The Seven Year Itch

Most people do not know the name of the movie featuring the famous scene of Marilyn Monroe holding her skirt down as it is blown upwards while standing over a subway grate. That image is so ingrained in American pop culture however, a mere photo of it is a personification of Monroe's legendary sex symbol status, that the fact that the movie itself is largely forgotten is unfortunate. I remember having the same reaction to "Singin' in the Rain" when I first saw it. I was already familiar with the classic dance number, situated almost exactly at the film's halfway point, yet knew nothing about the film itself. My knowledge of "The Seven Year Itch" was even less impressive, making my reaction upon actually seeing the film that much more surprising. Whereas with "Singin' in the Rain" I could have crudely fashioned together some type of description, for instance, I knew that it starred Gene Kelly, Donald O'Connor and Debbie Reynolds, was obviously a musical and that at some point Kelly's character is so happy he "sings in the rain". My knowledge of "The Seven Year Itch" was confined to my awareness of that single scene, I did not even have any context for it. Her skirt blows up, a nation is entranced. I could not tell you the name of her co-stars, the film's director, the year of its release, or whether or not her skirt blowing up had anything to do with the plot. Luckily for me, I finally watched "The Seven Year Itch" one day, and found out all about it.

Imagine my surprise when I discovered that this film was directed by Billy Wilder. Suddenly I had expectations for this film I knew next to nothing about. Billy Wilder, while widely recognized as a great comedy writer in his time, should today be given even more credit for being one of the greatest comedy writers of all time. His brazen scripts often pushed the envelope in terms of what was socially acceptable to make fun of, and he was making sex comedies long before Woody Allen was, they were just neutered by the Puritanical Hays Code, which governed Hollywood for far too long. Wilder's genius, and clever manipulation of the stuffy Hays Code, is refreshingly and readily apparent from the film's first frames. The titular itch we find is a clinical term for the doubt a married man begins to have about whether or not the sanctity of his marriage is more important than satisfying his primal physical wants and has been bothering husbands of Manhattan since the days when the Indians were sending their wives "up river", only to immediately be tempted by a passing beautiful woman. This scene is then repeated shot for shot, with I believe the same actors, in New York's Grand Central Station, proving that the itch is timeless and universal. It is amidst the mobs of people in Grand Central where we first meet Richard Sherman, who is packing his wife and son off to go "up river" for the summer. The city is sweltering and Richard is busy with his book publishing job, but neither issue will bother him as much as his new upstairs neighbor, the blonde bombshell who goes nameless, but who we know as Marilyn Monroe.

Richard is immediately smitten with The Girl, (how she is officially credited) and invites her over for drinks. Almost instantly he begins to have paranoid daydreams about the extent to which he is cheating on his wife, and about her somehow finding out about what he is doing with the gorgeous younger woman in their apartment. Of course, nothing happens between the two of them, and this is where Billy Wilder's comedic expertise is invaluable. Billy Wilder milks "nothing" happening between his two leads for all its worth, creating elaborate scenarios in which Richard's paranoia and neuroses are mined for laughs, fifteen years before Woody Allen became famous for making fun these same very things. The similarities between Wilder's work here and Allen's work to come are unmistakable. The Manhattan setting, the everyday guy inexplicably linked to a beautiful woman, the audience having constant, and often times hilarious insight into his male protagonist's thoughts and feelings. The funny thing is that all along, while Richard becomes more and more concerned that his wife is going to find out he is involved in all this duplicity and intrigue, the more obvious it becomes that The Girl has no intention of doing anything with Richard. She likes him well enough, and they do spend some of their evenings together, but she knows their relationship for what it is, being a beautiful woman she has many of them, a harmless married man who cannot help but fawn over her. Eventually Richard realizes this, around the time his wife and son are due back from New England, and The Girl is moving on, only in the city for the summer, to seemingly tempt Richard and pitch tooth paste on the radio. Before she leaves, however, she finds time to pause over a subway grate, thus giving birth to one of the most iconic images of classical Hollywood cinema. The rest of the movie is pretty great too though.

A Night at the Opera

After a string of hugely successful films made at Paramount, the Marx Brothers, in a coup for the time, set up shop at MGM. Spurred mostly by the death of Irving Thalberg, the legendary "boy genius" producer at Paramount, the Marx Brothers relocated to MGM, whose complete dominance over A-level filmmaking was just beginning. Securing the Marx Brothers was one of their shrewdest moves, picking them up right after their first real bomb, 1933's "Duck Soup". The financial disappointment prompted the Marx Brothers (who were consummate perfectionists, going so far as to "try out" material they were about to put to film the night before in front of live audiences to see which gags worked) switched studios, added musical numbers (legitimate ones, not "Hooray for Captain Spaulding!"), and moved "straight man" brother Zeppo to a behind-the-scenes capacity. Their first venture with MGM would prove to be one of their biggest hits, both ciritically and commercially, and was seen as a return to brilliance after their bizarre deviation with "Duck Soup" (which oddly enough, now stands as their masterpiece, embraced by more sophisticated audiences). "A Night at the Opera", when it is not bogged down by its flimsy romantic subplot (which I can only attribute to MGM believing this would broaden the Brothers appeal), is quite the equal to any of their supposedly more "mad cap and zany" Paramount titles. Any film that ends with the Marx Brothers wreaking havoc during a production of Verdi's "Il Trovatore" has to be great, right?

Beginning in Italy, the film centers around an opera company, with a pompous ass of a featured tenor, Lassparri, who loves a beautiful young soprano named Rosa, who loves a handsome, but anonymous, baritone named Baroni. Forcefully inserting themselves into this romantic entanglement are the Brothers. Groucho is Otis B. Driftwood, a shyster opera producer, who is trying to woo Mrs. Claypool (played by Marx regular Margaret Dumont, who made the studio transition with the team), the opera company's owner. Chico and Harpo play two goofballs who inadvertently figure into the proceedings, their involvement in these films is never adequately explained, but somehow, a piano, harp, and tons of slapstick always ensues. This time they play two hangers on of the opera company, who along with lovesick Baroni, stow away on the steamer the company is on, bound for America. The three hide out in the stateroom of the ambulance chasing Driftwood (in this case the ambulance is Mrs. Claypool, Driftwood's meal ticket), and these cramped quarters account for the film's, and perhaps the Brothers, most celebrated sequence. The room, which is already too small for one person, let alone the three others Driftwood did not anticipate, proceeds to be filled by two chambermaids, an engineer and his assitant, a manicurist, a woman looking for her Aunt (woman: "Is my Aunt in here?" Groucho: "No, but you can probably find someone just as good!"), a cleaning woman ("I've come to mop up!"), and four stewards carrying huge trays of food. All of these people pile into Groucho's tiny little room, only to spill out when Mrs. Claypool opens the door.

Upon arriving in New York, the film builds towards the knockout finale number, in which the Brothers completely sabotage the opening production. After sneaking through customs impersonating bearded aviator brothers, and avoiding a muscle bound Detective in an inspired sequence involving two apartments, a fire escape, and the constant rearrangement of furniture, everyone converges at the Opera House. Lassparri and the other producer vying for Mrs. Claypool's money, Herman Gottlieb (played by the great character actor Sig Ruman), are ultimately shamed, Baroni and Rosa are reunited, with Baroni becoming the company's featured attraction, natch. As for the Brothers, well, their mission in each of their films always seems to be to cause as much mayhem and mischief as they can, then unite the young lovers. Ostensibly Groucho wins over the partnership of Mrs. Claypool, and Chico and Harpo probably have jobs with the company too, but really, who cares? The final number features countless gags, all while the opera is going on, including Chico and Harpo sliding the sheet music for "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" into the middle of the scores of the orchestra, selling peanuts and popcorn, and playing catch when the orchestra swings into that number, dressing up as gypsies and entering the stage to avoid the police, and absolutely trashing the hanging backdrops. Somewhere in all of this Harpo plays his harp, Chico plays "All I Do (Is Dream of You)", written by a young MGM company man, Arthur Freed, which of course would later turn up in his masterpiece, "Singin' in the Rain", and Groucho introduces Chico to the vagaries of signing a contract, famously coming to an impasse over the Sanity Clause (Chico: "You can't fool me! There ain't no Sanity Clause!"), all while negotiating the accord standing over the knocked cold body of Lassparri. Despite being slowed by studio imposed subplots and musical numbers, the film still has tons of the Brothers trademark anarchy, and coming on the heels of their other masterpiece "Duck Soup", represents their undisputed creative highpoint.

Easter Parade

Before charming audiences and critics with "The Band Wagon", Fred Astaire stepped in at the last minute and saved another big budget MGM musical extravaganza. While he had appeared in several other smaller titles for the studio, this was his first of epic proportions. Initially to be directed by Vicente Minnelli, the film was instead entrusted to Charles Walters, a very young director who had already directed some profitable titles for the studio and was now reaping the rewards of his efforts by being given a critical and box office "sure thing". The reason Minnelli stepped aside was because of the film's leading lady, his wife, Judy Garland. The two had a tempestuous marriage to put it kindly, and it was advised that working together for twelve hours a day might not be the best thing for their sacred union. Joining Garland on the marquee was Gene Kelly, who was now a huge star for the studio after appearing in "Anchors Aweigh". The topper was the score, done by songwriting legend Irving Berlin, which automatically ensured the film more prestige and probably did not hurt the box office. The only problem: weeks before filming was to begin, Gene Kelly broke his ankle. In a magnanimous gesture rare for Hollywood where egos usually reign supreme, Kelly recommended Astaire for the role. In a twist of fate, this almost became the first pairing of Fred Astaire and Cyd Charisse, who would later star in "The Band Wagon" for MGM, but Charisse had to back out as well, when she became pregnant. Finally having their two leads and director, MGM began production on Irving Berlin's ode to Easter, "Easter Parade".

Much like "The Band Wagon", "Easter Parade" is made exponentially better by its sharp script, written by the MGM musical/comedy duo Albert Hackett and Frances Goodrich, and its star caliber supporting cast, in this case Peter Lawford and Ann Miller. The plot is typical musical fluff: Astaire and Miller are Don Hewes and Nadine Hale, a very popluar dancing team and couple. Nadine decides to break off (and break up) on her own, and in a vindictive gesture, Don boasts he can take the next person he sees and turn her into just as big a star as Nadine. That next person just happens to be Hannah Brown, a mild mannered chorus girl who is ultimately up to the task of being perfectionist Don's partner. While Nadine goes on to become a star in her own right, Don and Hannah have their growing pains, as Don is more concerned with topping Nadine and Hannah is so nervous working with such big star as Don Hewes. Once Don forgets his revenge scheme, he begins to realize that he is falling in love with the pretty but shy Hannah (who has been pursued by Don's playboy friend Johnathon, played in art-imitating-life fashion by Peter Lawford). The two do fall in love, and do become a big star duo on the vaudeville circuit (the film offers some spectacular numbers from their "act", "A Couple of Swells", "Steppin' Out With My Baby", and "When the Midnight Choo Choo Leaves for Alabam"). The film ends with the wonderful title tune, the MGM backlot Manhattan street brilliantly filled with light and color, and Don and Hannah happily arm and arm.

This film really should be recognized as the impetus to Fred Astaire's "second" career. After the resounding success he experienced with this, as well as his enjoyment working within the Freed Unit, Astaire worked as feverishly as ever. Over the next nine years he would make nine more musicals, and then had what you could call a "third" career, in which he played charming older men in supporting roles, all after he claimed he was "retired". The driving creative force behind many of the Astaire/MGM musicals was producer Arthur Freed. In the 1930's Freed was a renaissance man for the studio, doing some writing, producing, composing, and writing lyrics. By the 1940's he had become one of the studio's top producers and was quite prolific, as the "Freed Unit" as his stable of actors, writers, directors and songwriters came to be known, produced 42 films in a little under two decades. Working with such titans of the industry as actors Fred Astaire, Gene Kelly and Frank Sinatra, directors Vicente Minnelli, Stanley Donen and the versatile Kelly, writers Albert Hackett, Frances Goodrich, Betty Comeden, Adolph Green, and Alan Jay Lerner, and composers Irving Berlin and Cole Porter, Freed was quite the power broker in Hollywood. His films were all known for their cheerful stories, charming humor, vibrant use of color, and of course, their wonderful music. For a near perfect blend of these elements, "Easter Parade" is a wonderful example of the Freed Unit in action.

The Band Wagon

Fred Astaire, befitting the age old knock against Hollywood that there are not enough roles for older actresses, enjoyed two careers in Hollywood. His first came in the 1930's when he co-starred with Ginger Rogers in nine films in the decade. However, almost as if prohibited by the passing of the decade, Ginger Rogers career quickly petered out in the 1940's. She still had a career, she won an Academy Award in 1940 for "Kitty Foyle", but the films she appeared in were mostly B level light comedies, and perhaps most egregiously, were not singing and dancing musicals! Fred Astaire, however, had an entire second career apart from his co-star of the 1930's. His second career began in the early 1940's when he started making films with younger, hotter actresses of the time, such as Rita Hayworth. But then his second career completely blew up in the later 1940's with "Yolanda and the Thief", a relatively innocuous title, but more signficantly his first Technicolor MGM musical. Over the next fifteen years Astaire would go on to star in eight MGM musicals, all in beautiful Technicolor, and while his co-star would always change, the Arthur Freed unit touch and Astaire's beguiling charm and legendary dancing skills were always the constants. One of that combinations most successful collaborations was 1953's "The Band Wagon". An absolute powerhouse of a production, the film boasted direction by Vicente Minnelli, a script by Betty Comden and Adolph Green, music by longtime MGM musicians Arthur Schwartz and Howard Dietz, and strong supporting turns by Oscar Levant, Nanette Fabray and Jack Buchanan, as well as the dazzling Cyd Charisse, and the incandescent Astaire, effortlessly gliding through one of the classics of his second career.

The plot is reminiscent of some of the corniest musicals from the Busby Berkely era, revolving almost entirely around the "Hey gang! Let's put on a show!" sentiment, which merely served as a medium for Berkely to display his immense choreography talents. That sentiment holds true here as well, except the character actors, witty script, and subtle jabs at present day goings on in both Hollywood and Broadway distinguish this from just another back stage spectacle. Fred Astaire plays Tony Hunter, a song and dance man who began on Broadway and then made it big in Hollywood (sound familiar?) who is currently in between gigs. Mulling a return to Broadway, Tony comes back to New York at the behest of his old friends, a husband and wife writing duo (sound familiar?), named Lester and Lily Martin. They reluctantly get a committment from him on a script they have for a new show, to be directed by Jeffrey Cordova, an egomaniacal Broadway impressario. Tony is extremely unassuming, he knows he's just a common hoofer who is good at what he does, and accordingly never strays from his bread and butter. Naturally he is concerned at the Faustian tale Cordova seems intent on putting on, and also balks at his co-star, ballerina Gabrielle Gerard. Reluctantly the cast and crew come together, under the brash direction of Cordova, who continues taking the production in bizarre directions, turning it into some kind of warped Greek tragedy, in the process alienating Tony, Lester and Lily even more. When opening night on the road finally rolls around, the production is an absolute disaster, and the backers, who thought they had a huge hit on their hands thanks to the incredible assemblage of talent, now stagger from the theater as if coming from a funeral. Of course the happy-go-lucky Tony bonds with the "great gang of kids" who make up the chorus and crew, and decide to put on the show that Lester and Lily originally wrote. To the surprise of everyone, Cordova agrees with them, and consents to appearing in the new production as the most unlikely song and dance partner Fred Astaire might have ever had!

The new production, which plays like a revue long on elaborate sets and costumes, but short on plot (each number seems like its from an entirely different production, and the only one that has something resembling a plot is the knockout finale, a Mickey Spillane/Mike Hammer influenced dance melodrama, in which Astaire is the gumshoe and Charisse is the femme fatale). Of course during this time Tony and Gabrielle have fallen in love. Usually in the Astaire MGM films this happens as more of an afterthought, with the duo embracing for the first time at the very end, a big "of course I love you!" moment clinching everything. "The Band Wagon", however, contains one of the most romantic and provocative moments Astaire ever put to film, as he and Charisse literally fall in love before their own eyes, and the audience's, while dancing to the ethereal strains of "Dancing in the Dark", a beautiful scene shot on a perfect MGM recreation of New York's Central Park. The production saved, and a love affair gained, "The Band Wagon" closes with the film's most enduring number, "That's Entertainment", a rousing show business anthem second only to "There's No Business Like Show Business". Unlike most films of the time, this was extremely self-referential, with Astaire, Oscar Levant and Nanette Fabray essentially playing himself, Adolph Green and Betty Comden, respectively. The film also includes plot parallels concurrent with Astaire's career at the time, the same production concerns (Cyd Charisse being "too tall" a co-star for Astaire equates to Gabrielle Gerard being too tall for Tony Hunter), and the character of Jeffrey Cordova was widely known to be a play on actor/producer Jose Ferrer, who like his on screen alter ego, was producing four plays at the time and starring in a fifth. The film also precludes Mike Todd's "creation" of the cameo by three years, having Ava Gardner appear briefly in the beginning as herself. I credit all of this Hollywood intrigue to the brilliant screenwriting team of Comden and Green, but the film succeeds on so many other levels, from Vicente Minnelli's brilliant use of color and comedy, and the wonderful, off the wall supporting turn by Jack Buchanan, who also turns out to be quite game for the latter half of the film's musical numbers. By 1953 the Arthur Freed unit was humming like a well oiled machine, and this product is one of its very best.

Lawrence of Arabia

Yet another movie that not only is an epic film, but an example of epic filmmaking. A huge undertaking, filming across three continents, a cast of thousands, a 216 minute running time, and the debut of the actor playing the titular, legendary character T.E. Lawrence, Peter O'Toole. A star literally by virtue of his attachment to this role, O'Toole's dynamic presence on screen perfectly embodied the mysterious, maniacal, charismatic, egocentric Lawrence. An obscure British officer dropped into the middle of a thousand year war between rival Turkish and Muslim factions (amidst the chaos of World War I), Lawrence ultimately unites the warring Arab factions into a coherent fighting army through sheer force of will. To say that O'Toole carries the film is an understatement, and a disservice to the other equally great cavalcade of actors director David Lean and uber-producer Sam Spiegel assembled. It is an understatement because the part literally calls for someone to transcend the part, Lawrence is a mythical figure, and to sell the role, to sell the film, the actor portraying him has achieve the same effect. It is a disservice because the cast includes Omar Shariff, Alec Guiness, Anthony Quinn, Jack Hawkins, and Claude Rains, each of whom perfectly realize their roles. Winner of 7 Academy Awards, including Best Picture and Director, the glarring omission would have to be Best Actor, which might represent the greatest Oscar snub in history (the 1939-1940 debacle in which Jimmy Stewart lost for "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington" in 1939 followed by his consolation prize the next year, in the process snubbing Henry Fonda for "The Grapes of Wrath"), if it were not for Gregory Peck turning in an equally staggering performance as Atticus Finch in "To Kill a Mockingbird". The unfortunate fallout from this was that O'Toole, who would never have a role of this magnitude again, has still never won a competitive acting Oscar.

The Oscar drama aside, the film is truly magnificent. The film opens with the stunning realization that Lawrence, who would risk his life countless times in the hours to come, fighting his enemies as well as the elements, would die far from his beloved Arabia, back in England, the victim of a relatively innocuous motorcycle accident. At the funeral for him journalist Jackson Bentley, who we find would witness Lawrence during some of his most daring deeds, praises Lawrence to a random passerby, then as an aside says "he was also the most shameless exhibitonist since Barnum and Bailey". This dichotomy, Lawrence as hero vs. Lawrence as madman, are what propel the film's narrative. When we first meet Lawrence, he is a bored young officer, stuck drawing maps at some distant outpost in Northern Africa. He virtually leaps at the oppurtunity to serve as an ambassador of Her Majesty's service to the camp of Prince Feisal, one of the most powerful Arab chieftains. From this point on Lawrence's life will never be the same. His first superhuman feat is to cross the Nefud desert, something no white man has ever done. Not only does Lawrence successfully lead a convoy of Feisal's troops across it, he actually goes back deep into the desert to rescue a fallen comrade. After emerging from the blazing abyss Lawrence negotiates a reluctant truce with Auda abu Tayi, another powerful chieftain, and together the two factions launch a surprise attack of Aqaba, a strategically placed Turkish stronghold buffered by an ocean on one side and the desert on the other. After easily conquering Aqaba Lawrence's legend is born. He returns to Cairo where the British officers can hardly believe Lawrence's tale, in addition to hardly believing the extent to which he has "gone native", appearing in the gentlemen's club in a dusty tunic. His first major success under his belt, Lawrence is given more authority to act on his own initiative in Arabia, and returns with a steadfast resolve to unite the fractured Arab tribes and vanquish the Turks.

For a time, Lawrence is extremely successful, engaging in bold guerrila warfare tactics, blowing up railroad tracks and massacring all Turks. He also, foolishly, begins to believe his own legend, remarking at one point to Jackson Bentley, "I'm not hurt at all. Didn't you know? They can only kill me with a golden bullet?" It is because of this complete lack of concern for his own well being that Lawrence foolishly attempts to infiltrate the Turkish city of Deraa. Almost immediately captured, Lawrence is subjected to painful torture at the hands of the local Bey, played with a cold cruelty by Hollywood veteran Jose Ferrer, and is released a broken man. Lawrence was always dangerously close to letting his darker sider consume him, and in the wake of his tortue, he does succumb to it, mercilessly attacking Turkish troops, forgetting all sense of his role not only as soldier, but also as leader. After leading a brutal attack on Demascus, Lawrence is both disappointed and disgusted, not only in himself, but in both the Arabs and the British, respectively. He is disappointed because he realizes his dream of a united Arab nation will never happen under his command, as he witnesses the different factions again splintering, arguing over petty disputes and feuds. He is disgusted with the British and their imperialistic nature, as the politicians convene on Demascus, absorbing all of Lawrence's conquests into their empire.

With nothing left to fight for, literally and figuratively, Lawrence returns to England, sadly exclaiming "I pray that I may never see the desert again. Hear me, God." A sentiment that ultimately comes true, as Lawrence, poet, scholar, and warrior, lives the rest of his life in relative obscurity, thousands of miles from the vast desert where he gained international renown. It is this deep sadness and despair that Peter O'Toole conveys with stunning realism, portraying the broken Lawrence (in my opinion the far harder of the two sides of his nature) with great clarity and understanding. After writing all of this about Peter O'Toole, director David Lean too, should be rightly celebrated for crafting such an articulate, and almost impossibly smart, sprawling epic. Done in the larger-than-life Old Hollywood style, yet infused with new sensibilities reflected in the acting style of Peter O'Toole, as well as deeper psychological issues, such as meditations on sanity, war and imperialism, David Lean's film is an epic example, in every sense of the word, of the changes Hollywood would soon experience.

Giant

Arguably the biggest soap opera ever, "Giant" is aptly titled, despite the fact that the title has nothing to do with the plot. It is merely an adjective for everything the movie is: not just big, literally Giant! Portraying three different generations of the Benedict family, this Texas epic is definitely Texas sized at 201 minutes. Beginning with stubborn Benedict bachelor, Jordan, played by matinee idol Rock Hudson, and his courtship of Eastern blue blood Leslie, played by the gorgeous Elizabeth Taylor, this is merely the first layer of the tale to come. Inexplicably glossing over their marriage (a sin made even more confusing when you consider the film skimps on absolutely nothing else), the narrative rolls into Texas, where it will spill out over the next three hours. In that time Jordan and Leslie become parents and grandparents. There is great romance (mostly courtesy of Jordan and Leslie, when they are not butting heads that is), great drama (mostly courtesy of ranch hand turned billionaire Jett Rink, apparently channeling Hunter S. Thompson with his bizarre performance) and great use of its Texas setting, brilliantly captured by Hollywood veteran George Stevens, who was a veritable jack-of-trades, writing, directing, producing, and shooting dozens of films throughout his time in Hollywood. He would need all of these attributes to tackle this, his largest film ever, but his hard work eventually paid off, as he was awarded Best Director. "Giant" is not simply a bloated Hollywood epic, however. The film contains a powerful subtext which runs throughout, that of racial tolerance, which separates it from other hollow, superficial Hollywood spectacles of the time. This can be attributed to George Stevens, who was also responsible for "A Place in the Sun", "The Diary of Anne Frank" and "Shane", all three films which, for their time, took unflinching looks at the evils of society. This is what elevates "Giant" however, what distinctly places it in the realm of Old Hollywood is the stars.

Rock Hudson, in a rare challenging role, not clowning with Doris Day, is Jordan Benedict, owner of Reata, one of the largest ranches in Texas and also one of the richest. Sprawled over 595,000 acres, and home to some 50,000 head of cattle, Reata is not so much a place, as it is a state of mind to Jordan and its inhabitants. It is big, old, and rich. Those three adjectives make up how Jordan Benedict sees himself, Reata being an extension of him, and this does not sit well with his new wife, Leslie. Leslie comes from Maryland and is at first ignorant of Texas custom, then decides to fight it. She frequently quarrels with her husband over his indifference towards the Mexican ranch hands and house servants, who live in a poor, disease riddled village on the fringes of the Benedict land. She also chafes at the position Jordan would prefer she stay in, as the quiet, subservient Texas wife. Their marriage is virtually saved by the birth of the children, first twins, then later another girl. Shortly after though, Leslie is again challenged by Jordan's "old ways" preference, and she takes their children back to Maryland with her, for a "break" from Jordan, but also for a break from Texas. Initially arriving in Texas, Leslie was a headstrong idealist but did not have the physical makeup to match. This was a point of frequent contention with Jordan's sister, Lux, who regarded Leslie with mild scorn, and subtly tried to keep her from adjusting. After her untimely death however, Leslie assumes more of a command role at Reata, but still cannot avoid disputes with Jordan. Showing the first signs of the overall softening of his stubborn character, Jordan comes to Maryland, literally hat in hand, and asks Leslie to come back to Texas. She tells him she has not changed, and to her pleasant surprise Jordan says that is fine, he simply wants his wife back. This is merely the first significant change Jordan will undergo in the latter half of the film.

The second half of the film is devoted to Jordan's other major problem: Jett Rink. A troublesome ranch hand, Jett loathes Jordan, (the feeling is mutual), and when he finds that Lux left him a small patch of land in the middle of Reata, he smugly refuses to sell it back to Jordan, even for the inflated rate Jordan is offering. He would much rather be a literal thorn in Jordan's side, and takes wicked delight in the displeasure it causes Jordan. The problem of Jett Rink is exponentially made worse when Jett strikes oil on his land, now dubbed Little Reata, becoming a billionaire over night. Now it is Jett in the position of buying, and he offers exorbitant sums to purchase more of Reata, the dollar signs dancing in his eyes as he imagines the gold mine Jordan is too stubborn to realize. Jordan is steadfast about using his land as a ranch, not as an oil field, and the fued between the two takes grows to Texas sized proportions.

Eventually Jett, with a government contract in his pocket, convinces Jordan to relinquish some of Reata. By this point Jordan's world is crumbling, and losing some of Reata is simply another chink in the armor. His son, Jordan Benedict III, becomes a doctor, turning his back on the life Jordan had pre-destined for him: assuming control of Reata. He also marries a Mexican girl, something Jordan cannot comprehend, but simply goes along with. His twin sister marries a simpleton farmer whom Jordan initially dislikes, then resents even more for refusing to take over Reata, preferring something smaller and simpler. And finally, the youngest daughter, Lux, channeling her namesake, finds she prefers the company of Jett Rink. Jordan tolerates a lot in his old age, but he blindly ignores his daughter's blossoming romance with the now thoroughly deranged (or maybe that was just how James Dean played him?) Jett Rink, and creates a huge scene at the opening of Jett's new downtown Dallas hotel, much to Lux' embaressment. The film ends with Jordan's world in pieces. His three children are spread to the winds, all of them rejecting life on Reata. His grandchildren are part Mexican, forcing Jordan to embrace a people he had all his life treated with equal parts indifference and ignorance. All he has left is Leslie to keep him company as he enters his twilight years, Reata's twilight years, because after all, the ranch is an extension of Jordan. Jordan finally realizes he has changed, because, literally, Texas has changed.

The Ten Commandments

I would say the title of "biggest" epic ever would go to either MGM's "Ben-Hur", 20th Century Fox's "Cleopatra" or Paramount's "The Ten Commandments". What separates "The Ten Commandments" from the former two films is its director, Cecil B. DeMille. William Wyler, director of "Ben-Hur" was an extremely capable Hollywood veteran, he had even served as an assistant director on the 1925 version of "Ben-Hur", and handled the immense production about as well as could be expected of something so physically and financially big. Joseph L. Mankiewicz, director of "Cleopatra", was a sophisticated writer-director who almost immediately was swallowed up by the soap opera of making such an epic film. The end result, while extremely competent, bears the mark of a troubled production, albeit one funded with a blank check. That leaves "The Ten Commandments", directed by legendary showman Cecil B. DeMille. DeMille's strategy on his films was to anticipate problems, a sentiment which served him extremely well as he was almost always undertaking a film of prohibitive cost and scope. Thus when the day called for the frame to be filled with thousands of extras, human and animal alike, as the Exodus sequence does in "The Ten Commandments", DeMille was perfectly in control, and no matter what drawback, such as the heart attack he suffered while scaling a ladder to examine a mounted camera for this very scene, the production would continue. Nearly all of his films are big, but this is clearly his biggest, and would also be his last film, and what a fitting epitaph for his career that he would go out having made arguably the "biggest" epic of them all.

While not "the greatest story ever told", that distinction going to the life of Christ (a subject biblical auteur DeMille had already tackled once before with "King of Kings" in 1927, and would be revisited by fellow gargantuan filmmaker George Stevens in "The Greatest Story Ever Told" in 1965), the story of Exodus is still quite compelling and DeMille, through his own opening introduction, puts a contemporary spin on the biblical tale, citing this as the beginning of the fight against slavery and inequality. The story really is quite perfect (whoever was writing down these stories really knew some good ones): a prophecy warns the Pharaoh, Sethi, that one among the enslaved Jewish people will rise against him, destroying Egypt. An order goes out that all newborn slave babies be killed, but one is spared, Moses, who is put adrift in the Nile, washing ashore at the palace of the Pharaoh himself, where his mysterious arrival is kept secret by his adoptive mother, Bithiah, Sethi's sister. Raised as "Prince of Egypt", Moses is completely ignorant who he really is, yet he is markedly different from his "brother" Ramses. Moses, played with conviction by Charlton Heston, is compassionate (he gives the slaves the Egyptian grain surplus and allows them to observe their Sabbath day), a stark contrast to the cold, cruel Ramses, played by the physically imposing Yul Bryner. After learning of his true identity Moses refutes Sethi's decree that he pledge himself to the Egyptians and not the Hebrews, and is put into exile by Ramses. He stumbles upon a kindly desert chieftain, Jethro, and marries his oldest daughter, Sephora. While in exile, Moses keeps hearing stories of Ramses' crulety to the Jews, his people, in Egypt, but refuses to believe he is their deliverer. Only after scaling the summit of Mount Sinai, where he encounters the burning bush, does Moses dare return to Egypt, filled with the power and (this being the Old Testament) wrath of God.

The final third of the film is the most powerful and impressive. It is here where DeMille truly earns his title as master showman. Upon his return to Egypt, Moses issues his famous decree to Ramses: "Let my people go!". Ramses scoffs at him, dismissing the omen of Moses staff turning into a snake and swallowing that of Ramses' whole. Though it clearly breaks his heart, after all, Moses still considers Ramses his brother, even if Ramses has long forgotten it, Moses imposes the ten plauges of Egypt, via God's might. He turns the river Nile into blood, sends flies, locusts and pestilence that kills all the Egyptian animals and crops, and launches a hailstorm that turns to a massive fire. Throughout all of this, Ramses' stubborness to be bested by some "heathen" god, prohibits him from letting the Jews go free, despite the growing concern among his people that maybe Moses really is the administrator of a force more powerful than their own heathen gods. The final plauge is the worst and cows even Ramses' fierce pride. Believing he will crush the Hebrew's faith in Moses, Ramses states that the first born of every Jewish family will be put to death. The final plauge, Moses warns, will turn into whatever Ramses threatens, thus the Angel of Death (portrayed by a streaking white light) comes into Egypt, leaving a trail of wailing and crying. Sparing only the Jews (who marked their homes with lamb's blood, thus creating the Passover ritual), the plauge has now personally hit Ramses, whose young son was killed.

Wracked with guilt, he permits Moses and the Hebrews to leave Egypt. DeMille fills the Exodus sequence with thousands of extras, throwing a cameo to his old friend H.B. Warner, who was his Jesus almost 30 years before in "King of Kings". The Hebrews make it to the Red Sea before Pharaoh's forces, in one last attempt to impose the might of their Egyptian gods, corner them. Moses famously parts the Red Sea (a sequence which single-handedly won the special effects supervisor an Oscar), then closes it on Pharoah's army. Ramses returns in shock to Egypt, where he utters my favorite line of the entire film "His God IS God". The Hebrews now free of the pursuing Egyptian army almost betray Moses while he once again climbs Mount Sinai to collect the Ten Commandments. The Jewish traitor Dathan (played with suitable ham by Edward G. Robinson, in my opinion equivalent to having Dennis Hopper appear in "Schindler's List") nearly convinces the Hebrews to return to Egypt, constructing a massive golden calf to offer to Ramses to sate his wrath. When Moses returns (the Ten Commandments sequence is equally impressive, the writing etched in stone by lightning) he deplores the Hebrews actions, and finally leads them from their ignorance to the Promised Land. I realize that this post has been extremely long, but I feel it is fitting for a 220 minute film, one that, if not the greatest story ever told, is surely the "second"; but also for my money the "biggest" story ever told!

The Sound of Music

I don't know if anyone realizes that with its domestic gross adjusted for inflation, this movie has grossed approximately $800 million dollars. And while "Singin' in the Rain" is still my vote for greatest musical of all time, this statistic leaves no doubt that "The Sound of Music" is the most successful and beloved musical of all time. An irresistable star turn by Julie Andrews as care free nun/governess Maria, a terrific, instantly memorable score by Rodgers and Hammerstein, and incredibly lush scenery and locations, these are a few of my favorite things! Already a smash hit on Broadway, the film version was sure to be a blockbuster, and 20th Century Fox pulled out all of the stops, garnering Best Picture for their efforts. Today, while "The Sound of Music" is associated with the highest of corn, it is easy to forget just how great this movie is. The performances are all top notch, including the aforementioned Julie Andrews, who scored her second overwhelming success in a family friendly movie musical, after "Mary Poppins", as well as Christopher Plummer as the von Trapp patriarch who runs his family as tight as he did the ships in his Navy, former screen siren Eleanor Parker as the beautiful but cold Baroness, and the perfectly cast and brilliantly portrayed children, all seven of them. The score is one of the most famous ever, boasting such classics as "Do Re Mi", "My Favorite Things", "Edelweiss", "Climb Ev'ry Mountain" and the title number. And this being the age of epics, the film was shot on location in Salzburg, Austria, and the stunning mountain locales and stately mansions add a powerful element to the production.

As the film opens, Maria is singing "The Sound of Music", and it is the perfect introduction to her character. She is vibrant, imaginative, and also forgetful, as she is slapped with the realization that she is late for afternoon prayer at the convent where she lives. As Maria races back into town we are greeted with another introductory song for Maria, entitled "Maria", in which the nuns describe someone who is careless, forgetful, and ditzy. The important thing her Mother Superior notes though, is that Maria has a good heart, and that she yearns to be free, which is why she sets Maria up with the von Trapp family as the childrens' nanny. At first Maria is scared of leaving the convent, and her doubts are magnified by the childrens' initial disdain towards Maria; putting pine cones on her seat at dinner and scaring her with frogs. This is nothing compared to the cold reception Maria initially gets from the Captain. Maria immediately draws his ire by refusing to answer to a whistle call, as all seven of the children do. With these anxieties in mind, Maria gratefully bonds with the children during a thunderstorm, singing "My Favorite Things" to them. The children now adore Maria and soon she has them singing and dancing all throughout Salzburg, done in a tremendous montage set to "Do Re Mi". When the Captain finds out his children are traipsing around town dressed in "play clothes" Maria made from old curtains, he is furious. Maria knows the Captain really loves his children and she implores him to let them have a little fun. The truth is the Captain has more pressing matters on his mind, including romantic implications with the Baroness, a woman the children despise and Maria politely defers to, as well as the ominous advances of Nazi Germany, which the fiercely patriotic Captain has tried to avoid at all costs.

Ultimately Maria and the Captain fall in love, resolving the issue of the Baroness, however Nazi Germany is not so easily stopped. The von Trapp's conspire to flee Austria, which will soon be completely under Nazi rule, but the night of their escape, coincidentily the same night the family wins a local music festival, they are betrayed by oldest daughter Liesl's boyfriend, Rolfe, who has joined the Hitler Youth. They manage escape but their mode of transportation is compromised, forcing the family to flee to the Alps, where they incredibly walk to safety. This ending is quite fantastic and would seem unbelievable, but is a true story, the entire family emerged in tact in Switzerland, making their feat even more remarkable. The film was a smash success with critics and audiences alike, winning five Oscars and grossing nearly ten times its budget, a feat virtually non-existent in today's Hollywood save for only the cheapest of indie successes. Some other interesting notes of the film: Marnie Nixon, who made a career out of dubbing major Hollywood actresses such as Audrey Hepburn, Natalie Wood and Deborah Kerr, has a small role as one of the nuns in the opening scene. Needless to say Julie Andrews did not need anyone dubbing her singing in this, or any other film. The original Broadway stars, Mary Martin and Theodore Bikel, were given passing consideration at best. Mary Martin, however, served as a co-producer of the film, and this shrewd move would eventually net her tens of millions of dollars. Theodore Bikel, who had a very nice stage career, never really translated that into screen notoriety. Perhaps his most lasting movie role is as Zoltan Karpathy, the "dreadful Hungarian" who until Eliza Doolittle was Professor Higgins' greatest pupil. Before agreeing on Christopher Plummer, the studio considered Yul Bryner, Sean Connery and Richard Burton for the role of the Captain and allegedly considered Audrey Hepburn for the role of Maria, in addition to Doris Day, who nearly secured the role herself. As was the case with almost all Hollywood epics, amidst all the cast permutations, directing changes (William Wyler segued to Robert Wise) and script revisions, the end product came out brilliantly unscathed, and remains a seminal childrens classic to this day.