From Here to Eternity

Most people consider From Here to Eternity (1953) an all-time classic, an opinion I can't second. Fred Zinnemann's adaptation of the racy James Jones novel certainly has its appeal, from the great cast to its ace director and some inspired moments. But this tale of star-crossed love in pre-World War II Hawaii is so soapy and maudlin that it's hard to take it seriously.

Private Robert E. Lee Pruitt (Montgomery Clift) arrives at Schofield Army Barracks in Hawaii. He was the championship boxer in another unit, but a tragedy dissuades him from ever fighting again. Captain Holmes (Philip Ober) is more interested in intra-squad boxing than military duty, allowing his subordinates to ride herd on Pruitt until he gives in. The Captain's aide Sergeant Warden (Burt Lancaster) carries on an affair with Holmes' wife Karen (Deborah Kerr). Pruitt endures his rough treatment, befriends amiable Private Maggio (Frank Sinatra) and romances Loreen (Donna Reed), but still can't fit in. Pruitt is forced to stand up for himself, Warden and Karen debate what they can do, while Maggio runs afoul of "Fatso" Judson (Ernest Borgnine), the sadistic Sergeant-at-Arms for the base stockade. It takes the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor to resolve these conflicts, albeit unsatisfactorily.

From Here to Eternity had its edges dulled by censorship, but the film is still extremely racy for a Hayes Code-era film. Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr's embrace in the surf became justifiably iconic, about as explicit as Classic Hollywood could get about sex. The movie skirts with edgy material in other ways: the tastefully-disguised whorehouse, Judson calling Maggio a "wop," a rough and dirty knife fight. Add Zinnemann's ace direction and a stellar cast, and it's easy to see how Eternity earned its reputation.

The edginess and artistry can't entirely overcome Eternity's overbaked drama. The movie plays as a slew of contrived situations and broad characters. Daniel Taradash's script telegraphs obvious payoffs: no matter how reluctant Pruitt is to box, we know the gloves will come off down the line. Pruitt isn't a convincing character, his claim that he "loves the army" in spite of his hazing comes off as dopey. Even the more convincing protagonists are painted in broad strokes. The high tragedy angle doesn't really work: while relatively honest with Pruitt and Loreen's difficult relationship, Zinnemann fails in selling Warden and Karen's lusty affair as an epochal romance. Two leads get killed in scenes more pathetic than tragic.

The main reason to watch Eternity is the cast, surely one of the best ever assembled. Burt Lancaster is near-perfect as a lothario and a career soldier frustrated by a worthless desk job. Montgomery Clift (Red River) makes the most of a character who, frankly, is rather hard to swallow. Deborah Kerr (The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp) gives her best Hollywood performance, playing against type as a sexually frustrated housewife. Donna Reed (They Were Expendable) is so charming and vulnerable, one easily forgets she's supposed to be a good-time girl.

The movie also provided a boost to many careers. Frank Sinatra shot to movie stardom with his tailor-made role: he only matched it in The Manchurian Candidate. Rumor claims that mob connections got Sinatra the part but one really can't imagine another actor (least of all Eli Wallach!) as Maggio. Ernest Borgnine earned a career out of his bit as a bug-eyed creep: "Hello, Tough Monkey!" Jack Warden (All the President's Men) plays a friendly Sergeant and lots of familiar faces fill in small parts: Philip Ober, George Reeves, Carleton Young, Claude Akins, Robert J. Wilke.

From Here to Eternity is a mixed bag. Groggy's not immune to well-made melodrama (Brief Encounter, anyone?) but this movie's contrived dramatics are often hard to stomach. That doesn't mean the film is without its charms.

Robert Ryan Noir Extravaganza

On Friday, TCM had a day-long tribute to Robert Ryan, that gifted yet underappreciated actor, and I took advantage of the opportunity to see some of his less widely-available flicks. Here reviewed are a trio of his early films, films noir from top-notch directors where he made his name as one of Hollywood's premiere tough guys.

(Also perused were two of his Anthony Mann collaborations, Men in War (1957) and God's Little Acre (1958), films of different genres which may or may not get their own article.)

Crossfire (1947, Edward Dmytryk)



Ryan's breakout film, Crossfire is a somewhat awkward cross between a noir and a social message film. Its attack on biogtry and intolerance may have been groundbreaking in its time, but the film seems rather stilted and preachy today.

Jewish GI Samuels (Sam Levene) is murdered, and detective Finlay (Robert Young) believes some of his service mates to be responsible. Finlay initially suspects Private Mitchell (George Cooper), who conveniently cannot remember the night in question, but with the reluctant help of Sergeant Keeley (Robert Mitchum), Finlay turns his attention towards Montgomery (Robert Ryan), a loudmouth who slowly reveals a nasty strain of anti-Semitism.

Leftist director Edward Dmytryk (later one of the Hollywood Ten) really wants us to know that prejudice is bad. Unfortunately, the point is made in a regrettably hamfisted way. The movie takes the easy route of stressing that Samuels was a great guy and there was no reason to kill him. An eloquent speech by Finlay portrays all intolerance as one and the same, a gross, patronizing oversimplifcation of a complex issue. It's especially telling that the biggest and most pervasive intolerance of post-war America - racism - is not once mentioned; it's much easier to show that the intolerance practiced by Nazi Germany is bad, I suppose. What may have seemed daring and provocative in 1947 now seems very much a product of its time.

As a straight noir, Crossfire is decent enough. Dmytryk's direction is rather unremarkable, although he makes fine use of Harry Gerstad's interesting editing, with its distinctly dreamlike flashbacks. The story is straightforward but its moral ambiguity is interesting: the soldiers are reluctant to help Finlay's investigation out of service solidarity, and peripheral characters - especially a call girl (Gloria Grahame) and her obsessive husband (Paul Kelly) - seem equally seedy. Without employing gangsters or usual genre cliches, Dmytryk successfully creates a rather disquieting and cynical view of '40s America.

Ryan excells in his star-making turn: no one can play a charming creep better than him, even if his guilt is never really in doubt. He would play a nearly-identical character in Bad Day at Black Rock eight years later, which did a somewhat better job with a similar story and the same issues. Robert Young (Western Union) is the nominal protagonist, and he's good if rather stiff. Robert Mitchum has a rather weak secondary role and doesn't make much of an impression. Gloria Grahame (It's a Wonderful Life) gets a meaty part as a hard-nosed call girl.

Act of Violence (1948, Fred Zinnemann)



A noir by the great Fred Zinnemann (A Man for All Seasons), Act of Violence also makes use of post-WWII America as a setting, with tormented, guilt-ridden GIs as protagonists. A bit uneven in its plotting, its central story is superb, and fine direction and acting make it a must-see.

Frank Enley (Van Heflin) lives a seemingly-idyllic life as a building contractor in Middle America, with a beautiful wife (Janet Leigh) and child. Into the picture limps Joe Parkson (Robert Ryan), a crippled WWII vet who knows service buddy Frank's secret: as a POW, Enley betrayed an escape attempt which led to a massacre. Frank flees to Los Angeles to escape the vengeful Joe, getting mixed up with a woman of doubtful virtue (Mary Astor) and a gangster (Berry Kroeger) who determines to bump off Joe. Joe's girl (Phyllis Thaxter) tries to convince her beau to call off the hit, while Frank wrestles with his own conscience.

Act of Violence is a wonderfully ambivalent movie. It seems like an odd cross between The Best Years of Our Lives (veterans struggling to adjust to civilian life) and A History of Violence (idyllic family man whose past comes back to haunt him), but has a darker tinge than both. The film refuses to make its morality easily codified: Frank provides a noble "excuse" for his wartime treachery, but it seems just as likely that cowardice motivated him. Joe comes off as a psycho at first, but he has a justification for his actions, and the film provides a loyal and loveable girlfriend as a foil. Frank, eager to forget the war, easily rejoined society while Joe remained a neurotic outsider obsessed with the past; when the two strands cross, it's hopelessly messy. Do we cheer for the past traitor and present model citizen, or the war hero-turned-psycho?

Zinnemann's direction is fine, with appropriately-moody photography by Robert Surtees heightening the tension. The story takes an odd sidetrack when Frank gets mixed up in with criminals; it seems as if Zinnemann and writers Robert L. Richards and Collier Young feared the main plot was too thin. Still, this development sets the stage for the wonderfully surprising finale, which really spins the film's moral compass out of whack.

Van Heflin (Shane) gives one of his best performances; Frank is never less than likeable but Heflin makes him convincingly complex and guilt-ridden. Ryan is equally good: he's dependably creepy early on, but Zinnemann makes him gradually more sympathetic as the film develops. A remarkably unglamorous Mary Astor (The Maltese Falcon) and Berry Kroeger (Gun Crazy) ably represent the seamy underbelly of post-war America. Janet Leigh (The Naked Spur) and Phyllis Thaxter (Jim Thorpe - All American) sweeten the deal as likeable "nice girls."

The Set-Up (1949, Robert Wise)



The real gem of this group is Robert Wise's (The Sand Pebbles) take on the crooked, grimy world of professional boxing. Ryan gives probably his best performance (with all due respect to Billy Budd and The Wild Bunch) as the tragic Stoker Thompson, a past-his-prime boxer who career - and life - are pulled out from under him by his supposed friends.

Stoker Thompson (Robert Ryan) is an aging heavyweight champ due to fight against up-and-comer Tiger Nelson (Hal Baylor). Stoker's manager Tiny (George Tobias), however, agrees to throw the fight without telling Stoker; he's so sure his charge will lose that he doesn't bother to cut Stoker in. Stoker gives the fight his all and somehow manages to win, leaving him to face the wrath of tough guy Little Boy (Alan Baxter) and his goons.

Filmed roughly in real-time, The Set-Up is a wonderful little film. The story is pretty straightforward but plays out like an epic tragedy: Stoker's playing against a rigged deck but doesn't realize it, and he has to pay the consequences for his manager's perfidy. Wise's sparse direction adding a documentary-real feel to the proceedings, bringing the seedy world of boxing to vivid life. It's a remarkably grim and downbeat film, showing a horribly amoral and destructive world in chilling detail.

This has to be Ryan's best performance. He rarely got to play sympathetic characters but he really shines here, convincing as the proud, aged boxer and the man betrayed. Audrey Totter adds a welcome glimmer of humanity as Stoker's girlfriend. The supporting cast is filled out by a dependably seedy bunch: Alan Baxter (Abe Lincoln in Illinois), George Tobias (Mildred Pierce), Hal Baylor (Sands of Iwo Jima), James Edwards (Patton) and Wallace Ford (The Man From Laramie).

A Man for All Seasons

Robert Bolt's A Man for All Seasons is one of the greatest plays of the 20th Century. Bolt's witty, insightful and moving portrayal of Sir Thomas More's stand against the English Reformation has a timeless universality, as evidenced by its frequent revivals (most recently with Frank Langella) and perennial popularity. Men of principle never go out of style, and along with Jean Anouilh's Becket and Arthur Miller's The Crucible, Man remains just as powerful as the day it was written.

Fred Zinnemann's 1966 movie is a fine adaptation. Bolt adapts his own work for the screen, streamlining its more theatrical elements but keeping its message and power intact. Zinnemann's sumptuous pageantry certainly makes things cinematic. But the film would be nothing without Paul Scofield, reprising his Tony Award-winning stage performance to immaculate effect.

Sir Thomas More (Paul Scofield) is a scholar, author, devout Catholic, devoted family man and friend of England's Henry VIII (Robert Shaw). Henry seeks a divorce from Catherine of Aragon so he can marry Anne Boleyn (Vanessa Redgrave), but the Pope refuses to grant it - leading to Henry's fateful schism with Rome. More becomes Chancellor after the death of Cardinal Wolsey (Orson Welles), but cannot reconcile his faith with Henry's actions. After More's resignation, Henry sics ruthless hatchet man Thomas Cromwell (Leo McKern) on him. Cromwell does everything to bring More to heel, using his friend Norfolk (Nigel Davenport) to provide friendly pressure and changing the law to criminalize More's dissent. But More is immovable, forcing Cromwell to rely on the ambitious Richard Rich (John Hurt) to bring about More's downfall.

Way back in high school I read Man for an English class. Since then I've read the play dozens of times, even performing bits of it in drama classes. It's a brilliant piece of work, from Bolt's elegant verbal architecture to the perfectly drawn characters. Admittedly not the most morally complex work, its power lies in its directness and universality. The play is smart without being self-impressed, accessible without indulging in anachronism, simple yet profound.

Man portrays Sir Thomas More as the ultimate man of conscience. No pressure, no argument can shake his devotion; he can answer any debate, is indifferent to his Earthly fate, and even his family loses out to his worship of God. He is understanding when his friends and family refuse to support him; he passes no judgment on his wife (Wendy Hiller) and daughter (Susannah York), or his friend Norfolk, for bending to the King's will. His struggle is an entirely personal one: "I have no window into another man's conscience. I condemn no one." More's persecution belies Cromwell's pretensions to justice, as "a state that was half-good" couldn't conceivably view him as an enemy.

Historians not unreasonably object to this view of More, who harshly repressed Lutherans while serving as Chancellor. Bolt, the socialist playwright, depicts More as a very 20th Century intellectual dissident, finding solace in "himself" rather than Catholic dogma. Beyond complaining about historical inaccuracy, some critics even view Man as Catholic propaganda, promoting what historian Richard Marius terms the Church's "overblown tyranny" and institutional corruption over Tudor reforms.

Focusing on the religious aspect misses the point. Bolt prefers the universality of More's predicament: Who among us hasn't been forced to had to compromise their beliefs? Bolt's More is a beautifully-realized protagonist, a man of integrity rather than expedience. He's an idol for anyone who's been forced to choose between a job, opportunity or relationship and their conscience. Certainly one wishes More's view that political amorality "leads [a] country by a short route to chaos" had a wider audience!


Bolt uses the supporting cast to highlight More's morality. The capricious Henry wishes to overturn centuries of law and tradition for an ephemeral flirtation. Norfolk joins Henry without a moment's thought; he can't see why More chooses spiritual matters over temporal. (Oddly the film overlooks Norfolk's relationship to Anne Boleyn!) Cromwell's blind loyalty to Henry overwhelms moral considerations, while Rich's power-hunger trumps all. These insecure, flawed men desire More's approval, which itself would legitimize their cause. His very silence rebukes the King's actions; when More won't support them, he must be destroyed.

Bolt's adaptation jettisons some of the play's complexity. Supporting characters are drawn more broadly and certain scenes don't play as strongly on film (namely Cromwell's "seduction" of Rich) as a result. The play's "Common Man," a Brechtian narrator who assays various minor parts, is excised for obvious reasons. Spanish Ambassador Chapuys is similarly lost. But the meat of the story remains, in its protagonist, themes and powerful dialogue: "When you are sent to Heaven for doing your conscience and I am sent to Hell for not doing mine, will you come with me for fellowship?"

Fred Zinnemann opens the story up just enough to be cinematic, granting the characters and dialogue center stage. Zinnemann makes striking use of water imagery, particularly the scenes of More rowing down the Thames River, serving to illustrate More's changing status and the inconstancy of Henry's court. John Box's gorgeous production design (most of the locations are actually Shepperton sets), Joan Bridge and Jackie Cumming's striking costumes, and Ted Moore's wonderful cinematography are absolutely beautiful. Georges Delerue contributes a nice period score.

Paul Scofield was a brilliant stage actor with few film apperances (The Train). Scofield is a brilliantly subtle actor, with his rich voice and expressive eyes, giving a performance that's both theatrical and intimate at once. He conveys every line, gesture and glance with perfection, calm and reserved when needed, loud and commanding when called for. It is a peerless performance; rarely was an Oscar more deserved, even against stiff competition like Richard Burton and Steve McQueen.


Wendy Hiller (Pygmalion) is wonderful as More's wife, alternating between exasperation and devotion to her man. Susannah York (Tunes of Glory) gets the big emotional scenes pleading her father to see reason. Leo McKern (Ryan's Daughter) infuses Cromwell with a coarse charm that makes him all the more hateful. A young John Hurt (V For Vendetta) perfectly captures Rich's ambition, and Nigel Davenport (A High Wind in Jamaica) provides some welcome humor as Norfolk.

Robert Shaw's boisterous Henry and Orson Welles's devious Wolsey make such strong impressions that one forgets their minimal screen time. Corin Redgrave (The Charge of the Light Brigade), Colin Blakeley (Saturday Night and Sunday Morning), Jack Gwillim (Lawrence of Arabia) and Cyril Luckham (Anne of the Thousand Days) play supporting roles. Vanessa Redgrave cameos as Anne Boleyn.

Whatever losses occurred in the adaptation, A Man for All Seasons remains a powerful, beautifully-made drama.

The Nun's Story (and Golden Globe acknowledgement)

The Golden Globeswere tonight, though I didn't watch as I was celebrating (in my own way, by printing out homework) the Steelers' epochal victory over San Diego. I'm a mite surprised by some of the results - namely Slumdog Millionaire winning Best Picture. (Dammit, there's one more I need to see!) I'm a bit disappointed that Frank Langella and Amy Adams didn't win, but at least John Adams swept all of its categories - I still uphold Paul Giamatti and Laura Linney as the most wonderful couple in screen history! Hopefully I'll be able to see some more of the major nominees in the coming weeks, so I won't be completely unprepared come Oscar-time. (Hopefully I'll have seen enough 2008 films by then to make a meaningful "retrospective" post, too.)

In the meantime, I plan to pick up some of the slack in this blog by cross-posting some of my old IMDB user comments. As an appropriate follow-up to Doubt, here is my review of The Nun's Story, which I will rewatch ASAP. I hope none of you mind, and this one's one of my better ones I think. But anyway...

The Nun's Story

Gabriele Van Der Maal (Audrey Hepburn) is a head-strong Belgian girl who decides to become a Nun, despite the protests of her surgeon father (Dean Jagger). Gabriele finds her work challenging in the extreme; in order to be successful, she must suppress her individuality, all of her thoughts, memories and desires, and sublimate herself to a collective worship and service of God. As Sister Luke, she works in an insane asylum, a hospital in the Congo, and in a military hospital during World War II. Despite her best efforts, Gabriele struggles to sublimate her personality and pride, but finds herself increasingly unable to do so. Although she becomes acclaimed as a selfless, hard-working nurse, she realizes the truth of her Mother Superior (Edith Evans)' dictum: "You can cheat your sisters, but you can't cheat yourself - or God!"

The Nun's Story is a profound, deep and intelligent film. It deals thoughtfully with a difficult subject: What does it mean to become a Nun, to sacrifice your life to religion? Fred Zinneman's handsome, thoughtful film addresses this question in a forthright, honest manner, without passing any judgment on the Catholic Church or the lead character. It also contains the greatest performance of Audrey Hepburn's career, by far.

Nuns haven't had a very good track record on film. The most egregious are films like, say, Sister Act or The Sound of Music, which depict Nuns as clownish figures, repressed women who just want to have a good time, ride motorcycles, sing, dance or, God help us, fly. Even more serious explorations of the theme (Black Narcissus, The Bells of St. Mary's) are largely tainted with an outsider view of Catholicism, and tend to idealize or damn it. Even worse, a seemingly never-ending chain of Hollywood films and TV shows seems grimly determined to convince us that religion is a sham, and religious people are inherently evil - murderers, pedophiles, or hypocrites all.

The Nun's Story doesn't. Its depiction of the Catholic Church is remarkably uncritical, yet neither is it an endorsement. It is an incredibly frank exploration of Catholicism, and specifically Nunnery. The early scenes showing the Nuns' training makes it clear that being a Nun isn't something people do for fun - it's serious, hard work, a complete and utter immersion in religion and devotion to God. In order to become a Nun, one must strive for perfection, sublimate individuality, recognize and criticize even the tiniest faults - and shed all vestiges of their previous life. One can't even talk without permission, or express their private thoughts or feelings - except to condemn them as fault or sin. Only the most devoted, strong-willed women can achieve this without bowing out or losing their sanity; and it's unlikely that they'll be singing and dancing with Whoopi Goldberg any time soon.

This process proves exceedingly difficult for Gabriele, who is a headstrong, proud and intelligent girl. At first, she willingly tackles being a Nun as a challenge; we never learn why she decided to become a Nun (unhappy family life? Personal problems? A sense of religious duty or calling?), but it's not all that important. It isn't long, however, before Gabriele's faults begin to surface. In the ultra-repressive and controlled environment of the Monastery, Gabriele finds herself increasingly critical of and disgusted in herself. The movie reaches an early climax when one of Sister Luke's mothers (Ruth White) suggests that she deliberately fail a medical exam in order to assuage feelings of pride and guilt. This provides an agonizing conflict: a viewer might reasonably ask whether it's right to ask a Nun to be dishonest, which might be a bigger flaw than pride.

But even as Sister Luke becomes an exemplary nurse, she finds herself unable to sublimate herself to the Church. She is nearly killed when she gives water to an asylum patient (Colleen Dewhurst) without permission. She becomes more and more independent in the Congo, taking initiative without her Mothers' knowledge and developing an attraction towards the handsome Dr. Fortunati (Peter Finch). She sees all of these as faults, even when her superiors don't. Her Mothers and Sisters are supportive and understanding, recognizing Sister Luke's virtues and skill - but she can only see the flaws. World War II provides the final straw; when her family and countrymen are being slaughtered by the Nazis, how can she possibly remain impartial? It's impossible to say Sister Luke isn't a strong woman, but her inability to see her strengths is her fatal flaw.

Fred Zinneman's direction, as usual, is handsome and at times beautiful. As in other works, his straightforward directorial style lets the actors, sets and locations do the work. Robert Anderson's script gives intelligent dialog and well-rounded, sensitive characters, avoiding the stereotypes and clichés of religious films, condemning neither the Catholic Church nor our flawed protagonist. Franz Planer provides gorgeous cinematography, particularly in the Congo scenes, and Franz Waxman gives a beautiful score.

Audrey Hepburn's performance is simply remarkable. Shedding her trademark uber-chic Givenchy costumes and lacking make-up, she lets her true beauty shine through. The device of letting us see only her face through her habit has a remarkably powerful pay-off. But more than this, Hepburn perfectly portrays the anguish and emotional conflict of Sister Luke; her expressive face alone conveys more than ten pages of screenplay. Anyone doubting Audrey's acting ability absolutely has to see her performance here; it's a revelation. The supporting cast includes fine performances from Peter Finch, Dean Jagger, Edith Evans, Peggy Ashcroft, Niall McInnes, and Colleen Dewhurst, complementing Hepburn's performance and creating well-rounded characters of their own.

The Nun's Story is simply remarkable. Few other films are as honest about religion; and, truth be told, few are as intelligent, well-rounded and thought-provoking period. It is a masterpiece.

Rating: 10/10 - Must-See

High Noon

Last night TCM showed one of the all-time classic Western, Fred Zinnemann's High Noon. I had watched the film many years before, and remember not having been crazy about it, but I decided, now that I'm a committed cinephile, why not give it another go? Especially considering my high regard for Zinnemann's other work, and the fact that I had nothing else to do but study, it seemed like it was worth a rewatch.

Well, it was, but surprisingly my opinion has little changed since I was a 14 year old. As a film, High Noon has its virtues: a fine cast amd excellent direction and editing in particular. But for all its hype as an intelligent, "adult" Western, with lots of political baggage (begin rant about the blacklist and ignorant confusion of Joe McCarthy and HUAC here) and "deep" themes, it's hopelessly confused. I think DVD Savant's review of this film says what I want to say, and better, but I'll give it a go regardless.

In case you don't know the plot: Will Kane (Gary Cooper) is the long-serving Marshall of Hadleyville, who wishes to marry committed Quaker Amy (Grace Kelly) and retire. Unfortuantely, his old nemesis Frank Miller (Ian McDonald) has other plans; he's been pardoned from jail and is headed back to town with three henchmen (Sheb Wooley, Robert J. Willkie, and Lee Van Cleef) to seek revenge. Kane tries to organize a posse, but finds the townspeople indifferent, scared, or outright hostile, and his wife is unwilling to stand by his side. Finally, Will must go it alone, facing four vicious outlaws in a climactic showdown for the ages.

High Noon has always been read as the ultimate parable about a man sticking up for what's right. If that's the level you want to address the film on, it works well-enough. Will Kane is a curious character. He is a rugged individualist, who is willing to sacrifice himself for the sake of a town that appears to loathe him. This isn't necessarily believable on a personal level - especially considering the horrible, repeated backstabbing we see him go through - but as a character type - the ultimate Good Guy, facing up to the Evil no matter the cost - he makes a very strong impression. On this level, the movie works, not the least for Gary Cooper's wonderfully dignified, straight-laced performance. Whatever the faults in his character motivation, Cooper's performance successfully transfigures Kane into an emblem of individual righteousness, making at least one of the film's major strands work perfectly.

The movie really stumbles, however with its story and plot - or rather, the way it goes about them - and supporting characters. This movie is perhaps the ultimate exemplar of characters being merely cogs in a story rather than believable people. It takes an unbelievable amount of convenience and contrivance to bring the movie to the point where Kane is forced to make his lonely stand, and some of the techniques employed by Foreman and Zinnemann are heavy-handed to the point of being insulting. Upon further reflection, a lot of them don't even make sense.

The whole movie is a series of carefully orchestrated events designed to lead to the inevitable conclusion, depriving Kane of support and leaving him standing alone, and very little of it works - simply because, frankly, it doesn't make much sense. Why aren't these people willing to stand up to Miller? It's fair to assume that the rowdy saloon crowd might like Miller, and even some of the town's more unscrupulous businessmen would prefer him to the upright Kane, but the arguments advanced by some of the town's leading citizens are just ridiculous. Thomas Mitchell's grotesque speech in the Church is perhaps the biggest example - he's worried about one day of violence besmirching the town, but presumably letting Miller and Co. have free reign in the town will be good for them? The contrivance of Kane's deputy (Lloyd Bridges) being an ambitious prick willing to sell out the town for his own sake doesn't really come off either, nor really is the judge (Otto Kruger)'s fleeing at the first sign of trouble. Amy's character is even more problematic; her opposition to violence seems warped and out of place (would a Quaker really side with a vicious outlaw gang over the law?), and her taking up arms to save her man is a crude and sick joke. It's rather bizarre that a leftist would write a screenplay advocating such an openly pro-violence, pro-individual and anti-society message, but here you are.

Even worse, the movie continually undercuts its message - which it seems is that people are just no damned good - through its own actions. Kane himself notes that several members of the surly saloon crowd had helped him put Miller away all those years ago. What exactly "changed", as one of them helpfully says, that they're now either cowards or openly siding with Miller? The movie could have addressed this, but it completely skirts the issue, merely setting Kane up for another fall. The fact that many are willing to help Kane, only to disappear into the woodwork when it's convenient for the story make it all the more aggravating; what happens to the four guys who immediately jump up to help at Kane's appearance in the Church? Was their sense of right and wrong destroyed by listening to a speech? What about the rest of the Church congregation who vehemently argue Kane's side (including Virginia Christie's poignant appeal: "What's WRONG with you!?"), or the children who look up to him? These good characters are swept under the rug due to story convenience, providing a horribly one-sided and inaccurate even within the film's frame of reference view of things. When Kane throws his star into the dirt at the end (a big fuck you to the assembled townspeople), we're presumably supposed to forget all the good people who are in the town. If that's the way he feels, then why did he bother sticking around in the first place?

More troublesome still are the film's alleged "political" meanings. Carl Foreman was a committed leftist, and heavy-handed political preaching was his biggest liability as a writer (even his escapist works like Guns of Navarone was unable to escape this), but any attempts to read the film as a blacklist parable aren't very pertinent to me. I'm sorry, I find it extremely hard to see any parables between a sheriff standing up to a gang of outlaws and Hollywood actors being; the fact that the threat comes from outside the community rather than from its government further complicates things (and might make an alternate reading, of Kane standing up to the insidious Commies and their pinko friends, possible). Maybe in the most abstract way one could read it as such, but any direct analogy is extremely problematic. It seems to me a case of critics making up stuff after the fact; Foreman was blacklisted, so this film must be about the blacklist! Sorry, I ain't buying it.

Technically, the movie is extremely accomplished, and this is the area where it is most successful. Zinnemann's direction is quite handsome, handling both his fine cast, the mise-en-scene, and the action scenes with aplomb. This movie is much more gritty than Zinnemann's later polished, handsome films, and yet he doesn't seem a bit of place. The movie's real ace, however, is the editing by Elmos; the use of clocks throughout (the film being in almost real-time), and the use of montage (particularly the intercutting of the main cast members just before the final showdown) provide brilliant tour-de-force works of editing. And the final showdown is among the best the genre has to offer, skilfully directed, choreographed and edited. It's very hard to fault the flm on this level, though I for one find the Tex Ritter score to be horribly annoying.

The acting is good for the most part, in spite of the characters they have to play. Besides Cooper, Katy Jurado's sexy, vibrant Mrs. Ramirez, Lloyd Bridges' selfish punk deputy and Thomas Mitchell's backstabbing friend come off best. I've never been a big fan of Grace Kelly and as usual she's adequate but little more. It's also nice to see future Western vets Jack Elam and Lee Van Cleef in small roles.

So, High Noon has its virtues as a film, but its story relies on too much contrivance to really work. I think a 7/10 rating would be more than fair.

Rating: 7/10 - Recommended

The Day of the Jackal

I did enjoy Stella Dallas in class last night, but TCM ran one of my favorites, The Day of the Jackal, tonight, and since I have an IMDB comment written I'll simply re-post it here rather than write a new review (don't worry though, I'll find time this weekend). The Stepford Wives is also on TCM, though I'm not sure if I'm up for that one when I still have John Adams to watch tonight. Anyway...



1963, France. French President Charles De Gaulle (Adrien Cayla-Legrand) has decided, after a popular referendum, to allow the North African nation of Algeria independence from France. This action leads to the death of hundreds of French residence in Algeria and bloody conflict which extends to Europe, as disgruntled French army officers form the OAS, a terrorist group which strives to assassinate De Gaulle. After a failed attempt on the President's life, the leaders of the OAS are tried and executed, and the organization is in tatters. The surviving leaders of the OAS hire a professional assassin (Edward Fox), codenamed the Jackal, to assassinate De Gaulle. Using a bewildering array of disguises, false passports, and other tricks, the Jackal works his way through Europe, being tracked by a frantic French bureaucracy led by milquetoast Police Commissioner Lebel (Michael Lonsdale). It's up to Lebel to find and stop the Jackal before August 25th, Liberation Day, when the assassin will make his move.

Based on the gripping if very long novel by Frederick Forsyth, Fred Zinneman's "Day of the Jackal" is one of the best of its genre. It succeeds largely because, as Roger Ebert said, "it knows exactly what it's talking about". Though fictional, the film's look and feel gives it an air of authenticity that few, if any, other thrillers could hope to match. The film has an almost documentary air about it, which is one of the major reasons it is so successful.

Much of the credit is due to director Fred Zinneman. Despite having a lengthy career making such classics as "High Noon", "From Here to Eternity", and "A Man for All Seasons", Zinneman is generally overlooked when it comes to great directors. Certainly, it's understandable why. Zinneman's films typically do not contain much in the way of flair or flash, at least when it comes to photography. Zinneman's direction is straightforward, unpretentious, with no fancy camera angles: he allows the script, sets, actors, and action on screen to do the work. This might not be the accomplished method of film making, but it works wonders in Zinneman's best films, particularly here. The lack of stylization creates the aforementioned feel that this story could happen in real life. And yet, Zinneman effectively creates suspense in spite of conventional music or camera movements; the finale, where Lebel and a Gendarme (Phillipe Leotard) try to locate the assassin (with La Marseillaise playing on the soundtrack), is sheer nail-biting brilliance.

Other elements contribute to the film's success. The lengthy, in-depth, and almost labyrinthine source novel is reduced by screenwriter Kenneth Ross into succinct, economic dialog which conveys as much information with as little verbiage as possible. Georges Delerue's score functions much the same as his work in Zinneman's "A Man for All Seasons". There is little actual music, other than diegetic music from marching bands or street musicians, which adds immeasurably the look and feel of the movie.

What makes or breaks the film, however, is the cast, and this film is truly unique in its acting. The film recruits a huge, very talented cast of actors from both sides of the English Channel, and every performance is wonderfully understated, free of histrionics or theatricality, which makes the film all the more believable.

Edward Fox is marvelous in the title role. He plays the assassin as the ultimate detached professional; unconcerned about politics or individuals, he simply does his job and does it well. He can be counted on for results. He is neither arrogant nor cocky, just an expert who knows what he's doing and will go any length to achieve it. Fox is completely, utterly, and chillingly believable as the Jackal, and one is torn between rooting for him to succeed or for him to get caught.

Also fantastic is the Jackal's nemesis, Commissioner Lebel, who is played in an equally understated performance by Michael Lonsdale. Lebel is not an action hero, nor particularly exciting; he is a no-frills, straightforward police inspector who uses his brains, intuition, skill, and more than a bit of luck to track down the Jackal. Lonsdale and Fox give two of the most utterly believable performances ever captured on film, a testament to both actors.

The rest of the cast follows suit, although few of the other characters have as much screen time. Cyril Cusack plays the charming gunsmith who builds the Jackal's perfect weapon; Delphine Seyrig is a middle-aged Frenchwoman who begins an ill-advised affair with the assassin; Derek Jacobi is Lebel's dedicated assistant; Tony Britton as the crusty Scotland Yard investigator who gives Lebel his first break in the case; Jean Martin and Eric Porter play the desperate OAS members forced to hire an outsider to do their dirty work. These are just a few of the many fine performers in the film, and all give well-rounded, believable performances.

"The Day of the Jackal" is a brilliant thriller that still holds up well almost 35 years later. By capturing the essence of 1960's France, and by creating a completely believable atmosphere, Zinneman draws the viewer into the film. It is unlikely that the viewer will be able to lose interest as the plot moves along. A brilliant thriller, and a masterpiece for all time.

For the record: The remake with Bruce Willis, Sidney Poitier and Richard Gere is alright, and remains reasonably faithful to the source material, but it does add a good deal of embellishment and over-the-top elements that demean it somewhat (does the Jackal really need to use a remote-controlled automatic cannon to carry out an assassination? Fox's little contraption is infinitely more interesting a weapon). Plus Gere's Irish accent is one of the worst excuse for human speech ever uttered.

(If you want to read more on this film, check out this excellent retrospective of Fred Zinneman's life and career.)

Rating: 9/10 - Highest Recommendation