The Sound of Music (1965)

I'm a dude.  The Dude Handbook explicitly forbids one from liking musicals and advises their avoidance.  Hence, I had never seen The Sound of Music until now.  I may have to cash in some of my dude cred because I liked it.  I wouldn't say I loved it as a film, but I liked it.  Prior to watching the movie, I only knew a few things about it--it is a musical, stars Julie Andrews, and has something to do with mountainscapes.  I didn't realize that it's a very dramatized retelling of the true story of the formation of the Von Trapp family singing group.  Interestingly, it occurred in unstable Austria at the dawn of the Third Reich.

The Sound of Music has all the stock ingredients of family feel-goodery, including romance, beautiful scenery, humor, predictability, and...oh yes...the sound of music.  True to many musicals, it oozes of melodrama that is appropriate for the stage but feels silly on film.  The characters are so dang likable and the Austrian mountains are so picturesque that I was able to overlook some of the drama.  I enjoyed many of the wide frame shots that captured the beauty of the abbey and the countryside.  The film did a great job of utilizing cameras to produce a world that draws us in rather than relying on many stagnant stage scenes.  

Though the story is relatively predictable, I was struck with one subplot that didn't develop as I had expected.  The young romance of Liesl and Rolf didn't resolve as positively as I had hoped.  It did however, provide an interesting paradoxical parallel to the romance between Maria and Captain Von Trapp.  The young lovers had a secret relationship that appeared sweet and good, all the while Maria and the Captain had an unintentional attraction that would prove to be devastating to another relationship in the film (the Captain and the Baroness).  The virtues of the men in these romances, Rolf and Von Trapp, reveal themselves by the end of the film.  Rolf, who had chosen to serve under the Nazi regime, has an opportunity to turn away from the dark side and redeem his relationship with Liesl.  Captain Von Trapp, on the otherhand, resists the Nazi authorities from the beginning and fulfills his role as husband and father in providing escape from the Nazis (specifically from Rolf himself).  The moral is that Nazi sympathizers do not get the girl.

The primary theme and real beauty of The Sound of Music is the power of music/art.  As a musical it is, of course, going to celebrate the virtue of music.  But it uses music to stir the audience and provide dynamic character developments in the movie.  Many of the songs mark specific milestones in the story and often lead to a next important story development.  And most importantly, the songs provide solid recital fodder for many young girls.

Next up: Dr. Zhivago (1965)

Lawrence of Arabia (1962)

Lawrence of Arabia is epic--an epic, to be exact.  Epics in film are easy to pick out--they're LONG, they have a classic score, and the story is often about a heroic person who changes history.  Epics often occur in a war-setting and emphasize the importance one life can make in the world.  Lawrence of Arabia fits this description entirely.

When looking at the film's epic qualities, I had to agree that the score was incredible.  I recognized it quickly because it is often played at the Oscars.  Cinematically, the wide screenshots were beautiful; they really captured the beauty and expanse of the desert.  The eye makeup was very Adam Lambert.  Peter O'Toole (who played Lawrence) was a splendid and believable character.

The story is perhaps the strongest epic quality of the film.  It is the tale of T. E. Lawrence, a British military officer, engaged in Arabian conflicts during World War 1.  This is a true story, and of course, that makes it all the more important.  Lawrence helped unite warring Arab tribes to defeat the Turks and take over Aqaba and then Damascus.  He was a successful leader, I believe, because he gave up his identity to become Arab--he wore their clothes, rode their camels, survived the deserts, and ate their food.  And it is this that makes this movie worthwhile, in my opinion.

I love the fact that Lawrence gave up his English persona to help these Arabs.  Of course, originally, his goal was to help further the British Empire (I think...), but he ended up really loving these people.  At one point, when he had enough of death, he wanted to get as far away from the desert and its nomads as possible.  However, as he was leaving, you see him looking longingly at the Arabs traveling along the road.  It was as if he was leaving behind a part of himself.

The reason his identifying with the Arabs is so beautiful to me is that it reminds me of Jesus and the way that he left Heaven to come to Earth and be a man.  He laid aside His outer glory and took on a perishable body in order to heal our brokenness and bring us peace.  Lawrence stepped out of his comfortable position as an English soldier and found himself identifying with these warring Arab tribes.  He united them and brought peace--in a similar manner as Christ.

We learn at the beginning of the movie that he dies in a motorcycle wreck, and many memorialize him.  Some talk about what a hero he was while others only remember his eccentric and showboating personality.  I just found it incredibly ironic that a man who survived the Sinai Desert, sandstorms, avoided quicksand, and managed to live through wars, ends up dying in a motorcycle wreck.  He was definitely more than a showboat riding camels and wearing Arabian clothes, he was a world-changer.  That's pretty epic.

Next up: The Sound of Music

From Here to Eternity (1953)

This is the scene--the one everyone remembers--the one that advertises the movie.

But the scene was so brief, and honestly, it didn't live up to the hype, in my book.  But, sex sells, so there you have it.

From Here to Eternity is a film about army life in Hawaii just prior to the attack on Pearl Harbor.  It was based upon a very controversial novel by James Jones.  It was controversial because of the alarming homosexual content and use of expletives.  The screenplay obviously cut out both, although there was one scene where I had questioned the sexual orientation of one character.  I also later read that Montgomery Clift was a homosexual and was tortured by his guilt (though he wasn't the character I held in question).

The setting of the story is a slow, uneventful, and a seemingly perfect and peaceful time in a Hawaiian paradise.  I say "seemingly" because it was anything but perfect and peaceful for the characters of this film.  Private Robert E. Lee Prewitt (Montgomery Clift) is continually punished for refusing to box for his company's boxing team.  Karen Holmes (Deborah Kerr) is the wife of Captain Dana Holmes (Phillip Ober), a continually and unashamed unfaithful husband.  Then there's Angelo Maggio (Frank Sinatra), Prewitt's "buddy-boy" (an oft used nickname in this movie--borderline annoying), who is both bothered and harassed by the stockade Sgt. Judson aka "Fatso."  Though he wasn't particularly troubled, Sgt. Milton Warden (Burt Lancaster) was bored out of his mind--a slave to a desk job with no challenges in life...until he meets Cpt. Holmes' wife, Karen.  And finally, Alma 'Lorene' Burke (Donna Reed), a gentlemen's companion at the "New Congress Club," is trying to make enough money to go home and show her hometown (and specifically an ex-boyfriend who left her for someone with money and position) that she, too, can be a proper woman with rank and fortune.

I love the way this movie was filmed--until this point, I haven't really seen a film track the stories of so many different characters with such depth.  I find it difficult to point to a leading man or lady in the film because each character's story was important and not secondary to another.  Lancaster and Kerr got top billing for the film, but Clift and Reed and Sinatra had stories just as compelling.  The romantic stories were layered so that you could compare and contrast the relationships of Warden and Holmes and Prewitt and Burke.  Sinatra's story was both for comic relief and to add depth to Prewitt's story.

Many of the characters ended up in the Hawaiian paradise in hopes of a new beginning.  But, like Adam and Eve, a paradisical location doesn't ensure eternal bliss.  These tortured souls duke it out in their carnal humanity, and every single one of them comes up empty-handed.  This film is all about human frailty, struggle, desire, a lack of fulfillment, and emptiness.  They realize that they don't have control over their destinies because of the choices that others make in their lives.  The conclusion with Pearl Harbor's bombing was like nails in their coffins--two men dead, one man left fighting, one man dismissed, and two women, on a boat, questioning if fate would allow them to return.

As I pondered the title, From Here to Eternity, I struggled with the meaning.  When I put this all together in my untrained film brain, I can only surmise that both the novel and the film are trying to communicate that our perception of bliss and pursuit of it are pointless.  It is the choices we make that determine our course.  These characters would continue living their lives as they were in the pseudo-Edenic existence, but their choices made their lives a warzone even before the Japanese started bombing.  Their lives were disintegrating before war came to them--"eternity" was suddenly out of their grasps.  This is the human story:

Paradise lost.

Next up: Lawrence of Arabia (Ben Hur was next on the list, but Netflix is saying it is unavailable.  We'll pick it up whenever they get it!)

A Streetcar Named Desire (1951)

An interesting portrayal of human nature/desire, A Streetcar Named Desire, is the film that put Marlon Brando on the map with his famous "Stella!" scream o' repentance.  I had the pleasure of reading the original play written by Tennessee Williams (Remind me to have an awesome state name like Tennessee), and am proud that the film nailed it.  Though I read the play about 10 years ago, the themes and characters are, as I remember, extremely well-perserved in the film.  Somewhat implied in the title (which, per Tennessee Williams, was the real name of a public transport in New Orleans), the play/film is a story of discovery of the inner person as the characters ride their desires to their final fulfillment.  The story picks up at the point in which Stanley (played by Brando) and Stella Kowalski (Kim Hunter) receive a visit by Stella's sister, Blanche DuBois (Vivien Leigh).  We quickly discover that nobody's life is as it appears as Stanley's brutish manly manliness threatens the tender mind and attention-seeking motives of Blanche (aptly named for her whitewashed hypocrisy).  Stella is the typical enabling wife who tries to overlook her husband's faults while keeping the peace between her sister and husband.  Almost the entire story takes place in the crucible of the Kowalski's small apartment, which manifests as the Stanley-heated pressure cooker that processes the two competing sisters as one comes to her senses just after the other loses hers.

As I had mentioned in my review of The Bishop's Wife, one of my qualms about classic movies is that they often have the feel of a play caught on film.  A Streetcar Named Desire is unfortunately, an example of such an accusation.  However, the acting and directing is so well-done that I found it easy to dismiss my former reservation.  The story moves well simply due to the fact that it is a great story that is played well, not by any magic camera work or editing.  As mentioned above, almost the entire movie takes place on the set of the Kowalski apartment, which is dowsed with plenty of well-placed shadows and lights.  Even for being black and white, the set feels dirty and sweaty like a good ol' fashion summer in the white hood of New Orleans.  Leigh over-acts the vain histrionics of Blanche Dubois for much of the first half of the film (gasp, clutch, collapse into drape), but nicely portrays the used-up, hysterical DuBois by the end.  Kim Hunter is everything I imagined in Stella Kowalski.  And Marlon Brando is freaking legendary as Stanley Kowalski.  In addition, the film takes advantage of movie effects to capitalize on some important motifs such as steam, lights, and Marlon Brando's sweaty biceps.

This play/film is incredibly moving because it is so true to real life.  Tennessee Williams recapitulates common elements of the human heart in the main characters of Stanley, Stella, and Blanche.  Each character displays both character defects and good works.  Stanley is the primitive, unharnessed id of existence.  He is chauvinistic, violent, and unbridled.  Yet, in attempt to protect a friend from the wiles of Blanche, he makes a virtuous move to bring to light a hidden sin.  Stella is the submissive wife of the drunken, abusive husband.  She makes excuses and sacrifices her safety, yet, in the end, realizes her duty to protect those around her from the destruction of Stanley as she scampers away with her newborn baby daughter.  Blanche desires to be desired.  She doesn't necessarily want a man, but simply to be desired by men.  Yet she demonstrates concern over her sister and her well-being (though the genuineness of that concern is questionable).  The sisters are the epitome of co-dependency, whose lives only find fulfillment in their relationships to their men.  Yet with each character, we see both vice and virtue.  This is the human state.  We have capacity for good but often succumb to patterns of self-destructive co-dependency for the sake of achieving what we all desire most--to be loved.

Next Up: From Here to Eternity

The Bishop's Wife (1947)

If you like a feel-good, Christmas miracle movie in which the protagonist learns a lesson in what's important in life, then you'll enjoy The Bishop's Wife, that is if you hadn't already seen It's a Wonderful Life the year before (1946). The Bishop's Wife is a simpler rendition starring Cary Grant and Loretta Young, but in this Christmas parable, the guardian angel is a polite, lovable fellow (Grant) rather than the bumbling, heaven flunkee of Wonderful Life. The movie is propelled by Grant's congenital charm and inability to not grin all the time. The plot operates on bogus Touched by an Angel theology but is still sweet and enjoyable as we watch the bishop, ironically, become the last one to have faith in something other than obligation.

Technically, this film has a few surprises for its time. (I'll take this moment to once again disclaim all following comments by emphasizing that Amanda and I have no film production education and haven't so much as taken a film appreciation class, so bear with my sophomoric musings). The Bishop's Wife, though not containing an especially complex plot, is visually palatable by its frequent frame changes and movement of scenes. Something I dread about old movies is that the filming is often stagnant, with little movement of the cameras in a scene (or scene changes for that matter), so that it feels like I'm watching a recorded play rather than a motion picture. The Bishop's Wife is a welcome exception to that trend. Scenes are paced nicely by the camera work. In addition, the sound quality was much more crisp with well-mixed score, dialogue, and background ambience in comparison with the other movies we have watched to date. Some adorable special effects are also incorporated to bring a new edge for a film of its time. Plus, have I mentioned that Cary Grant smiles a lot?

I'm not sure that this movie will remain in my memory bank all that long. It seems interesting for its time, but I can't help but feel it was drafting off of the tail of It's a Wonderful Life. The film draws on family sentimentality and is another great reminder of what it means to fight for the one(s) you love.  It also reminds us that God angels answer prayers.  

Next up: A Streetcar Named Desire

Casablanca

Casablanca is a legend of film.  It might be the most quoted movie of all time.


"Play it, Sam."


"Here's lookin' at you, kid."


"I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."


Neither Dave nor I had seen this film, and we've known for a long time that it was one we definitely needed to see.  It is not only frequently quoted by fans, but also in other films, tv shows, and books.  A movie worth quoting is a movie worth watching.


I would have to say that I enjoyed it about as much as I enjoy most old movies (which is pretty well).  What stood out to me the most was the quality of the character seen in both Rick and Ilsa.  Rick was rough around the edges, but his quality of character outshined Ilsa's in my opinion.  He had been politically active and supported worthwhile causes at great personal risk.  Ilsa was refined and cultured, but she was dishonest with Rick concerning Victor Laslow, her husband.


Later in the film, though Rick has hardened his heart towards Ilsa, he still goes out of his way to be kind to others (as long as his reputation for being hard isn't compromised)--he made sure a young couple was able to get enough money gambling to be able to leave Morocco and in turn, the wife then did not have to buy their passage by sleeping with an officer.  Ilsa, on the other hand, still sought out Rick, even though she was a married woman.  Rick's heroics in the end of the film, and his self-denial in matters of the heart prove him to be the moral winner of the two.


A theme that pervades American culture--both in literature and in film--is the idea that one must do whatever makes one happy, regardless of who is hurt in the process--be it husbands, wives, children, friends or family members.  The Hours was an excellent example of this theme--women leaving behind their families to pursue their dreams and loves at the expense of their children.  I couldn't help but feel that Ilsa was a classic example of this, and Rick was the antithesis of it.  I have to admire his sacrificial nature far above any romance perceived in the film.


It's not about ROMANCE.  It's about TRUE LOVE.  It would have been romantic for these two lovers to run off with one another and complete each other--but at whose expense?  Victor's, for sure, and on a grander scale--the Allies.  True love sacrifices itself for others.  The Apostle Paul says it best,

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.  Love never fails.   

1 Corinthians 13:4-8 (NIV)

Anything less isn't love.

Spellbound (1945)

Our Project has already been derailed by Netflix. Casablanca is next on the list, but apparently there is a long wait for it, so we received our third movie on the list. I guess we'll come back to Casablanca when we get it.

Spellbound is a Hitchcock film that was a legit 1945 Best Picture nominee. Starring a young Gregory Peck (who had me spellbound by his handsome good looks) and beautiful Ingrid Bergman, this movie is a psychological thriller in the truest sense of the term. Bergman plays the role of a budding and very intelligent psychoanalyst who becomes spellbound with trying to heal John Balentine (Peck) who is spellbound in his own twisted guilt complex. The film is chock full of great Freudian psychology complete with dream interpretation. The primary dream sequence is a Salvidor Dali-inspired crazyland that Hitchcock intentionally made vivid and striking to avoid the cliche cloudy, blurry dream sequences of the time.

I've had minimal exposure to Hitchcock, but Amanda, who's been a longtime fan, says this movie is classic Hitchcock. He uses heavy contrast lighting and close shots to create tension. He even throws in a first-person shooter scene with the camera looking down the pistol sights at the potential victim. The story is interesting and picks up pace throughout its unfolding, churning out a few delectable plot twists that would keep most modern audiences guessing.

The engine of this story is the process of Freudian psychoanalysis, a treatment of mental illness that many today are unfamiliar with on account of the shift to behaviorism in the middle of the 20th century. Psychoanalysis is a process by which the therapist attempts to help the patient identify the origins of his anxieties or guilt by uncovering the unconscious sources of hurts or anxieties created in his childhood development. What's curious about this process it that though Freud and/or psychoanalysis are usually the subject of ridicule and disdain on a level similar to Olympic curling, a few modern therapies operate very similarly and are quite effective. Theosphostic ministry and inventory-ing (common to 12-step groups) employ this method of facilitated guidance that leads the individual to the sources of his pain and empowers him toward internal healing. As a Christian, I believe that true and complete healing, the kind that breeds forgiveness and newness, only comes from the touch of our nurturing Father. By His sacrifice, we have access to abundant life. Similarly, it is Bergman's character whose sacrificial and life-endangering gesture that snaps John Balentine out of his guilt curse and toward a new life. I really don't think it was Hitchcock's intention to make Dr. Petersen (Bergman) a Christ figure, but it is a nice parallel nonetheless.

Next up: The Bishop's Wife (or Casablanca)