Top 10 of 2010

Ok, yes, so 2010 ended over a month ago, but I finally just finished seeing all of the films on my “must-see” list for the year, and I wanted to wait until then to compile this…(Caveat: I didn’t see “127 Hours” or “Winter’s Bone” because I don’t particularly care too). Oh, and it goes without saying, here there be spoilers….So, without further ado, here are my top 10 films of 2010:

10. The Kids Are Alright: It’s been hailed as a deft portrait of modern marriage, and I think that’s an accurate description. The film is brilliant because of the way it accomplishes this though: it takes what could be a source of controversy, a story about two lesbian partners and their sperm-donor produced children, and makes it a story about the American family that everyone can relate to. Children, especially college age students, can all say they’ve been there when observing the frustrations and mistakes of the two teenage children. And the relationship between Annette Bening and Julianne Moore is such a marvelous encapsulation of the trials of marriage – there is such tension between them, but also such an easy, relaxed, yet deep-seated love. The film allows us to simply examine the ups and downs and meaning of the ties that bind – marriage, love, family, etc. rather than getting caught up in any sort of political statement, and that’s what makes this a truly beautiful piece of work. Marriage may be hard, but watching this film certainly isn’t.

9. Tangled: Definitely the best Disney film since Hercules! I loved this movie because it returned me to the glory days of Disney, in that rather than pandering to audiences, it simply told a beautiful story with a perfect mix of heart, charm, hilarity, and romance. Granted, none of the music was as memorable as any of Alan Menken’s previous work with Disney, but it still was more remarkable than the “Princess and the Frog” soundtrack (which I must admit, I also quite liked). But it was great to have a story that focused equally on a male and female protagonist, without reducing one of them to a mere prince or princess. Furthermore, the animation was so lush it was like looking at an impressionist painting brought to life on screen. Few images this year were as lovely as the lantern-filled sky here. And what really sealed the deal was that the story carried many moments of unpredictability, while ultimately, still adhering to the happily-ever-after we so desire.

8. Inception: Ok, so character development was weak here, motivations were fuzzy, and the third act was slightly too long, but this film merits a place in the top 10 for originality in concept and visual artistry alone. I don’t remember the last time I felt myself thinking so actively in the theater as when I was watching this film. I actually had a headache when I left from my desperate attempts to make sense of the mind-blowing plot and images streaming at me. The whole dream within a dream within a dream thing captured my imagination for weeks. And as a piece of cinema, this is strong technically – an intriguing story, insane visuals (enhanced by superlative cinematography), and a perplexing score. But what really makes the film is the visual effects (most of which were done without the aid of CGI, which makes them all the more amazing). The no-gravity fight sequence and elevator drop is one of the most jaw-dropping, masterful, astonishing sequences of cinema I have ever seen. Pure visual artistry at work there. And any film that gets this many people talking about it, certainly deserves recognition – cause I’m sure we all still want to know, did it stop spinning or didn’t it?

7. The Fighter: The story, of a working-class Massachusetts boy with a controlling mother and girlfriend with the proverbial heart of gold who rises to become a boxing champion, is not unique. Though, I guess I can’t really call that a weakness, given that it all comes from true events. But despite the rather predictable storyline, it’s still an example of top-notch filmmaking, and earns a spot on the list for its impressive performances alone. Christian Bale, Melissa Leo, and Amy Adams are beyond superb in their roles and offer us a master class in acting here. Christian Bale has received much attention for this role, and deservedly so. He really is a chameleonic actor, and his transformation into the drug-addled, well-meaning, broken down Dicky is some of his finest work. Dicky is really the heart of this film, and Christian Bale’s performance only makes it more impressive. Melissa Leo – everything people have said about this performance rings true, but honestly, I was almost more impressed by Amy Adams, largely because she is so successful playing a role incredibly against type for her. I would have never pegged her for the trashy, bartender type, but boy does she pull it off, and the best parts of the film are her fights with Micky’s family: a catfight with his sisters, and an argument turned into understanding between her and Dicky. Without a doubt, this film features some of the best acting of the year.

6. The Social Network: Let me say, before I explain why I liked this film, that I really do feel that it is largely overrated in many ways. I want to give it a second look, but on first viewing, my thoughts were that the film is so of the moment that it may have trouble earning a lasting spot in the film canon. Furthermore, it’s hailed as defining a generation, and as a member of that generation, I beg to differ. It tells the story of a few select individuals, and by no means, encapsulates an entire group of people. But it is on this list for a reason, and that is threefold: brilliant writing and wordplay, deft direction, and strong ensemble acting. Aaron Sorkin is one of the best writers working today, and this film showcases his talents marvelously. “Juno” was hailed for its witty dialogue, but the sharp, biting wit of “Social Network,” and the speed and intelligence at which the story and characters work blasts “Juno” out of the water. This is a film about smart people for smart people…lose even a couple sentences, and you’ve lost out on crucial information, as nothing Sorkin includes is superfluous. He’s a master wordsmith, building a striking character study throughout. And honestly, this is why I’ve placed this so high on the list: it’s refreshing to have a film written intelligently for intelligent people. As an audience member, I get sick of being pandered to.

5. The Town: Yes, I thought it was better than The Fighter and Social Network. Yes, you probably disagree. But, I think it’s a travesty that this film didn’t make it into the Best Picture top 10. Focusing on characters and relationships, it was a refreshing take on the heist/gangster genre that is often reduced to fixating on the heist itself rather than any of the characters and their depth as people. With this film, Ben Affleck proved that he really can act, and what’s more, he can direct (and his direction, I would argue, is even better than this acting. He should really stick with this as a career from now on). I’ve only been to Boston once, but just from my one visit, and the opinion of other friends who have actually lived there, this film really captures the essence of the city. It being about bank robbers, you might think that’s a negative assessment of Boston as a place, but through its characters, it really emphasizes what I felt made Boston such a unique city: a small-town feel with really deep-seated loyalties coursing through the veins of many Bostonians. Furthermore, Jeremy Renner is a marvel. His barely contained anger was reminiscent of Cagney in some of his best gangster films. We never knew when he would fly off the handle, and the combination of this sheer insanity with his unswerving devotion to Ben Affleck was intriguing. Blake Lively also gives a surprising and excellent performance: movies this year featured a lot of traditionally uptown girls playing the” skank,” and it worked surprisingly well. Finally, the idea to combine two American icons – the shootout and the baseball park (and the most American of all baseball parks alongside Wrigley)—was a stroke of hybridic genius. Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but this, to me, had so much to say about Americanism and the decline of many things, that I found it an entirely fascinating moment. And really, despite all of this, when it comes down to it, The Town is just damn good story-telling, that keeps you on the edge of your seat throughout.

4. True Grit: As a piece of cinema, this film is better than the original. Yes, the original should always hold a special place in our hearts, John Wayne’s performance is iconic and special, and the ending is infinitely better! But this film resoundingly proved that the Western is not dead when it is well-made. Again, we have another great acting ensemble here, with strong performances from Jeff Bridges, Matt Damon, Josh Brolin, and Barry Pepper. But Hailee Steinfeld is truly a revelation. Her performance is wise beyond her years (Can’t believe she was only 13 when she made this), and she really blows Kim Darby out of the water. In the original, the “true” grit and determination is all Rooster’s. Here, we come to realize, that the one with the most grit of all is Mattie Ross. Daring to swim a horse across a river, shoot a man down, etc. she is one hell of a character, and I found myself wishing I could find even an ounce of that courage inside myself. The cinematography is also superb, with sweeping shots of the frigid, wintry American West. Score, imagery, acting, etc. all complement the tone of the film, making for a beautiful picture. Yes, it doesn’t do anything new for the genre, but that’s partly why I liked it so much. It was nice to see a classically rendered film, especially from the Coen Brothers.

3. Toy Story 3: The film that wins the prize for making me both cry and laugh the hardest that I did at the movies all year (which generally can be said for whatever treat Pixar has presented us with for the year. What a studio!). The laughter came from many great moments, including a roulette table made from “What does the Farmer Say?”. But I laughed so hard I could barely breathe at Mr. Tortilla Head…even just thinking about it, I can’t help but smile and chuckle. Just the sheer ridiculousness of it was hysterically funny. A uniquely comic moment. And the tears came freely both in the incinerator scene where the toys all reach for each other as they face their doom, and the final moments of the film when Andy must give up his toys and move on into adulthood. I felt, as I’m sure many college students did, that this film was made expressly for me – having grown up with Woody, Buzz, and the rest of the gang, it was as difficult for us as audience members to have to say goodbye, and remember also the horrible pangs and fears of what going to college and being out on your own means. Pixar continually manages to get at something deep within our humanity and tell extraordinary stories. The fact that they manage to do this even in the third film in a trilogy is a testament to the level of their work. Going to college, or any major turning point in your life, is such an emotionally mixed experience, and Pixar manages to convey all these feelings deftly, through the eyes of toys no less. Truly wonderful film-making!

2. Black Swan: Quite possibly the best 3rd act I’ve ever seen! And part of the magic is how it builds to this surprisingly subtly (though nothing in the film can truly be described as subtle). At its start, I felt extraordinarily detached from the film and the characters. I felt that cinematically, it was pitch perfect, but I just couldn’t connect to it on an emotional level as a drama. But that’s the brilliance of Aronofsky…he wants you to think that, so that the shocking, horrific moments build as little surprises, and before you realize it, you’ve been sucked into Nina’s life and story. Things take a turn quite rapidly, and you can’t escape the swirling vortex of insanity as it surrounds you as the audience member. And the grand twist…that all along we’ve been watching Swan Lake comes in a moment that really pulls the rug out from under you. Quite possibly one of the only times I’ve had goosebumps for an extended period of time after leaving the theater. Each time I’ve seen it, I find myself sitting in stunned shock as the credits roll. Though I was wholeheartedly impressed by the film’s effective use of genre and story-telling to manipulate the viewer, what puts it in the number 2 slot is its sheer perfection on a cinematic level. It has some of the best cinematography I’ve ever seen: from the opening prologue to the haunting shot of the broken music box to Portman alone on a stage with a single light to the beautiful finale on-stage, each image is well-crafted and visually stunning. The score is flawless and an amazing deconstruction of Tchaikovsky. Production design functions expertly as a reflection of the subjective point of view at work, and really helps build Nina’s world around us—relying on black, white, and pink to effectively communicate thematics. And I could go on…a nearly flawless piece of film-making in many ways.

1. The King’s Speech: I had a friend describe watching this film as akin to looking at a painting, and I think that’s a perfect summation of this film: an utter work of art. One of the best acting ensembles to ever grace the screen is led by a mind-blowingly talented Colin Firth. I don’t know how he did what he did, but it’s a performance for the ages. And could you ask for better supporting talent around him than all of the notable British faces found in it? The cinematography and shot composition is also extraordinary here: tracking shots out of doorways are entirely lovely, and shots continually placing Firth at the edge of the frame and in the corner expertly underline the isolation imposed upon him by his speech impediment. I also must call attention to the shot where he goes to be granted the monarchy, and Tom Hooper uses a brilliant, distorted low-angle shot to put us right in the character’s head, as he looks up at paintings of great monarchs before him exerting pressure on him to succeed. The score is utterly lovely, and a perfect complement to the work of art unfolding before our eyes. But what makes this film number one in my eyes is that it is just a classic piece of film-making. It reminded me of everything I love about classic films in that it was just expert story-telling and display of craftsmanship on all levels. Here, there is no need for technical wizardry or explicit content (minus one scene that plays well for comedic value). Hooper simply tells the story, allowing all of the aspects of the film to speak for themselves, and it’s this subtlety, this lack of showiness, that makes this my pick for best film of the year. For me, it comes in ahead of Black Swan, because for every visceral moment that hits you over the head in “Black Swan,” there is an equally powerful moment of subtle storytelling here. “The King’s Speech” is truly a work for the ages, a marvelous film, and something I can’t recommend enough. Long Live the King!

Mr. Smith = President Obama?

First, sorry for going so long between posts. I just caught up in everything with the end of the school year.

Last night, for the first time ever, I had the immense pleasure of watching "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington." I adored it. The whole film is really so well put together: from Capra's awe-inspiring shots of the Capitol and various other Washington monuments to Jimmy Stewart's impassioned, moving performance, the film is a masterpiece on every level. As most classic movie fans, I've always had a soft spot for Jimmy Stewart and his common man heroes with his distinctive drawl. To this day, I'm still the only one of my family who actually enjoys watching "It's a Wonderful Life" every Christmas when it comes on TV. But Jefferson Smith was a whole new level of Jimmy Stewart for me. Of course I knew he could act, his desperation at the bar in "Wonderful Life" or countless scenes in "Vertigo" provide excellence evidence of that fact. But somehow this was different....Watching Jeff Smith traverse through the perils of Washington and cheering him on through his filibuster was the most caught-up I've felt watching a film in a long time. I actually found myself on the edge of my seat cheering for him.

However, this film didn't merely reveal the true depths of Jimmy Stewart's acting ability causing me to fall just a little bit more in love with Jimmy Stewart. No, I found, refreshingly, that this film was of particular relevance today and that Mr. Smith, with his politics, his homespun values, and his all-around likability reminded me an awful lot of President Barack Obama. Just this past week I'd started reading Obama's "The Audacity of Hope," and the ideas that Obama lays down in that book, his continual references and obvious admiration for Lincoln, are almost exact to the ideas espoused by Jefferson Smith. (And with a first name like Jefferson, where else could he go but into politics?) The connection between these two men struck me from the very beginning of the film. Merely in Jeff Smith's championing of moral rectitude and his adherence to values, as well as his deep patriotism, and his belief in the good of his country and the necessity of appreciating what's in front of you and working together to achieve a better world, I saw so many ties to the ideas Barack discusses in his book and what he pushed on the campaign trail. Jeff's belief in the common man and the great outdoors fits quite well with Obama's grassroots campaign and his call for change and the return of the government to the people.

What really sealed the deal for me was Jeff's love of Lincoln and his continual return to the Lincoln Monument as a source of inspiration and strength. Indeed, it is Lincoln's words, inscribed on the monument, that help persuade Jeff to go back and fight for his reputation and what he believes in. Gaining prominence as an Illinois Senator, Barack Obama certainly already had some ties to President Lincoln. In his book, he goes even further -- regularly calling out Lincoln's actions as an example for how all politicians should behave and citing Lincoln's actions as a good model for a solution to many problems facing our bitterly partisan nation today. Calling on the common man, seen in Jeff Smith's Boy Camp and Lincoln's log cabin, Obama points out the necessity of working together for a solution...reiterating the idea that a "house divided cannot stand." From his writings, it is increasingly clear that Barack Obama seeks inspiration and guidance in Lincoln much the same way that Jeff Smith does.

Now, while Barack Obama has faced no opposition and smear to his reputation quite so great as the treachery perpetrated against Jeff Smith, he has still been subject to many naysayers and a conservative population that chastises his every move. And while no exhausting filibuster has been required, Obama has faced his opponents valiantly, continuing to stand up for what he believes in to help improve our country.

Perhaps it is merely the current state of things in the world or the specific figure of Barack Obama himself, but through these connections, I found Capra's film to be incredibly timeless--directly addressing issues we still grapple with today. However, with one exception--normally watching a film like "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington" would frustrate me and leave me wondering as to why there were no politicians as idealistic and morally upright as Jefferson Smith....Thanks to Barack Obama I don't have to wonder anymore.

Until next time, Here's Looking at You Kid!

-Reel Classic Dame

Masculinity in "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid"

Sorry about no update last week...I'm in my last two weeks of classes and am sort of bogged down. So, I leave you with another essay....

Joan Mellen in Big Bad Wolves states, “The ideal man of our films is a violent one. . .Male stars are people manufactured from the raw material of humanity to appear as supermen overcoming women and lesser men by sheer determination and will, involving, in varying permutations, competence, experience, rationality- and charm”(1). This ideal of masculinity is often promoted in Westerns by stoic cowboys pitted against Indians and the Open West. “The Western promotes a masculine ideal of a strong, unemotional, aggressive hero closely tied to nature and hard manual labor” (Benshoff, 254). George Roy Hill’s 1969 film, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, a Western made in classic Hollywood style, attempts to defy the stereotypes of masculinity by portraying Butch Cassidy as a sensitive, compassionate man who reflects the ideal man of the 1960s, rather than a man of the late 1800s, the time the film is set. However, Butch’s closest friend, the Sundance Kid, reflects the ideal stoic, emotionally reticent man. Through Butch and Sundance’s interactions with each other, with women, and with members of other races, as well as Butch’s eventual evolution towards a more ideally masculine man, the film reinforces typical male stereotypes.
Two different types of men
Butch Cassidy (Paul Newman) and the Sundance Kid (Robert Redford) represent two very different types of men: Butch, the brainy, kind-hearted man of the sixties and Sundance, the aggressive, silent cowboy. The opening sequence of the film stresses both of the characters’ dominance over other men. As the film begins, all characters remain nameless and although you hear other voices, the faces of Butch and Sundance are the only ones visible. Additionally, a shot cuts from Sundance’s face to a gun in a holster and back to his face, which emphasizes his strength and masculine power by placing him on the same level as the deadly weapon. Furthermore, a gun could be interpreted as a phallic symbol and Sundance’s connection to it highlights his masculinity. Once Butch utters Sundance’s name, the face of the other man in the scene is revealed because Sundance’s name itself establishes the dominance that the director relied on Redford’s face to relay earlier in the scene From the beginning, both men, particularly Sundance, are portrayed as idyllic males; men “capable of feats of power and control inaccessible to mere mortals”(Mellen, 5).
Butch embodies traits such as tenderness, intuition, and generosity, feminine qualities that may make viewers question his identity as a male, but also stand as links to his image as a more modern man of the 1960s (Mellen, 7). The Vietnam War was still raging at the time the film was made and in accordance with mass protesting, the ideal man was one who was sensitive and thus, disconnected from the brutal horrors of the first televised war in our nation’s history. Butch is different from the men who pursue him; the men that he and Sundance refer to as “those guys.” “Those guys” who “[threaten] our country, our ideals, our way of life…who led us into a disastrous war” (Brauer, 122). Through his sensitivity and reliance on thought and “love, not war,” Butch attempts to represent a new ideal man who defies the stereotypes of masculinity in old Westerns.
Butch is slight in stature compared to his co-stars and to compensate, his intelligence is continually emphasized as his source of strength. Rather than fight to reacquire control of his gang, he tricks Harvey, a man attempting to stage a mutiny, into a state of vulnerability and wins through cunning. In this scene, Butch leaves his shirt on, enhancing his intellectual traits, which greatly contrasts with Harvey’s bare chest, a symbol of pure physicality and brute strength. Additionally, in the film, twice Sundance tells him, “You just keep thinking Butch, that’s what you’re good at,” and later he assures Butch, “You’re the brains…you’ll think of something.” These statements serve to further contrast Butch from Sundance, and they are meant to emphasize Butch’s position as a leader and a thinker, while portraying Sundance as the physical sidekick who acts on Butch’s orders. This is further emphasized by Sundance’s wish to stand and fight in dangerous situations, while Butch continually thinks of new ideas to avoid violence. Rather than face the Superposse, the group of men attempting to capture Butch and Sundance, and “be done with it” as Sundance suggests, Butch decides they’ll give up crime and “go straight.”
Butch’s interactions with other characters also portray him as a different type of man. When robbing the train, Butch seeks only to obtain money and tries to ensure that none of the civilians are hurt. When they blow the train door open, he ignores the safe and first goes to the wounded man on the floor and asks, “You ok?” Later, when Sundance becomes impatient with an interfering woman, Butch orders, “Put the gun down, there is no need for violence.” Thus, Butch is a “nice bandit” who is less of a threat to society than even the law-abiding men who pursue him with rifles. Finally, the filmmakers attempt to portray Butch’s sensitive and compassionate attitude as the essence of being a “real man.” One of the saloon girls Butch dotes upon insists that he’s “the only real man [she’s] ever met” not because he has money, but because he always checks to see “if [she’s] happy or not.” The filmmakers attempt to emphasize the idea that Butch is the real man by the fact that many people refer to Sundance as “the Kid,” and Butch even addresses him as “Kid.” Although Sundance more properly reflects the stereotypical male, he is referred to as a child, not a man, thus elevating Butch’s character to represent what a true man should be.
Sundance, portrayed by Robert Redford, the “complete man” according to a press release on the film, represents all the facets of stereotypical masculinity. Redford himself asserts that a real man “acts and does not indulge in sissified thinking” as Butch Cassidy does (Mellen, 7). Sundance embodies Redford’s beliefs, always wanting to stand and fight, begging to “just let [him] have one shot at ‘em,” rather than contemplate a non-violent solution. Steve Neale remarks that a real man “is one marked not only by emotional reticence, but also by silence, a reticence with language” (12). Mellen insists as well that “the more silent the hero, the greater his nobility” (13). Sundance is the perfect image of both emotional and linguistic reticence. He is often separated from the pack allowing him to sit in silence, supporting the idea of rugged individualism. For example, in the saloon, he sits outside, speaking only to Butch, and throughout the majority of the film, he is stone-faced, showing little or no emotion. Although different from Butch, this also reflects sixties values as “the traumatic events of the sixties induced the Hollywood hero to tighten up. . .and to find comfort in his own recalcitrance” (Mellen, 249). He is quiet and says no more than he has to, which is in great contrast to Butch who talks incessantly, particularly when the men are in danger of being caught and he is nervous. When Butch tries to talk to Sundance, he reciprocates with one or two words or simply stares at Butch in a way that communicates all he needs to say, mostly annoyance or frustration. Butch notes Sundance’s silence and sarcastically asks, “Why are you so talkative?” and Sundance replies (also sarcastically), “Just naturally blabby I guess.” “Film after film has insisted that the masculine male is he who acts-and kills-without a moment’s thought” (Mellen, 9). Sundance also represents the view of the ideal man as violent. He is noted as being one of the best shots that ever lived, and he kills without thinking, as illustrated by firing his gun before even seeing what he’s shooting at. Hearing a sound behind him, he thinks only of his own endangered existence and kills an unsuspecting snake.
Additionally, Sundance is embarrassed to admit to anything that may make him less manly. He insists that he and Butch fight the Superposse, rather than trying to escape by jumping into the river below them. Not only does he not want to run away like a coward, but he hates having to admit he can’t swim. When Butch won’t let the subject drop, he finally admits, “I can’t swim” and looks away, embarrassed at his failure to succeed at a physical activity. His embarrassment is only worsened by Butch’s laughter at this confession, and so he agrees to jump, gritting his teeth and cussing all the way. Sundance takes offense at anything that may compromise his masculinity, as illustrated when Butch reminds him of standard procedure when robbing a Bolivian bank and he angrily retorts, “I know how to rob a bank.” When the men fail to rob the bank because of a language barrier, Sundance refuses to learn Spanish and sits apart from Butch and cleans his gun instead, a much more manly activity than becoming educated. Sundance is the perfect example of masculinity: violent, silent, and emotionally reticent.
Stereotypes Reinforced
Although the film strives to portray Butch as the better, more idealistic man, in the end, Sundance’s style of masculinity proves to be more effective and Butch even begins to evolve towards becoming that type of macho man. Although Butch is the leader of the “Hole-in-the-Wall Gang,” he often looks to Sundance for approval, support, or advice on what to do. This fact suggests that although Butch is an intelligent leader, he needs Sundance, the symbol of true masculinity, to survive. When the pair is on the run from the Superposse, Butch asserts with confidence, “I think we lost ‘em, do you think we lost them?” When Sundance replies, “No,” Butch quickly changes his mind saying, “Neither do I,” as they continue to ride away. Also, Sundance regularly doubts Butch’s judgment asking, “Sure this’ll work?” and his doubt is always proved to be well-founded as Butch’s plans fail. Additionally, as the film progresses, Butch moves more towards becoming a man more like Sundance because of the failure of his plans. By choosing to go straight, rather than fight, Butch and Sundance wind up in a disastrous situation, and Butch is forced to move more towards stereotypical masculinity to survive. When they try to steal money back from bandits to preserve their jobs, Sundance realizes they will have to shoot the uncooperative bandits. Butch admits that he’s never shot anyone before, again revealing himself as a non-typical male because he has never committed an act of violent aggression. However, “a man is not a real man unless he is also a competent killer” (Mellen 12), and Butch is forced to shoot the bandits to become a “real man.” Although he is shaken by his deed, from that point on he strives to reach true masculinity. He becomes more disconnected from Etta, Sundance’s girlfriend, and when she is speaking to him, he only half listens to her and focuses on Sundance. He supports Sundance’s rejection of farming, a non-violent profession, and realizes that they must remain bandits, a violent and thus, masculine profession.
Butch’s relation to his clothes, as well as he and Sundance’s costumes also reinforce typical male stereotypes. Butch wears a white shirt and grey hat, which emphasizes his sensitivity and role as a “nice bandit.” However, as he moves more towards typical masculinity, he begins to wear a grey shirt and a brown hat, emphasizing his transition to a more violent, “bad” guy. Sundance wears a black shirt and hat for the entirety of the film, emphasizing his role as a stereotypical male and violent bandit. “The Western hero can rarely be seen out of Western uniform, separated from the conventional dress and armoury of the fictional cowboy and gunfighter, for fear of feminizing his body and appearing to offer it for a sexualized look” (Lusted, 31). Towards the beginning of the film, while Butch still stands squarely for a different type of masculinity and possesses many traits deemed as feminine, he is depicted undressing to sleep with a woman. However, as the film progresses, he moves towards fulfilling Lusted’s description and jumps into a pond to bathe fully-clothed. As he moves closer to the image of ideal masculinity, he clings more firmly to his clothing to avoid emasculating himself and presenting himself as a sexual object, rather than a man. Throughout the entirety of the film, we never see Sundance separated from his clothing, even wearing long pajamas when he is sleeping. The men’s clothing also reinforces typical masculinity.
Interactions with Women
Their interaction with women also reinforces typical gender roles of both males and females. At first glance, the film would seem to be progressive in its depiction of male treatment of women. The men bring Etta along on their trip to Bolivia, and she even assists them in robbing banks. However, her primary purpose in the film is as a sexual object. Our first encounter with her does not initially permit us to see her face close up or hear her speak. Rather, we see her curvaceous body and shots of her undressing, and it appears that Sundance is attempting to rape her as he scares her by hiding in her bedroom and referring to her not by name, but simply as “teacher-lady,” ordering her to undress in front of him. We shortly discover that they are a couple, but Sundance’s treatment of her is still degrading and an act that typifies a lascivious male. Additionally, the cinematography emphasizes his dominance in this scene. In each shot of him, there is a close-up on his face which takes up the entire screen. However, each shot of her is a medium shot, making her appear small next to her surroundings, especially compared to Sundance. Etta is his property, an object that he can easily discard, as illustrated by his nonchalance when Butch claims to be stealing his woman. Furthermore, Etta has a relationship with Sundance, the image of stereotypical masculinity, and Butch has no long term relationships, but looks to saloon girls for sexual pleasure. Although Etta displays obvious fondness for Butch and even questions her relationship with Sundance, she stays with the “real man.” Furthermore, Sundance makes it quite clear that he is only inviting her to accompany them to Bolivia because she is convenient and traveling with a woman is “good cover.” He tells her that if she whines or makes a nuisance “he’ll drop her flat.” She also maintains typical gender roles by viewing her position as 26 and single as “the bottom of the pit” and agreeing to accompany them and “mend [their] socks and stitch [them] when they’re wounded,” stereotypical women’s work. A press release about the film from 1969 states, “They’re bringing just one piece of baggage-Katharine Ross.” Referring to her as baggage again emphasizes her role as an object, not a human being. When they get to Bolivia, Sundance reminds Etta that “she’s here to back [him] up-without [him], she’d starve. In this scene, Sundance also reinforces the dominance of his masculinity over Butch’s saying, “And you, you shut up.” Finally, “masculinity was treated as possible for men only through the exclusion of women from their lives” (Mellen, 248). Indeed, Butch and Sundance fulfill the ideals of masculinity only when women are not present, and Etta is there only to remind us of their heterosexuality. She is absent from any important aspects of the film and in the end, she leaves Bolivia voluntarily as they fulfill their masculinity in one last hurrah. According to Mellen, men can choose marriage or Latin America, and the pair opts for the latter with the woman leaving them to their fate as “true males” (286).
The Shoot-Out
The men’s relationship with each other and their final moments together further emphasize and cement their stereotypical masculinity. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid is a classic buddy film and the Butch/Sundance relationship represents all of the facets present in typical buddy films, and “it set the tone for buddy films to come in the seventies” (Mellen, 286). The buddies only truly flourish without the presence of women and “seem united in a virtual marriage” (Mellen, 286). Their witty banter and incessant quarreling are reminiscent of an old married couple. Even as they lay wounded they tease each other with witty barbs:
Butch: Is that what you call that giving cover?
Sundance: Is that what you call that running? If I knew you were gonna stroll…
Butch: You never could shoot, not from the beginning
Sundance: And you were all mouth…
In their final moments, the men remain close, as a shot of the entire room in which they are taking refuge reveals them huddled next to each other in the corner. Although Sundance’s dialogue may suggest otherwise, he shows his love and loyalty to Butch by wrapping his injured hand for him. The buddies stick by each other no matter what.
They remain true to their typified masculinity until the end and many aspects of the film’s final shoot-out reinforce this. Realizing he can’t shoot well enough to cover for Sundance, Butch runs after more ammunition, and although he is still not as manly as Sundance who is violently shooting down the enemy, his dominance is still emphasized by the fact that he is responsible for obtaining their only hope of winning. Additionally, they maintain their masculinity as they crouch in hiding, each striving to remain tough and not show their pain to one another. They continue their petty quarrels to the end as they bite their lips, determined to hold back the pain, like real men.
In the final shoot-out, their interactions with the Bolivian officers, men of another race, also assert masculine stereotypes. The two white Anglo-Saxon men are able to easily defeat the men of another race. Butch effectively dodges all but one of their bullets, and although the officers easily miss, Sundance successfully kills most of them with only a few shots. Finally, the death of a mule in the scene, but not the horses, emphasizes the value of their masculine traits. The mule, being a sterile, weak being, easily meets its death, while the physically superior horses survive. Thus, offhandedly, it is revealed that masculine men who are strong and aggressive are more highly valued and likely to survive. In “Masculinity as a Spectacle,” Neale states:
The shoot-outs are moments of spectacle, points at which the narrative hesitates, comes to a momentary halt, but they are also points at which the drama is finally resolved. . .They thus involve an imbrication of both forms of looking, their intertwining designed to minimize and displace the eroticism they each tend to involve, to disavow any erotic look at the male body.
The shoot-out at the end of the film really illustrates this point by concluding with a freeze frame of the two men running out to meet certain death. They are portrayed at the height of their masculinity: two buddies without women, running out bloody and sweaty to violently fight for their lives. The film ends with this freeze frame and we are left with the image of two stereotypical masculine men, frozen forever in their manliness.
Although the character of Butch begins as a man very different from the typical ideal man, in the end, he becomes more like Sundance, as Sundance is affirmed as the “real” man who represents what it truly means to be masculine. The film strives to progress past the stereotypes of classical Hollywood, but fails to do so as “the buddy film negotiates crises of masculine identity centered on questions of class, race, and sexual orientation, by affirming dominant cultural and institutional apparati” (Cohan, 195).


Works Cited
Bauer, Ralph. “Who Are Those Guys? The Movie Western During the TV Era.” Focus
on the Western. Ed. Jack Nachbar. New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, Inc., 1974. 118-128.
Benshoff, Harry M., Sean Griffin. America on Film. Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 2004.
Lusted, David. The Western. Edinburgh Gate: Pearson Education Limited, 2003.
Mellen, Joan. Big Bad Wolves: Masculinity in the American Film. New York: Pantheon Books, 1977.
Neale, Steve. “Masculinity as a Spectacle.” Screening the Male: Exploring Masculinities in Hollywood Cinema. Ed. Cohan, Steven and Ina Rae Hark. London: Routledge, 1993. 1-20.

Here's looking at you kid!

-Reel Classic Dame

Dizzy Spells

My show opens tonight so I leave you all with another essay...

Jimmy Stewart. San Francisco. Carlotta Valdez. Kim Novak. Dizzy spells. Portraits. Jewelry. Murder. All of these fragments combine to form a story: Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo (1958). Literary design, through a unifying thread within the structure of a film; point of view; and/or motifs, allusions, and symbols, enables us to piece these fragments together to form not only a story, but a wealth of hidden meanings. Narrative, or the way the plot unfolds, is a key way to unlock the myriad of themes found within a film. In Vertigo, the fragmented structure and point of view create an unclear, unstable process for the audience, which mirrors Scottie Ferguson’s (James Stewart) fragmented mind and faulty perception. Furthermore, the film’s frequent use of motifs serves to highlight Scottie’s instability and the debilitating effects of his disease, vertigo.
Although the story has a clear beginning, middle, and end, it is conveyed in a fragmented, episodic structure built upon Scottie’s splintered mind and his episodes of vertigo or “dizzy spells.” The film begins in medias res, or in the middle of things, with a close-up of a hand climbing a ladder, which is eventually revealed to be the hand of the criminal that Scottie and a policeman are chasing. This scene immediately throws us into Scottie’s life without any background. Dangling from the rooftops seemingly inches from death, Scottie experiences his first vertigo attack, which serves as a way to establish his disease. An immediate jump into the action already establishes the film as a series of episodes, which will be driven by dizzy spells similar to the one in this opening sequence.
Vertigo heavily influences the film’s structure from the beginning, with the chasing of the criminal and the onset of the disease; to the climax, when the disease prevents Scottie from reaching the top of the tower to save Madeleine (Kim Novak) from “suicide;” and at the end, when his ability to continue up the tower, despite the debilitating effects of the disease, results in Judy’s (Kim Novak) death. Several other dizzy spells figure prominently in key scenes. In their crucial first meeting, when Madeleine “falls” into the San Francisco Bay and Scottie rescues her, she claims her accident as the result of a “dizzy spell.” Also, Scottie’s motivating, but dangerous obsession with Madeleine is reflected in a spinning, vertigo-esque dream sequence, which for the audience is the first truly clear demarcation of his poor mental state. This revelation is extremely important because Scottie’s romantic obsession and decline in mental health will drive the film to its tragic conclusion. The events in the film jump from scene to scene with no clear delineation as to how much time passes between each. For example, we know that there is a gap between Scottie’s first accident and the next scene with Midge (Barbara Bel Geddes), as well as between his stay in the mental hospital and his return to life in the city, but we are not told whether this gap is a few days, weeks, or months. Thus, Scottie’s episodes or dizzy spells act as the unifying force within an otherwise fragmented structure to create a comprehensible story. However, the fact that a mind-altering disease is our unifying force can also alert the viewer to the possibility that the information Scottie provides may be faulty.
The heavy use of first person point of view within the film also contributes to a puzzle-piece structure in that the audience only knows what the first person character knows. The majority of the film is told through Scottie in first person, but is interspersed with third person shots of him to grant us a view of our protagonist. Therefore, Scottie provides most of the information, as we simultaneously piece together the fragmented clues. We are only offered his interpretations of events, which we are expected to both trust, because he was once a successful detective, and question, because of the effects of his disease.
Scottie’s interactions with Madeleine provide the most prominent use of first-person point of view. For the first two-thirds of the film, our only glimpses of Madeleine are Scottie’s perceptions. When the audience and Scottie first see Madeleine, it is from his point of view. There is a third person shot of Scottie at the bar, but the next shot of Madeleine at the table, accompanied by an eyeline match following his glance, is through Scottie’s point of view. Thus, from first view, we are only permitted to see Madeleine as Scottie does – a beautiful, mysterious, and oddly distant blonde. We are denied access to the secrets she may be hiding. As Scottie trails her in several sequences that rely heavily on first person point of view, an incomplete picture of Madeleine remains. In fact, while following Madeleine in her fit of “madness,” the only view of Madeleine that isn’t through Scottie’s eyes is a reflection of her in a flower shop mirror. This shot is not only further use of fragmentation through a sudden change in point of view, but also a reflexive reminder to the viewer that our knowledge of Madeleine is only a reflection of Scottie’s knowledge. While Scottie trails her car, Hitchcock continually cuts back and forth between first person shots of Madeleine’s car through his view out the windshield and third person reaction shots of Scottie’s face. The continual use of first person shots out the windshield forces us to focus our attention solely on keeping Madeleine’s car within our sight, which prevents any recognition of the surroundings and where she might be going. Barred from the knowledge of Madeleine’s intent, our goal merges with Scottie’s – to follow Madeleine in hopes of discovering an explanation for her strange behavior.
Throughout this trailing sequence, Hitchcock uses a shot of Scottie’s view of Madeleine and a follow-up shot of his view of the things she is looking at, such as Carlotta Valdez’s grave and the portrait of Carlotta. The use of these shots without any linking third person shots of Madeleine, which might give us some clue to her emotions and her purpose for visiting these sites, forces Scottie and the viewer to attempt to develop some kind of logical link between Madeleine and the objects of her interest. For example, when Scottie discovers the link between Carlotta’s grave and the portrait in the museum, we then assume there must be an important connection between Madeleine’s strange behavior and Carlotta Valdez. Through a series of four shots, we next note a link between Madeleine and Carlotta’s identical hairstyles and bouquets: Shot 1) Scottie’s view of Madeleine’s hair; Shot 2) his view of the hairstyle in the portrait; Shot 3) a shot of his view of Madeleine’s bouquet; and finally, Shot 4) his view of the bouquet in the portrait. Direct shots of Madeleine’s face from Scottie’s point of view further emphasize this limited knowledge. Through his perception, Madeleine often appears to be staring into space, and neither he nor the audience can be sure where her thoughts and gaze are focused. Granted only fragments of information through Scottie’s point of view, we must make the same connections and assumptions that he does because we have nothing else to work with.
Faulty assumptions become particularly relevant with the use of a first person point of view in the climax of the film. The chase into and up the tower and Madeleine’s fatal fall from the bell tower are all seen through Scottie’s point of view. In a key moment, we are still only left with Scottie’s account of the events. Logically, we assume, like Scottie, that Madeleine is truly Madeleine, that she really was driven mad by her connection to Carlotta Valdez, and that she committed suicide and is undeniably dead. However, because Scottie’s disease prevents him from reaching the top of the bell tower, his point of view again only provides us with fragments of information that are not necessarily correct. Eventually, Hitchcock does veer from Scottie’s patchy point of view to create suspense. His use of first person and mindscreen with Judy allows viewers to see the truth – that Judy is actually Madeleine. It was all a setup. From this point on, Judy’s point of view is frequently used as a way to further convey Scottie’s mental decline and dangerous obsession. Her point of view allows the viewer to not only wait with bated breath for Scottie to discover the truth, but also to take a step back from Scottie. It is an opportunity to recognize his faulty perception and the full extent to which vertigo and his obsession with Madeleine have taken over his life.
Finally, the use of first person point of view emphasizes the effects of Scottie’s disease and causes the viewer to feel as if they are actually experiencing vertigo. Each time Scottie suffers the ill effects of vertigo, we see the ground from his distorted perspective, in a simultaneous zoom and tracking shot that makes the viewer feel as if they too were suffering from a dizzy spell. The disease hampers us equally when we see its dizzying effects with Scottie, because we also cannot continue to learn more information or see his goals met. Not only does first person allow us to see the direct effects of vertigo as it is happening, but it also grants us insight to the psychological after effects caused by his failure to save Madeleine. Scottie’s vertigo leads to another disease -- obsession. And his point of view forces us to recognize and suffer from this obsession as well. When Scottie sees several different women that resemble Madeleine, we, like him, believe for a brief moment that it might actually be she, because his point of view prevents us from knowing otherwise, but also because his obsession with her is directly manifested in his point of view. First person point of view establishes a fragmented, faulty perception because it limits our ability to gather information from other characters, but it also subjects us to the limitations of a particular character’s mind, such as those caused by Scottie’s vertigo and obsessive tendencies.
Motifs also play a major role in reinforcing the fragmented state of Scottie’s mind and the debilitating effects of his vertigo and obsession. Circles, or a spinning motion, provide one of the primary motifs in the film. The plot itself follows a circular pattern with the “return” of Madeleine and a second climax at the mission, including the repetition of Madeleine’s death with Judy’s fall from the tower. Furthermore, both diseases in the film are heavily connected to circles and spinning. Vertigo results in a spinning, dizzying effect, and obsession forces people to always circle back in their mind to focus on the object of their obsession. Therefore, spinning and circular motion are the most important motifs for highlighting the destructive properties of Scottie’s diseases because of the direct link between spinning and the diseases’ effects.
The film opens strongly with these motifs: from the score, which implies spinning because of its heavy use of repetition, to the focus on an eye, which is not only circular itself, but has an abstract object spinning within it as well. Also, the motion of the credits within this opening sequence support the spinning motif, appearing with a simultaneous zooming and tracking effect similar to the effect used to convey Scottie’s vertigo. The opening credits end with a shot of the eye, highlighting the importance of both circles and perception from the start of the film. A similar sequence, that of Scottie’s nightmares following Madeleine’s death, makes use of the spinning motif through abstract images. The nightmares are a direct result of Scottie’s fear of vertigo and his deepening obsession with Madeleine, which the spinning motif underscores through mirroring the effects of the disease. Several spinning shapes appear in the dream, similar to those found in the eye in the opening credits, as well as Scottie’s spinning head, a direct connection to the dizzy spells he experiences from vertigo. Also, several other motifs within the film, including Carlotta’s bouquet and her portrait, are combined with a spinning effect in this sequence, causing us to associate his obsession with Madeleine and her relationship to these objects with circular motion. Finally, we see the silhouette of his body falling and spinning out the bell tower window, which suggests a link between death and his disease and its effects. The repeated use of spinning and circular motion within these two sequences stresses the instability and lack of clarity caused by Scottie’s diseases.
Circles and spinning also appear prominently in Scottie’s interactions with Madeleine, emphasizing the obsession that stems from their relationship. Their first meeting begins with the camera circling Scottie’s apartment until it comes to rest upon Madeleine in the doorway. His reunion with Madeleine, by means of a transformed Judy, is shot in a similar way with the camera panning 360 degrees around their embracing figures. By slowly circling onto her, as his mind will eventually do regularly, this use of circular motion establishes his fascination with Madeleine at their first face-to-face meeting and reminds the viewer of it upon her “reincarnation.” Furthermore, the second use of this circular shot also depicts Scottie imagining himself at the site of their last kiss, which further highlights his faulty perception and declining mental state.
The episodic structure and frequent use of first person create a fragmented experience for the viewer, mirroring Scottie’s splintered mind and piece-meal information. However fragmentation itself is an important motif in the film that further emphasizes this disjointed viewing process. Besides spinning, the opening credits also contain a lot of fragmentation. Instead of a giving us a full shot of Kim Novak’s face, which would give us a unified and complete picture of her appearance, Hitchcock uses fragmented shots of her lips, nose, and eyes. His use of fragmentation not only foreshadows the importance of her face and appearance in the film by drawing out our introduction to it, but by already splitting up her face into pieces that we must connect, it also foreshadows the misperceptions that will form about her true identity in relation to her appearance. As we receive choppy images now, so will Scottie and consequently, the audience gain only pieces of the truth as the story progresses. This fragmentation of the face is echoed in the sequence of Judy’s makeover to resemble Madeleine. Again, we see her eyes, lips, fingernails, etc. as separate entities as they are transformed to create a new, fake identity forced on her by Scottie’s destructive obsession. His incomplete view and knowledge of Judy, and his desperate, misguided linking of Madeleine and Judy are reinforced through this fragmented sequence as our perception of her becomes fragmented as well.
Finally, Madeleine describes her supposed moments of possession by Carlotta as walking down a long corridor with hanging “fragments” of mirrors, and she can only remember events from what she sees in these broken pieces. The fact that these mirror shards do not allow her to remember all of her actions warns the viewer that although the fragments are important, they are not the whole story. Scottie and the viewer only understand pieces of the truth at this point in the story, but she seems to be trying to warn both Scottie and the audience that more information is needed to comprehend the whole story. Her use of the motif of fragmentation is reflexive in that it forces us to consider the possibility that what we know are only pieces of the truth, illuminating our disjointed viewing process.
Through the various elements of literary design, we can come to a deeper understanding of the film. An extensive use of episodic structure, first person point of view, and motifs create a fragmented viewing experience for the audience that mirrors the puzzle-piece discovery process that Scottie undergoes, as well as his disjointed state of mind plagued by disease. However, the true source of his fragmented, faulty perceptions is his blinding obsession with Madeleine. Obsession, the film suggests, blinds you from the truth, until the discovery of the truth becomes inevitable, and the potential for self-destruction, as well as the destruction of the objects of your obsession, becomes increasingly inescapable.

Here's looking at you kid!

Top Ten List

Frequently people ask me what my favorite film is, and I always find this the most impossible question to answer. How can I pick one movie that I like more than any other on earth? It depends on what genre I'm in the mood for and how I feel at a particular moment. I don't have just one all-time favorite film to give as a pat answer. However, someone suggested that I do a post on my favorite classic films, so here is my top ten list in no particular order. This is just what I decided on today. If you were to ask me next week, next month, next year, the list would most certainly look different.

1. Gone with the Wind -- I know, I know, it's four hours long, completely historically inaccurate, and incredibly over-the-top and melodramatic. But, I still absolutely adore this film. If it's on TV when I'm channel surfing, you can bet I'm going to stop and watch it no matter how many times or how recently I've seen it. The story and the lines are classic. The costumes are to die for -- what I wouldn't give for just one of Scarlett's gowns or bonnets. The acting is wonderful when you consider the melodramatic content that the actors were given to portray (Vivien Leigh has suffered much criticism in my family, but I still believe she did a phenomenal job and was the perfect Scarlett). Rhett Butler is the bad boy that every girl can't help but fall in love with (and scream at Scarlett for not noticing his superiority to the wimpy Ashley). And Melanie is the woman that all of us should try to strive to emulate -- if I could be half the lady she is, I would be content. Not to mention, it's a stunning visual masterpiece. The cinematography in this film is still some of the best I've ever seen, in classic and modern films. No shot will ever move me as much as the iconic view of Scarlett and her father under a tree at sunset surveying Tara while Max Steiner's score swells underneath. Many may question my adoration of this film, but frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.

2. The Maltese Falcon-- the best film noir ever made in my opinion. It had a great deal of influence on film noir films made after it, and helped define the gritty realism of Warner Bros. films in the 1940s. The film features a scintillating mystery that keeps you guessing(and on the edge of your seat) for the majority of the film. The performances are brilliant -- this film is still tied with Casablanca for my favorite Bogart role. A tale of backstabbing dames and intrigue that introduces us to the sexy, dangerous world of femme fatales and stolen treasure that we all wish we could be a part of for a little while. Not only a superb story, but some of the sharpest, cynical and biting dialogue to ever be written.I've loved it since I saw it in middle school. Truly, the stuff that dreams are made of...

3.The Quiet Man -- Despite the fact that it's not a Western, this is still my all-time favorite John Wayne film. It probably has something to do with Maureen O'Hara's portrayal of the feisty Mary Kate Danaher. Oh, that I could have the fire that she has. A touching love story with a hysterical ending involving Maureen O'Hara being dragged across a mile of Irish field, this film truly captures the spirit of John Ford and Ireland for me. The entire film, with the right Technicolor print, is a gorgeous ode to the Emerald Isle and its landscapes. Add a wonderful cast, some humor and romance, and it really is a perfect film.

4.Casablanca -- I think most would find it difficult to make a list of favorite classic films without including this. It has long been held up as the most iconic of all classic films, and rightly so. Featuring a strong cast, with stand-out performances from Bogart, Bergman, Claude Rains, and Paul Henreid, the film is a master class in acting. The script is one of the best ever-written and one of the most quoted as well -- every few minutes, first-time viewers are presented with yet another classic line. And, in my opinion, one of the greatest love stories ever -- Ilsa's love for both her men, and Rick's final sacrifice are some of the most heart-breaking sequences ever put on film. They don't make men like Rick any more, and they certainly don't make films like this anymore.

5.Notorious--Though I love all Hitchcock films, this for some reason is one of my favorites. Don't get me wrong, I love the classics - "Rear Window," "North by Northwest," "Psycho," and "Vertigo." But this, "Strangers on a Train," and "The Man Who Knew Too Much" stand as my three favorite Hitchcock films, which probably seems odd to most. But I'm a sucker for a good love story, and this tale of two lovers who are insufferably cruel to each other is a thrilling film that perfectly captures human beings frequent inability to admit to their love for each other. Cary Grant and Ingrid Bergman are effortlessly beautiful in this film,and Claude Rains gives a brilliant portrayal of a man torn between love and duty. Of his early work, this is certainly Hitchcock's best.

6. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid-- I know this film just barely falls into what some may call classic film, but it still is, with "The Sting," one of my all time favorites. The witty banter and bromance between Paul Newman and Robert Redford is simultaneously hysterical and touching. This film was part of the beginning current of revisionist Westerns, and it manages to capture the sadness of the end of an era, while injecting humor that makes for a masterpiece.

7. White Christmas-- It doesn't really matter to me what time of year it is, I will watch this film. Of course, it is always better at Christmastime. And I never feel that it's truly Christmas, until I've watched this film at least once during the holiday season. The score, by Irving Berlin, features some of the best songs ever written in American history. "White Christmas" is one of my all-time favorite songs, and no one can sing it like Bing Crosby (and yes, I prefer this film to "Holiday Inn" even though he sang it there first). The combination of Bing crooning such hits as "White Christmas" and "Count Your Blessings," the wonderful dance numbers featuring Danny Kaye and Vera-Ellen, and the great comedic exchange between Kaye and Crosby makes this one of the best films ever made. Add the finale honoring General Waverly that never fails to bring me to tears, and you have a nearly flawless picture.

8.The Graduate -- Although I haven't seen this film in a while because I started to get a little tired of it, I still count it among my favorites. Mostly because, in conjunction with "White Christmas," it has the best soundtrack of any film ever made. From the opening bars of "The Sound of Silence" to the stirring chords of "Here's to you, Mrs. Robinson," the songs of Simon and Garfunkle really define this film and cement it as a true icon of the 1960s. Additionally, Dustin Hoffman's comic, but touching portrayal of the terribly confused Benjamin is one of the best break-out performances any beginning actor ever gave. A film all graduating college students can relate to, "The Graduate" never fails to please me.

9.The Pirate -- A lot of people find this film silly and over-the-top, but that's precisely why I love it. It's great to see Gene Kelly and Judy Garland just having a hell-of-a lot of fun goofing around and being melodramatic. The scene where Judy attacks Gene in mock anger consistently has me rolling on the floor with laughter. Not to mention, the combination of Judy's voice and Gene's dancing make this to be a superb showcase of the pinnacle of musical talent. A delightful romp that never fails to make me smile.

And now for number 10...I battled with what to put here because it is my last choice...Should I list another of my favorite Hitchcock films(Strangers on a Train, The Man Who Knew Too Much) or what about "The Sting" or "The Searchers" or "Charade" or "Funny Face"? Though those are all some of my favorites and great films(and may have made it onto the list on another day), I decided to go with...

10. On the Town--I've only seen it once, but I can't wait to see it again. The cast in this is fantastic -- all are wonderful, but particular stand-outs are Gene Kelly, Frank Sinatra, Vera-Ellen,and Betty Garrett. The film, particularly when showcasing Frank Sinatra and Betty Garrett, is hilarious. But in its depiction of 24-hour romance for GI's who must return to war, it is also extraordinarily touching and topical for when it was made. Great dancing, great songs, an all-around good time and wonderful film.

Until next week, Here's looking at you kid!

-Reel Classic Dame

Hitchcock's Influences

Sorry I missed last week, but I was in Boston. I'm way behind in my work, so I'm leaving you all with another class essay this week....


The Master of Suspense! As the bearer of this title, Alfred Hitchcock has had an enormous influence on the work of filmmakers today, as well as on many of his contemporaries. But what styles of filmmaking influenced the master himself? Through his involvement with the London Film Society, Hitchcock was introduced to a multitude of filmmaking styles that greatly shaped his work, particularly during the formative years when his first true masterpieces emerged – the British Sound Period.
The influences of German Expressionism, Soviet Constructivism, and Griersonian Documentary manifest themselves in an exceedingly obvious manner in Hitchcock’s dark psychological dramas Blackmail (1929) and Sabotage (1936). The use of subjective point-of-view shots to explore a character’s psyche; montage and juxtaposition of shots; plastic material; and the attention paid to class and economic issues in his lighter comedic masterpieces – The 39 Steps (1935) and The Lady Vanishes (1938) – exhibit the massive influence those three schools of filmmaking exerted on all of Hitchcock’s work.
In The Lady Vanishes, Hitchcock makes extensive use of German Expressionist tendencies by using costume to reveal a character’s mental state. Gradually altering her costume, Hitchcock conveys Iris’ (Margaret Lockwood) transformation from a repressed, love-starved woman to an outspoken woman in love. When she first boards the train, she is wearing a hat, fur coat, dress with a bolero jacket, and a scarf. This excess of clothing represents constraints imposed by society, exemplified by the loveless, but socially acceptable marriage at home to which she is headed. As she begins to voice her own opinions and fall in love with Gilbert (Michael Redgrave), she loses layers of clothing, a subjective representation of her emotional growth and the uncovering of layers within herself. Bumping her head, which sets her journey of self-discovery in motion, results in the removal of her hat. Conversing with Mrs. Froy (Dame May Whitty) in the dining car permanently places her on the road to personal development, demonstrated by the removal of her fur coat. By the end of the film, Iris has gone from “personality to person,” and paralleling this transformation, her clothing has been diminished to an unbuttoned bolero jacket covering a dress.
Both films also exhibit the influence of German Expressionism in lighting and point-of-view shots. In Vanishes, just before Iris passes out, the view of her friends waving on the train platform becomes blurred, begins to spin, and then multiplies into two, then four of the same image within the shot. Using the German Expressionist tenet of subjective point of view, this blurriness and image duplication allows us to understand firsthand Iris’ poor mental state. The lighting in 39 Steps reflects Hannay’s (Robert Donat) psyche. As he stands with the Crofter’s wife listening to the police in the adjacent room, the shadows on the wall behind him form horizontal and vertical bars, emphasizing his current sense of entrapment. Through a subjective use of form, both films show the influence of German Expressionism. Furthermore, their comedic tone illustrates Hitchcock’s ability to successfully integrate these styles to create meaning in any genre.
In their use of montage, juxtaposition of shots, and plastic material, both films also contain distinct influences of Soviet Constructivism. In the opening of Vanishes, the juxtaposition of a shot of the crowded hotel lobby and the chiming cuckoo clock convey the frenzied madness of the situation currently unfolding in the lobby. Both shots alone are relatively meaningless, but with their juxtaposition, Hitchcock allows the audience to create a meaning that was previously nonexistent: the crowd and their demands are “cuckoo,” just as the sounds of the clock deem them to be. In 39 Steps, a montage also creates meaning, manipulating the viewer into feeling Hannay’s sense of panic. Hitchcock cuts rapidly among a series of shots: the front of the train, its whistle, its wheels, Hannay’s face, and the feet of Hannay’s pursuers. Although all of the action in the montage is simultaneous, montage enables the manipulation of time by increasing the actual duration of the process as each individual component is shown one by one. This helps to create suspense and allows us to feel the same concerns as Hannay: will the train leave before his pursuers can catch him? Thus, through the use of Soviet Constructivism in the manipulation of time and meaning, Hitchcock can create both comedic and suspenseful situations – a blend both films expertly achieve.
In Vanishes, the train whistle acts as plastic material or an objective correlative, further evidence for the influence of Soviet Constructivism. Although on its own, the whistle is simply relatively meaningless train machinery; its juxtaposition with particular scenes allows it to become a representation of the mounting frustration and panic within the characters. As Iris searches desperately out the window for some sign of Mrs. Froy exiting the train, the quicker pace of the editing (also a component of Soviet montage) builds with her sense of frustration until it erupts within her, in time with the blowing of the whistle. As an objective correlative, the whistle also serves its true purpose: a warning signal. It blows each time the audience is presented with a clue or information crucial to the story: when Mrs. Froy writes her name on the window (later necessary for proving her existence to Iris), when the patient who will become Mrs. Froy is brought onto the train, and when the name on the window disappears (Iris’ evidence for Froy’s existence along with it).
Finally, the rising popularity of documentary film-making in the early 1930s, most heavily dominated by the works of John Grierson, led to an increasing social realism in narrative film. Hitchcock’s work is no exception to this influence. Indeed, in The 39 Steps, he makes direct reference to the standard subjects of documentary film in the topic suggestions at the political rally, which include the herring fisheries (a topic of a Grierson film) and the idle rich. However, the influence of Griersonian Documentary manifests itself primarily in Hitchcock’s inclusion of topical issues of economic and social class, as well as use of locations. For example, the two cricket-obsessed Englishmen in The Lady Vanishes, in their disdain for the lower classes, act as a form of commentary on class consciousness and the hypocrisy that stems from social standing.
In the opening of 39 Steps, the representation of the raucous, cat-calling audience in the well-known English setting of the music hall also acts as a commentary on the lower classes and their behavior as an audience, specifically when contrasted with Hannay’s subdued reactions. Not only does this scene add a level of realism to the film, evidencing the influence of Griersonian documentary, but additionally, it self-reflexively gives us Hitchcock’s opinion of the “moron masses” component of the audience. Additionally, Hitchcock makes fun of the influence of social realism in his films. Declaring, “I was a poor orphan boy who never had a chance,” Hannay sarcastically constructs a stereotypical past for the murderer Pamela (Madeleine Carroll) accuses him to be. Referencing the use of social and psychological realism within suspense thrillers and tales of murder, Hitchcock emphasizes the influence Griersonian documentary has on his work, while simultaneously satirizing the effects of social realism on story-telling.
Hitchcock, a master of the cinema, drew from other film styles to construct a distinct and unique manner of filmmaking and story-telling. His primary filmic influences were that of German Expressionism, Soviet Constructivism, and Griersonian Documentary, which his work in the British Sound Period evidences. The three styles of filmmaking themselves were rooted in the production of dramatic, contemplative work, but Hitchcock extended their ideas to create meaning in both drama and comedy. While this insinuates an inability to divorce himself from this influence despite a change in style, it more resoundingly places him as an innovator of his form – a title he continued to cultivate throughout his career.
Here's looking at you kid!

-Reel Classic Dame

Copyright Maureen Lenker 2009

Judy Garland:Icon or Star?

I didn't want to abandon my weekly posts, but I'm about to leave for Spring Break. So, I thought I would leave all of you with an essay I wrote for a class last year. Enjoy!

“Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.” Entering the Land of Oz in her blue gingham dress and pigtails, Judy Garland became a star. From that moment on, MGM worked to perpetuate Judy’s image in all of her films as the all-American, authentic, girl-next-door. In the roles of her early career, through the studio’s treatment of Garland as a commodity, Judy wholly fulfills the definition of a star, as defined by Morin in The Stars. However, Garland provides us with a unique case in that her stardom and iconicity do not stem from the same sources. Although Judy was adored for her star persona by audiences of the 1940s and 50s, she has endured as an icon of the dark side of fame, as exemplified by her later film roles. Today, Judy’s star persona remains in the legacy of her films, but modern audiences recognize her as a symbol of lost innocence and the demons that often accompany stardom. Thus, Judy provides us with a rare dichotomy – the immense success of her early career establishing her as a star versus her struggles with addiction and multiple valiant comebacks firmly cementing her as an icon of the tragic, fleeting nature of fame.

To become a star it is necessary to have some modicum of talent or unnamable, unique quality that makes you special in the eyes of the public. Possessing a voice capable of relaying complex emotions through song and a self-effacing sense of humor, she was dubbed “the entertainer of the century” (American Masters). But even beyond the unforgettable voice, Judy still had “mystical electricity” and a “je ne sais quoi you can’t copy that separates real talent from ordinary talent” (American Masters). Her charisma and vocal talent rendered her a star. At the same time, this unidentifiable attribute that propelled her to stardom also pushed her towards a life of tragedy that made her iconic.

In his book on The Stars, Edgar Morin lays out a much more intricately, detailed definition of a star that Judy Garland fully embodied in the first half of her career. Morin states that “the characters of her films infect the star. Reciprocally, the star herself infects these characters” (27). From the Wizard of Oz’s Dorothy to Esther Smith, in Meet Me in St. Louis, to her multiple roles in the Andy Hardy films, Judy was the quintessential All-American girl. MGM’s reluctance to cast Judy in any other type of role reflects the studio’s recognition of Judy’s star persona and their quest to further this image to maintain her appeal. Even when Judy began to take on more adult roles, she still portrayed a naïve, innocent with gumption and authenticity. Also, her specific persona directly correlates with the definition of a star: “The star is pure. . . The star is profoundly good, and this cinematic goodness must be expressed in her private life as well” (Morin 37). Thus, in her continual representation of an innocent, ordinary, girl-next-door, Judy fulfills the requirement of virginal purity and innate decency on-screen.

However, although her goodness on-screen was easily created through her persona, she still needed to express goodness in her private life. The studio, knowing that the star’s “private life is public, their public life, publicity” (Morin 4), sought to perpetuate the innocent, girl-next-door persona within Garland’s off-screen activities. For her to be a true star, she had to embody the girl-next door in her everyday life so that her star persona could become an overriding factor in all aspects of her life. Garland remembers that the “publicity department puts out newspaper stories about you that astonish you, and you begin to wonder who you really are, but you can’t argue with them because the studio is trying to make you a star” (American Masters). Additionally, the studio strove to ensure that Judy’s actions were entirely in keeping with her image to maintain her star status.

Ironically, today Judy’s star has faded, but the tactics used to make Judy a star inadvertently contributed to the problems that directly led to her enduring iconicity. To keep her thin, working, and in the public eye, MGM put Judy on a steady stream of energy, sleeping, and weight pills that laid the basis for her lifelong struggle with drug addiction. Although producers dubbed Judy perfect for the role of Dorothy, she underwent much prodding in hair, make-up, and costuming. Her strict diet, pill regimen, and the derogatory comments made about her appearance, both on and off-screen, seriously depleted her self-confidence leading her further down the path of substance abuse as she tried to cope with her insecurities. When she eloped at nineteen and became pregnant, MGM dubbed this unacceptable for her image and the teenage roles she continued to play. On the advice of the studio, her mother and new husband forced her to get an abortion that emotionally devastated Judy and created a rift in her marriage. The betrayal of the studio, her mother, and the man she had trusted to protect and love her furthered Judy’s insecurities. This combined with the long hours of non-stop work caused Judy to regularly turn to pills to get through the day (American Masters). By starting her addiction to pills and changing her appearance, MGM set out to create an eternal star on-screen and instead produced an enduring off-screen icon.

In MGM’s total control over her life and the molding of her image, Judy also reflects Morin’s idea of the star as commodity. He claims, “The star is a total item of merchandise” (113) in a capitalist system. In packaging Judy in similar roles in multiple films, the studio used Judy as a piece of machinery in a film-making factory. However, in the studio’s disregard for her health and their all-consuming focus on making a non-stop secession of Judy Garland pictures to bring in box office dollars, she acutely felt the strain of only being “seen through money-making eyes” (American Masters). Indeed, upon her release from her contract after her health prevented her from completing a picture, her realization that she only meant money to the studio led to an attempted suicide. Even in her commoditization, the effects of making Judy a star provided life experiences that would make her an icon.

Garland’s obsession with her success as a performer allows her reciprocity of personality and screen image to become a unique part of her iconicity Eventually, Judy began to so fully associate her identity with her roles that she viewed her success as a human being linked to her success as “Judy Garland the performer.” When she was fired from the studios and her television show was canceled, it was like the “cancellation of a person” (American Masters). Requiring affirmation as a performer to feel fulfilled as an individual truly emphasizes how much a star feels connected to their on-screen persona. Essentially, the over-arching persona and the performer become one. Fully representing the reciprocity of screen image and reality, the failure of Judy’s show became a failure of self. She had a “tremendous desire to please,” which translated into earnest and emotional performances that always made her “vulnerability apparent” (American Masters). Correlating directly to the love she sought from all those around her, including her audiences, Judy’s performances conveyed an emotional fragility that stemmed directly from the fragile stability of her own sanity and daily life. Thus, Judy’s performances, particularly in her later films and concerts, helped mold her as an iconic figure because they were direct windows to the inner struggles and pain for which she is often remembered.

In 1950, with an estranged mother, a drug addiction, two failed marriages, and her film career on the skids, Judy was well on her way to becoming the cautionary tale of a child-star destroyed by the perils of early fame. Indeed, it is the sordid details of this tragic life that have led Judy to become an iconic representation of the cost of fame. However, it is her indomitable spirit and relentless perseverance, as illustrated in her countless comebacks that really helped to make her an enduring icon. She was described as “always having come back from something (sufferings and tribulations) and always keeping on coming, no matter what” (Dyer 150). To an extent, her continual need to return from some period of suffering made her the symbol of the comeback itself, particularly because each comeback was always immensely successful. A Star is Born chronicled the exact sort of process that Judy endured as a child to become a star. Rather than giving birth to a star (as the title suggests), the film helped make Judy an icon by serving as her first real comeback and revealing the seamy details and consequences of Hollywood and the star-making process, which she came to represent.

Her continual efforts to return to her former glory despite her constant pain and struggling reflect her adherence to the belief that the show must go on, as so many of her film characters insisted. Indeed, this quality combined with her vaudeville-esque performances led to her being labeled, “Miss Show Business” (Dyer 151). As she has come to represent both the glitzy façade and seamy underside of show business, this label is still relevant in regards to her iconic status today. In the March 28^th issue of Entertainment Weekly, Diablo Cody writes in her column, “The term showbiz. . . has a certain 1940s charm as if it should chiefly refer to productions that involve Judy Garland and/or a trolley.” Judy channeled the collapse of her stardom and the consequent comeback into creating an iconic figure that persists today.

Furthermore, “this come-back, going on, suffering and strength quality could even be read in the performance of the songs” (Dyer 152). Thus, every time she sang she created a mini-comeback for herself as she went on with the show. Two particular songs, “Over the Rainbow” and “Get Happy,” help illustrate this phenomenon. Judy was constantly trying to go “over the rainbow” (American Masters), to get to a magical place where there weren’t any of the troubles that plagued her reality. Her continual quest to forget and conquer her troubles was reiterated in “Get Happy,” a song from her later career. The two songs, coming from different stages of her career, truly emphasize her never-ending fight to triumph over the odds.

Through her multiple comebacks, Judy not only came to represent the dark side of Hollywood, as evidenced in her evermore ravaged appearance, but also the resiliency of the human spirit. In her continual falls from grace and then glorious comebacks, Garland also manages to represent opposite extremes of human nature and emotion. Essentially, she becomes a representative for all of us through her songs. With each comeback, Judy continually reminded audiences of the immense talent that could be lost should she again fall subject to her inner demons. Many performers have paid dearly for fame, but none have come to represent that cost and the full tragedy of its implications as has Judy. Perhaps this is so because in making the comeback part of her iconic status, she continually reminded us exactly what that cost was.

Finally, in her embodiment of the tragic consequences of fame, Garland transferred a key component of her stardom to her iconicity. Because the stars were the result of a rapidly expanding middle-class, “they [were] no longer inaccessible: they [were] mediators between the screen-heaven and earth” (Morin 23). Garland not only lives in the realm of mortality, but “she is not so much a movie star herself as a stand-in for us the audience” (Dyer 167). Judy, in her ordinariness, becomes a direct link between spectator and film. A star is also someone “with whom one can identity” (Morin 83). As the “heroine of the misplaced,” people identified with Judy Garland in a unique way and could associate with the pain and humor in her voice (American Masters). Her ordinary, authenticity was a key factor of Judy’s star persona, allowing audiences to identity and feel as if her character represented exactly how any regular person would act in the same situation. Audiences’ ability to relate to Judy and through her, link to the magical realm of her films contributed to her success as a star. However, this ordinariness, particularly in regards to Judy’s continual struggles with substance abuse, also contributed to Garland’s iconic status. Her recurrent comebacks and ultimate loss to a battle with addiction further allowed people to identity with her problems and her pain, as they experienced similar issues. Additionally, she helped remind people that no star is immune to the weaknesses of human nature, particularly in an environment like Hollywood where such weaknesses are exploited. Thus, in succumbing to her inner demons, Judy reinforced the fact that she is just like the rest of us. Judy’s struggles and ordinariness helped to establish her as an icon of the cost of fame and the exploitative nature of Hollywood and the entertainment industry.

While many of the qualities that made Judy Garland a star transferred to Judy Garland the icon, her enormously different roles as star and icon highlight the immense disparity of stardom and iconicity. Although some icons are directly created from their star personas, it takes more than stardom to become an icon. In Doris Day and Julia Roberts, we see that lovable “girls-next-door” easily come-and-go in films, answering the particular needs of audiences at the time. Although Lindsay Lohan and Britney Spears both accurately reflect the tragic consequences of fame and fortune, no one has continually strived as hard to succeed with each performance, nor reminded us of the innocence and beauty lost to Hollywood, like Judy Garland. No other star so ultimately represents the dark side of Hollywood and the cost of fame, and it is this, coupled with her star persona, that has made her an icon. As Garland exemplifies, to achieve iconicity and transcend stardom, one must be unsurpassed in what they represent as an icon. There is a strong, resounding, unique “I” in icon.

Works Cited

"American Masters: Judy Garland, By Myself." Susan Lacy, dir. PBS: 2004.

Cody, Diablo. “Movie Camp.” Entertainment Weekly. 28 March 2008

Dyer, Richard. “Judy Garland and Gay Men.” Heavenly Bodies: Film Stars and

Society. Ed. Ed Buscombe. British Film Institute Cinema Series.

Morin, Edgar. The Stars. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1972.

Here's looking at you kid!
-Reel Classic Dame