Foreign Correspondent (1940) is not a typical Alfred Hitchcock. Unhappy with the feeble reporting on an impending war, the executives at an American newspaper send a news hound to dig up some real news. He immediately stumbles into a plot to undermine a peace organization and falls in love with one of the women. Although there is nothing wrong with the movie, I was baffled at why undermining a little peace group endangered the world’s safety. Furthermore, the romance was so mechanical and lifeless that it was particularly phony amidst the pre-war angst. There were a few good lines. One guy says excitedly, “I’ve got something that might pass for an idea!” and in a tense moment someone else says, “I hate to seem executive, but this is serious!” But if the movie was not a Hitchcock, it would have been long lost in the mist of time.
Holiday Inn (1942) is famous for introducing the Irving Berlin song “White Christmas.” It is a classic Hollywood song and dance movie with the requisite shallow plot and weak characterization. This all depends on the dancing and the singing. Personally, I enjoyed Fred Astaire, and I tapped my foot to Bob Crosby’s big band. But the songs by Irving Berlin were weak in lyrics and melodies, except the one famous one, and both times it appears in the movie it does not show to its best advantage. Still, Bing Crosby has a wonderful mellow voice and plays an appealing mellow character, and the blonde is pretty and talented, and some of the jokes are funny—especially the exploding jars of preserves. Definitely from another era. You can object to the portrayal of blacks, and you can tisk-tisk at the secondary role afforded the women. Still, one James Bell is wonderful, and if Irving Berlin’s songs had been better, the film would have been worth recommending.
The Trouble with Harry (1955) is Alfred Hichcock’s unsuccessful attempt at a comedy. A bunch of eccentrics in a New England village keep changing their minds about who killed Harry and what they should do with the body.
Match Point (2006) may be Woody Allen’s best movie in years, but it is insufferable. A poor tennis player marries into a rich family in London and then risks everything lusting after a would-be actress. The mistress pressures him. Then she pressures him some more. Then some more. Then continues pressuring him. This is an original screenplay? I had heard, rightly, that the film has a surprise ending, so I watched all the way through. The surprise ending supposedly develops the movies theme, but it doesn’t. It continues the running motif of luck vs talent, but it makes no statement on the topic. Avoid.
With this stereotypical plot comes an obnoxious theme. Men are of two types. Every manager is having an affair with some woman, and using Baxter’s appartment for their sex. The boss has had a string of young women which his secretary—who was one of them—can name and date. There is only one alternative to such men: the mild-mannered accountant. His idea of fun is to spout actuarial figures. His idea of getting ahead is to let his superiors use his apartment for sex in exchange for promotions. He even lets them send him out into the cold in the middle of the night. He is actually alone and lonely but gives everyone in the apartment block the impression that all the sex and partying is him in action. Possibly there are other types of men and women out there. I found it difficult to warm to any of the ones in this movie.
The two plots do not really propel us through the morass. Will Superman get Lois Lane? I doubt it. Will Lex Luther’s evil scheme work. Of course not. I think instead of homage we need some exciting innovation to save the Man of Steel. Something, say, like the remake of Casino Royale did for James Bond.