Reel Thoughts

Under discussion:

Film Name  Production Year

An American in Paris  (1951)

What's the AFI Project, you ask?  For more information, or if you just enjoy my bemused ramblings, read here:http://www.spout.com/blogs/pippin06/archive/2008/3/1/25756.aspx

An American in Paris is on the following AFI lists:

The Original Top 100 (#68)
100 Years...100 Passions (#39)
100 Greatest Film Songs (#32 - "I Got Rhythm")
25 Greatest Movie Musicals (#9)

I initially watched An American in Paris when I was attempting to complete this original AFI list the first time, back in college.  I remembered liking it, if not exactly loving it, because for a couple of semesters, I played violin (second) in the Michigan Pops Orchestra at the University of Michigan, and one of our concerts was Gershwin-themed.  The actual American in Paris piece, which is the foundation of the finale ballet at the end of this film, was the Orchestra’s piece de resistance after cycling through numbers like Rhapsody in Blue, excerpts from Porgy and Bess, and other goodies.  I remember relating to the film for that reason but not ultimately loving it because the ending was so abrupt.  A decade later, after revisiting the film instantly on Netflix, my opinion has not changed much.  An American in Paris is fun and beautiful in many ways, even as its story and story execution falter, movie musical or no.

The inimitable Gene Kelly plays Jerry Mulligan, the American referred to in the title.  He is a painter attempting to make his way in the world's artistic center, Paris.  Poor and struggling though he may be, he remains affable in the face of just about everything, including self-important art students imported from various countries willing to dissect his every technique, until a rich socialite named Milo Roberts (Nina Foch) discovers him and his wares and offers to be his lady patron in more ways than one.  Jerry is distracted from Milo's overbearing affections by the cherubic face of Lise Bouvier (Leslie Caron), and, letting no obstacle like a wealthy coquette stand in his way, he actively seeks to woo Lise. Unfortunately, one very large obstacle to the consummation of their relationship is the fact that Lise is involved with Jerry's friend Henri (Georges Guetary), a nightclub performer.  Of course, this story of star-crossed love is punctuated by a score of pure Gershwin and songs by brothers George and Ira as well as rousing choreography created by Mr. Kelly himself.

An American in Paris is certainly entertaining.  I think Gene Kelly's footwork feels as fresh and exciting today as it surely must have when the film was released, and his dancing chemistry with Leslie Caron was charming.  The music was unmistakably fantastic - after all, who can ask for anything more (ahem) than Gershwin, and the actual song and dance numbers were both beautiful and breathtaking.  On the occasion that Mr. Kelly chose to sing in this film, notably during the famous "I Got Rhythm," the film becomes ethereal in its musical perfection.  As a prior reviewer noted, they just don't make 'em like they used to...

Still, An American in Paris, as well-staged and beautifully and artfully directed by Vicente Minnelli and his collaborators as it was, offering a delightful visual feast with entertaining and toe-tapping musical interludes, is noticeably inferior to Mr. Kelly's next project, Singin' in the Rain.  While Singin' was also a hodgepodge and mishmash of old standards, strung together for the sake of the musical plot, the fact that Singin' had a plot and one that rings true for the ages makes it far better (and far more deserving of its accolades) than this film, which by all rights should be just as good.  Paris portrays a simple romance in the vein of all great romances but does so in such a staccato way, the expert singing and dancing doesn't quite make up for the lack of story. The ending is especially disappointing - it seemingly comes from nowhere following the spectacular finale ballet choreographed against backdrops inspired by famous artists.  In fact, the film might have made a wonderful avant garde piece if no words were spoken or sung at all.  If the eighteen-minute final dance could have been turned into something feature-length, stretched over the Gershwin medley already employed, it might have been a spectacular live-action equivalent of Fantasia but set against this romance and romantic backdrop of Paris.  Instead, it feels like a run-of-the-mill movie musical with some elements of excellence, such as Gene Kelly's, and to a lesser extent, Leslie Caron's dancing; the vividly colored art and set direction and the artistic touch of focusing the ballet on famed Parisian paintings; and the incomparable Gershwin score.

In point of fact, Mr. Guetary sang more of the songs than Mr. Kelly, and that detracted from the film in my book.  He had one of those traditional, tinny voices obscured by his thick French accent, and none of the numbers he sang were quite as exciting as the songs sung by Gene Kelly.  Fortunately, many of his solos featured Kelly dancing in the foreground, so it was easy to ignore the voice and concentrate on the fancy footwork.

I'm not saying An American in Paris is a bad film - quite the contrary.  As a purely audio-visual piece of art that also manages to celebrate art, it's vivacious, graceful, and charming.  Yet, it's by no means perfect; the lack of story is one such imperfection and a hurdle that those focused on story will have to get beyond in order to enjoy this film.  As for me, I reveled in everything Gene Kelly in this picture; he is one of my favorites, after all, though Singin' in the Rain will always be my absolute favorite of his vehicles.  I suppose it comes as no surprise, then, that I am inclined to rate this film a 7 for being shaky but entertaining (it practically screams this rating!). As to the test, it does not pass.  As much as I love movie musicals, this is not one I can see owning and watching repeatedly (though this might change if I have the opportunity to work on An American in Paris for the stage, if such a version exists).  It's noteworthy that this film, again, did not make the AFI's Revised greatest list, instead being replaced by Unforgiven (which climbed 30 spots from its original ranking).  This is one of the few instances in which I actually agree with the fact of the film being replaced on the new list--though the jury's out on whether the replacement was a worthy successor.

Under discussion:

The Manchurian Candidate  (1962)

What's the AFI Project, you ask?  For more information, or if you just enjoy my bemused ramblings, read here:http://www.spout.com/blogs/pippin06/archive/2008/3/1/25756.aspx

The Manchurian Candidate is on the following AFI lists:

The Original Top 100 (#67)
100 Most Heart-Pounding Movies (#17)
100 Years...100 Heroes and Villains (Mrs. John Iselin is the #21 villain)

This is a film that I have been looking forward to watching for quite a while now.  After all, the plot summary alone is intriguing, but then, the film received a high-profile remake treatment featuring the likes of Denzel Washington and Meryl Streep.  I swore off the remake (even as the previews tantalized and teased me) in favor of the original because I knew it was on my AFI lists and because, from everything I've ever read or been told, the original far surpasses its successor.  I'm happy to say, my anticipation was well rewarded because this is one of the best films I've ever seen, i think, or it's at least the best film I've seen in awhile.  Also, the film, like Network, is unusually prophetic, even if the entire plot arises from Cold War paranoia that no longer exists - at least not in the same shape and form.

The film's beginning is confusing because the viewer is given a few misdirections in order to hide highly satisfying twists and turns that pop up as the picture progresses, so I'm probably going to rely on the Spout page's plot summary a bit more than normal.  As the film opens, American soldiers in the Korean War are in a bar, enjoying a little R & R, before their commanding officer, Sergeant Raymond Shaw (Laurence Harvey), comes in and orders them back on duty. It's clear from their begrudging acquiescence that the soldiers have no love for their CO, but they follow him on patrol anyway, where they are ambushed and taken by Korean troops.  The film then flashes to months into the future.  Shaw has received the Congressional Medal of Honor, and all of his former platoon call him "the bravest, finest, and most lovable man I've ever met."  It becomes clear, particularly to Captain Bennett Marco (Frank Sinatra), that the men underwent brainwashing and thought control at the hands of their captors.  Some experience nightmares and visions, others behave erratically, but Marco can't seem to shake the feeling that the dreams and behaviors he is exhibiting aren't his own.  Through petitions to his own commanding officers and investigatory arms in the military, he begins to piece together clues that lead him to conclude that Shaw was programmed by a Chinese and Russian coalition who have turned him into an indiscriminate killing machine, able to assassinate anyone on command and then forget his actions later.  While Shaw contends with blackouts related to this programming, he is also harangued and used for political gain by his highly ambitious, uncompromising and seemingly unfeeling mother (Angela Lansbury), the puppetmaster behind her husband, John Iselin's (James Gregory), congressional career.  He's vying for the vice presidential nomination fueled by his wife's carefully orchestrated anti-Communist hysteria. Shaw, in the meantime, spends his time attempting to separate himself from her unrelenting claws, even as Marco befriends him in an effort to find the source of the conspiracy that led to their capture.

I loved this film.  What a picture to be made in 1962, when the country was still in the throes of pearl necklaces and white picket fences and apron strings and Father Knows Best, before Kennedy was assassinated and the Vietnam War.  True, the film's plot, which was based on a novel, is rooted in something that has long since faded into memory, but echoes of the anti-Communist agenda ring as true now as they once did, with today's focus being on terrorism and the nameless jihad directed toward the western world.

This film works on every level because it is smart, savvy, foresighted, and poignant.  It's intense; the paranoic tone is perpetuated throughout the film thanks to the on-point direction of John Frankenheimer and the against-type performances of Frankie and Murder, She Wrote.  I have never seen a film where Angela Lansbury plays the villain, and I'm not sure I ever want to again! What a vile, odious woman she played, so far removed from Bedknobs and Broomsticks and Mrs. Potts and other Disney-approved creations.  Her performance more than earns her spot on the Heroes and Villains list because her snake-like character comes out of nowhere and has more layers than a casserole. While the film offers so many reasons to watch and appreciate it, Ms. Lansbury stole the show with one of the most fully-realized and complex villains to ever hit the screen.

Sinatra also gave a career-defining performance as Marco.  His chemistry with Janet Leigh (who plays his random love interest; they meet on a train) was a little off, but Marco's tenacity, conflict, and determination are well-played by the erstwhile crooner.  Shaw also expertly offered a layered performance of the ultimate brainwashed  though innocent stooge, even if his actual character and performance were a bit theatrical at times.

The film was also directed well.  The tone was consistently intense, and the pacing was consistently at the level of a slow boil that popped at just the right moments.  My heart pounded at several key points when reveals, both expected and unexpected, occurred. Some of the key twists the viewer might see coming, but Frankenheimer and company make the viewer work for it and plant just the right amount of doubt, so that no conclusion is truly foregone.

The most creative segments of the film - and the most confusing - were during the Chinese/Russian coalition's demonstration of their brainwashing success.  The filmmakers decided to alternately show the actual room the soldiers were in, with levels like in the United Nations only populated by representatives of major Communist countries, and a garden tea party, the vision the soldiers were duped into having as this demonstration progressed.  Some of the switching back and forth grew confusing and tedious but, ultimately, the creative stroke was effective, particularly in its misdirection.

The reviews on this page call The Manchurian Candidate a satire.  I don't know if I agree with that categorization, since satire usually implies a comic angle to the piece.  While some black comedy might have been present in the film, I wouldn't give it any kind of overarching comedic label, because I never laughed.  If the humor was there, it was based in subtle irony - more subtle and insidious than the irony found in something like Dr. Strangelove.  The Manchurian Candidate is ultimately a thriller and a very well-constructed one to boot (it also deserves its ranking on the appropriate AFI list).  It elicited a thumping heart on many occasions from me.

With a razor-sharp script, again prophetic as its political and social commentary transcends the year in which the film was released; consistent and expert direction; and uniformly great performances, The Manchurian Candidate is a great film.  It's surprising, but the AFI chose not to add this to its Revised list, and this is one of the best films I've seen from the Original lineup, at least in this bottom half (incidentally, it was replaced by Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf, which was new to the Revised list).  For all these reasons and more, this film received a five-star rating from me.  I also think it merits an 8.5 on the patented ratings scale between very good/minor flaws and perfectly entertaining, owing to some of the confusion brought on by the alternate realities.  This is really just one flaw, and I only feel this way because it really did grow tedious (which prevents me from calling the film perfectly entertaining or better).  As to the test, I may very well buy this one.  It would be interesting to add the cynicism and paranoia of this film to my collection, juxtaposed with Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, and all of its hopeful optimism in the face of political corruption. Incidentally, I've read the plot summary of the remake since viewing this film, and I don't feel that I can honestly bring myself to watch it, Meryl Streep or no.  Is there someone who can convince me otherwise because the original was just too good?

Under discussion:

Network  (1976)

What's the AFI Project, you ask?  For more information, or if you just enjoy my bemused ramblings, read here:http://www.spout.com/blogs/pippin06/archive/2008/3/1/25756.aspx

Network is on the following AFI lists:

The Original Top 100 (#66)
100 Movie Quotes (#19 - Howard Beale: "I'm as mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore!")
The Revised Top 100 (#64)

Network, instantly viewed on Netflix, is one of those films that I've always vaguely heard about but never paid much attention to until reviewing the films for this project.  When I read the premise and prior reviews, I was greatly intrigued but otherwise had no preconceived notions.  I'll leave it at that until after offering the obligatory plot summary.

Network is a wily satire of the machinations of television.  The term floated in the film is "trash TV," though the film easily makes the argument that all television is trash.  For the purposes of the film and its plot, though, trash TV seems to refer to exploitative, sensationalist programming, an early wash of the genre known as "reality TV."  Howard Beale (Peter Finch) is forced out of his long-standing position as veteran newsanchor at fictional network United Broadcasting Systems because the ratings show that he "skews old."  Network executive and Howard's best friend, Max Schumacher (William Holden), delivers the news, but Howard can't bear the thought of losing his job for any reason, much less his age, so in his next broadcast, he announces to his viewers and, essentially, the nation that he is going to commit suicide on his final program.  Frank Hackett (Robert Duvall), the corporate executive in charge of the Network, wants to oust Howard before his remaining two weeks have expired, but Programming Executive Diana Christensen (Faye Dunaway) sees an opportunity in Howard.  Ambitious, driven, and in charge of bringing cutting edge programming to the network, and in lieu of all of the ensuing news and interest becoming a ratings gold mine in the wake of Howard's announcement, she convinces Frank to let Howard onto his final broadcast as a special event, with cameras poised to film whatever grisly end Howard brings to himself.  Howard, on the other hand, who has begun to crack under the circus that began with his termination, fails to commit suicide; instead, he embarks upon a rambling, raving rant about the state of the world and of television and encourages the viewers to go to their windows and shout as loud as they can: "I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take it anymore!"  When people actually listen to this encouragement, Howard becomes the hottest thing on TV, and Diana becomes the Network's new "it" girl.  Howard gets his own news program, where he can rant and rave to his content while bolstered with interesting segments, such as a psychic's predictions.  Diana also bills Howard as the "the Mad Prophet of the Airwaves," and Max watches all of this in horror and disgust, even as he finds himself drawn into an adulterous affair with Diana.  Though he is equal parts fascinated and horrified, Max temporarily leaves his wife (Beatrice Straight) for Diana, only to return to her when he realizes that Diana is television in human form.  At the same time, the network owner (Ned Beatty), who admits that he relates to Howard in only the craziest of ways, convinces Howard to preach a "You can't win, so why try?" philosophy that causes the ratings roller coaster to coast down hill. Thus, the network must decide how to deal with Howard's declining trend and cut their losses, despite their investment into this new kind of programming.

That's quite a bit of plot summary, and I relied on the Spout page more than usual in my attempts to coax from memory everything that happened in Network, but truth be told, Network is a cynical, ascerbic, and visionary film that is complex in its many layers.  It's all satire--barbed, pointed, sharp, and merciless--but there are so many different edges to the satire, Network almost loses track of where the barbs are aimed, and, in some ways, the film, as brilliant as it is, fails to obtain that masterpiece status because the sly bullets are being shot in six different directions at times when maybe only three or four bullets should have been shot at the same target.

The screenplay by Paddy Chayefsky is about as brilliantly written as any great screen story, and the film's focus on the Network's inner cogs was when the film was at its tightest and strongest.  The fact that the film took aim at sensationalist programming, which has only become more prevalent in the 21st century, makes the film more prophetic than even the filmmakers probably knew in 1976.  All of the little jokes, from sly comments made by the executives to the visual gags, to the poignant conclusion of the film, serve to take well-deserved knocks at the television industry and contempoary news broadcasts, otherwise known as the "media," and there are times when the film is laugh-out-loud funny because of the sheer irony of what is being targeted and how it is being portrayed.  There are also times when the giggles arise from the squirm factor, as the film clearly broaches the line and stretches it without ever crossing it (at least - until the end, which I refuse to spoil under any circumstances).

Yet, the film lost me when it veered into the Max and Diana tryst, for several reasons.  It bothered me that the only "evil" executive being given a full character wash was the only female of the bunch, the "Eve" shall we say, and the conclusion made by the Max character was that she was essentially nothing but a (five-letter word), myopically focused on her career and the ratings that define it.  It also bothered me that the Max character was clearly meant to be the voice of morality and ethics, even in a reactionary way, but that he did this after making a knowingly immoral choice.  It bothered me that the implication here was that Diana's character seemed to be symbolic of the alleged influence that television has on society and society has on television, and the neverending cycle it perpetuates, or so the filmmakers would have the film's viewers believe.  In basic terms, the implication is that Diana is TV and Max is society, and he strays from his wife amidst the pixellated glow of excitement that Diana seems able to offer him, only to have Max realize in the end that she is two-dimensional and, therefore, not real or, further, not everything she is cracked up to be.  The whole story seemed distracting to the overall satire, lacked both the comedic and dramatic punch that the rest of the film provided, and struck me as inherently sexist.  I didn't even have to overanalyze the film to arrive at these visceral and instantaneous reactions.

Also, the performances were a bit of a mixed bag.  Finch and Holden could not have been finer.  Finch had to play a stark-raving lunatic with some semblance of relatability to a public hungry for someone or something to love, at least for the moment, and he deserved his posthumous Oscar (he passed away just before the film was released and was the only actor to have this distinction, until Heath Ledger's death in 2008). Holden had to play the only quiet, understated character in the entire piece, the voice of the "every man," and he did so with grace and believability.  It was a bit odd seeing him so old too, since I've seen a great deal of his films from his heydey (he was the guy in Sunset Boulevard, Stalag 17, Sabrina, and others, to name a few).

Faye Dunaway gave a great performance, and her trademark theatrics served this character well.  She was depicted to be the most unlikeable of the bunch, and yet, she gave the character some charm and occasional emotion making her more three-dimensional, at least at the outset, than she was allowed to be in the end.

Still, other performances left something to be desired.  Many of the characters shouted everything, bringing new definition to the phrase "on the air."  Why Duvall and Frank Hackett had to yell everything under the sun was beyond me - I guess because all executives are blow-hards who cannot seem to control the volume of their own voice.  Most of the supporting characters, such as the people in the recording room, were a bit ham-fisted and forced. There seemed to be many loose threads in all of the different scenarios that were not completely sewn together by director Sidney Lumet.

Still, to say the film was ahead of its time would be an understatement.  If the film had focused entirely on the progression of Beale without taking the side trip into Max and Diana's particular love affair, I probably would have loved it.  I may even have thought it was the greatest thing since sliced bread, or at least since Star Wars (that I've seen - remember, in the order that I've seen them). Since their tryst had little effect on the overall story other than to provide a deeper, slightly esoteric commentary on television as a whole in comparison to the chides hurled by the rest of the picture at a certain type of programming, I feel justified in rating the film a 7.5 on the patented ratings scale, between minor flaws/very good and shaky/entertaining, since the flaws I described seem to me to be more than minor even as the film was still very entertaining.  As to the test, Network does not pass, owing in large part to this offshoot of the storytelling.  I was kind of offended by it, truly, even as the rest of the film and all of its ingredients (right down to the clever insertions of "television" music that served to be the only scoring of the film) struck me as brilliantly constructed bits of foreshadowing to what would become true eventualities.  In any event, Network is nothing short of in-your-face and is recommendable as long as the potential viewer remembers that nothing in the television world is safe from this picture (nor are some elements from outside that world).

Under discussion:

The Silence of the Lambs  (1991)

What's the AFI Project, you ask?  For more information, or if you just enjoy my bemused ramblings, read here:http://www.spout.com/blogs/pippin06/archive/2008/3/1/25756.aspx

The Silence of the Lambs is on the following AFI lists:

The Original Top 100 (#65)
100 Most Heart-Pounding Movies (#5)
100 Years...100 Heroes and Villains (Dr. Hannibal Lecter is the #1 villain, and Clarice Starling is the #6 hero)
100 Movie Quotes (#21 - Dr. Hannibal Lecter: "A census taker once tried to test me.  I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti.")
The Revised Top 100 (#74)

Because I've seen The Silence of the Lambs a fair few times, I secured a copy the old-fashioned way by finding someone who owned it rather than using a Netflix rental on it.  With better timing, I could have tried to locate it on cable, since it sees ample rotation, albeit edited for language and content.  The Silence of the Lambs is, without question, a modern classic.  Even those who have not seen the film can discern the many pop culture references to it, including iconic images of Dr. Hannibal Lecter (Anthony Hopkins) in his restraints or his creepy little sound effect after suggesting that he ate a man's liver with fava beans and a nice Chianti.  If it weren't for the type of film it is, I would probably love it more, but I'm not gonna lie.  There is a palpably high disgust factor with this film, either in its images or suggested images, that truly prevents me from watching it too many times and also from thinking it's the greatest film in history.  I am putting this out there up front, as I only rated the film four stars.  I would have given it five, if the squeamish quality weren't as potent for me.  It may not be the Saw movies (which I've never seen, naturally, either), but cannibalism and serial murder should not be taken lightly.

The Silence of the Lambs is a complex and intelligent thriller that is one of only three films and the most recent film in history to win the major five Academy awards (Picture, Director, Actor, Actress, Screenplay).  In addition, as this page notes, Hopkins won the Actor award for some of the most electrifying 16 minutes of screen time in all of cinema.  Clarice Starling (Jodie Foster) is a top-honors FBI trainee.  Her talent for profiling serial killers catches the attention of her superior, Jack Crawford (Scott Glenn), who wants Clarice to interview Dr. Lecter. Though in an asylum for serial cannibalism and other gross acts of murder, he is also a brilliant psychologist, and the FBI is investigating a string of serial murders by recently labeled Buffalo Bill, who targets young, curvaceous women and cuts away parts of their bodies as trophies. Crawford wants Clarice to perform this interview because she is an attractive woman, which he believes might entice Dr. Lecter to provide his psychlogical insight into and clues to the Buffalo Bill case.  As it turns out, Dr. Lecter actually knows something about Bill, but he will not share information until he gets his own way: a more comfortable facility away from his current warden (Anthony Heald) and an in-depth conversation with Clarice about her past.  Clarice reluctantly consents, but Dr. Lecter is a master at getting inside his subjects' heads.  He manipulates her cooperation and forces her to reveal childhood traumas at the expense of her forced position of strength as a woman in a male-dominated profession and all at a jarring parallel with the progression of Bill's murders and the FBI's time-sensitive scramble to figure out his true identity.

The Silence of the Lambs is a taut and satisfying thriller that provides all sorts of goosebumps (its high position on the AFI Thrillers list and, in fact, on all of the AFI rankings is well earned). The goosebumps come from one man and one performance - true, the adaptation of the original source novel has some underlying credit, but I doubt the words of the novel's pages could have been made so alive without the performance of Anthony Hopkins.  It is his turn as Dr. Lecter that engages the viewer and sinks its teeth in without letting go.  He is all at once funny, scary, tantalizing, disturbing, disgusting, and debonaire.  You almost want to like him, even to pity him his stone prison and his lack of creature comforts, until he starts speaking in that cool, even, but creaky tone barely masking his obvious insanity.  His affectations, his unblinking stares, his poetic descriptions of eating people all mix to formulate a disturbing picture that simulataneously steals the film even as it punctuates the movie's other events.

Jodie Foster, an accomplished actress in her own right, also gives a sympathetic performance that almost walks a fine line between professional distance and admiration if not outright obsession with her subject.  Her facial expressions betray a willingness to see Dr. Lecter as a human being while, at the same time, experiencing the horror of her past traumas and the realization of his talent at probing her innermost psyche (and at the fact that he is an infamous monster).  While she may not have been as charismatic as Hopkins and Hannibal, she was an excellently-cast match for Hopkins and his spooky turn as the serial killer.

The story was also great and ultimately satisfying.  The denouement, while open, is quite possibly one of the most chilling endings to a film ever - but, then again, I don't watch too many horror films or graphic thrillers.  The film is also expertly paced and brilliantly directed by Jonathan Demme; there are no wasted frames, and many of the simplest details seem like bone-chlling twists with the way that each scene is set up and staged.  The best scenes are those between Lecter and Clarice when a pane of glass separates them in his basement corner of the asylum, as the camera interchanges between close-ups of either character's face while they interrogate each other in an inquisitive tete-a-tete.

The only flaw I see in this film is in the awkward performance behind Buffalo Bill.  Granted, Buffalo Bill's existence and motivations are awkward, but the actor portraying him renders him so eccentric, he becomes far less disturbing by comparison than Dr. Lecter, even as he is committing gross acts of mutilation and stuffing moth larvae down the throats of his victims.  Also, Dr. Lecter's actual knowledge of this man feels almost like a deux ex machina in the grand scheme of the story - it feels too convenient even as Dr. Lecter's hold over Clarice and manipulation of his captors is so hard-fought and carefully orchestrated.  I don't know if this detail is more attributable to the novel or to the adaptation, but this whole Buffalo Bill side of the story also becomes less interesting in the big picture as a result.  The scenes between Bill and his latest victim (Brooke Smith) almost feel as if they don't mesh with the rest of the film, and I don't know if Demme or the actor or both served to create such an odd caricature of a man pursuing his particular trophies.  His role in the story is central; it just didn't seem as interesting or as rivetingly believable as Dr. Lecter and his psychosis, which, upon analysis, doesn't seem right.

Perhaps I'm being too nitpicky; after all, The Silence of the Lambs is undeniably a great film and something of the beginning of a tradition in the modern thriller.  There are scenes that I can't watch because of the "icky" factor, too, so that may be coloring my views of the picture somewhat.  Still, The Silence of the Lambs just may not be absolutely perfect either, so I feel resigned in my decision to rate the film an 8 on the patented ratings scale for having minor flaws but being very good (very very good).  As to the test, it does not pass.  I've seen it a handful of times, as I've stated, and more than enough to preclude having to own it.  Ultimately, if being squeamish or startled doesn't deter you, The Silence of the Lambs is a wonderful film, a scary film, and the most chilling and best reason to watch it is for Anthony Hopkins and his frightening Hannibal the Cannibal.

Under discussion:

Film Name  Production Year

Close Encounters of the Third Kind  (1978)

What's the AFI project, you ask?  For more information, or if you just enjoy my bemused ramblings, read here:http://www.spout.com/blogs/pippin06/archive/2008/3/1/25756.aspx

Close Encounters of the Third Kind is on the following AFI lists:

The Original Top 100 (#64)
100 Most Heart-Pounding Movies (#31)
100 Most Inspiring Movies (#58)

Close Encounters of the Third Kind (hereinafter called "Close Encounters") is another one of those films that I watched and rewatched throughout my childhood. I have also owned it in various forms (the test passes!) and bought the super-fancy-deluxe-anniversary edition in advance of viewing it again for this project. To me, Close Encounters is something like ET for adults, or ET with a mystery-type beginning, and yet, it's a film that stands on its own merits. It's a multilayered exploration and discussion of many themes, from faith to preserving innocence to opening the mind to extreme possibilities, and it's also a classic film that has held up well, despite the timing of  its introduction in the late 70s.

In Close Encounters, Richard Dreyfuss plays Roy Neary, an electrical lineman who, as the title of the film would suggest, encouters a UFO in rural Indiana.  He's not alone.  Jillian (Melinda Dillon) and her son see the odd lights in the sky and experience the odd noises, too, and, eventually, Barry is taken away.  Roy, who steadily becomes more obsessed with the quest to make sense of what he saw, up-ends his family, including his wife (Teri Garr) and three children, by sculpting shapes in his mashed potatoes ("This means something; this is important") and, eventually, by replicating the famed Devil's Tower in Wyoming in his living room by means of garbage and refuse from his lawn.  In the meantime, a French researcher named LaCombe (Francois Truffault) and his translator (Bob Balaban) have found odd crash sites from airplanes missing decades earlier, and the US government appears to have knowledge of these strange happenings, as they stage a false viral outbreak in the vicinity of Devil's Tower to keep curious onlookers away from the area.  All the while, people who have had these close encounters themselves, Roy and Jillian included, seem drawn to this location, as the researchers and government officials team up to construct close encounters of their own.

The reason Close Encounters works is that it is, in ways, fresh and different, even as it recycles some of the motifs from scifis of the 50s and 60s.  At its core, it's about aliens and outer space, flying their spaceships and making contact with Earth and with humans, but, for once, they're not attacking.  Spielberg would catch quite a bevy of flack later in his career for making all of his science fiction pictures about friendly aliens, but, it's potentially flawed to limit the ideal of visitors from other worlds to the possibility that they would only be hostile.

The picture also expounds on the idea of communication, through a universal language that has long been accepted as such: music. John Williams, movie composer extraordinaire and Stevie's go-to music man, created a wonderful score punctuated by five iconic notes that symbolize something humans seek in everyday life: connection. Since the story concept is Spielberg's (he is credited with the screenplay), and since he was also the director, these bits of subtlety and grace resulted in a wonderful, layered tale that truly engages the viewer and makes him or her (and especially me) as curious and as attracted to the UFO mystery as Roy and Jillian.

Spielberg's unquestioned skill is unmistakable here.  Like in Jaws, again operating on a small, if blown, budget, Stevie used the implication of what was not visually there to ratchet up the spooky factor.  Scenes would go completely quiet, bereft of all noise, including underscore.  The expressions on the child actor who played Barry (Cary Guffey) were pricelessly coaxed out of him.  Also, the visual effects in this film are quite stunning for the year in which the film was produced; they look almost as seamless as present-day CGI, and digitally rendered versions of the film do little more than accentuate the clarity of what was already there.

The performances, even if not Oscar-worthy and a bit clunky at times (Dreyfuss and Garr are a highly unlikely couple and completely lack chemistry), are genuine; the reactions are organic and expected, and none of it feels hammy or over-the-top.  Close Encounters works also, then, because it feels so natural - if UFOs did truly descend to Earth in any measurable way, witnessed by many instead of a few crackpots with fuzzy cameras, I imagine similar reactions would erupt from onlookers and their beleaguered families.  The touches of tying the UFOs and strange discoveries in the film to other interesting supernatural mythology, such as the Bermuda Triangle, were a nice touch on Spielberg's part too.

In short, this movie is just fun, like so many of Spielberg's blockbuster films, but it also has his undeniably artistic touch that accents and accentuates the story he is telling.  The film moves a bit slowly, but it has a distinctive atmosphere that people are either going to be drawn into and fascinated by or are not going to be interested in because they are not quite predisposed to UFO phenomena.  I love Close Encounters though because it is an excellent story and a great piece of filmmaking.  It's not Spielberg's masterpiece, but it's still quite entertaining for scifi buffs like me.  I think the film warrants an 8.5 (between minor flaws/very good and perfectly entertaining) on the patented ratings scale.  I also think the film merits its rankings on the AFI lists - the film is spooky enough to be quite heart-pounding, and the friendly alien motif provides some messages of hope and wonderment that truly inspire.  Sadly, however, the film did not make the AFI's revised greatest list, instead being replaced by Network (which moved up two spots).  I guess the film isn't for everyone, but one should at least give the film a chance: watch it and see if experiencing these close encounters are as magical for you as they have always been for me.

Under discussion:

Stagecoach  (1939)

What's the AFI Project, you ask?  For more information, or if you just enjoy my bemused ramblings, read here:http://www.spout.com/blogs/pippin06/archive/2008/3/1/25756.aspx

Stagecoach is on the following AFI lists:

The Original Top 100 (#63)
10 Top 10's (#9 Western)

Netflix allowed me to review this film, which I’m positive I saw on an old movie cable channel at some point a long time ago.  The trouble is that I could not remember any of it, and I am not exactly sure why that is, though it seems to be a common problem for many who have seen it.  I think this is because Stagecoach could be a fairly run-of-the-mill western, except for the fact that it has some notable and extraordinary aspects that are either going to stick in one’s memory or are not.  One such notable aspect would be the introduction of John Wayne in what would be his breakthrough, if not first, role, and since the man made a living of primarily starring in westerns, they are bound to run together in one’s subconscious.

Still, Stagecoach becomes something of a surprise, released in that Golden Year of cinema, 1939, and no doubt buried by other films of that year with more fanfare, such as Gone with the Wind, The Wizard of Oz, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, and Wuthering Heights.  Stagecoach is an ensemble film set against the Old West, and the title refers to a method of public transportation, a horse-drawn coach, that people used to get from one town to another across the far expanses of desert and mountains occupying the southwest.  In this particular story, the passengers are a motley crew of people with various issues and problems who are all determined to reach a town called Lordsburg.  Riding in the coach all the way from Virginia is Lucy Mallory (Louise Platt), a society woman who is determined to see her husband, in the national cavalry, due to the fact that she is in a delicate condition.  A nervous whiskey drummer named Mr. Peacock (Donald Meek) is traveling to sell his wares and to return to his family, though he encounters, in the stage’s opening stop, Dr. Josiah Boone (Thomas Mitchell), a drunken doctor who has been ousted out of town by a women’s society determined to uphold the propriety (or “law”) of their town, and Mr. Peacock’s apparent new best friend.  Dr. Boone is accompanied by a woman named Dallas (Claire Trevor), also ousted by the women’s society, who has a mysterious and apparently scandalous past.  Gatewood (Benton Churchill) is a crooked banker who has stolen from his own bank and appears to be escaping life with his austere wife.  Hatfield (John Carradine) is a gambler seemingly taken with Lucy, who accompanies her on the journey as her self-proclaimed protector.  Buck (Andy Devine) drives the coach, and Sheriff Wilcox (George Bancroft) promises to be along for the ride, hoping to catch up to the Ringo Kid (Wayne), who has recently escaped from prison.  He is something of an honorable outlaw and former rancher, who has sworn a vendetta against the Plummer brothers, who murdered his father and brother.  When the stage finally does catch up to Ringo, he warns the sheriff that Apache Indians are afoot and attacking settlers who rove into their territory, which the road to Lordsburg happens to pass through.  In the meantime, though the cavalry temporarily accompanies the stage, the passengers are eventually abandoned in the advent of war with the Indians and must decide to brave the trek unprotected, all while managing the tenuous interpersonal dynamics between the passengers themselves.

Stagecoach is an interesting blend of traditional western, action-adventure film, and character drama.  It literally has something for everyone, and for that reason, it’s entertaining, even for a western, which, if you are an avid follower of this blog, you know is my least favorite film genre.  John Ford, the director of this and other great westerns such as The Searchers, expertly directed this film, making it a thrilling adventure as well as a compelling story of characters vying and struggling between social acceptance or civilization and ostracism or social exclusion.

The money shot in this film is the introduction of Ringo Kid.  A gunshot heralds his presence, and then a fast-moving dolly camera zooms in on a stoic, chiseled John Wayne, introducing him to film history, this film included, with pluck and artistic bravado.  Other impressive elements of this film include the performances, particularly by Wayne, who made Kid a sympathetic hero, striving to protect the society that would otherwise shun him from Apache attacks and menacing outlaws.  Also, Thomas Mitchell, who won a Best Supporting Actor Oscar for this film (though he ironically appeared in Mr. Smith and Gone with the Wind the same year), was delightful as the drunkard Boone, who injected some witty and acerbic humor into the proceedings even as his feigned intoxication required him to offer a little slapstick, and his rare sobriety offered glimpses into a thinking and feeling man who was once great at his profession.  Dr. Boone is certainly of the most layered characters ever to grace early cinema, and Mitchell gave an outstanding performance.

The stunt work in this film is also both impressive and marvelous; the scene where the stagecoach is actually attacked by Indians on horseback, with Ringo jumping from horse to horse in the stage’s train, is gaspingly exciting for the year in which the film was made. The cinematography is also sort of breathtaking for a black and white film: the wide camera views of desert vistas and two-track trails as well as romantically lit moon-soaked nights in which Ringo, uncaring of Dallas’ past, attempts to consummate the unspoken love between them, are truly amazing.  Also, the story is satisfying – formulaic according to what the genre demands, to be sure, but filled with clearly defined lines of good and evil, right and wrong, judgment and misjudgment, and happy endings.  The score was also delightful, tinny and orchestral though it was, because it was so illustrative of the events on screen.

I have but one complaint about this film, which is the fact that Dallas’ scandalous past is easily assumed but deliberately ambiguous and confusing, no doubt as a result of the Hayes Production Code of film decency in place at the time (after all, prostitution was probably not something to celebrate or call by name in movies in 1939 – see also Gone with the Wind).  I also have one comment: the digital transfer of this film was not so good.  The contrasts in the black and white DVD I had made some parts of the film hard to see, particularly when it was supposed to be daylight and sunny.  That’s not a critique of the film, naturally, as it is more of an expression of sadness at the difficulty film preservationists and others must have when attempting to transfer these aged films to new digital media.

All in all, though, Stagecoach is fun to watch, entertaining and artistic, and another great product from a great year in Hollywood history.  Even though the film seems to provide the template for many a western to follow, the AFI did not see fit to rank this film on its Revised list, opting instead for Cabaret as a new addition to its updated ranking.  I do enjoy Cabaret more, because I enjoy musicals more, but I find that Stagecoach is likely often also overlooked in consideration of the year and other films that were released at the same time.  As for my personal patented ranking, I think the film merits an 8.5 between minor flaws/very good and perfectly entertaining.  This ranking reflects the ambiguity of Dallas’ story, the fact that I don’t enjoy westerns as much, and the fact that Indians are, yet again, the bad guys, thanks to the ignorance of people of that present day, though I will say that the film’s treatment of Mexican and Hispanic characters was decidedly less uncomfortably caricature-like than in other, even later, films of the genre.  As for the test, I’m not sure that Stagecoach passes.  While I tentatively love the film, it’s not one I could find myself watching repeatedly, though I did enjoy the smoldering romance between Ringo and Dallas.  Still, Stagecoach has its place in film history and is a great watch for anyone interested in exploring early westerns, the films of John Ford, or the films of John Wayne and even for anyone just interested in watching a bona fide good movie.

Under discussion:

Tootsie  (1982)

What's the AFI project, you ask?  For more information, or if you just enjoy my bemused ramblings, read here:http://www.spout.com/blogs/pippin06/archive/2008/3/1/25756.aspx

Tootsie is on the following AFI lists:

The Original Top 100 (#62)
100 Funniest Films (#2)
The Revised Top 100 (#69)

I watched Tootsie instantly on Netflix.  As for preconceived notions, I had some prejudice against the movie because, again, it is billed as one of the funniest American movies according to the American Film Institute, second only to Some Like It Hot, which, if you have been following these reviews of mine, you know is not my favorite.  Also, Tootsie struck me as a new dimension on the cross-dressing farce angle that was explored by Some Like It Hot, only updated for the 80s, taken out of a touring performance group of women and placed in the world of television acting, and pared down as far as the number of love-struck transvestites.  Maybe I’m unfairly oversimplifying Tootsie; I think it’s its own film, but I also find it interesting that what tickles the Institute’s funny bones most is men in drag.  Still, I’d also heard that Tootsie was at least “cute,” and I do like Dustin Hoffman, so I plodded forward with this next entry on the Original list.

In Tootsie, Hoffman plays Michael Dorsey, a skilled and once sought-after actor who has ruined his reputation by being difficult with directors and is, therefore, shunned in showbiz from the Big Apple to Hollywood.  Michael’s agent, George Fields (director Sydney Pollak), can’t even get Michael commercial work because he continually questions his motivations, even if he’s playing something as inane as a tomato.  Michael needs work, though.  His friend and roommate, who is played by Bill Murray, is writing a play that he wants to direct and produce, and he does not have the capital to make it happen.  Thus, after hearing about an audition for a soap opera (a loose parody of “General Hospital”) from his longtime friend and acting student (Teri Garr), Michael decides to go for it.  The only problem is that the part is for a woman.  Thus, Michael takes three-dimensional acting to a whole new extreme by becoming Dorothy Michaels, new hospital administrator; wins national fame and acclaim; and becomes an interesting new voice for feminism in the process.  The only complication is that Michael/Dorothy seems to fall for his co-star Julie (Jessica Lange), who adopts “Dottie” as her best friend and possible paramour to her widowed father (Charles Durning), potentially compromising Michael’s foolproof professional disguise.

Tootsie was definitely cute, but it was also dated, and to claim it as one of the funniest movies of American cinema feels like a tall claim indeed.  True, Michael learns that he makes a better woman in the end (this is not a spoiler, by the way), and this kind of commentary was extremely relevant in 1982, but today, it feels like an echo from an evermore-distant past. 

The film was well performed; all of the actors were convincing and believable, even if not all of their characters were actually funny in the end.  To wit, the funniest character was played by Teri Garr, who, though she becomes a hysterical stereotype of the ignored and trodden upon friend-turned-girlfriend, the typical somewhat psycho ex/girlfriend who can only obsess about her imaginary relationship to a man interested in accidental sex (see the film), she has this fast, ditzy delivery and manic set of tantrums that proved to be the only points in the film at which I really laughed.  Even Bill Murray, who is one of my favorite actors in the world in addition to being probably my favorite comedic actor, was decidedly deadpan in this performance and was otherwise relatively unmemorable.  And, naturally, Hoffman was divine as Dorothy; he wasn’t the most attractive woman (about which the film readily pokes fun), but the change in his mannerisms and affectations was quite convincing, so much so that I almost forgot he was a man myself until watching scenes in which he sat in nothing but his wig-cap and pantyhose.

In fact, the laughs were designed to be situational, and when Pollak directed this farce toward over-the-top, the film became legitimately funny.  Otherwise, it played like a television sitcom stretched over two hours, and while the suggestion of its formulaic tendencies may be harsh, the fact of the matter is that Tootsie didn’t create the formula.  Some Like It Hot provided the framework in film upon which Tootsie built its ultimate message about the relationships between men and women.  Also, I didn’t laugh more often than I did at these situations because this kind of farce is also prevalent in theater.  It was pleasant enough; the film was cute, but I didn’t love it, even if Pollak and company did a good job in piecing together all of these ingredients.

In the end, I think Tootsie merits a rating of 8 for being very good/minor flaws because, in my mind, the film could have been funnier and still remained touching.  Also, I ultimately found it difficult to buy the ending.  Without spoiling the film, I’ll just intimate that Julie is a very understanding lady and not necessarily in a way I would believe.  Still, the message is clear, and perhaps men could learn a little something by wearing a dress (*wink*).  Tootsie also does not pass the famous test.  As much as I love 80s films, this is not one I saw as a child, which would imbue it with sentimental value, and it might have been cute enough to watch once but feels too much like film or theater that I’ve seen before to require owning it.  The film is recommendable, though, as an easygoing film, appropriate when a person just wants to watch a comedy or a light romance, and others might find this kind of farce funnier than me.  As for me, there are just other films with Dustin Hoffman and many of these other actors that I enjoy so much more.

Under discussion:

Film Name  Production Year

Vertigo  (1958)

What's the AFI Project, you ask?  For more information, or if you just enjoy my bemused ramblings, read here:http://www.spout.com/blogs/pippin06/archive/2008/3/1/25756.aspx

Vertigo is on the following AFI lists:

The Original Top 100 (#61)
100 Most Heart-Pounding Movies (#18)
100 Years...100 Passions (#18)
25 Film Scores (#12)
The Revised Top 100 (#9)
10 Top 10's (#1 Mystery)

I warn you gentle reader: this is going to be a highly unpopular review.  Prior to this current incarnation of serious AFI viewing, I had seen Vertigo once before and had determined that this was my least favorite Alfred Hitchcock film to date.  I walked into this revisit (instantly on Netflix) with as open a mind as I could muster – and have concluded that I feel the same way about this movie as I did the first time I watched it.  This may be troubling to some, as Vertigo is widely considered Hitch’s masterpiece.  In fact, the AFI’s re-rank of this film is one of the largest rank jumps on the Revised list (third only to City Lights and The Searchers).  As a satisfying story, which is one of my primary biases toward any film I watch, I find Vertigo to be somewhat convenient and trite.  Those who love the film make much of the mid-movie reveal that changes the film from an alluring mystery of possibly paranormal proportions to a disturbing psychological thriller of one man’s obsession with a woman that does not exist.  The problem is, these reveals happen in such a jarring way, they feel rushed and unsatisfying.  The mid-movie reveal, in particular, made me think both times, “Well, that’s convenient.”  Hitch repeated this pattern in Psycho, and it was far more satisfying in my eyes and executed in a more seamless two-act fashion than in this first attempt.  I’ll get to that in a minute.

Vertigo features one of Hitch’s go-to leading actors and one of my favorite actors too.  Jimmy Stewart plays John “Scottie” Ferguson, a detective who discovers during an opening cat-and-mouse chase that he has acrophobia (the fear of heights) and a resulting vertigo condition (the accompanying dizziness and lack of balance ensuing from such a fear).  The loss of balance and sudden freezing sensation he experiences causes him to be unable to prevent a colleague from falling to his death, and Scottie’s guilt prompts him to retire from the police force.  Scottie, however, is contacted by his old college friend Gavin Elster (Tom Helmore), who commissions him to follow his wife Madeline (Kim Novak) to the mysterious places to which she travels.  According to Elster, it seems that the ghost of a dead woman, her ancestor, has possessed her, and that this ancestor was prone to madness and ultimately committed suicide at the age of 26, Madeline’s apparent age.  Scottie reluctantly takes the job and follows Madeline to various places of interest in 1950s San Francisco according to the habits of her ancestor, but his professional distance is compromised by a growing love uncharacteristic of the otherwise confirmed bachelor after he saves her from a suicide attempt via plummeting into San Francisco Bay at the foot of the Golden Gate Bridge.  As he trails her to what seems an inevitable conclusion, tragedy strikes again, complicated by Scottie’s vertigo, and this tragedy is the catalyst for what becomes something of a whole other movie, challenging the viewer’s notions about the characters up until that point and bringing the Scottie character to a riveting if disturbingly dark place.

Ok.  Brace for impact.  I will try not to spoil this film for those who have not seen it.  Vertigo is not a bad film.  The story itself is intriguingly original, and even the fact that the story changes direction in a completely 180-degree, harum-scarum, unexpected way makes the film unique, even to Hitchcock’s filmography, since Psycho does not necessarily change direction as much as jump to a parallel track and progress from that jump.  My trouble with Vertigo is that this twist arises from a convenient plot device that seems almost too convenient for anything ever offered in a Hitchcock film.  Spoiler: The viewer barely has time to process the fact that Scottie is starting to see visions of Madeline in another woman again, and that his obsession is spurring him to ask questions, before this other woman offers a bit of plot exposition while writing something of a Dear John letter that she never sends to him that suddenly explains her appearance in the film to begin with.  This is the kind of plot device that I, personally, would expect from another film director, a lesser film director, and I, literally, sat watching the film and said, “Seriously?” 

Now, the second half of the film, the psychological and emotional-thriller half of the piece is probably less interesting than the first half.  The mysterious dead-woman possession portion presents a puzzle that almost cries out to be solved, and this first half holds the viewer’s attention, particularly mine, enrapt.  In fact, this mystery hits a strident chord when the mid-film tragedy strikes, because there is a palpable fear that the mystery will not find resolution, which is why the trite addition of the mid-film explanation feels so anticlimactic and, frankly, disappointing.  The psychological thriller portion of the film lacks the mystery of the first portion; the primary appeal of this portion is that Stewart is playing a character against type, as his obsession descends into disturbing dimensions and, eventually, something like the madness in which he thought Madeline found herself in the first half of the film.  This new direction, and the new information, may turn the viewer’s preconceptions about the characters on their heels, but, again, the resolve of these twists and turns is an ending that feels too pat, too convenient, and offers seemingly no satisfaction for the Scottie character, even as he is struggling toward redemption and the assuaging of his guilt. 

These are my feelings, and I can’t help feeling them.  I also know that I’m not alone in this view of Vertigo – there are better executed twists in many of Hitch’s films, including in North By Northwest and in Psycho – and so, therefore, I struggle with the AFI’s re-ranking and the wide critical acclaim that this film seems to inspire.  To be fair, I watch films as less of an intellectual film student than as a pure, plebian film fanatic, and if I don’t like something about a film, regardless of any high-minded reason for the something, it’s going to detract from my overall enjoyment of the film.

What’s great about Vertigo, though, is the fact that Stewart does get to stretch his otherwise tried and true acting chops through a character that becomes wholly dislikable and creepy.  That novelty alone makes Vertigo worth the watch.  In addition, this may be one of Bernard Hermann’s best scores.  North By Northwest’s score is more fun to play on a violin, but the overall illustrative technique of the Vertigo score is unmatched.  This score I feel should be ranked above the score for Psycho, but then again, what do I know?  I’m not a member of the American Film Institute.

I’m also not overly fond of Kim Novak, but this is a minor point.  It’s probably the twists and turns of her character that prevent the viewer (or me) from truly subscribing to her performance, because it’s not a character designed to foster a connection to the viewer.  She’s meant to be an enigma from start to finish, and I would guess that she played the part as good as any, though I wonder how an actress of the caliber of Ingrid Bergman might have handled the part in her stead.  Ingrid was probably too old by the release of this film, and, of course, fans of film and/or Hitchcock will never know. 

In the end, though, I have very mixed feelings about Vertigo, and I’m sure many a Spouter will cry foul.  Whatever.  I’ve given Vertigo two attempts, and I still like most of the other Hitchcock films I’ve seen over this one for exactly the reasons I’ve stated.  As a storyteller who also appreciates the art of storytelling, I find more than minor flaws with the telling of this particular story; they’re forgivable in light of the originality of the piece but are ultimately unsatisfying in the end, and that’s where the ultimate disappointment lies.  After considering these points and trying to be fair with the ranking, I’ve landed on a 7 for Vertigo, representing shaky but entertaining – although, even entertaining is a relative term.  Vertigo is a long and slow movie, but it is consistently long and slow, and the first portion of the film, the unusual mystery of Madeline, is the film’s hook, line, and sinker.  As to the test, Vertigo does not pass.  I do not plan to own Hitchcock’s entire collection, only the films I enjoy the most, and frankly, this film does not qualify.  I invite anyone else interested in Hitchcock and this film not to overlook it, though.  The disagreement about Vertigo is not new, since many critics did not like it upon release either, and each new viewer should formulate his or her own opinion for him or herself, rather than base any potential opinions on the judgments of amateurs like me J.