The Phantom Carriage (Körkarlen) 1921 **

Ever wonder where Ingmar Bergman got some of his ideas for The Seventh Seal? Look no further than this classic 1921 Swedish silent by Victor Sjostrom. Yes, the same Sjostrom who starred in the 1957 Bergman classic, Wild Strawberries, is the star and director of The Phantom Carriage (aka Korkarlen).

The opening of the story takes place on New Year's Eve at the deathbed of a Salvation Army sister who wants to see David Holm (played by Sjostrom) before she dies. The problem is David is out on a drunk--his usual state of being. Through a series of flashbacks we learn how the dying woman became ill--she contracted consumption from mending David's ratty coat after he passed out at her station the previous New Year's Eve. To make a long story short, David is found and told that the sister wants to see him. Being his usual SOB self, he refuses to go and proceeds to get into a fight with some men who crack him over the head with a bottle, seemingly killing him. This is where the phantom carriage comes into play.

Every year at the stroke of midnight a person condemned to hell dies and is given the duty of driving the carriage around collecting others like themselves for the rest of the year. The driver of David's carriage happens to be Georges, an old friend of his. In one of the most spectacular images captured in early film, you have David Holm's spirit rise from his body only to look down at his own corpse lying on the ground. David's first task as carriage driver (after visiting the sister) is to collect his wife and children who have perished by self-inflicted poisoning. In an unusual twist, Georges gives David a second chance to put things right. So after reawakening at midnight in his own human form, David races home to prevent his family's death. Unlike Bergman's Death, this one does grant reprieves.

While I don't like the ending (David deserved his cursed fate), the film is still a classic. The translucent shots are awesome for the time. The flashbacks within flashbacks make the story complex and compelling. And, quite simply, the phantom carriage itself is really creepy. A must see--but difficult to find.

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The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (Das Cabinet des Dr. Caligari) 1919 **

Oh, German expressionism, how I love thee let me count the ways. This 1919 German horror (yes, I said horror) classic is without a doubt one of the all-time best international silents ever made. Directed by Robert Wiene (with a little help from Fritz Lang), this film is off-the-hook crazy.

The title character, Dr. Caligari (played by the spooky Werner Krauss), is a would-be hypnotist who travels around Germany performing shows with his sleepwalking minion Cesare. Quite simply, Marilyn Manson is the modern day twin of Cesare in both appearance and overall creepiness. Some murders take place and the story's hero/narrator, Francis, suspects Dr. Caligari and Cesare are to blame. In a twist that M. Night Shyamalan has an altar set up to for inspiration, it is revealed that Dr. Caligari isn't really criminally insane, but rather Francis--who is telling the story from his reserved spot in an asylum. The music that is played during this revelation makes the hair on your arms stand on end.

As if the story itself isn't strange enough, the set design is a psychological marvel. Expressionistic art is in the forefront of every scene. The scenery is misshapen and unrealistic--it is another story unto itself, mocking the idea of what reality actually looks like. Film school dissertations have been written on what set designers Warm, Reimann, and Roehrig were actually trying to convey about the realm of the real and unreal.

If you call yourself a silent film fan, you should have this film in your library. Browning and Whale fans should see many similarities with their films and this one. This is definitely a film that is worthy of being watched.

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Les vampires (1915) ***

First, don't allow the title of this 1915 French silent serial to fool you--this is not a film about blood-sucking vampires. Sorry to disappoint the Goths and Ann Rice fans. Yet, take solace, the villains do wear a lot of black and seem to like to wear a lot of face powder. Second, don't attempt to watch all 10 episodes (approximately 7.5 hours) in one sitting. After heeding these few bits of advice, sit back and prepare yourself for the strange mind of Louis Feuillade.

The story revolves around a Parisian criminal gang who refer to themselves as, you guessed it, the Vampires. Their arch-nemesis is a news reporter named Philippe Guerande; a man I would not refer to as compelling. And like any good hero, he has a bumbling sidekick named Mazamette. The clear star of the film is Musidora, who plays Irma Vep, one of the more capable Vampires.

This film has a number of twists and turns--you never really know who is good and who is evil. And even when you get a good impression of who actually is a baddie, say the Grand Vampire for example, they end up killed and replaced by another Grand Vampire, who, in turn, also ends up dead as well. All told, there were 4 Grand Vampires. In addition, seemingly upstanding citizens, such as judges and cops, turn out to be members of this society of criminals.

The film is a showcase of criminal possibilities--robberies, shootings, poisonings, trap doors, scam artists...the list goes on and on.

This crime thriller is an interesting watch. Later films in this genre owe a lot to Feuillade. But be warned, you must have patience to enjoy this film. There are some episodes that could have done with a bit more editing--not Baz Luhrmann cuts exactly but something closer to Hitchcock. In the realm of film history, this film serves its purpose.

 

 

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Make Way for Tomorrow (1937) **

Let me start off by saying that I don’t like this movie. It isn’t because the acting is bad—it’s quite good, actually . And, it has nothing to do with poor writing--Vina Delmar’s screenplay is indeed superb.  Perhaps it is because it lacks a strong directorial hand—no, that can’t be it, either, because Leo McCarey does a fine job as well. In fact, this is most probably one of his strongest films—he thought it was the strongest of all. So, what is it that I don’t like about this film?  Quite frankly, it’s despondently depressing.  It was like watching Soviet Realism with a bottle of vodka and a handful of Quaaludes. Now, don’t think I don’t like downer films—The Hours (2002) is one of my favorite films, and anyone who has seen it knows it has its Zoloft moments. Yet, the depressing difference between the The Hours and Make Way for Tomorrow (1937) is this: there is some light at the end of the tortured tunnel with The Hours. There is only darkness in the end with Make Room for Tomorrow.  The film haunts me, and not in a good way.

Victims of the Depression and callous children, elderly couple Barkley and Lucy Cooper (Victor Moore and Beulah Bondi) find themselves separated from one another when they lose their house and have to go live with their adult children.  They have FIVE children, but none of them can take both parents into their homes.  Really?  Somebody couldn’t roll out a cot or let one of them sleep on the couch?  And, if that wasn’t bad enough, then they are faced with the fact that they aren’t even wanted individually. One son’s wife convinces him that they need to put Lucy in a rest home; and, a daughter convinces Barkley that he should move to California and live with another daughter because the climate will be better for his health.  It’s difficult to believe that these two sweet, old people could have raised such ungrateful children. I’m sure this is the root reason why I don’t like this film.  I would NEVER treat my parents like this, but I know countless others who would and they make me physically ill.  The film is just too realistic a portrait of selfishness on an unfathomable level.

I would like to say that the only enjoyable part of this movie is when the couple reunites for one day before being shipped off to their separate destinations. They visit all the places they went on their honeymoon fifty years earlier and are unabashedly happy to be with one another.  They get better treatment from the strangers they meet out that day than they could ever get from their children. Yet, alas, even this slight respite from despair is ruined when the couple part ways at the train station.  They, and you the viewer, know that this is the last time they will EVER see one another.  I’d rather watch Ed Harris jump out that window in The Hours one-hundred times than watch this pitiful couple say their final goodbyes “just in case something happens.”  I really felt ill after I watched this. 

Both Bondi and Moore are heartbreaking in their roles. I suppose I could blame their too spot on portrayals for my displeasure with the movie, but that doesn’t seem fair.  I find it hard to believe that neither was nominated for an Academy Award—in fact, the film garnered no nominations at all. Really?  Luise Rainer wins for portraying a Chinese peasant with a really bad accent in The Good Earth, but Beulah Bondi, who personified a granny put out to pasture, doesn’t even get nominated?  Funny thing, when he won the Oscar for Best Directing for The Awful Truth (an excellent film, by the way) McCarey said thanks but that he got the award for the wrong film. 

Final verdict: if you really love your parents don’t watch this movie.  It will make you angry and depressed.  Still, if you are someone who wouldn’t think twice about dropping them at the “home” and visiting them only on holidays (if that), please watch this film to see how loathsome you really are. If I have offended anyone with this—Good.

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The Wizard of Oz (1939) ****

So, how does one of the greatest films of all-time come to be classified as a “Guilty Pleasure” by me? Well, it goes something like this…

Imagine if you will a group of adults sitting in a darkened room watching a 60-inch plasma screen TV with the sound of the film on mute and the Pink Floyd album The Dark Side of the Moon blaring from the surround sound.  Perhaps some adult beverages and other illicit items have been consumed and you are feeling pretty good…and then something happens when Dorothy (Judy Garland) starts singing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” and you don’t hear her voice.  We won’t call it a flashback or, goodness to Betsy, a “bad trip.” No, we’ll call it a Proust moment…a Remembrance of Things Past, if you will.

My first recollection of watching The Wizard of Oz (1939) finds me about age five—curiously enough, about the size of a Munchkin. At the time I was an only child who spent a lot of time talking to Weeble Wobbles and my prized Franco Harris football card.  How mind-bending was it when the black-and-white screen turned to color as Dorothy emerged from the farmhouse into the merry old land of Oz? Aren’t those little people cute…can I, too, represent the Lollipop Guild…I would thank you very sweetly if I might.  Oh, and that beautiful Glinda (Billie Burke)—she does remind me of my beloved Aunt Jean, with her sweet disposition and strawberry blonde hair.  It was a night of amazement—flying monkeys and a horse of a different color—I was hooked. I would spend the next twenty years watching the annual CBS broadcast with my family—every year, no matter what. 

Of course, my perception of the film and its characters changed over that twenty year period. For example, when my mother remarried and I gained not only a step-father but a spiteful step-grandmother, Almira Gulch and the Wicked Witch (Margaret Hamilton) looked just a little bit like her, and my loathing of those characters somehow intensified. At around the age of twelve I stopped being afraid when Dorothy and the gang nervously went into the hall of the great and powerful Oz (Frank Morgan), as well as when they ventured into the haunted forest with those creepy trees—I couldn’t let my two younger brothers think their big sister lacked courage. Then, there were the boyfriends in my mid-teens who wanted to do anything but spend a night watching an old movie with my entire family—they did it, of course, most of them had brains you see. Yes, things changed, but I could still count on that yearly broadcast to bring my family together.

And, then something unbelievably rude happened: CBS stopped airing it in 1998 and TNT/TBS bought the television rights. Yes, we had Cable and could continue to watch if we wanted, but something fundamentally wrong had occurred. CBS showed the film once a year—TBS/TNT showed it several times, year round.  The EVENT was no longer an event…it was just any other film on TV, plus they took way too many commercial breaks. Alas, we stopped watching the film together as a family in our home…and as the film tells us, there is no place like home. 

So, there I would be, sitting on my couch channel surfing and all of the sudden I’d find myself on TNT and hear the Wicked Witch say, “You cursed brat! Look what you've done! I'm melting! melting! Oh, what a world! What a world! Who would have thought a good little girl like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness?” Really? It’s almost over! Curse you CBS!  Is nothing sacred?  I blocked TNT and TBS from my favorite channels on my remote. 

My yearning for the film and its true meaning brought me to the point of despair. The situation had become so desperate that I contemplated doing something unfathomable: watching the film in a theatre. Yes, when Warner Brothers re-released the film to theatres I wanted—no, I needed—to go.  Oddly enough, I couldn’t find any adults to go with me.  And, then it happened: It really was no miracle. What happened was just this...My eye began to twitch. My skin, to itch. And suddenly I started to unhitch. Just then the Ditz—that’s right, I asked a Tween to go with me.  Now, you must understand, I have no children for a reason: I don’t like them. Perhaps that sounds strange coming from a person who admires a film that opens with a title that reads:

…this story has given faithful service to the Young in Heart; and Time has been powerless to put its kindly philosophy out of fashion. To those of you who have been faithful to it in return...and to the Young in Heart...we dedicate this picture.

Still, I despise children most sincerely. As such, you can only imagine to what depths my despair had descended to ask a child to go see my childhood favorite film.  So, we went. And, to my great surprise, we had a good time. The film truly transcends time and age.  That doesn’t mean I encountered the same feelings I got when I watched it with my family—that is something that can never be recaptured—but it was still a memorable, pleasant experience. It was a cathartic moment.

Now, I no longer block TNT and TBS from my remote, and if I happen upon Oz when the Witch is asking the Scarecrow if he wants to play with fire, I watch it.  Mind you, I find myself looking around the room to see if my brothers chant along when the guards at the witch’s castle say, “"O-Ee-Yah! Eoh-Ah!" And, it is here that I feel a pang of guilt. Have I betrayed a familial ritual by watching the film alone or with other imbibing adults in the dark? Perhaps…but time marches on and broadcast television changes its schedule.  We will always have those twenty years of things remembered about the wonderful world of Oz—and I will always endure my own private guilty pleasure whenever I watch it.

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It’s a Gift (1934) **

W.C. Fields was a deadpan comedic genius. He became famous as a vaudeville performer in the Ziegfeld Follies and most of his films borrow from gags he performed on the stage. It’s a Gift (1934) relies heavily on a number of his revue staples, as well as from his 1926 silent film, It’s the Old Army Game. In Fields’ world everything was fair game when it came to comedy. He had an antipathy toward most things domestic and traditional—even the handicapped were not off limits, as witnessed by his treatment of the blind and deaf Mr. Muckle. These comedic traits made Fields a unique Hollywood performer—plus, he could act, write, and juggle (he was a master juggler). His gift for improvisation can only be compared to that of Steve Carell’s today. Yes, he had a bit of a drinking problem…so what, Mozart had this same issue and by all accounts he was a pretty good musician.

DirectorNorman McLeod was responsible for keeping Fields on track in It’s a Gift…he’d become an expert at dealing with improvisational ex-vaudevillians through his work with the Marx Brothers as well as his earlier films with Fields. The plot revolves around Harold Bissonette (Fields), a New Jersey grocer who hates his store, customers (especially Mr. Muckle, played by the hilarious Charles Sellon), neighbors, and family (especially his wife Amelia, played by the outstanding Kathleen Howard). Harold’s dream is to own an orange grove and ranch in California, and so when he learns that he may be inheriting some money, hope begins to seep into his mind. Never mind that his family has totally different ideas about where their newfound money might be used.

There a number of memorable scenes in this film. The first one is the bathroom scene, where Harold is carefully shaving with a straight razor while his daughter Mildred (Jean Rouverol) goes about her business as though he isn’t there. Several times she comes perilously close to hitting her father’s arm, thus helping him slit his own throat—metaphorically, that’s what a daughter can drive you to. After Mildred fully monopolizes the medicine cabinet mirror, Harold relies on a makeshift mirror on a light pull cord, which sways back and forth. Imagine trying to shave like that? Fields’ coming timing is superb…without the aid of much dialogue.

The second scene that stands out is the enormously funny grocery encounter between Harold and Mr. Muckle. Blind and deaf (he uses an ear trumpet) Mr. Muckle has a habit of breaking Harold’s glass door with his cane, which he wildly waves back and forth, and just about everything else that is encased in glass. It is side-splitting funny to watch him drop light bulbs on the floor while Harold tries to be as polite as possible. Later, once the tornado that is Mr. Muckle has left the store, we meet baby Ellwood (Baby LeRoy), his neighbor’s son.  Harold refers to him as blood poison, and for good reason: baby Ellwood is a holy terror who likes to throw things at Harold and play in molasses.

The third standout scene happens when Harold attempts to sleep on his porch. After listening to Amelia gripe about his plans to move to California for hours, Harold decides to sleep on the porch swing. Not only is the swing squeaky, but it is dilapidated as well. When he tries to lie down on it one of the chains break and he tries to sleep with his head on the ground and his feet in the air. Noisy delivery men, neighbors, and an imposing insurance salesman (T. Roy Barnes) also disturb his slumber, but it is baby Ellwood that is the real bedbug. Grapes and icepicks are his weapons of noise (and near death for Harold). If you don’t laugh when Harold confronts Ellwood with the icepick then you don’t have a sense of humor.

And, finally, the road trip California has numerous laugh-out-loud gags as well. The picnic scene on the private estate is highly comical, especially the gags with the can opener and statues. And, Amelia’s reaction when they reach the sun-parched land that’s supposed to be their orange grove is one of Kathleen Howard’s best scenes.

I really enjoy watching W.C. Fields. My favorite type of comedy is a sophisticated one, but I also enjoy deadpan and gag comedy as well. I don’t think there was a better deadpan comic during the early years of Hollywood than Fields. I once read that Louise Brooks (who worked with Fields at the Follies and in some early films) thought he was much funnier on the stage than the screen because his brilliance couldn’t be chopped up by a film editor on the open stage. It must have been a sight to behold, because his movies are pretty darn funny—imagine seeing him live without the constraints of censors. 

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It Happened One Night (1934) ***

Not as sophisticated as The Thin Man (1934) but just as funny, It Happened One Night (1934) is a timeless screwball comedy that examines both the battle of the sexes (circa 1930s) and the divisions between the rich and the poor.  A box-office and critical success (it won all five major Academy Award nominations: Best Screenplay Adaptation (Robert Riskin), Best Director (Frank Capra), Best Actor (Clark Gable), Best Actress (Claudette Colbert), and Best Picture), the film is a timeless testament to the power of sexual chemistry and top-notch comedic writing.

This is primarily a “road” film where an unlikely couple meet on the road and then develops a love-hate relationship while using various forms of transportation. The film’s screenplay was based on a Samuel Hopkins Adams’ story (“Night Bus”) which first appeared in Cosmopolitan in 1933. Interestingly enough, Gable and Colbert were not the stars Capra wanted, instead his would-be dream team would have been Robert Montgomery and Myrna Loy. Loy I can see—Montgomery not so much.  Thankfully, Joan Crawford’s insufferable personality had made Gable refuse to work with her on an MGM project and he was put out on loan to Capra for this film. 

The film opens with a big splash literally when a beyond stubborn and spoiled heiress jumps off her father’s yacht in what I assume are the Florida Keyes.  Millionaire Alexander Andrews (Walter Connolly) has kidnapped his just-married flighty daughter Ellie (Colbert) to prevent her from consummating her impulsive marriage to no-good playboy King Westley (Jameson Thomas) before he can have it annulled. She obviously had other plans. An APB is put out on the "escaped” heiress and she is forced to trade in luxurious yacht travel for an inconspicuous seat on a Greyhound bus traveling from Miami to New York.

Ellie is the hottest news story since the Lindbergh baby and recently fired newspaper reporter Peter Warne (Clark Gable) needs a spectacular scoop to get back in the good graces of his editor Joe Gordon (Charles C. Wilson), who sacked him for drinking on the job and writing free verse columns. So when Peter finds himself on the same bus with the bratty heiress, he sees a way to turn his luck around. When the bus leaves her at a Jacksonville rest stop after she returns late, Peter is waiting for her. She offers to pay him for his silence and this irritates him, so he wires his editor about a  big scoop.  When they catch the next bus to New York they meet Mr. Shapeley (Roscoe Karns), a smarmy traveling salesman who introduces himself as: “Shapeley’s the name, and that’s the way I like them.” Good thing he finds himself sitting next to a woman with one of the most famous pair of shapely legs in movie history!  His coarse, overt passes at Ellie rankles Peter and he introduces himself to the salesman as her husband.

Later, when weather forces the bus riders to take refuge at Dyke’s Auto camp, newly “married” and broke Ellie and Peter have to share a room.  If she was outraged that she was called Peter’s wife, how do you think she reacts when he tells her he’s a newspaper man and that he’ll turn her in if she doesn’t give him an exclusive?  This sets up the famous Walls of Jericho scene where he places a blanket over a clothesline between the twin beds and proceeds to undress in front of her to force her onto her side of the room.  The next day detectives show up at the door and the couple have a hilarious make believe spat right in front of them—obviously two people who speak to one another as though they want to kill one another are married. This “fight” brings the couple closer together and some sort of understanding seems to be reached.

When the bus trip is resumed Shapeley reasserts himself when he learns who Ellie is and he asks for $5,000.  This forces Peter to pretend that he’s a gangster who is holding the heiress ransom for a million dollars. He tells Shapeley that he has machine guns in his suitcase and he’s not afraid of using them. Still, it’s obvious that bus travel is no longer a good way to travel incognito with rest stops that sell newspapers, and so at the next stop they get off and start out on foot. Eventually she ends up being slung over his shoulder and the two exchange a class discussion about piggy-backing, which results in her ass getting slapped.  The couple are forced to sleep in a haystack for the night. This is the first time in the film that it is obvious that the couple are falling in love, though, of course, neither will admit it to the other.

The next day they set off on the road to try their hand at hitchhiking. This sets up yet another verbal sparring match between the two, as he tries to instruct her on the three ways to thumb your way into a car.  While she lounges on the top rail of a fence post he puts these techniques into practice and fails miserably. Finally, she tells him she has her own system and hops down off the fence and “hitches” her skirt up, revealing those famous shapely legs and a garter to boot. The next car comes to a screeching halt and gives them a ride.  As he pouts beside her she makes one of the funniest cracks in the film: “I proved once and for all that the limb is mightier than the thumb.” When the man (Alan Hale) that picked them up tries to steal Peter’s suitcase he gets the short-end of the deal, as well as a black eye, when Peter steals his whole car from him.

Near New York the couple stop at Zeke’s auto-court for the night. Peter promises to pay the man at the end of their week-long stay. Ellie reads that her father has consented to her marriage and that he is begging for her to come home.  However, Ellie has second-thoughts now that she has spent some time with Peter.  After he tells her about his dream woman and his island of Eden, Ellie begs him to take her with him…even crossing yet another Wall of Jericho and sitting on his bed while declaring her love for him.  He sends her back to her own bed and she cries herself to sleep.  While she is asleep he goes to New York to collect his $1,000 check on the story that Ellie’s having her marriage annulled so she can marry him. Too bad the owners of the auto-camp barge into the room and announce that Peter has left her…without paying the bill. Thinking she’s been deserted, she calls her father to come get her. Oh, it’s just bad timing all around and both feel that they have been duped and deserted.

Back in New York Ellie has to have a proper church wedding to satisfy her father.  She is completely miserable but determined to go through with her marriage to King to avoid anymore problems. Meanwhile, Peter has returned his $1,000 check to his editor and returned to working at the paper. The only issue that is left to be resolved is his traveling expenses of $39.60, which he asks Mr. Andrews to pay. When asked by Ellie’s father if he loves his daughter Peter finally relents and says, “Yes, but don’t hold that against me. I’m a little screwy myself.” On his way out the door he sees Ellie who asks if he got his money.  He declines to stay for the ceremony.

There are just some things that can never be explained logically. Why would you wait until you are walking your daughter down the aisle, in front of hundreds of people, to announce that Peter loves her and that her car is waiting by the gate?  And, then, why as a bride would you wait until the priest asks you if you will “take this man to be your husband” to hike-up your wedding dress and run off across the lawn? Oh, it’s Hollywood. Needless to say, the ending wraps up the story cleverly and trumpethantly (yes, I made that word up).

Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert make a great opposites-attract duo. Strangely enough, it almost didn’t happen, as she didn’t want to make the movie because she thought the script was weak and she wanted to go on vacation.  In the end, she got the best end of the deal: $50,000, a 4-week shoot which allowed her to go on vacation, and an Oscar.  She drove Capra nuts with her pouting, but he put up with it because he saw the chemistry that Gable and Colbert had on screen.
 
Overall, this is a highly enjoyable film.  The acting is spot on—especially Colbert’s portrayal of the spoiled heiress. The look on her face, and most especially in her eyes, when she delivers her sharp and funny dialogue is priceless. Gable, of course, is good, but his is not the standout performance.  The standout performance goes to Capra,  Riskin,and Adams who wrote a really clever and funny script. The double entendres alone would have made Ernst Lubitsch proud—and that is saying something.

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