this point Mr. Banks has returned to his home utterly devastated (the scene in which he is dismissed from the bank is almost comical in its cruelty. The bank's cranky manager's son turns Mr. Banks' umbrella inside out, crumples the flower in his lapel and punches a hole through his bowler hat) and wanders into the basement. The children are also depressed because they see the how distraught their father is and because Mary Poppins will be leaving the next morning. When they awake however they get an extremely pleasant surprise: Mr. Banks had spent the entire night in the basement fixing the children's kite and the film ends as the whole family, seemingly the whole of London, goes to fly a kite. Mary Poppins, her work done, takes off in the same way she landed, presumably back to her cloud, waiting to work wonders for another estranged family. And so ends in my opinion the best family film ever.

My Fair Lady

As great as "My Fair Lady" is, the film that is and the film that could have been are two vastly different things, and as was often the case with Old Hollywood films, the behind-the-scenes stuff is virtually as entertaining and dramatic as the finished product. On paper the film adaptation of Lerner and Loewe's smash Broadway hit, freely borrowing from George Bernard Shaw's "Pygmallion" play, seemed like an absolute slam dunk. Hailed as one of the greatest stage musicals ever, on par with Florenz Ziegfeld's landmark production of "Showboat", "My Fair Lady" stood to become a huge commercial and critical hit for Warner Bros. in 1964. However, if there is one rule to keep in mind when considering Old Hollywood, it is that the moguls ruled like kings, barking orders and dictating policy, and Jack Warner was one such mogul who was never shy to incorporate his own ideas into even the most revered material. Thus the studio mandated casting choice for Prof. Henry Higgins became Cary Grant. Legend has it that Cary Grant told Jack Warner that not only would he not take the role, but if he did not cast Rex Harrison he would not see the picture, nor would he ever appear in another Warner Bros. again. It is unknown how much haggling it took for Jack Warner to relent on his dream casting of Cary Grant, but Rex Harrison ended up with the part he had performed over a thousand times on stage. The casting debacle was only half over at this point however.

Julie Andrews had been a 19 year old newcomer when she assumed the role of Eliza Doolittle on Broadway. Despite starring in the show for years alongside Harrison, Jack Warner was unconvinced she was worthy of co-starring in the film version. Warner had already compromised once with the casting of Harrison and he was not going to back down this time. He fought for Audrey Hepburn, who was a huge star, but also could not sing very well, which makes her casting rather....silly. Other choices considered were Shirley Jones (who at least could sing) and Elizabeth Taylor (who was also a huge star at the time). But Audrey Hepburn won out and poor Julie Andrews had to watch her signature role played by someone else. Another mogul, Walt Disney, in a very shrewd act, snatched up Julie Andrews from this whirlwind of publicity and put her in the title role of his big budget film, "Mary Poppins". Revenge was particuarly sweet the following spring when Julie Andrews won best actress for "Mary Poppins" and Audrey Hepburn was not even nominated. With the two leads in place and key stage members Stanley Holloway (called into service when another member of Jack Warner's dream cast, James Cagney, bowed out last minute) as Eliza's father, and Wilfred Hyde-White as Col. Pickering on board, Warner Bros. finally got cameras rolling with Hollywood veteran George Cukor behind the camera. Despite not using Julie Andrews, the end result is still "loverly".

The plot is very old and very familiar (perhaps because it is based on an ancient Greek myth), and has before and since been adapted and spun off many times, (does "She's All That" sound familiar?). Tyrannical linguistics professor Henry Higgins makes a bet with Colonel Pickering (shirt equally stuffed) that he can transform Eliza Doolitte, a "common flowergirl" into whatever he wants, in this case royalty! He's so arrogant and insufferable though that even as he slowly does transform Eliza from a Cockney waif into an elegant and regal young lady, he demands all the platitudes, completely ignoring the long hours and hard work Eliza is putting into it as well. There is a great scene where Higgins takes Eliza to Ascot's opening day as a "dress rehearsel" and everything goes well until Eliza yells out "Come on Dover! Move yer bloomin' arse!" But these outbursts of "common-ness" occur less and less and finally Higgins presents Eliza at a grand ball, even fooling his equally insufferable and overbearing pupil, Zoltan Karpathy, into thinking she's Hungarian royalty. Eliza, now fully transformed, leaves Higgins, who realizes he may in fact love her, or as he says "has grown accustomed to her face", only to return to him, after denying the advances of clueless society boy Freddy (in my favorite song, "Show Me"). The final frame has Eliza silently stepping back into Higgins' study and without even turning around, Higgins' saying "Eliza where the devil are my slippers?". While its true Jack Warner should have cast Julie Andrews, its virtually impossible to argue to with the film, and the Academy agreed, bestowing Best Picture, Director and Actor on the film. The one exception though, Best Actress, serves fittingly as a reminder of just how "practically perfect" the film could have been.

Psycho

Even though this film came out in 1960, with a good six or seven years of "Old Hollywood" still to come, this movie, in retrospect, can definitely be seen as a changing of the times. Much more realistic, visceral, and violent then any other popular film of its type up to this point, "Psycho" was also the first film in which Alfred Hitchcock was able to delve deeply into the mind of a killer and show more of the gruesome results. Restrained for years to accurately depict the mind of a deranged killer, Hitchcock filled "Psycho" with tons of pop psychology. The killer, Norman Bates, is a mild mannered hotelier, whose Bates Motel stands on a now ignored stretch of highway in the desert. Verbally abused as a child by his mother, (she constantly challenged his masculinity), Mrs. Bates reduces Norman to a pathetic, but highly dangerous man, who kills AS his mother, after young Norman killed her and her lover. What makes "Psycho" so disturbing is the historical significance of this movie. Based on notorious serial killer Ed Gein, who would also inspire such morbid tales as "Texas Chainsaw Massacre" and "Silence of the Lambs", "Psycho" was the first movie to capitalize on this unfortunate man and his even more unfortunate victims. Now it seems rather dated as audiences are extremely desensitized to all types of dementia in slasher movies, and pretty much all people remember is the legendary "shower scene", but for its time, there was nothing else that even came close to the intensity and thrills of "Psycho".

One of the many great things about "Psycho" is the way Alfred Hitchcock deftly plays with the audience. We first meet Marion Crane (we would have first seen her breasts, but Hitchcock was about ten years too soon for that), as she has a lunch hour rendezvous with her lover. Marion works for a banker and within fifteen minutes of the movie's opening she has stolen $40,000 from a client of his and goes on the run with the money. Hitchcock does not judge his character, instead merely following her as she becomes increasingly paranoid and remorseful. There is incredible tension in a scene where Marion simply exchanges her car. Finally stopping for the night at the Bates Motel, Marion shares dinner with the proprietor, Norman. During this scene Norman reveals himself to be quite odd, explaining to Marion his strained relationship with his mother but also the responsibility he feels towards her and the motel. Marion, played by the beautiful Janet Leigh, begins to calm down as she finds herself back in control of her environment (or so she thinks), sharing a meal and conversation with the socially awkward Norman (played to perfection by Anthony Perkins, who brilliantly conveys the part of a nervous young man whose only source of female companionship has been his mother, not a pretty young lady). Marion's sense of safety proves to be premature however; after dinner she slips into the shower and spectacuarly meets her doom. Comprised entirely of quick shots, none of which show contact between knife and skin, the "shower scene" is arguably Hitchcock's most bravura sequence. It becomes even more remarkable when you consider two things: Janet Leigh, the alleged protagonist, is now dead barely 40 minutes into the film, and Anthony Perkins was 3,000 miles away while this scene was filmed. Hitchcock has now introduced his protagonist, severely questioned her morality, then killed her, thus switching protagonists, all by the end of the first act!

The story now becomes Norman's. While the audience assumes it was Norman's mother who killed Marion, thanks to the haunting silhouette we see standing in the doorway right before the shrieking violins, Norman dashes back onto the scene and as any doting son would, begins to clean up the mess his mother made. He removes all traces of Marion ever being at the Bates Motel, including putting her body and possessions into her car and driving it into a muddy pond behind the motel. All is well until Marion's sister hires a private investigator to find her. Detective Arbogast stumbles upon the Bates Motel as he tries to piece together Marion's last days and after getting brushed off by Norman, returns to question Norman's mother, whose shadow he saw standing ominously in the window. Quietly sneaking into the house and walking up the stairs this moment foreshadows tricks so many directors would subsequently use in slasher movies: a character foolishly entering a dangerous house, moving painstakingly slowly, holding back any action for as long as possible, teasing viewers instead with quiet, empty frames and sinister music. Once Arbogast reaches the top of the stairs the camera quickly cuts to a bird's eye view of the landing and we see "Mother" dash from her bedroom, knife raised high above her head, moments before Arbogast realizes anyone else is there. His slow fall back down the stairs is also interesting, as it is a play on the celebrated "trombone" shot from "Vertigo". Once the detective goes missing Marion's sister Lila and her boyfriend Sam go out to the Bates Motel, and the entire truth comes out. They learn from a local sheriff that Norman Bates' mother has been dead for years, Lila finds the rotted corpse of his long dead mother, and Sam subdues Norman, dressed as his mother. After Norman's condition is explained, in a perfectly timed out speech by Dr. Richmond, Hitchcock leaves us with two haunting final images: first Norman staring malevolently into the camera, while Norman's mother gives a creepy voiceover, then as this shot fades out a skull morphs onto Norman's face, then as the credits begin to roll we see Marion's car being pulled out of the pond. Hitchcock definitely knew the frightening wallop his film packed, and some of the stipulations he included with screenings of this film were that no press was to see the film prior to its release (to keep the sensational plot details under wraps, the first time such a tactic was employed) and also that theaters were not to admit anyone after the film had begun. And thus at the age of 61, Alfred Hitchcock, "the master", had ushered his style of filmmaking, the genre he essentially thrust into the realm of pop moviedom, the thriller, out of "Old Hollywood" and into "New Hollywood".

The Wizard of Oz

First of all, let me apologize for not finding a poster. You would think that a timeless, much beloved classic like "The Wizard of Oz" would have tons of art work, especially since its had 65 years to accumulate different posters through re-releases and such, but no, all I could find was what I assume was the original poster (with all the characters looking like they were made of melting wax) and a re-release poster, which was very small. Oh well, you will have to settle for this nice screen shot. I feel like this movie epitomizes the term "movie magic" more than any other movie ever. Even more so than a movie like "Gone With the Wind" which is more of a movie spectacle. But for pure movie magic, nothing can top "The Wizard of Oz". From that first, iconic shot of Dorothy opening the door of her house and stepping into Oz, from black-and-white into color, there is sheer magic going on onscreen. This particular shot alone, such a perfect example of the dazzling new technology of Technicolor, is one that I will remember for all my life. Dorothy has entered a new world, remarking to her dog Toto, "I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore" and as we follow her adventures down the yellow brick road the allure, the power of classical Hollywood movie making magic simply dominates the screen.

There is so much to talk about here, from the pitch perfect casting, to the brilliant art direction, to the eminently quotable screenplay, and somehow all of it comes together in expert fashion. Every little detail about this movie has a story, and all of it only enhances the legendary finished product. Since there is so much to delve into, I will try to go in some type of order. First of all, the cast: Judy Garland was a natural choice for the role of Dorothy. She was the biggest young star at the time in Hollywood, having already appeared in some Andy Hardy films, and also possessed a beautiful singing voice. Rumors of the studio preferring Shirley Temple have proven to be apocryphal, although at this point any deviation from what has become part of pop culture history now seems ridiculous and unbelievable, so who knows. The trio of Ray Bolger, Jack Haley and Bert Lahr as the Scarecrow, Tin Man and Cowardly Lion, respectively, was pretty much set from the beginning, with the key exception being comedic actor Buddy Ebsen originally cast as the Tin Man. Ebsen had an allergic reaction to the silver makeup necessary for the part and had to drop out, and was immediately replaced by Jack Haley. Frank Morgan, another great veteran comedic actor, was cast as most notably The Wizard and Professor Marvel, but also played several smaller roles, including the Oz gatekeeper and the driver of the "horse of a different color". There is a fun story, probably false, that the coat Morgan was given from the MGM costume department had a small tag inside which read L.F. Baum. When L. Frank Baum's widow visited the set one day, she confirmed that the coat had in fact belonged to her husband, who was the original author of the Oz story. And finally Margaret Hamilton as the wicked witch of the west was apparently not the original choice. The studio preferred veteran actress Gale Sondergaarrd, but she dropped out because she did not want to play an "ugly" witch, preferring the early draft version, where she resembled the beautiful but malevolent Evil Queen from "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs".

I have refrained from talking too much about plot mostly because it is so well known, but also because in a movie like this, the behind-the-scenes goings on are often times as entertaining as what was on screen. In today's Hollywood, and in today's society, where there is such a demand for information and gossip, it is unimaginable how a movie such as "The Wizard of Oz" would have fared. A movie with a gargantuan budget having five directors as this did? Something like that is unheard of today, but in 1939 Hollywood, whatever had to be done, and often times this was simply the whim of one of the bosses like Louis B. Mayer, would be done. This is why Richard Thorpe, George Cukor, Victor Fleming, King Vidor and producer Mervyn LeRoy all directed parts of this movie. Victor Fleming, the credited director, assumed largely the same responsibilities he did on "Gone With the Wind", another epic MGM production, where he stepped in to essentially "right the ship", directed the bulk of it, then stepped aside. Oddly enough in both instances he directly replaced George Cukor, however Cukor was pretty much fired from the set of "Gone With the Wind" whereas here he was simply helping to keep the film afloat after weeks of Richard Thorpe's material was scrapped. Other production notes of interest include the fact that the studio nearly cut "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" because they felt the opening Kansas scenes took too long, and the infamous, but mostly erroneous reports of the Munchkins debauchery on set. Somehow, through all of this chaos emerged something that can truly be considered a masterpiece of the cinema, a film deserving of its title as "greatest childrens film" of all time, and a key component of "the greatest year in movie history", 1939, which included both "Wizard of Oz" and "Gone With the Wind", as well as "Gunga Din", "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington", "Stagecoach", and "Goodbye Mr. Chips". Oh yeah, the plot: Dorothy remembers "there's no place like home".

Breakfast at Tiffany's

The greatest romantic movie ever. The most beautiful actress ever, Audrey Hepburn, in her signature role, and a once-in-a-lifetime role for pretty boy George Peppard (who, to his credit, absolutely nails the part). A director, Blake Edwards, who for the first time in his career made something with real emotional power after toiling in television for several years. The greatest song from a movie ever, "Moon River", which complements this movie as perfectly as music possibly can. A perfect supporting cast of Patricia Neal, as the disillusioned "other woman", Buddy Ebsen, in a rare dramatic role, as the disillusioned "other man", and Martin Balsam, as a fast talking agent. Also, for my money, as good as Woody Allen can make New York City look, the opening shots of a vacant 5th avenue, while "Moon River" plays, are some of the most evocative shots of New York City ever captured on film. Where as Woody Allen shows New York City in an impossibly perfect light, looking as beautiful as it only can "in the movies", the opening shots of Audrey Hepburn wandering around Tiffany's (with hundreds of gawkers and onlookers just feet outside of frame) convey just how lonely and overwhelming the largest city in America can be sometimes. This theme, of melancholy and sadness are really what the movie is about, and the happy ending, while welcome because it is a movie, does not really fit with the otherwise somber and tragic events leading up to it.

What makes this movie great is the attention to character not often found in romantic comedies. However, in romantic comedies there is also not as much, if any at all, of the gravitas found here in George Axelrod's adaptation of the Truman Capote novella. Holly Golightly is a carefree party girl on the surface. She earns a living by escorting rich men, and perhaps doing more, a conclusion the film remains ambiguous about, but is more of a certainty in the novella. Early on she meets her new upstairs neighbor, struggling idealistic write Paul Varjak. He is instantly smitten with Holly, but is apprehensive of her cynical, detached view on life. He wonders how she can be so nonchalant about what she does, (she has the list of the top ten richest men under 40 memorized), however Paul is not that different from Holly, he just does not want to admit it. His "sponsor", the nameless 2E, is an older woman who clearly keeps Paul around for his good looks, not his writing. In exchange for physical pleasure, she in turn gives him the financial means to continue writing, keeping his fantasy world alive in which he is better than people like Holly. As Paul falls in love with Holly, two critical things happen which make her outlook on men, love and life even more pessimistic. First a mysterious man from Holly's past, Doc Golightly suddenly appears in New York. Paul, thinking he's doing something noble, confronts the man and gets a real surprise as Doc tells him how he and Holly were married when she was still a girl. She and her brother Fred were orphans and Doc married her to give her and Fred a home and a family. Both were never really happy with Doc though and Fred eventually joined the army. Shortly after Holly ran away and came to New York. Paul is speechless, but now understands why Holly is so jaded and cynical. All that has kept her going is knowing that her and Fred may one day be reunited, otherwise she considers herself a wild bird that would rather die than be caged by anyone, including Doc or Paul. However, word arrives that Fred has been killed, and Holly is absolutely devastated.

Holly decides she will now marry Brazilian diplomat Jose, however when a scandal breaks concerning Holly's relationship with jailed mob boss Sally Tomato, Jose calls off the engagement, leaving Holly spurned again. Paul pours out his heart to Holly, begging her to stay in New York with him, but Holly has made up her mind. Marriage or not, she is going to Brazil because she has a plane ticket. Nevermind that she is under court order not to leave the country because of her involvement in the Sally Tomato case, she has lived her entire life on a whim and nothing is going to change that now. She even abandons Cat, which seems to stir some humanity inside of her, as she immediately regrets tossing aside her friend and goes looking through the rain for him. Miraculously finding Cat, Holly turns and sees Paul waiting for her. In a Hollywood downpour the two embrace, and Holly finally returns someone's love, betraying Truman Capote's cynical ending, but securing the movie's place as the best romance ever. As dramatic and emotionally intense as this movie sounds, it does have several lighter moments. The extended party sequence early on the film, when Holly first meets Jose and Rusty Trawler (so grotesque its hilarious) is filled with comedic touches, such as Madge Wildwood getting so drunk she topples over like a freshly cut tree. This is also the first time we see OJ Berman, the fast talking agent who takes a liking to Holly. Martin Balsam is clearly having great fun with his role here, and its refreshing in a movie which is otherwise fairly dour and melancholy. While I think I could appreciate Capote's ending, Audrey Hepburn plays Holly as such a beguiling, almost impossibly alluring character that the two of them not ending up together seems almost unacceptable. You need to see them together at the end, because you need to see Audrey Hepburn happy, she has such an overwhelming charm. For this reason, I could not imagine the ending any other way.

Bringing Up Baby

Inexplicably a bomb when it was first released in 1938, "Bringing Up Baby" today shines for the very reason I believe it first failed. Audiences had become accustomed to both stars of the film playing a certain type. Katharine Hepburn had garnered critical (her first of a record four Best Actress Oscars) and commercial acclaim, mostly portraying roles that suited her New England bred, Bryn Mawr educated background: that is, smart, independent, "modern" women. Cary Grant was a huge star by virtue of his matinee idol good looks and dashing and debonair on-screen persona. Give the "always up for something different" Howard Hawks credit for trying something audiences in 1938 clearly were not ready for. Katharine Hepburn plays Susan, a ditzy, accident prone, evening gown wearing heiress. And Cary Grant plays bespectacled and befuddled paleontology professor David. No wonder audiences were confused and stayed away. Proto-feminist Katharine Hepburn in a dress, playing a clueless goofball? And devilishly handsome and smooth Cary Grant playing a dork, even hiding his good looks behind tortoise shell glasses?! It would take several decades, but eventually audiences would realize what an ingenious pair of role reversals this was.

The plot, as it were, concerns one thing: Susan irritates, frustrates, flusters, needles, angers and annoys David through a series of ridiculous encounters and episodes. The little stuff in the beginning (sitting on his top hat, ripping the tails on his coat, inadvertently stealing and crashing his car) are nothing compared to the last third of the film, in which Susan lets her dog, Fred (played by famous movie dog Skippy, also appeared as Asta in "The Thin Man" series and Mr. Smith in "The Awful Truth"), play with the bone David has been waiting for to complete his dinosaur. Fred, being a dog, naturally buries the bone, sending David into a frenzy. Susan, who borders between barely aware of what is going on, and completely controlling everything that is going on, tries to help him, but of course, this only leads to more trouble. The two are arrested and in a bit of self reflexivity, Susan gives David's name as "Jerry the Nipper", a name Cary Grant used in his earlier film, "The Awful Truth". By this point the film is almost entirely non-sensical, with a cast of crazy and eccentric characters all running wildly around Susan's country estate, all of whom end up in the same jail cell as David and Susan. Oh yeah, and somewhere in all of that is Susan's pet leopard named Baby, but, this being a screwball comedy, even the leopard has a mistaken identity, and a real, vicious leopard roams around the second half of the film, with most of the characters blissfully unaware of the danger they are in.

As I mentioned earlier, I believe this film failed because audiences were not ready for such a strange shift in persona both Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant employed. Actually, at this point, audiences were tired of Katharine Hepburn altogether, and studios went so far as to label her "box office poison" and RKO bought out her contract. Katharine Hepburn had her revenge though, at this time buying the rights to the hit play "The Philadelphia Story" and refusing to sell unless she starred as the main character Tracy Lord. Two years later MGM acquiesced and Katharine Hepburn was back as "The Philadelphia Story" became a huge critical and commercial success. That left 1938 as the epicenter of her time as "poison" and sadly this film was lost on many people, leaving Howard Hawks to all but neglect it, referring to it as his "great failure" and "biggest disappointment". In some instances in Hollywood, time can be a cruel force, reducing a film praised upon its release to a lifetime of cinematic obscurity. Films such as "The Greatest Show on Earth" and "How Green Way My Valley?", which both won best picture, are now merely a blip on the radar of film history. Sometimes though, it takes time for a movie to really be recognized for the masterpiece it is. Films such as "Bringing Up Baby" are a prime example of this rare, but ultimately rewarding occurance.

The Adventures of Robin Hood

Lady Marian: Why, you speak treason!
Robin of Loxley: Fluently.

That quote, between the prim and proper Lady Marian, played by prim and proper Olivia de Havilland, and dashing, rogueish Robin, played by dashing, rogueish Errol Flynn, is a perfect example of the playful chemistry these two had in their films together. They might as well be playing themselves here, because if rumors hold true, Flynn desperately tried to sleep with the beautiful de Havilland, who never fell for his charms as she always did in their films together. Of all of their collaborations, this is simply the best. A rousing, exciting, romantic version of the classic Robin Hood legend, this is the Warner Brothers stock company at its absolute apex. The studio spared no expense with this production, pouring $2 million into it (a ridiculous sum at the time), and peppered it with familiar names and talent, such as Basil Rathbone, Claude Rains, Eugene Palette, Alan Hale and Una O'Connor, as well as a classic score by Erich Wolfgang Korngold, superb direction by William Keighley and Michael Curtiz, and the drive of expert showman and producer Hal B. Wallis. Virtually everyone involved here would go on to "recreate" their respective roles in later period swashbucklers, (most of them in 1940's "The Sea Hawk"), but it was in "The Adventures of Robin Hood" where the archetype was first born, and executed to perfection.

As the movie begins, a little shrew of a man has just killed a deer and is suddenly attacked by Sir Guy of Gisbourne and his men. As they close in on the pathetic hunter, Robin and his sidekick, Will Scarlett (played by a fey Patric Knowles) step in to the rescue. From this first scene, Errol Flynn exudes charisma, displaying equal parts charm and toughness. He jokes with the pompous Guy until a point, and then makes it known he will kill any man who crosses him. Guy retreats to Nottingham Castle while Robin has a good laugh. The mood being set, the film puts its rather silly plot in motion. Prince John's (a deliciously evil Claude Rains) brother, the good King Richard, is off fighting in the Crusades, but has been captured. Seeing this as his oppurtunity to seize power, John institutes a new tax plan, ostensibly to pay Richard's ransom, but really to line the pockets of himself, the Sheriff of Nottingham (sadly not played by Andy Devine, but an equally dim Melville Cooper), and the nefarious Guy of Gisbourne. Robin, sensing the truth as he drops in uninvited on a banquet hosted by Prince John, vows to foil the dastardly plot. In doing so he assembles a rag tag crew of men: his new second in command, Little John (played by old friend and Robin Hood regular Alan Hale, the second of three times he would play this role), a drunken Friar (the immortal Eugene Palette), among the other Merry Men, and "captures" Lady Marian and her maid Bess, revealing to her his good intentions and winning her over to their cause. The movie is entertaining on all fronts: the exciting action sequences, specifically the final duel between Flynn and Rathbone, the tender romantic scenes between Flynn and de Havilland (if only because you can really tell how madly in love Flynn was with her), and even the hammy, expositional villain scenes, which are a lot of fun because Rains and Cooper have such a good time with their parts.

In spite of the sublimely perfect results, the movie had its share of problems during production. Any time so many alpha male personalities come together (Jack Warner, Hal B. Wallis, Michael Curtiz, Errol Flynn) on a film, especially with so much money at stake, inevitably anxiety and tempers run high. Another problem was that initially Warners could not figure out how to make this movie; originally it was conceived as an operetta, staring Nelson Eddy and Jeanette MacDonald(!!!), and then moved well into production with James Cagney as Robin Hood and William Keighley as director. While Keighley is still given credit, Cagney, obviously, was never right for the role, and while studio execs figured that out fairly early on, that did nothing to help the film's ballooning budget. Finally locked in with Michael Curtiz and Errol Flynn, is it any wonder the film turned out as wondeful as it did?

His Girl Friday

Screwball comedy is a term many people today think they understand if they are film savvy. But few would be able to give you an example of a movie responsible for this term being coined. Fewer still would name this movie. Much of this movie's deserving praise today go to the equally wonderful "Bringing Up Baby", and that's a shame, because this movie is truly sublime entertainment. Everything about this movie is great: Cary Grant at the top of his game, Rosalind Russell's best performance bar none (forget "Auntie Mame"!), Ralph Bellamy as the ideal patsy, a razor sharp script credited to Charles Lederer, but heavily influenced by the Ben Hecht, Charlest MacArthur play "The Front Page", and rat-a-tat-tat direction and pacing by Howard Hawks. This movie is the rare combination of script and talent (both behind the camera and in front of it). While on paper it might not seem that funny, considering the key plot point is the imminent hanging of a condemned murderer, the film plays so fast and loose, and so audaciously (especially for its time) milks humor out of extremely dark and unconventional places, that by the time this whirlwind ends, to consider it anything less than a comedic masterpiece would be doing it a gross injustice.

The fairly convoluted plot can be described in two ways: Newspaper editor Walter Hill (Cary Grant) will do anything......ANYTHING, in his power to keep Hildy Johnson (Rosalind Russell) his ex-star reporter and ex-wife from leaving town with her new , the clueless schlub Bruce Baldwin (Ralph Bellamy). Walter has two motives, and the order of those is rarely in doubt: he needs Hildy on hand to cover the hanging of Earl Williams, and he kind of, maybe still loves her. The plot thickens when an increasingly large cast of characters get involved in Walter's attempts to 1) get an exclusive on the Earl Williams case and 2) win Hildy back. They include: Bruce's domineering mother, Louis, Walter's hoodlum associate, Molly Malloy, the moll who pities Earl Williams, the mayor, the city sheriff, and Joe Pettibone, the bumbling messanger who carries with him the important reprieve from the governor. All of these characters, plus a newsroom full of cynical reporters, converge in the bravura final third of the movie, which takes place in one room, with a rotating cast of characters, usually involving Walter, Hildy, Earl hidden in a desk, and others. There is so much rich dialogue here, so many jokes and one liners and asides that, in the words of Howard Hawks are delivered, deliberately in a "machine gun" style, that this movie demands two viewings, because so many of the little gems that comprise this movie are missed the first time. It takes a second go round to catch stuff like Walter saying he ran Archie Leach, the last man who tried to cross him, out of town (that being Grant's real name), or even the bemused grin on Cary Grant's face, early on in the movie when its clear Rosalind Russell ad libbed one of her lines.

Howard Hawks and Cary Grant were two chameleons in Old Hollywood. Both were known for making a large variety of films, dabbling in different genres and consistently challenging themselves and their audiences by keeping their choices fresh and new, an innovation which at the time was pretty rare. Hawks and Michael Curtiz, another director who bounced from genre to genre, seemingly never became satisfied doing one "type", like John Ford with westerns or George Cukor with drawing room comedies. While both had their bread and butter, Hawks' being this, the screwball comedy, and Curtiz the period actioner, they set the mold for later studio types like Steven Spielberg, who would gain acclaim by making smart, bold, and different choices every time they stepped behind the camera. Cary Grant too, had his bread and butter, usually playing the conniving, fast talking, debonair role he does here, (which actually makes his role as the befuddled professor in "Bringing Up Baby" so appealing), but he too challenged himself, playing darker roles, like the dastardly husband in "Suspicion" and straight drama, like "Three Penny Opera". But if you wish to see two masters, Howard Hawks and Cary Grant, execute their bread and butter to perfection, look no further.