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  • Crime and Punishment (1935)

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    Director Josef von Sternberg had a long and distinguished career interrupted by "Crime and Punishment." Among his stellar performances are "The Blue Angel," "Morocco," "Blonde Venus," and "Duel in the Sun," to mention only a few. Many of his motion pictures starred Marlene Dietrich. In "Crime and Punishment," von Sternberg works with Peter Lorre, Edward Arnold, and Marian Marsh to get this gargantuan novel down to 99 minutes of screen time. Since I haven't read the novel, I have no clue what they left out. I'm sure it's a travesty. Since I haven't read the novel, however, I treat the movie on its own merits. 

    I consider of plot of little importance in this movie version. Raskolnikov (played by Lorre) is introduced as a student with great promise. Our next scene shows him impoverished but too proud to accept a loan from a former school chum. Raskolnikov is slowly pawning all his belongings because he has no other means of supporting himself. The pawn broker (played by the famous Mrs. Patrick Campbell) is absolutely appalling, and her murder by Raskolnikov is, if not excusable, at least understandable. 

    The irony is that Raskolnikov is famous in police circles because of his magazine article (for which he was not paid) called "On Crime." In this essay (if I understand the movie correctly) Raskolnikov advances the theory that there are two classes of people: those ordinary people who commit ordinary crimes, and an elite class, including Napoleon, whose crimes are somehow superior and above the law and therefore are not to be punished. The head of police, Inspector Porfiry, meets Raskolnikov and praises his work and asks for his help in solving the murder of the pawnbroker. It is not till this game begins that the movie gets interesting. 

    Until the game between Raskolnikov and Porfiry, Lorre's acting has been random and muddled. In his scenes with Arnold, though, Raskolnikov takes shape and becomes hunted, haunted, angry, brave, cowardly, and a myriad of emotions that play across Lorre's entire body. Arnold is excellent as Porfiry, an old hand at the game of crime, and Porfiry plays the game superbly. In their scenes together, you get to enjoy Porfiry's knowledge that Lorre knows he knows, and we see Lorre's anguish as he realizes Porfiry knows, knows Lorre knows he knows, and we spiral down the hole of madness of he knows he knows he knows.

    Lorre is superb playing anguished men. I think he was at his best in "M" as Hans Beckert under the thumb of Inspector Lohmann. It's a shame Lorre was type cast as Sidney Greenstreet's sidekick in so many movies. I saw Peter Lorre on a 50s game show. The contestant was a blindfolded woman who was asked to chose which of three men was Peter Lorre doing a love scene with her. Each actor kissed her hand and murmured sweet nothings to her. The other two men were credible imitators, but the woman blurted out, "I want _him_!" as she picked Lorre. She didn't care whether he was the real Lorre or not; he was the man she believed in his lovemaking. Lorre was a great actor whose talent was not much used.


  • Les diaboliques (also Diaboliques)

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    Diabolique  (1954)

    This 1955 French film stars Simone Signoret, Vera Clouzot, and Paul Meurisse. It is set in a boarding school which is being run into the ground by Headmaster Michel Delassalle (Meurisse). Delasalle is married (his wife, Christina, is played by Clouzot) and has a mistress (Nicole Horner, played by Signoret) who also teaches at the school. The two other teachers at the school, the doorkeeper, the students, and sundry others can't stand the cad. Delassalle refuses to spend money on maintenance, decent food, and - horror of horrors for the French - good wine.

    Delassalle is a despicable lout, and his wife and mistress decide to murder him. Signoret takes the lead and comes up with a credible plan giving them an alibi, and it goes off with those little hitches that keep you on the edge of your seat as you wait for various interlopers to discover the secret in the large wicker basket.

    Once they've successfully carried out their plan, things go horribly wrong. The body disappears. The two murderers can't figure out where it went. Then Delassalle's suit is delivered by the dry cleaners. The two women get hints and clues, but they can't figure out who is out to blackmail them. The tension is really well done, subtly played by the actors and realistic. Signoret would have been perfect in a Hitchcock movie as the cold blooded "ice blonde" that Hitch preferred. As the tension builds, the two conspirators begin to fall to pieces and their relationship frays, then breaks. Everything that can go wrong does: a body is discovered in the Seine, but it's not Delasalle's. When Christina goes to the morgue, a detective sees her and offers to solve the missing husband case for her - and he won't take no for an answer.

    The three actors were excellent. Meurisse captures the cruel coldness of Delasalle with fleeting expressions across his face that told more than dialogue. Clouzot was small and weak, well-cast as the invalid wife of the headmaster. But Signoret took center stage. While Christina was mousy and dark-haired, Nicole was man-sized and blonde, had plans, and executed them. As the tension mounts and they begin bickering, their relationship takes on overtones of a married couple.

    The pacing of the film is decidedly Fifties, but bear with it. It soon picks up, and the relationship and tension between to two women is very well done

    The plot was based on a novel, and it was later made into 1996's "Diabolique," with Sharon Stone, Isabelle Adjani, and Chazz Palminteri. I haven't seen that version. Instead, I'd recommend "Mademoiselle" with Jeanne Moreau if you like "Les diaboliques." Another teacher at a school in a small town runs amuck.


  • The Man Who Laughs (1928)

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    Conrad Veidt stars in the movie based on Victor Hugo's novel, L'Homme qui rit. In this silent film, a boy is sold by the King of England to "comprachicos," a word made up by Hugo to represent people who buy children to deform them for the amusement of noblemen and crowds at carnivals. The boy is Gwynplaine (played by Conrad Veidt). Abandoned by the comprachicos, Gwynplaine and an infant girl find shelter with a traveling mountebank Hugo has called Ursus (played by Cesare Gravina) and his pet Homo the wolf (played by Zimbo the dog). The infant grows up to be a beautiful blind blonde they call Dea.*

    Gwynplaine is cruelly deformed by the comprachicos - his mouth is surgically altered into a permanent grin. Although Veidt may be best remembered as Major Strasser in "Casablanca," a role in which he appeared suitably dissolute, Veidt was a very attractive young man. His appearance here is bizarre because of the character's deformity, a deformity which makes Gwynplaine the object of ridicule and laughter, except of course to Dea, who cannot see him as he looks, but only as he really is. She falls in love with him, naturally; and just as naturally, Gwynplaine cannot accept her love because of his appearance: she'd laugh at him, too, if she could see him.

    It turns out eventually that Gwynplaine is the sole heir to a dukedom; King James murdered Gwynplaine's father and sold (or dontated) Gwynplaine to the comprachicos, and they abandoned him as a child. Queen Anne came to the throne, and in this story the Queen had it in for a duchess who lived in Gwynplaine's former estate. Gwynplaine is discovered, and the Queen restores Gwynplaine to his estate and orders the duchess to marry him. Gwynplaine is a laughing stock of his peers, of course, so he declines the offer, resigns his peerage, and takes it on the lam. The queen is incensed by his refusal to obey her commands, and she sends the beefeaters after him.

    Unfortunately, this is the only action in the movie. We know he'll escape to Dea and they'll live happily ever after, but the chase provides some much-needed interest. Most of the film shows us Gwynplaine in his misery, failing to make him sympathetic, heroic, or much of anything else. Produced by Universal, "The Man Who Laughs" was supposed to follow in the footsteps of its popular predecessors, "The Hunchback of Notre Dame" and "Phantom of the Opera," both of which starred Lon Chaney.

    "The Man Who Laughs" was directed by the German Expressionist Paul Leni, who chose Veidt as his star since Chaney was unavailable. Leni's Expressionistic tendencies are obvious throughout the film in both set design and lighting. Unfortunately, American audiences failed to appreciate the look of the movie, and it was not a commercial success. I suspect the unsympathetic hero was also to blame. In "The Hunchback of Notre Dame," for example, Chaney's Quasimodo is a figure of horror, but still the audience roots for him and wishes Esmeralda would fall for him. Here we have no clue at all why Dea would love Gwynplaine. Gwynplaine fails entirely to interest us, much less to engage our sympathies. 

    The reasons to see "The Man Who Laughs" have little to do with the story. Gwynplaine's appearance in "The Man Who Laughs" was the inspiration the Batman comic book villain, The Joker. Heath Ledger's character The Joker in 2008's "The Dark Knight" says his disfigurement was caused by intentional mutilation, a reference to Gwynplaine.

    Perhaps more important, the design of the movie was based on German expressionism. "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari" is probably the most famous expressionist film, and it too stars Conrad Veidt who plays Cesare, the Somnambulist - another sideshow freak under the control of a mountebank. Although "The Man Who Laughs" was made in America by Universal Pictures, producer Carl Laemmle had been impressed with a German movie "Waxworks" and called on its director, German Paul Leni, to direct "The Man Who Laughs." The influence of expressionism on Leni is clear in the set  and lighting designs, and this influence was not well received by American audiences who thought the lighting too dark and the sets too Germanic to be England. Later reviews of "The Man Who Laughs" praise it for its visual style, if not for its content. Leni was well-known in Germany for his works, and his American debut "The Cat and the Canary" was very well-received.

    Coming at the end of the Twenties, the movie also came at the end of the Silents. Its release was held up a year so that Universal could couple it with sound of a sort: a music sound track and some sound effects were added, although there was no attempt at coupling sound with the dialogue - the title cards were left in to convey the dialogue.

    Veidt himself is also of interest. He played Cesare, the Somnambulist in "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari" and starred in Leni's film "Waxworks." Gwynplaine is a more difficult role because the immobility of his disfigured face prevents Veidt from doing much more than emoting with his eyebrows. Veidt seems to lack Chaney's talent for wringing pity from American audiences no matter what the make up was.

    *Hugo has a method to his naming. Ursus of course means bear, and Homo means man; Dea means goddess (Dea was played by Mary Philbin). There the method leaves me, as I cannot divine the meaning behind Gwynplaine (which may mean pale plane - or maybe not).


  • Smoke (1995)

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    Smoke  (1995)

    An inspired script by Paul Auster, directed by Wayne Wang. There are excellent performances by a large ensemble cast that includes Harvey Keitel, William Hurt, Forest Whitaker, Stockard Channing, Ashley Judd, and other great character actors I've never heard of.

    The problem with the movie is that it barely hangs together on the thread of a tobacco store. The philosophical issue is whether you think your life has meaning: it starts at the beginning, goes to the end, and you get your reward; or whether you think your life is a series of happenstances that may not be related at all to what's gone before and that you don't build on, but go through and learn from. Maybe.

    Keitel plays Auggie, the owner of the smoke shop, and their's a cast of characters that comes into his store and his life, and they smoke and tell stories. Most of the stories work - some of them are told, but many of them are 'shown' as the character spins the yarn. Some of the stories didn't work for me, but the promise of more kept me hanging in.

    This is a quiet movie, a thinker's movie. If you've lived a life that's had its ups and downs, you'll fit right in. Who knows - one of the stories they tell may be yours. And Tom Waits's "You're Beautiful When You Dream" will break your heart.

    Auster wrote, among other screenplays, "Lulu on the Bridge" (which he also directed), and Wang directed "Joy Luck Club" and a number of other quiet movies.


  • Lone Star (1996)

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    Lone Star  (1996)

    This is a quietly excellent movie about mystery, racism, and love. Chris Cooper plays present-day Sheriff Sam Deeds, filling the boots of his late father, Sheriff Buddy Deeds. Much of the movie is told in flashback by director John Sayles, with the camera panning from a present day scene to the location of some event in the Fifties where we see it replayed, then panning back to the present characters, lost in recollection of those days gone by. It works very well, without having to have title cards telling us when we've moved in time.

    The story takes place in a sleepy hick town in Texas on the Mexican border, near a US Army base. In this town, everyone has a past. Even the sheriffs. Sam has gone through a divorce, and we get to see him with his ex-wife, Bunny (Frances McDormand). It's a heart-tugging scene, as it becomes clear Bunny will never be the son her father wanted.

    Sam moves back home to see his high school flame, Pilar (Elizabeth Pena). However, his father's friends press him to run for sheriff because the name Buddy Deeds still carries weight, and the current sheriff isn't popular. Sam wins, but it's no victory for him. Sheriff Buddy Deeds took over the job when Sheriff Charlie Wade (played with great menace by Kris Kristofferson), a corrupt, racist man, simply disappeared, never to be heard from again. Since Wade was hated by all the blacks and browns in town, it was a toss up who did him in, and sleeping dogs were let lie.

    But "Sleep ... knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care," and Sam keeps getting clues across his sheriff's desk that he can't ignore. Clues about who murdered Wade; unfortunately, the clues point all over the place -- to the African American bar owner who ran numbers in the backroom, a Mexican who ran wetbacks across the Rio Grande in the back of his truck, and it takes some quiet patience to knit up the unraveled threads that go back about forty years.

    Sam renews his acquaintance with Pilar, and we meet her mother and learn her mother's past. The African American bar owner has a past, too, and it's bound up with the current base commander (Joe Morton, currently in the TV series "Eureka"). As Sam patiently knits the clues into a fabric that tells the story, we find that everyone's past is intertwined. As Sam pulls it all together, he discovers much more than he bargained for. Much more.

    Although there is violence in the movie, it takes a back seat to the development of character. We watch Sam shed his old skin, accept his divorce, and move on. Elizabeth Pena is very good, giving us novels with a brief pause in her walk when she sees Sam again. It's a movie for patient people, and the patience is rewarded with an ending that is moving.

    John Sayles directed "The Brother from Another Planet," a completely off beat picture totally unlike "Lone Star" (and starring Joe Morton). And Chris Cooper played Colonel Frank Fitts, a character totally unlike Sam, in "American Beauty." And Frances McDormand - I haven't seen her in a film I didn't like: "Blood Simple," "Fargo," "Burn After Reading."


  • Revolutionary Road

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    This bleak, bleak film was hard for me to watch. Leonardo DiCaprio absolutely mesmerized me as Frank Wheeler, and the supporting cast was phenomenal. Kathy Bates and Kathryn Hahn were heartbreaking; Michael Shannon was alternately dead and manic as the certified insane version of Frank and April Wheeler (April was played by Kate Winslet). But I'm getting ahead of myself.

    Frank meets April and they get married. April has dreams of becoming an actress, but she's lousy. Leonardo DiCaprio's attempt to soothe April while blowing off her ambitions was utterly believable. DiCaprio's Frank is a shallow jerk with no soul and no ambition. I didn't know DiCaprio was this good. "Revolutionary Road" shows their lives together in the Fifties, as they end up in the march of grey flannel suits in grey, sterile lives. Shannon's character, John Givings, gives voice to their hopeless emptiness. Frank and April make a big decision to blow it all off, move to Paris, and live a happy, fulfilling life. April actually has a plan, and it looks like she can pull it off. Her dream of being an actress may have foundered, but getting out of the rut of suburban Connecticut, office life in Manhattan, and forced parties and entertainment definitely looks doable. 

    The characters in this movie are relentlessly human. From the beginning, Frank has no real appreciation for April's dreams, but he eventually realizes she's a human being with some feelings. They have two kids, and Frank wants to be a good father to them, and succeeds for the most part. He's not perfect; neither is April; but who is? As the years pass, Frank seems to be more aware of April's needs, less inclined to dismiss her. I watched their ups and downs, but there was a serious note throughout that kept me edgy, upset. Thomas Newmans' music echoed the tension without being tense; his theme was brilliant, spare.

    The picture of life in the Fifties shown in this film is stultifying, claustrophobic, suppressive. One had to give parties, one had to dress correctly, one had to say the right things ("Oh! You shouldn't have! This is _too_ good!") - one had to conform. Frank had the peer pressure of conforming at the office, and April had the wifely peers pressuring her at the home. This kind of pressure makes diamonds. Or it crushes souls. It was a pressure that welded Frank and April into one crushed soul.

    April doesn't seem to realize consciously her need to get out of the Fifties; Frank doesn't have that need at all, but he goes along because he intuits that it's a requirement. April has their tickets, their passports, and their dreams all in her hand, ready to go. She even has her job lined up. She'll support them while Frank looks after the kids and looks for work. I watched April's happiness with dread. It's the Fifties. Wives didn't work. Wives didn't support the family. Winslet's April has the brains and the ambition, the soul, that Frank lacks. But it's the Fifties. There's nowhere for her to go with it. There's nowhere for a woman's dreams.

    "Revolultionary Road" is powerfully subtle. And the end I was left drained. Empty. There's no Hollywood ending here. I kept thinking of Rick telling Ilsa, "We'll always have Paris." In "Revolutionary Road," I knew they'd never have Paris.


 

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