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The Paper Chase on Reel 13

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The Paper Chase (1973)

The programmers at Channel 13 (PBS in NYC) made an interesting choice to kick off their new (and kind of exciting) Reel 13 project in selecting James Bridges' 1973 paean to law school THE PAPER CHASE. I realize that 2008 marks the 35th anniversary of the film, but if it's anniversaries they're interested in, why not select a film with a little more punch – say THE STING or AMERICAN GRAFFITI – or even if they wanted to go back 50 years to show us GIGI or VERTIGO – something that opens this new initiative with a bang.

But THE PAPER CHASE is what we got and so THE PAPER CHASE is what we'll deal with. I hadn't seen THE PAPER CHASE since I was fourteen years old or so and mostly remembered it as being boring and a little dull. I was excited to re-watch it on Reel 13 because I felt that now, as a more educated and hopefully more sophisticated viewer, I could fully appreciate it for the important work of art that it was supposed to be, but…no – it's still pretty boring.

I don't mean to be flip about it. The more educated version of myself can now see why the film didn't work for me and ultimately, I think it boils down to the episodic nature of the piece. The film follows first year law student James T. Hart (Timothy Bottoms) on a series of misadventures and anecdotes mostly revolving around his borderline obsession with one of his professors, but also dabbles in his relationship with a local woman he meets, the lives of some of his fellow students, the pressure of finals, etc., etc. There are a number of good and interesting scenes in The Paper Chase (I particularly like the scene on the frozen lake and most of the study group scenes), but as a whole, they don't add up to much. The film doesn't have a sufficient overall arc or thru line and the result is a jumpy and disjointed narrative.

Part and parcel with all that is the trouble with the romantic relationship between Hart and Susan, as played by Lindsay Wagner (who two years later would become television's original Bionic Woman). Firstly, they meet when Susan comes up to him randomly and abruptly on some Boston street and asks him to walk her to the corner because someone's following her. And he says he'll walk her all the way home. What??!?? Are you kidding? This is how our romantic leads meet? Then, on the walk home (we never see the alleged stalker, btw) all he does is ramble and babble about law school – the Bionic Woman looks (appropriately) bored and disinterested. A few scenes later, he lurks outside her house, builds up the courage to knock on the door and she instantly invites him in. Cut to a light turning on when they are naked in bed. I mean, really??? I know the seventies where freewheeling and everything, but this is ridiculous (or am I the only person that these things don't happen to?). And then, in this post-coital scene, he starts philosophizing about law school AGAIN. I swear – the BW has only had two or three lines of dialogue to this point. And wouldn't you know it, guess who's daughter Susan turns out to be? It's contrivances like those that can ruin a script/film. Furthermore, I have long maintained that writers and filmmakers need to take the time to build a foundation for the important romantic relationships in a film. We need to understand and feel why two people like each other and are together. Bottoms and The Bionic Woman have absolutely zero chemistry together as actors and neither is their relationship strongly supported by the script. As one of the key (albeit tenuous) conflicts in the film is the balance between Hart's romance with Susan and his pursuit of good grades at Harvard Law School, the lack of effort put into the former does serious damage to the overall impact of the film. (Sidenote: The relationship had some potential in the sense that both characters seemed to be separately obsessed with the same person. I thought this was kind of an interesting (and unique) idea and a potential building block for them, but the film doesn't capitalize on it nearly enough, instead letting it linger drifting in space).

The film is mostly remembered for the performance by John Houseman as Professor Kingsfield. He won many accolades for the performance, including the Academy Award as Best Supporting Actor of the year. Now, Mr. Houseman's performance is fine – after all, he was a stodgy and imperious professor at Julliard for twenty years before this so playing a stodgy and imperious professor at Harvard was hardly a stretch (as Neal Gabler jocularly hinted at during his opening remarks) – and he has a lot of snappy, quotable lines of dialogue. However, I hardly felt he was Oscar-worthy. Houseman won the Oscar because he was a legendary theater producer and director (he worked with Orson Welles and the Mercury Theater, etc.) and it was a fun story that he was making his acting debut at the age of 71. If you really look back at that year, I think you have to say that the best supporting performance was Jason Miller as Father Damien in THE EXORCIST. I mean, he was amazing – subtle and displayed lots of range. I would even rank Robert Shaw in THE STING, Jack Gilford in SAVE THE TIGER and hell, even, Paul LeMat in AMERICAN GRAFFITI all above Houseman here. (Does anybody have any thoughts on this? I'd love to have a revisionist Oscar vote here – weigh in with your comments and postings on the Best Supporting Actor of 1973 if you get a chance).

The real performance of the movie, if you ask me, is actually Bottoms. He gives an extremely assured, textured and perhaps most importantly, quirky performance as Hart. Furthermore, he proves here that his poetic, lovely work as Sonny in THE LAST PICTURE SHOW (Peter Bogdonavich, 1971) was no fluke. He constantly makes unique, but inspired choices in both his deliveries and his gestures. He paints a multi-layered picture of Hart that feels real because it's so complex – he manages to navigate his way through the disjointedness of the narrative by making Hart equally inconsistent – and I mean that in a good way. Hart's intelligence, stupidity, passion, apathy, rage and humor all seem to come from the same place, the same core – variations on a theme, if you will. Though that may seem paradoxical, the point is that many actors play the emotion instead of playing the person who feels that emotion. Bottoms achieves the latter and it's just that quality that makes him more identifiable and ultimately, more likeable in spite of his character's faults. (Sidenote 2: I was so impressed with the performance that I asked myself (though not aloud): "What the hell happened to Timothy Bottoms?" After all, in PICTURE SHOW and PAPER CHASE, he displays Ryan Gosling-like promise. Well, a little research showed that he has been working consistently since then, just not in projects that were as high profile – a lot of television work, etc. Actually, his bread and butter lately seems to be playing our current president in several different projects – some real, some spoofs. As to the question of why he was unable to really fulfill the aforementioned promise he displayed, I still haven't been able to figure that out. Perhaps one of you have some insight into this…)

I'd be remiss to close out the blog without mentioning the excellence of the cinematography. I didn't pay attention or missed during the opening credits who it was, but when I looked it up, I was not surprised. Gordon Willis (THE GODFATHER, ANNIE HALL), or as I like to call him – GWill – is one of the best cinematographers ever to have lived, perhaps best known for his ability to underexpose just so to create mood and texture. That technique is on ample display here as well, but I also wanted to point out that the composition, for the most part, was outstanding. Nice, not-overly done low angles on Kingsfield, scenes courageously played entirely in picturesque wide shots, frequent use of frames within frames all contribute to the staid, realistic and yet still beautiful look of the film.

Earlier, I mentioned that the primary detractor of THE PAPER CHASE was its failure to come together as a cohesive whole due to an "episodic nature". Well, apparently, someone else recognized this as well and turned the film into a syndicated television show, which featured Houseman reprising his role. I, personally, have never seen the show (has anyone?), but it certainly seems like a better fit for the material. Actually, upon learning that, my wheels starting to turn. (Television executives, listen up!) What about bringing back THE PAPER CHASE series with Timothy Bottoms (rescue him from playing GWB) as an older Hart – and as the new professor? Come on, this SCREAMS of possibility. Maybe we can even get the Bionic Woman to fly in for a guest appearance and she can rescue Hart from a raging inferno on campus or something (I can picture him babbling on to her about his struggles to get through to his students while the fire burns around them). Can I see a show of hands? Who WOULDN'T watch this show???

Posted Friday, January 11, 2008 4:32 PM by jjgittes | with 0 comments

"American Wake" on Reel 13

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American Wake (2004)

So, did y'all watch American Wake the other night – Channel 13's first independent narrative film airing as a part of their Reel 13 project? Right away, it lost points with me just by virtue of it taking place in Boston (I am of the opinion that nothing good comes out of Boston, except maybe Gone Baby Gone). Beyond that, pretty much all my thoughts on the film can be summed up in one word – awkward. Awkward blocking, awkward transitions, awkward beats, awkward accents, awkward shot selection, awkward framing – the list goes on and on.

This awkwardness is a common trait amongst low-budget films and many people assume that it's caused by the financial limitations the filmmakers faced. I would argue, however, that there is a difference between the "awkwardness" I am talking about and the somewhat more forgivable type of "emptiness" that is a result of insignificant funding. As a matter of fact, American Wake manages to avoid some of those typical low-budget pitfalls – many of the scenes are actually quite "full" – the public scenes are rife with extras and the more private scenes have plenty of appropriate production design elements to add to the verisimilitude. No, the kind of awkwardness I'm talking about can be avoided at any budget level – it relates to the way in which the story unfolds and the relationship between the actors and the camera – it is the kind of awkwardness that results from ineffective direction.

The auteur theory suggests that the director of a film is the "author" of any given film and is responsible for all the final creative decisions. While there is some truth in that, anybody that's ever worked on a film (especially an indie) will tell you that filmmaking is one of the most collaborative art forms ever conceived and many times, criticism (or praise) of an individual director is unwarranted. However, one of the primary responsibilities of the film director is to use the tools at his or her disposal to create a believable world inhabited by believable characters. If this is not achieved, it doesn't matter how beautiful the setting, the lighting or the music are – you've lost your audience. American Wake struggles to accomplish this and the breakdown begins with the lost art of blocking for the camera.

It is a skill that many film classes/programs fail to spend too much time on, which is a shame, because it's probably the most basic skill required for a filmmaker. There are several occasions in American Wake in which character movement feels too "staged", i.e. forced or the actors are not blocked in such a way that works for the camera (this point is more of a tightrope because you don't want to force the actors into a good frame – you want them to seem to fall naturally into a good frame. However, you certainly don't want to block them purposely into a below average frame, as is often the case here).

An example of this awkwardness would be a scene in which the character of Noy (Elaine Qualter) is walking through a long hallway, ostensibly in her apartment that I guess she shares with a bunch of people. The camera tracks back with her as she goes from room to room to room and as she goes, she has to maneuver around several different questionable people (roommates?) just to get out. However, the way in which the crossers pass her – one at a time, several beats apart and seemingly always in one of the many doorways – seems awfully staged and unnatural. The point of the shot is to display the inadequate living conditions that Noy has to deal with, but the point is made within five seconds of the forty-five second shot – a waste of precious screen time. One might assume that the filmmakers were so enamored with the dolly (or Steadicam) shot that they didn't realize that there wasn't enough information being given to warrant the length or nature of the shot.

There are a few other scenes also with superfluous camera movement. There are also a few scenes that don't begin until after we cut into them. In other words, we will cut to a scene, see the actors almost frozen (not like a statue, but they just aren't doing anything), there would be a beat, and then they would begin the scene. You want to cut into a scene in the middle of the action – not so that the viewer misses anything – but so to give the impression that life was moving forward before we, the viewer, arrived here (and will continue to move after we are whisked away). On the flip side of that same idea, there are scenes in which the characters stay still to have their dialogue scene and then begin an action once the conversation is completed. The more natural way to approach this is to have the actors doing something during the required conversation. (A common example of this in many films, including this one, is scenes in a parked car. Actors will have a conversation and not start the car until the scene is done. Who does this in real life? We have conversations while driving and so should the characters in films. Honestly, if you can't afford a car rig, stage the scene elsewhere). I could provide several examples from American Wake of each of these things, but will refrain for now in the interest of brevity (If you are interested in hearing more examples, let me know and I can discuss them at a later time).

There's one other big issue with American Wake and it comes down to another word - why? Why this story? Why does it need to be told? Why will it interest us? And the biggest of all – why two separate stories that don't seem to connect? The film follows the romance between firefighter Jack and grocery clerk/kleptomaniac Noy AND the romance between fiddler/fisherman Niall and fish store clerk/painter Ava. The two couples never intersect. Furthermore, the only thing that even remotely connects them (aside from being in Boston, of course) is the fact that one member of each couple is not native born (Niall from Ireland, Noy from Thailand) and that's a tenuous connection, at best. One relationship is hard enough to do right, let alone two (Note: all four characters are ambitiously given nearly equal screen time). The result of spreading screen time amongst all those characters is that each one feels underdeveloped.

The credits give us a little insight into how this came to be. For example, the actor playing Jack (Billy Smith) was also one of the credited writers. Hmmm…it's a safe presumption then that he (co)wrote this leading role for himself (a dangerous prospect in and of itself). Secondly, the character of Niall, played by Sam Amidon, is a damn good fiddler and it in no way looks fake. Finding someone to play an Irish music fiddler that also has some acting ability is no easy task. Therefore, I am also going to assume (a bit more of a leap, but an educated hypothesis nonetheless) that Mr. Amidon was a known quantity as well, and his role was similarly crafted to feature his talents. So, here we are: aspiring filmmakers with access to the rough charm of Billy Smith and the fiddling of Sam Amidon. It's only natural to then try and weave a narrative around these pre-existing assets – many low-budget filmmakers have done the same thing. But it's a trap (I know, I know – there are a few success stories, but it is rare). I feel strongly that you can't put your cart before the horse when writing a screenplay and American Wake is an excellent example of the results of this backwards method. If you put too many parameters on a story like this (low-budget filmmaking creates enough limitations on its own), you are not allowing the story to grow organically and you wind up with, well, an awkward narrative. While the heart of American Wake is in the right place, it winds up sinking under the weight of its own ambitions.