Gigi (1958)

Gigi (1958)

For the ‘last great MGM musical’, Gigi is pretty full of life.  As with An American In Paris, Minelli’s other addition to the BP canon, stunning imagery abounds in the form of colourful scenery and drop-dead gorgeous dresses.  After seeing three films in cinemascope it has become strikingly clear how closely film has been tied to technological advances, though this should really have been obvious.  Picture quality and dynamic has been hugely improved in such a quick space of time.

Lesley Caron struck me as an Audrey Hepburn doppleganger for most of this film and I can’t say I was surprised to discover that Hepburn had previously played the role in a Broadway version.  It really makes you realise how packaged these stars were, though again this should be obvious in a film released by a major studio like MGM.  And blimey, for Caron to be playing a teenager in this picture she must have bloody young during American In Paris.

Considering that both American In Paris and Gigi are musicals, their form is quite different.  American focuses on dance and, of course, utilises a stunning Gershwin score.  Gigi pulls the spectacle of dance and music back significantly, allowing us more access to the humanity of the piece.  There’s still tonnes of songs, but they’re sung in more of a recitative, ‘sing-speak’ style, and the dancing is much more casual than in the 1951 film.

While Gigi looked pretty, I didn’t think the story was edgy enough for my taste.  Researching a little into the history of Gigi and it’s famous French writer, Collette, I didn’t read predator or ‘courtesan’ into Gigi or her aunties.  Perhaps I am just uneducated in French high society of the late 1800s?

All in all, Gigi is a tale about being true to yourself and to others.  You can’t be something you don’t want, and nor should you be.  A relevant theme coupled with stunning imagery completes the key ingredients needed for a worthwhile film.

The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957)

The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957)

In The Bridge on the River Kwai, a battalion of British soldiers are ordered to surrender themselves as prisoners of war.  As hostages they are pushed by their Japanese captors into physical work and forced to construct a rail bridge for their war enemies.  During the course of the film the bridge comes to take on a symbolic dimension; amongst other things, it represents the need for faith and strength when faced with the problem of adversity.

I think that my key response to this film rests in it’s similarities to Frank Lloyd’s incredible winner from the 1930’s, Mutiny on the Bounty. Both are fascinating studies of control; how does one assert and maintain one’s position of power?  In The Bridge on the River Kwai we watch, for the better part of the film, the English Colonel Nicholson and the Japanese Colonel Saito jostle for power in the form of the word of law to, as with Mutiny on the Bounty, an assertion of power through violence against bodies.  In some instances this violence is in the form of actions against the body, such as Saito’s beating and long imprisonment of Nicholson, and in others it is through the physical task of building the bridge, thereby enforcing the idea that the body, and by extention the self, belongs to a higher being or entity.

This idea of self runs through the film as a dichotomy between east and west.  Saito sees himself as being governed by a higher authority, employing the idea that the whole is greater than the sum, and thinks that his prisoners should follow suit.  Nicholson works hard to keep his officers from having to work, thus asserting the clause of the individual.  What is playing out is not just a clash between war enemies, but a clash between cultures and attitudes toward subjectivity: how does one ‘bridge’ this gap (see what I did there)?

A stunning performance in this film from Alex Guinness, who won a Best Actor award for his role as Nicholson, but even finer still in my opinion is the amazing performance from Japanese actor Sessue Hayakawa as Colonel Saito, whose raw and intense acting might well be my favourite across these pictures thus far.

The film’s climax puts us into a difficult position.  We should by now have learnt that the sum is greater than it’s parts.  The bridge over the river has been an instrument for the soldiers to get them through their imprisonment.  When the climax hits, it’s no wonder Nicholson responds with such passionate anguish.  He’s stuck between his personal feelings – pride and accomplishment at having completed his task – and the greater good of his own nation – knowing that Britain, and himself by extention, must destroy this bridge if they wish to win the war.  Thus, in the film’s final moments we see a crystalisation of the heart of the film’s major thematic conflict – the individual, or the group?

I wonder if I sense a faint whiff of 1950’s anti-communism here.  And fair enough too – it’s important to open a dialogue about these things, and On The Waterfront never really did justice to higher questions of unionism and capitalism. But whatever we’re supposed to take away from it, The Bridge on the River Kwai is a focussed, fascinating and compelling film.

Around The World In Eighty Days (1956)

Around The World In Eighty Days (1956)

By opening with a quirky silent film about adventuring to the moon and meeting it’s exotic inhabitants, director Michael Anderson not only sets up a vital spirit of adventure and discovery, he foregrounds the advances in film technology which make this indelible piece of cinema possible.  For some reason I have always looked at this film and assumed it must be a total bore, but nothing could be further from the truth.  Around The World In Eighty Days is as exciting today as I’m sure it was in the 1950’s.

The film is about a man named Phineas Fogg making good on a bet that he can circumnavigate the globe in eighty days or less.  The film quickly becomes a vessel for one entertaining spectacle after another, as Fogg and his servant encounter all sorts of people, places and events.

Travelling sequences are given a sizeable portion of screen time.  There are huge segments where we are invited to simply observe a train travelling or a balloon flying and to take in the magnificent sights which accompany it.  With new camera technology cinemascope, the primacy of the screen image becomes intrinsic to the film, and with it’s lush musical score replete in voluminous brass and glittering strings, these long sequences quickly become the most unguilty of pleasures.

Fogg travels to numerous lands – Spain, Hong Kong, India – and given a) the period setting (late 1800s) and b) that the film is made in the 1950’s, there is a distinct lack of racial intolerance; that is to say, the film celebrates a love of cultures and people.  Aside from some questionable representations of American Indians, the film embraces this meeting of people and places.  Admittedly this meeting is always conducted from the view of ‘the other’, but this is clearly marked and doesn’t make me feel embarrased or awkward.  It’s nice to see film beginning to move beyond typical representations of race and ethnicity.

With various cameos and twists at every turn, this lengthy film is a great watch.  Around The World In Eighty Days is entertainment of the highest degree, full of interesting characters, music, dancing, bull-fighting, battles and pictures….So many pictures to look at.  Watch this film with friends or family and have a blast.  It’s what cinema is for.

Marty (1955)

Marty (1955)

In many ways, Marty is entirely different from On The Waterfront – a lack of star players, a seemingly more pedestrian plot and topic, and a general ‘down to earth’ feel, but, and this may sound like a stretch, Marty and On The Waterfront are artistically united, cousins if you will, in that each film is attempting to access ‘reality’ as closely as possible.  Each is just using a different approach.  Where On The Waterfront uses an extraordinary man (not to mention actor) to present the most realistic presentation of character it can manage, Marty presents the plight of a decidedly ordinary man, where reality is accessed through a complete understatement of plot and character.

Marty is remarkable in its unremarkableness.  It strips away any pretence of Hollywood gloss, allowing us to look at these characters as though they are people rather than celebrities.  Their personalities are fairly plain, their looks hardly head-turning and their wants and needs basic and simple.  Yet while they are presented as totally average, the truthfulness of their desires is heartwarming beyond measure.  Marty is closer in semblance to reality because there are no frills.  It doesn’t need the intense Method acting of a huge star to connect to its audience, it shows us that it’s okay to be a normal person.  It tells us that we matter regardless of our status.  It makes us happy with just being.

The two leads, Ernest Borgnine and Betsy Blair, are commendable in their attitudes to their roles.  Endearing and earnest, they totally make the film.

Marty and On The Waterfront are much the same in artistic intent; they both want to show us people that are as real as possible.  But Marty is focussed on dropping the Hollywood angle and bringing us back down to who we really are, not who we aspire to.  And to me that makes Marty astoundingly more interesting, honest and meaningful.

On The Waterfront (1954)

On The Waterfront (1954)

After the terribly dated Gentleman’s Agreement, director Elia Kazan has redeemed himself above and beyond with the sublimely beautiful yet undeniably gruff On The Waterfront. While this film has so much going for it (great writing, excellent cinematography, superb music…) On The Waterfront can ultimately be summed up with just one word: Brando.

In my Hamlet review I talked about Stanislavsky, his relationship to realist acting and how acting in the 20th century came to be measured by an actors ability to behave as naturally as was possible.  Brando is the product of a succession of masters in the realist movement, where from what I can piece together Lee Strasberg, a close friend of director Elia Kazan, worked with Stanislavsky, the great Russian master.  In effect, Brando is the pinnacle of this succession, epitomising in the mid 20th century the most foundational acting movement in living memory.

Here’s me holding this man up like he’s a shining beacon of glory, and that’s because he is.  Brando’s acting in On The Waterfront is astounding in it’s detail, sincerity and charisma.  He’s a very handsome man and he radiates beyond the screen in every scene.  The most fascinating aspect of his performance is how one can read and understand every thought and feeling he has even if his words are expressing the exact opposite.  Take the early scene with Eva Marie Saint as an example, where with everything he says he is trying to convince her that he’s not romantically interested, yet his eyes and intonation tell us otherwise.  He sits on a swing and fiddles with her mitten and without words we know that he is desperately attracted to her (I hestitate to say in love).

I’m not really sure if I felt that the message of On The Waterfront was particularly successful because the ending was quite problematic.  The driving narrative is about bringing down a gangster ring on the waterfront docks of New York, where the people are tyrannised and unable to make their own choices.  Bringing down the gangsters becomes a fight for freedom, one of the most poignant and pivotal themes in human history.  Brando and his crew succeed in taking them down, which is great, but what’s the first action that these newly freed people take?  They go straight to work back at the docks.  Freedom, then, equates being a cog in the machine of labour.  For me freedom is the opposite of embedding yourself in the financial system, and it is here perhaps that the film shows it’s age.

I haven’t mentioned the contender scene because there’s not much to say, other than that it’s wonderful.  On The Waterfront has some of the best actors ever filmed and for that reason it is worth seeing once in your life.  There aren’t many girls in the film though, and there are some questionable ideas of freedom, but wow, Marlon Brando has some acting chops good and proper.


From Here To Eternity (1953)

From Here To Eternity (1953)

I’m not exactly sure how I feel about From Here To Eternity.  It was one of those films I didn’t really connect with, but without any real justification.  It’s funny, but sometimes you strike those.

My closest comparison to From Here To Eternity would have to be Pearl Harbour.  I can see that Pearl Harbour was striving for a similar emotional heart as Eternity’s, with both films being, foundationally, about people and how they interact with one another.  However, there’s a key difference in structure.  Where Pearl Harbour is bound to the inevitable attack on Hawaii, with the film is built around it from start to finish, in From Here To Eternity the attack is the last thing on our mind, and when it finally arrives at the end of the film it simply releases the taughtness around the complex human drama which has unfolded.  Really, From Here To Eternity has little to do with the attack, it is simply a setting for an analysis of the human condition which shows that human beings deal with the same issues regardless of time and place.  In this respect, From Here To Eternity is a much more complex and developed film.

There is also a very interesting representation of the United States Army in From Here To Eternity. I was expecting something decidedly more ‘pro-American’, a kind of reclaimation of the wounding of American pride done by the attack, yet the army is presented as being fraught with difficulty and corruption, especially from those in power.  Again, the message is that people are people, regardless of time, place, rank and position.

There’s loads in this film, it just wasn’t quite for me.  It’s strange, because Frank Sinatra is probably the best supporting actor I’ve ever seen, the film is complex and multi-faceted, and it also has some classic moments which you’ve kind of got to see at least once in your life.  Maybe I just missed the glitzy showbiz style of the last couple of winners…

The Greatest Show On Earth (1952)

The Greatest Show On Earth (1952)

The Greatest Show On Earth rounds off a series of BP winners which are ostensibly about performance.  All the way back to Gentleman’s Agreement, where Gregory Peck’s character performs as a Jew, there are explicit forms of peformance…theatre in All About Eve, political performance in All The King’s Men, and of course Shakespeare’s Hamlet.  I enjoy watching self-conscious performance because it brings both the spectator and the performer to the same level, and there’s a real feeling that one cannot exist without the other.

Set both onstage and offstage at a circus, The Greatest Show On Earth uses performance devices to engage with the transportational ability of film.  Historically, film has been used as a medium for the spectacular, as a way to transport the audience to a place they would normally be unable to access.  Hollywood regularly employs this principle, but I would hazard to suggest that few Best Picture winners thus far have really been made with the intention of offering an escape, usually opting for a more serious exploration of the human condition.  Not so with The Greatest Show On Earth, which thrusts us right into the middle of a circus, allowing us a peek at the internal goings-on of circus management and also extremely close-up experiences with circus acts – much closer than anything the average person is able to experience in real life.

Although its primary purpose is to entertain and please, it injects a narrative drive through character and human drama.  James Stewart, last seen in You Can’t Take It With You, performs excellently as a clown on the run for murder.  I’ve read some criticisms that his character has no purpose in the film, which is entirely untrue as he clearly plays a key role in the film’s climax.  Yet even without a plot function it would have been fun enough just to watch this quirky character performance.

I’ve seen quite a few circuses in the past few years, some big and some small, and in all honesty I can say that The Greatest Show On Earth is the best circus I’ve ever seen.  This is because we’re able to get so much closer to the action than in real life.  Sure the film lacks the sense of danger that a real circus inhabits, but on film our intimacy with the stunts makes it every bit as entertaining.  And though we know now that treatment of animals as it appears in this film is not really appropriate, the archival nature of The Greatest Show On Earth means that we can forgive it and enjoy seeing footage that today is almost certainly illegal, not to mention unethical, to film.

Were it not for the focus on people and relationships, The Greatest Show On Earth would effectively be a parade of circus images, but that’s fine with me as the best way to approach this film is to sit back with popcorn and enjoy the ride.


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