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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Judge Priest (1934) **

I suspect a lot of people would be surprised to learn that this little-known 1934 film was director John Ford’s favorite of his countless cinematic endeavors.  Some have argued that the title character, Judge Billy Priest (Will Rogers), was really a facsimile of Ford himself, just played by a more amiable personality in Will Rogers. This might explain why it was his favorite, especially when you consider he made many more highly regarded films like Stagecoach (1939), How Green Was My Valley (1941), and The Quiet Man (1952)—just to name a few. And, when you think about it, who wouldn’t prefer the film that most represents them?

All that said, Judge Priest is just a mildly amusing film, and far from my favorite Ford Film—that place is reserved for The Quiet Man. Still, it is a somewhat interesting film to watch because Will Rogers does a nice job playing a home-spun, down-to-earth Kentucky judge who has to step aside when a legal client of his nephew is brought before his court.  What makes Judge Priest so likable is his overall irreverence for proper courtroom decorum. His outright hilarious interactions with his would-be nemesis Senator “Yankee” Maydew (Berton Churchill) are also a delight to watch. Most critics believe that Rogers didn’t really have to stretch himself in the role, because he was just playing a fictional representation of his commonsensical self. This is probably an accurate assessment, but it doesn’t lessen the fact that Rogers plays the role to the hilt.

There is one element of the film that many viewers do not like—the shamelessly stereotypical role that black comedian Stepin Fetchit plays as Jeff Poindexter. Some critics have said that Fetchit plays nothing more than a human lawn jockey in the film.  It is true that he comes off as a shiftless trickster. Yet, it is also true that his conversations with Judge Priest are the most enjoyable parts of the movie. And, when you take a minute to think about it you might ask yourself what the film was saying about a judge in 1890s Kentucky who would go fishing with a grown black man. Still, the fact the the Judge jokingly tells Jeff that he might join a lynch-mob if Jeff plays “Marching Through Georgia” is not necessarily politically correct either.  Oddly enough, Fetchit would play Jeff Poindexter again in Ford’s, The Sun Shines Bright (1953)—another installment of the Judge Priest story, this time played by Charles Winninger. 

Not the greatest John Ford film, but still worth a watch. 

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A Touch of Zen (Hsia Nu) 1969 **

The term wuxia is defined by the famous Chinese historian Sima Qian as: “honest in words, effective in action, faithful in keeping promises, fearless in offering one’s own life to free the righteous from bondage.” The wuxia warrior embodies all of these characteristics. It is the code by which they live.  Today, most film critics regard director King Hu as the pioneering figure in the wuxia film genre. While the genre itself predates King Hu’s first film by more than forty years, it was his visionary use of cinematography, choreography, and color that transformed the martial arts film industry. 

Of the seventeen films he directed, the best and most critically acclaimed is A Touch of Zen (Hsia Nu). Originally, the epic 200 minute film was broken into two parts. The first part was filmed in 1969 and released the following year, but eventually both parts of the film were seamlessly put together and released to the world in 1971. For his efforts, King Hu was awarded the Special Technical Award for Superior Technique at the 1975 Cannes Film Festival and the film itself was nominated for the Golden Palm—these honors also made A Touch of Zen the first Chinese film ever recognized by the Festival. 

Set during the early Ming Dynasty, the story’s heroine is Yang Hui Ching (Feng Hsu), the daughter of an official to the Emperor. When her father is murdered for trying to warn the Emperor about a corrupt eunuch named Wei, she must go on the run with General Shi (Pal Ying), a loyal aide of her father. They end up in an abandoned estate in a small town outside Peking.  They meet clumsy scholar Ku Sheng-chai (Shih Chun) and a romantic relationship eventually develops between the scholar and Yang. When her past comes calling, Yang and company must face off with East Chamber guards in the famous bamboo forest battle, the haunted estate sequence and the final showdown between Abbot Hui Yuan (Roy Chiao at his best) and Eunuch Wei’s chief commander Hsu Hsien-Chen(Han Ying-Chieh).

The cinematography of A Touch of Zen is primarily focused on capturing the serenity of nature and comes off as almost metaphysical in character. King Hu had a habit of setting his battle scenes in peaceful, picturesque locations.  The bamboo forest scene (which Ang Lee’s Crouching Tiger and Hidden Dragon borrowed heavily from) is ethereally shot, with mist lofting lazily by and an almost deafening stillness weighing down the swift battle scene.  There’s nothing like watching the fighters bouncing/gliding amongst the towering trees while they fight to the death. Hu also employs mist and eerie imagery when capturing the scenes at the haunted estate.

It is obvious that when Hu choreographed his fight sequences he had in mind what he’d seen at the Peking Opera. Everything is precisely orchestrated and flows seamlessly.  Again, the bamboo forest sequence shows Hu’s artistic vision, with the ensuing chase of the eunuch’s two guards through the forest.  Captured with both long and close shots, as well as with quick cuts, Hu sets a mesmerizing pace.  And, when Yang does her human ladder-climbing move off Ku it is sight to behold.  In addition, the final battle between Abbot Hui and Hsu is almost transcendental to watch—especially with the underlying Buddhist message that true enlightenment transcends even death.

A Touch of Zen is a film that has to be seen to be appreciated. If you are a fan of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon or The House of Flying Daggers, then you should enjoy this film. Ang Lee has said that his main inspiration for Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon was this King Hu classic. However, be warned, it is long.  You might want to take a break after the bamboo forest sequence and then come back to it.  The first part of the film is much more character driven, while the second half of the film goes along at a much quicker pace and contains most of the fight scenes.  So if you want to call yourself a kung-fu or wuxia fan and still look at yourself in the mirror, then you must watch this film.

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Come Drink with Me (Da Zui Xia) 1966 **

The protagonist of Come Drink With Me (1966) is a petite Chinese woman named Golden Swallow (Cheng Pei-pei…yes, the same lady from Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon). Based on this description, you might assume this is one of those Chinese teahouse stories where the main character is either a peasant or a princess who finds herself caught in a love triangle. You would be wrong, but at least you were right about their being a teahouse.  No, Golden Swallow is a sword-wielding badass who likes to lure her adversaries into a false sense of security by sipping tea before she uses her two daggers to slice them up. 

Director King Hu truly revolutionized the martial arts film genre with this 1966 classic.  The overall production standards and fight sequence designs were a great leap forward for Hong Kong cinema.  Concentrating on the areas of color and movement, King Hu creates a martial arts film full of grace and style. His lead actress’s ballet training no doubt helped with the overall gracefulness of her character’s deft movements. Watching her precise and fluid movements in the fight sequences is something to behold.  It is strange to say, but watching her engage in these acts of violence one is reminded of a beautifully choreographed Chinese opera. And she does all this wearing long gowns and large hats, which I suppose makes her seem even more skilled, as no doubt it was not easy to maneuver in such costumes. King Hu deliberately chose Cheng Pei-pei for Golden Swallow because of her ballet background. An admirer of Peking Opera, King Hu constructed his fight sequences based on the principles of dance.

In addition, King Hu benefits from his other star, Yueh Hua, who plays Drunken Cat, a drunken beggar who assists Golden Swallow in her quest to free her brother, a local government official, from a group of bandits. We first meet Drunken Cat when Golden Swallow meets with the bandits at a teahouse to negotiate the release of her brother. Things escalate when she refuses to trade the bandits’ leader for her brother—enter Drunken Cat as her secret weapon. More than ten years before Jackie Chan played a drunken master, it was Hua Yueh who brought this martial arts technique to the big screen. It is rumored that he consumed two bottles of wine before filming his fight sequences. It is quite comical to listen to him sing songs from famous Peking Opera’s to help Golden Swallow. 

Though they have completely different personalities, Drunken Cat and Golden Swallow work well together.  He serves as a wise advisor and capable accomplice. She’s a hothead who often acts before she thinks. It is through one of Drunken Cat’s opera songs that Golden Swallow finds the bandits’ hideout—a spectacularly designed Buddhist temple. The realistic-looking temple was entirely constructed on the Shaw Brothers’ lot. When Golden Swallow is injured there by a poisoned dart, it is Drunken Cat who nurses her back to health and helps her plan her assault on the temple.  Of course, Drunken Cat has his own debt to settle with his brother (Chan Hung Lit), who is both a criminal and an abbot at the temple.  As such, there is eventually a  showdown between the two brothers…and Golden Swallow has her own showdown with the bandits—but in an interesting twist she has a mini-army of female warriors who help her defeat them. 

Come Drink With Me might not be the best martial arts film of all time, but it certainly is one of the most important. King Hu truly changed the Wuxi genre by creating fight sequences that could be viewed as both artistic and powerful. A sequel, Golden Swallow, followed two years later, but it was not as good as the original and there is no Drunken Cat.  However, King Hu would score another hit in 1971, with his best film A Touch of Zen.

 

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Song at Midnight (Ye Ban Ge Sheng) 1937 **

To say Song at Midnight (Ye Ban Ge Sheng) is completely unknown to contemporary film audiences would be an understatement. Yet, it is considered by many film historians to be one of the best Chinese films of the early sound era. There are many things to admire about this 1937 picture, but I would like to focus on its unusual take on a classic tale and its outstanding set design.

There have been many film adaptations of Gaston Leroux’s novel The Phantom of the Opera (most notably the 1925 classic starring Lon Chaney), but Song at Midnight is perhaps the most unusual. Director and screenwriter Ma-Xu Weibang took a chance when he took liberties with Leroux’s original story, but his gamble paid off in the end. Instead of making the protégé a female opera singer, Ma-Xu decided that the story would work better if the singer were a male.  This really changes the story’s dynamics and it also ends up making the Phantom a more sympathetic character.

The story takes place at a run-down theater, where 10 years earlier the great opera singer Song Danping (Jin Shan) died.  Well, he didn’t really die, but everybody thinks he did. Evidently he has been skulking about making the locals believe the place is haunted, while waiting for someone with a voice as gifted as his own to make into the greatest opera singer in China.  You see, Song was once a great singer, as well as a  revolutionary himself, but then he went and fell in love with Li Xiaoxia (Woo Ping), the daughter of a vindictive feudal lord and the would-be girlfriend of Tang Jun. This is also an important element of Ma-Xu adaptation, because in the 1930s China was in the midst of political turmoil. In the end, Tang throws nitric acid in Song’s face and he is horribly disfigured. He decides to let the world (besides a few friends), and Li, think he’s dead. And, so when Song hears the voice of Sun Xiao-au he has the “voice” and face he needs to make a comeback—and to bring love back to Li.  This is what makes the adaptation so unusual, Song and Sun are more like Cyrano and Christian from Cyrano de Bergerac than the original story of the Phantom and his case of unrequited love with Christine. Of course, things turn a bit nasty when Song learns that Sun has his own fiancee, but in the end, the Phantom of this story ends up being a hero, even though he doesn’t have a happy ending.  Quite simply, it is wonderfully woven story and such a great spin on the traditional Phantom tale.

Besides having a great story, Song at Midnight is also a visual treat. Ma-Xu was a not only a fan of Tod Browning’s Universal monster films, he was also an admirer of German expressionism, most notably the works of Fritz Lang and Robert Wiene. Ma-Xu put together a film heavy with gothic atmosphere and haunting images. Ma-Xu sets the mood from the very beginning, by introducing the audience to the cobweb infested theater at night, and having a mysterious man lurking in the shadows. From that point on the scene is set and what follows truly comes from an artistic mind.

One of the most notable images is when we first see the Phantom’s face. Via flashback and with a handheld camera, we watch over Song’s shoulder as he slowly unrolls his bandages in front of a mirror.  Not only his reaction is captured in a pristine moment, but the framing of the reactions of those around him are superbly done as well. You can almost feel the recoil of those looking at his disfigured face. When he smashes the mirror it means so much more than just shattered glass all over the floor.

Overall, this is an interesting film to watch.  I’m always curious to see how certain genres took form in different countries.  Ma-Xu borrows heavily from the Universal monster films, especially the opening sequence and the finale with the torch wielding crowd. Of course, it is the reinterpretation of Gaston Leroux’s story that I find the most intriguing.  Sometimes when screenwriters make changes to original stories things don’t work out well, but in this case it was a refreshing retelling of a classic tale.

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