The first entry in my series on Germany and Austria in Pre- and Post-World War II Films. I'm interested in how Germany and Germans were portrayed in these Hollywood films before and after the war. Of particular interest is how "good" Germans are often presented in opposition to "bad" Germans.
"The Devil Makes Three" (1952) starred Gene Kelly and Pier Angeli, and was directed by Andrew Marton (originally from Budapest). This is the same year Kelly made "Singin' in the Rain," so he was at the height of his popularity with MGM. Angeli was an Italian actress with a limited career. In this she plays a German girl whose family Kelly's character, a soldier, helped during the war. Kelly has returned to Germany to see what's become of the family. They all died in a bombing run, except for Angeli, whom Kelly is surprised to see is now a beautiful young woman.
Much of the film takes place on location in Munich, Berchtesgaden, and Salzburg. The girl is mixed up in a smuggling ring, moving lenses and needles for the black market between Germany and Austria, and she's using her American friend as cover. He knows she's smuggling, but thinks she's just doing it to support herself. Kelly's superiors try to enlist him to inform on the girl and finger her superiors. But he's falling for her, of course, so he refuses. Instead he tries himself to discover who's really behind the smuggling ring.
It turns out the car they are using to smuggle the little things is actually partially made from gold, stolen and melted down from Jewish prisoners. It's a little macabre. The smuggling ring is being led by a singer in a cafe Kelly and the girl frequent (which Kelly calls a clip-joint). The singer is tall, lanky, silver haired. He looks like an ex SS guard. Ultimately Kelly and the girl are captured as they try to bring the car back to Germany, and the singer/ringleader tries to have them die "accidentally" at a motorcycle rally. They survive, the girl is shot, and the ringleader escapes, pursued by Kelly and other American soldiers.
The film has lots of nice touches. Besides the on-location footage of post-war Germany and Austria, the motorcycle race that concludes the film occurs on ice and snow, and there's a good little bit of accordion music late in the film. There are shots of "normal" Germans enjoying music in the cafe, too.
It ends up being a little optimistic about a romance between a German girl and an American. There's much discussion about how her parents fought against the Nazis (always a dubious claim in these films). More likely is that the girl, who was probably just a young teenager during the war in the film's narrative, was too naive and young to be a true Nazi. That makes the romance between her and Kelly okay.
Also interesting is an allusion to fascism late in the film. At the motorcycle racetrack where the film concludes, the racers wear armbands with an insignia clearly inspired by the swastika, and there are banners with the insignia as well. The black market ringleader rides in a convertible Mercedes, standing, as he looks through a crowd. It looks as if he's inspecting the troops. And he seems to use the motorcycle riders as his own personal Hitler Youth. And finally, the film ends at Hitler's Eagles Nest in Berchtesgaden, where Kelly refuses to shoot the bad guy, denying him a "heroic" death.
Ultimately the film is consistent with how Germans were portrayed in post-war Hollywood films. There is a leader who can't let go of the past, but he might really be using fascism just for his own wealth. There are "good" Germans who fought the Nazis, including both the girl and a young police officer who is helping uncover the smuggling ring. And American soldiers are generally honest and there to help. When Kelly and others are pursuing the singer, the driver of his jeep gets shot and killed. It's a good reminder that the evil of the recent past was still there, lurking beneath the surface.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Sunday, January 22, 2012
The Script Doktor is IN: "Cars 2"
Part of a new, hopefully continuing series in which I break down the plot of a film and try to figure out what went wrong, and how to fix it.
My four year old son has been watching (and watching, and watching) "Cars 2" recently. Here's the plot:
Lightning McQueen enters an international racing competition promoted by Sir Miles Axelrod, the inventor of an alternative fuel called Allinol. All of the cars in the races are using the alternative fuel. But the race is being sabotaged by a mysterious figure who "ignites" the fuel from afar. McQueen is accompanied by his Radiator Springs pit crew, including Tow Mater. Mater gets mistaken for a spy by a pair of British foreign agents (Finn McMissile and Holly Shiftwell) who are trying to figure out who is behind the sabotage.
The secret agents don't know that Mater is really a bumbling, if good-natured, tow truck. They think he's really a secret agent. And McQueen thinks Mater's bumbling is a distraction, and they have a falling out.
Mater eventually figures out that the inventor of Allinol is actually the one sabotaging his own race. He's a "lemon" car, and he's discovered a vast oil reserve, and he plans to disgrace alternative fuels so that he and other "lemon" cars can be rich and lord it over the rest of the world. The secret agents figure out that Mater isn't a real spy, but Mater, through bravery and his good wits, overcomes his own self doubt, exposes Sir Axelrod, and saves the day. He and McQueen salvage their friendship and everything ends well.
Remember, despite the convoluted plot, that this is a film aimed at children. (The spy angle, by the way, makes for quite a few violent scenes with guns, torture, and "killing" of cars through massive destruction. That's another column.)
Mater is the main character. He has to overcome self-doubt and grow into the hero the real spies think he is. He also has to prove his value and friendship to McQueen. All of this is done fairly well, if a little contrived. McQueen loses respect for Mater when they first go oversees and Mater acts like a bumbling tourist, and is exacerbated when Mater gets distracted by the spies during a race, making McQueen lose. So McQueen has some real and exaggerated reasons for hurting his friendship. By the end of the film McQueen figures out he's been an ass, and actively seeks Mater's friendship, and Mater figures out that other people sometimes see him as a fool, but he accepts his own inner strengths and overcomes his self doubt.
It's the rest of the plot that gets in the way. Sir Axelrod, who professes to be an electric car, invented Allinol, and it seems to work. The cars in the film like it. Many international race cars volunteer to use just Allinol for the duration of the competition, so they're committed to alternative fuel. So why make the inventor of the fuel also the villain? It's confusing, especially to children. When I ask my son who the bad guy is in this film, he mentions Axelrod's evil scientist henchman, Professor Z (who is portrayed as a German, of course. Another column.) But the bad guy behind the scheme is a mystery figure until the end. It would have been much easier to have a Big Oil bad guy sabotaging the race. Are the filmmakers intentionally trying to be ambiguous about supporting alternative fuel? I can't think of any other reason to be so confusing. A bad guy masquerading as a good guy is a common "spy film" device. (I remember it being used effectively in the first "Mission Impossible" remake.) The problem here is using it in a children's film, and it results in a mixed-up, convoluted environmental message.
This is the danger of adding serious political and environmental undertones to a children's film. It can get in the way of the plot. I think the filmmakers tried to correct for this big problem near the end of the film, in an off-hand way. The franchise's resident "hippy" character, Fillmore the VW bus, has his own alternative, organic bio-fuel that he (and the film's "conservative" Jeep character, Sarge) secretly substituted to help save McQueen from an earlier attack. Fillmore dismissed Allinol as a bad fuel, but it doesn't explain why it worked earlier for all the other race cars, and it doesn't establish alternative fuel in any kind of good light. It's just more confusion.
If they had stuck with a simpler plot, and focused more on Mater and McQueen's conflict, the film would have been more successful.
My four year old son has been watching (and watching, and watching) "Cars 2" recently. Here's the plot:
Lightning McQueen enters an international racing competition promoted by Sir Miles Axelrod, the inventor of an alternative fuel called Allinol. All of the cars in the races are using the alternative fuel. But the race is being sabotaged by a mysterious figure who "ignites" the fuel from afar. McQueen is accompanied by his Radiator Springs pit crew, including Tow Mater. Mater gets mistaken for a spy by a pair of British foreign agents (Finn McMissile and Holly Shiftwell) who are trying to figure out who is behind the sabotage.
The secret agents don't know that Mater is really a bumbling, if good-natured, tow truck. They think he's really a secret agent. And McQueen thinks Mater's bumbling is a distraction, and they have a falling out.
Mater eventually figures out that the inventor of Allinol is actually the one sabotaging his own race. He's a "lemon" car, and he's discovered a vast oil reserve, and he plans to disgrace alternative fuels so that he and other "lemon" cars can be rich and lord it over the rest of the world. The secret agents figure out that Mater isn't a real spy, but Mater, through bravery and his good wits, overcomes his own self doubt, exposes Sir Axelrod, and saves the day. He and McQueen salvage their friendship and everything ends well.
Remember, despite the convoluted plot, that this is a film aimed at children. (The spy angle, by the way, makes for quite a few violent scenes with guns, torture, and "killing" of cars through massive destruction. That's another column.)
Mater is the main character. He has to overcome self-doubt and grow into the hero the real spies think he is. He also has to prove his value and friendship to McQueen. All of this is done fairly well, if a little contrived. McQueen loses respect for Mater when they first go oversees and Mater acts like a bumbling tourist, and is exacerbated when Mater gets distracted by the spies during a race, making McQueen lose. So McQueen has some real and exaggerated reasons for hurting his friendship. By the end of the film McQueen figures out he's been an ass, and actively seeks Mater's friendship, and Mater figures out that other people sometimes see him as a fool, but he accepts his own inner strengths and overcomes his self doubt.
It's the rest of the plot that gets in the way. Sir Axelrod, who professes to be an electric car, invented Allinol, and it seems to work. The cars in the film like it. Many international race cars volunteer to use just Allinol for the duration of the competition, so they're committed to alternative fuel. So why make the inventor of the fuel also the villain? It's confusing, especially to children. When I ask my son who the bad guy is in this film, he mentions Axelrod's evil scientist henchman, Professor Z (who is portrayed as a German, of course. Another column.) But the bad guy behind the scheme is a mystery figure until the end. It would have been much easier to have a Big Oil bad guy sabotaging the race. Are the filmmakers intentionally trying to be ambiguous about supporting alternative fuel? I can't think of any other reason to be so confusing. A bad guy masquerading as a good guy is a common "spy film" device. (I remember it being used effectively in the first "Mission Impossible" remake.) The problem here is using it in a children's film, and it results in a mixed-up, convoluted environmental message.
This is the danger of adding serious political and environmental undertones to a children's film. It can get in the way of the plot. I think the filmmakers tried to correct for this big problem near the end of the film, in an off-hand way. The franchise's resident "hippy" character, Fillmore the VW bus, has his own alternative, organic bio-fuel that he (and the film's "conservative" Jeep character, Sarge) secretly substituted to help save McQueen from an earlier attack. Fillmore dismissed Allinol as a bad fuel, but it doesn't explain why it worked earlier for all the other race cars, and it doesn't establish alternative fuel in any kind of good light. It's just more confusion.
If they had stuck with a simpler plot, and focused more on Mater and McQueen's conflict, the film would have been more successful.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Surviving Film School: Part 2
In the last post I discussed the characteristics of a good film.
But what are some characteristics of a bad film?
Usually we can't figure out who the main character is, or what it is that character is trying to do. We can't figure out his goal.
There is too much exposition. Instead of seeing the action, characters often just tell us what they feel, or think, or what they just did, or what they are going to do. The worst is when a character tells us what they are going to do, then we see them do it, then they tell us what they just did!
We don't care what happens next, or why. We have nothing invested in the story. There is no emotional connection, either to a character or her goal.
The camerawork is clumsy. Shots are framed poorly. They seem unbalanced, and not in the good, crooked-angle kind of way. We don't know where to look in the frame. There are no original shots. The camera is too still, or it moves around too much; there might be dolly shots that aren't motivated.
The sound design adds nothing to the story. Or the sound itself might just be bad. Dialogue might be tough to hear, music might be inappropriate or cliched, presence (ambiance) might be choppy or non-existent.
The editing is plodding. Or so frenetic you can't tell where you are. Instead of controlling rhythm and pace to create tension or fear or joy or sadness, the editing merely advances the story. Or it might not even do that!
The film is dark and underexposed, or too bright, or the lighting is too flat and gray. There is no color in the film, no sense of lighting to help define time and place.
The acting is wooden. It seems like the actors are reading lines instead of talking to each other. Or the actors might be miscast.
Locations are poorly chosen. They add nothing to the story. Sets too are poorly, or minimally, designed. Costumes are inappropriate.
Finally, we know we've seen a bad film when we feel we've wasted our time, or that the film had no redeemable feature. Sometimes a film just misses the mark, but has too many faults to recommend it. Sometimes you wonder, why didn't anyone making this film see how bad it would be? Why didn't anyone tell them? Most frustrating is when you can see the good film buried deep in the bad film!
NEXT POST:
How to avoid bad pre-production!
But what are some characteristics of a bad film?
Usually we can't figure out who the main character is, or what it is that character is trying to do. We can't figure out his goal.
There is too much exposition. Instead of seeing the action, characters often just tell us what they feel, or think, or what they just did, or what they are going to do. The worst is when a character tells us what they are going to do, then we see them do it, then they tell us what they just did!
We don't care what happens next, or why. We have nothing invested in the story. There is no emotional connection, either to a character or her goal.
The camerawork is clumsy. Shots are framed poorly. They seem unbalanced, and not in the good, crooked-angle kind of way. We don't know where to look in the frame. There are no original shots. The camera is too still, or it moves around too much; there might be dolly shots that aren't motivated.
The sound design adds nothing to the story. Or the sound itself might just be bad. Dialogue might be tough to hear, music might be inappropriate or cliched, presence (ambiance) might be choppy or non-existent.
The editing is plodding. Or so frenetic you can't tell where you are. Instead of controlling rhythm and pace to create tension or fear or joy or sadness, the editing merely advances the story. Or it might not even do that!
The film is dark and underexposed, or too bright, or the lighting is too flat and gray. There is no color in the film, no sense of lighting to help define time and place.
The acting is wooden. It seems like the actors are reading lines instead of talking to each other. Or the actors might be miscast.
Locations are poorly chosen. They add nothing to the story. Sets too are poorly, or minimally, designed. Costumes are inappropriate.
Finally, we know we've seen a bad film when we feel we've wasted our time, or that the film had no redeemable feature. Sometimes a film just misses the mark, but has too many faults to recommend it. Sometimes you wonder, why didn't anyone making this film see how bad it would be? Why didn't anyone tell them? Most frustrating is when you can see the good film buried deep in the bad film!
NEXT POST:
How to avoid bad pre-production!
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Surviving Film School: Part 1
What Makes A Good Film?
Let me get this out of the way - I'm a film teacher. I've never worked in Hollywood or made a feature film. I do make short films and I have worked for hire over the years as a producer, writer, director, and editor.
But what I am primarily is a teacher. I've been teaching in film school for over ten years. I've taught freshman and sophomores, seniors and grad students. I've seen students' first films and final thesis films, class exercises, documentaries, animated films, films on 16 mm, 35 mm, HDSLR, even VHS.
I've seen hundreds, maybe THOUSANDS, of student films.
And to be honest, many of them stink.
We do our best as film teachers to instruct students in both the technical and creative aspects of film making. Some students get it. They recognize how much work goes into a film, how it's a collaborative process. They divide the labor, so they aren't doing all of the work themselves. They have something to say, and are eager to share with an audience. They work their butts off to make each student film better than the one before. They want to learn. They want to make good films.
Other students sleep through class, miss assignments, only care about making films "their" way, and get easily demoralized. They don't foster friendships, meaning they get stuck doing all the work themselves. They are sloppy on set. They want to be filmmakers, but are unwilling to do the work needed to make good films.
This blog will help student filmmakers, and other beginners, recognize what mistakes make a bad film, and along the way hopefully show you how to do things the right way. In other words, we will show you why student films stink, and how to make sure yours don't.
Let's start this by discussing what constitutes a good film.
There is usually "Suspension of Disbelief." The film "looks and feels" like a professional movie. It looks like you're watching a scene from real life, or, if it's a genre film like science fiction, horror, or even a western, an imagined real life.
There are no glaring production mistakes, and the story is often shot from one character's point of view. The camera is placed at appropriate angles, the lighting is such that you can see what's important, and it might even help set the mood. You can hear what you need to hear. The dialogue is believable and you can't tell that the actors are acting.
You care what happens to the characters. You want to know what happens next; you want to know how the story will end.
There is usually an emotional investment. You laugh or you cry, you feel anxious or tense. It's more than just being shocked or startled, or laughing at a joke; you find humor in situations, or you are scared for a character.
Finally, you feel somehow fulfilled when the film is over. You can't always put your finger on it, but you know somehow you've changed. Either you got a peek at a life you didn't previously know, or you felt a sincere emotion. Maybe the film touched you in some way. You can't stop thinking about why the characters acted the way that they did, why they made the choices they made.
You tell your friends how great the movie was and you recommend it. You post links to its trailer. In the back of your mind you might remember some shots that looked great, or a line of dialogue, or an actor's performance. And the movie stays with you, in a good way, for years.
NEXT: What are some common problems of bad films?
Let me get this out of the way - I'm a film teacher. I've never worked in Hollywood or made a feature film. I do make short films and I have worked for hire over the years as a producer, writer, director, and editor.
But what I am primarily is a teacher. I've been teaching in film school for over ten years. I've taught freshman and sophomores, seniors and grad students. I've seen students' first films and final thesis films, class exercises, documentaries, animated films, films on 16 mm, 35 mm, HDSLR, even VHS.
I've seen hundreds, maybe THOUSANDS, of student films.
And to be honest, many of them stink.
We do our best as film teachers to instruct students in both the technical and creative aspects of film making. Some students get it. They recognize how much work goes into a film, how it's a collaborative process. They divide the labor, so they aren't doing all of the work themselves. They have something to say, and are eager to share with an audience. They work their butts off to make each student film better than the one before. They want to learn. They want to make good films.
 | |
| A VHS tape, if you've never seen one. (photo by J. Betke) |
This blog will help student filmmakers, and other beginners, recognize what mistakes make a bad film, and along the way hopefully show you how to do things the right way. In other words, we will show you why student films stink, and how to make sure yours don't.
Let's start this by discussing what constitutes a good film.
There is usually "Suspension of Disbelief." The film "looks and feels" like a professional movie. It looks like you're watching a scene from real life, or, if it's a genre film like science fiction, horror, or even a western, an imagined real life.
There are no glaring production mistakes, and the story is often shot from one character's point of view. The camera is placed at appropriate angles, the lighting is such that you can see what's important, and it might even help set the mood. You can hear what you need to hear. The dialogue is believable and you can't tell that the actors are acting.
You care what happens to the characters. You want to know what happens next; you want to know how the story will end.
There is usually an emotional investment. You laugh or you cry, you feel anxious or tense. It's more than just being shocked or startled, or laughing at a joke; you find humor in situations, or you are scared for a character.
Finally, you feel somehow fulfilled when the film is over. You can't always put your finger on it, but you know somehow you've changed. Either you got a peek at a life you didn't previously know, or you felt a sincere emotion. Maybe the film touched you in some way. You can't stop thinking about why the characters acted the way that they did, why they made the choices they made.
You tell your friends how great the movie was and you recommend it. You post links to its trailer. In the back of your mind you might remember some shots that looked great, or a line of dialogue, or an actor's performance. And the movie stays with you, in a good way, for years.
NEXT: What are some common problems of bad films?
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Thoughts on Michael Haneke's "The White Ribbon" (2009)
The villains in Michael Haneke films are often cold-blooded, amoral psychopaths that live, undetected, among us. When accused of a crime, they look right through their accusers. Other people's lives mean nothing to these antagonists. It's beyond cruelty. Those who dare to have empathy for others are looked down at with contempt. They are gods in their own minds, and we are less than ants.
Haneke's goal is for us to recognize how dangerous these people are. Because they are immoral, it is impossible for the rest of us to even deal with them in any kind of legal, or even social, manner. They don't play by our rules, and if we assume, even for a moment, that that they will be amenable to our rules, then we are doomed. They will steam roll us. While we are debating the rules of the game, they have already taken the ball and shoved it down our throats. And they do it apologetically, almost as if they are sorry for our weakness.
In Haneke's "The White Ribbon," set in a German village in the year prior to the outbreak of the Great War, a series of violent accidents and crimes go unanswered. A doctor out for a horseback ride has his horse tripped out from under him by an invisible wire, breaking the doctor's collarbone. An older woman who works in the local land baron's sawmill falls through a rotten floorboard and dies. The baron's young son is found tied upside down to a tree, his back whipped. And a young retarded boy, the daughter of the doctor's mistress, is found in the woods, his eyes nearly gouged out.
The townsfolk are concerned by these events, but fail to see how they might be connected. Only when the last boy is severely wounded does the village school teacher, who might represent the village's conscience, begin to notice that some of his students are reacting strangely to the deaths. We never see the students kill or even injure anyone - although we do see the baron's son accosted after he recuperates fro his own injuries. What we do see is bland, fake concern for the injured, that probably masks a different motive.
Ultimately the crimes in the village are never solved. The retarded boy and his mother, who had gone to the police in the nearby larger town to express her own suspicions of who committed the crimes against her son, disappear. The doctor, who we discover might be sexually abusing his own teenage daughter, also leaves town unexpectedly. And the baron's wife flees the village, taking her children to Italy.
A note found with the last boy suggests the attacks might be punishment for the crimes of the fathers. The doctor, in addition to possibly abusing his daughter, might be the father of the retarded boy. The baron's son might be punishment for accidental death of the old woman. If the attacks are a form of retribution, however, they fit no logical moral code.
While the victims, and perhaps the perpetrators, of the crimes disappear, the children who might have committed the violent retribution, and their abusive parents, including the town pastor, remain, Their callousness, coldness, and antipathy also remain, setting the stage for even greater disregard for human life. These are the children who would live through the Great War, the collapse of the German economy, and the rise of a fascist regime in which their own evil would find a place to thrive.
Haneke's goal is for us to recognize how dangerous these people are. Because they are immoral, it is impossible for the rest of us to even deal with them in any kind of legal, or even social, manner. They don't play by our rules, and if we assume, even for a moment, that that they will be amenable to our rules, then we are doomed. They will steam roll us. While we are debating the rules of the game, they have already taken the ball and shoved it down our throats. And they do it apologetically, almost as if they are sorry for our weakness.
In Haneke's "The White Ribbon," set in a German village in the year prior to the outbreak of the Great War, a series of violent accidents and crimes go unanswered. A doctor out for a horseback ride has his horse tripped out from under him by an invisible wire, breaking the doctor's collarbone. An older woman who works in the local land baron's sawmill falls through a rotten floorboard and dies. The baron's young son is found tied upside down to a tree, his back whipped. And a young retarded boy, the daughter of the doctor's mistress, is found in the woods, his eyes nearly gouged out.
The townsfolk are concerned by these events, but fail to see how they might be connected. Only when the last boy is severely wounded does the village school teacher, who might represent the village's conscience, begin to notice that some of his students are reacting strangely to the deaths. We never see the students kill or even injure anyone - although we do see the baron's son accosted after he recuperates fro his own injuries. What we do see is bland, fake concern for the injured, that probably masks a different motive.
Ultimately the crimes in the village are never solved. The retarded boy and his mother, who had gone to the police in the nearby larger town to express her own suspicions of who committed the crimes against her son, disappear. The doctor, who we discover might be sexually abusing his own teenage daughter, also leaves town unexpectedly. And the baron's wife flees the village, taking her children to Italy.
A note found with the last boy suggests the attacks might be punishment for the crimes of the fathers. The doctor, in addition to possibly abusing his daughter, might be the father of the retarded boy. The baron's son might be punishment for accidental death of the old woman. If the attacks are a form of retribution, however, they fit no logical moral code.
While the victims, and perhaps the perpetrators, of the crimes disappear, the children who might have committed the violent retribution, and their abusive parents, including the town pastor, remain, Their callousness, coldness, and antipathy also remain, setting the stage for even greater disregard for human life. These are the children who would live through the Great War, the collapse of the German economy, and the rise of a fascist regime in which their own evil would find a place to thrive.
Friday, October 7, 2011
Johnny Depp to star as Nick Charles in a new "The Thin Man"
I just read about this "The Thin Man" remake being produced by Johnny Depp. While I appreciate Depp's acting and his ability to produce quality films, I wonder why they are choosing to remake such a well-loved film.
Remakes are fine when the story is easily adaptable. Some stories can, and should, be told over and over again for different generations. Each new approach can bring something new to the story. "The Three Musketeers" can and should be remade every generation, if not sooner. The same for "Dracula" or "King Kong" or any number of historical dramas. These stories benefit from retelling.
Films that are associated with a particular actor or performance, however, bring risks. Those films might benefit from a remake in the right hands. The recent adaptation of "True Grit" was successful because of the unique skills of the Coen Brothers and the good casting of Jeff Bridges. Other remakes, such as Gus Van Sant's literal remake of "Psycho," failed miserably.
I welcome a new take on Dashiell Hammett. His novels are dense and complicated and deserve a good adaptation. In some ways I wish the Coens were working on this. Their "Miller's Crossing" is a loose adaptation of "The Glass Key," Hammetts novel about mobbed-up political wars. "Miller's Crossing" is actually an improvement on the Alan Ladd and Veronica Lake version from 1942, which was something of a step backwards from an earlier 1935 version staring George Raft.
Hammett's most popular novel, "The Maltese Falcon," was perfected on film in 1941 with Humphrey Bogart as Sam Spade. The first adaptation, from 1931, was racier than the classic Huston version, but suffers from a weak performance from Ricardo Cortez (who, you might ask?) as Spade.
We associate Bogart with Sam Spade for a reason - he's great at those hard-nosed, loyal, cynical tough guy roles. He attracts women but he's somewhat indifferent to them. He needs to solve the puzzle, first, and women can wait.
William Powell, as Nick Charles in "The Thin Man," is also irreplaceable. He's a cynical, funny, street-wise ex-cop who has what used to be called "savoir faire." He's a fish out of water, a regular guy who married-up and has to float equally well between two worlds. William Powell had that capacity to earn your confidence. He does it on screen between himself and his fellow actors, and he did it between himself and his audience.
I'm optimistic about Depp bringing his own characterizations to Nick Charles. He can play a loveable eccentric, or a handsome guy who everyone wants to be friends with. He has the star power to attract a good supporting cast - I'm especially curious about who will play Nora, as she hasn't yet been announced. Their interplay will make or break the film.
I have absolutely no faith, however, in Rob Marshall as the director. He does big budget pictures that, so far, have shown little nuance. The success of the film will rely on the screenplay and on the Nick and Nora relationship.
But the whole thing could flop if Marshall doesn't capture the heart and soul of Hammett's original novel.
Remakes are fine when the story is easily adaptable. Some stories can, and should, be told over and over again for different generations. Each new approach can bring something new to the story. "The Three Musketeers" can and should be remade every generation, if not sooner. The same for "Dracula" or "King Kong" or any number of historical dramas. These stories benefit from retelling.
Films that are associated with a particular actor or performance, however, bring risks. Those films might benefit from a remake in the right hands. The recent adaptation of "True Grit" was successful because of the unique skills of the Coen Brothers and the good casting of Jeff Bridges. Other remakes, such as Gus Van Sant's literal remake of "Psycho," failed miserably.
I welcome a new take on Dashiell Hammett. His novels are dense and complicated and deserve a good adaptation. In some ways I wish the Coens were working on this. Their "Miller's Crossing" is a loose adaptation of "The Glass Key," Hammetts novel about mobbed-up political wars. "Miller's Crossing" is actually an improvement on the Alan Ladd and Veronica Lake version from 1942, which was something of a step backwards from an earlier 1935 version staring George Raft.
Hammett's most popular novel, "The Maltese Falcon," was perfected on film in 1941 with Humphrey Bogart as Sam Spade. The first adaptation, from 1931, was racier than the classic Huston version, but suffers from a weak performance from Ricardo Cortez (who, you might ask?) as Spade.
We associate Bogart with Sam Spade for a reason - he's great at those hard-nosed, loyal, cynical tough guy roles. He attracts women but he's somewhat indifferent to them. He needs to solve the puzzle, first, and women can wait.
William Powell, as Nick Charles in "The Thin Man," is also irreplaceable. He's a cynical, funny, street-wise ex-cop who has what used to be called "savoir faire." He's a fish out of water, a regular guy who married-up and has to float equally well between two worlds. William Powell had that capacity to earn your confidence. He does it on screen between himself and his fellow actors, and he did it between himself and his audience.
I'm optimistic about Depp bringing his own characterizations to Nick Charles. He can play a loveable eccentric, or a handsome guy who everyone wants to be friends with. He has the star power to attract a good supporting cast - I'm especially curious about who will play Nora, as she hasn't yet been announced. Their interplay will make or break the film.
I have absolutely no faith, however, in Rob Marshall as the director. He does big budget pictures that, so far, have shown little nuance. The success of the film will rely on the screenplay and on the Nick and Nora relationship.
But the whole thing could flop if Marshall doesn't capture the heart and soul of Hammett's original novel.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
"The Road"
Last night I tuned into "The Road" (2009), the film about a father and son in a post-apocalyptic world directed by John Hillcoat, for about a half hour. I watched the scenes where the father digs an old Coke can from a machine for his young son, where the father and son sleep in a truck on an empty highway (and we get a flashback showing us how the mom dies), and the horrifying segment where they discover a houseful of cannibals and their starved victims.
These scenes filled me with a queasy sense of dread, similar to what I remember feeling in the 1983 television movie "The Day After." I think creating an emotional response is the primary goal of a filmmaker. An audience needs to laugh with a comedy, cry at a melodrama, or feel excitement or fear in a thriller But creeping, nauseating dread is an uncomfortable reaction that, as an audience member, I don't want to feel. It reminds me a little of the way many people felt watching Todd Solondz's 1998 film "Happiness." I found that film darkly funny, but I know others were just slowly sickened by it.
Now that I'm a parent I have trouble watching "children in peril" films. I do not like watching children frightened. It is not a pleasant emotion. And if for some reason the child actually dies in the film, I turn it off. I'm not a fan of one character suffering for plot purposes, or the need to sacrifice one character for the benefit of another. Narratives about one character overcoming their own sense of loss are usually told at the expense of the victim. I often wonder if the deceased's story might have been more interesting.
I understand why we make and watch these films like "The Road" and even "Children of Men" (2006). We have a curiosity about what might happen if things go wrong, and we want to warn the world away from self-destruction. But sometimes I can't reconcile the story with the sick emotions I feel in the audience. Maybe I could in the past, but not now that I have my own family. In "The Road," when the father found an abandoned fallout shelter filled with food, and he and his son had a moment of peace and happiness, I turned it off. I needed a happy place to keep me from getting nightmares about an uncertain and horrifying future.
These scenes filled me with a queasy sense of dread, similar to what I remember feeling in the 1983 television movie "The Day After." I think creating an emotional response is the primary goal of a filmmaker. An audience needs to laugh with a comedy, cry at a melodrama, or feel excitement or fear in a thriller But creeping, nauseating dread is an uncomfortable reaction that, as an audience member, I don't want to feel. It reminds me a little of the way many people felt watching Todd Solondz's 1998 film "Happiness." I found that film darkly funny, but I know others were just slowly sickened by it.
Now that I'm a parent I have trouble watching "children in peril" films. I do not like watching children frightened. It is not a pleasant emotion. And if for some reason the child actually dies in the film, I turn it off. I'm not a fan of one character suffering for plot purposes, or the need to sacrifice one character for the benefit of another. Narratives about one character overcoming their own sense of loss are usually told at the expense of the victim. I often wonder if the deceased's story might have been more interesting.
I understand why we make and watch these films like "The Road" and even "Children of Men" (2006). We have a curiosity about what might happen if things go wrong, and we want to warn the world away from self-destruction. But sometimes I can't reconcile the story with the sick emotions I feel in the audience. Maybe I could in the past, but not now that I have my own family. In "The Road," when the father found an abandoned fallout shelter filled with food, and he and his son had a moment of peace and happiness, I turned it off. I needed a happy place to keep me from getting nightmares about an uncertain and horrifying future.
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