Trying to recapture that Poppins magic; or, A Brazzle-Dazzle attempt!

As I’ve mentioned before, Disney+ for me has been less Mandalorian (though I have FINALLY started watching that) and more getting a chance to re-examine films I haven’t seen in years. YEARS. DECADES. So far, that’s included Snow White, Pinocchio, Fantasia, Bedknobs and Broomsticks, and most recently, The Great Mouse Detective. This past week, the revisiting tour continued with a film I think I may have only seen once in my life, this one;

We’re talking the original, 1977 version of Pete’s Dragon. I’m 47 years old, and if you’re much younger than me, I suspect there’s a very good chance you’ve never seen this film. Hell, you may never have heard of it; only knowing its 2016, non-musical remake. I never saw that one. Come to think of it, I have no memory of seeing the original Pete’s Dragon all the way through either. I just remember the story: orphan run-away with animated dragon friend, taken in by lighthouse keeper in Maine; snake-oil salesman’s evil scheme; and a dramatic finish involving a near shipwreck and a long lost love. Perhaps I had seen pieces here and there. And I did remember some of the music; Mickey Rooney singing about seeing a dragon, the villain’s plan, and, of course, Helen Reddy’s big ballad. But perhaps I knew those from a record collection of Disney music I had as a kid. Truth is, the only solid memory I have of Pete’s Dragon as a kid was this:

That’s right, the float in the ol’ Main Street Electrical Parade at Disneyland. Growing up in California, I went to Disneyland usually twice a year, and that parade was a mainstay of most every childhood visit. I remember some kid would play Pete and ride his electrified pet dragon, Elliott. And you’d get Elliott’s weird babbling sounds. Clearly, I remembered more about the float than the movie itself. So, the question facing me, when I pulled up Pete’s Dragon on Disney +….does this film need to be remembered, or is it best left in the also-rans of the Disney oeuvre? The answer, as I found out, is not really clear-cut.

The noted movie critic and animation afficianado Leonard Maltin characterized Pete’s Dragon as Disney trying to recapture the magic of Mary Poppins, but finding it out of step with the times. I think that’s a pretty darn accurate description. In many ways, Pete’s Dragon follows the Mary Poppins playbook: live action, with interaction with animation; child in need of parental love; set-in the not-too distant past; original songs, and lots of choreography. All the elements of what made Poppins so perfect (and I absolutely need to write a blog about that masterpiece some day) are on hand in Pete’s Dragon….but it doesn’t QUITE work. I’ll say this up front, after watching Pete’s Dragon last week: it’s not a bad film. Parts of it are very enjoyable. But overall….I felt it came CLOSE to being great….but just didn’t make it. So, let’s look at what holds Pete’s Dragon back…and what it does well.

The first flaw that comes to mind with Pete’s Dragon is it’s length. It’s over 2 hours long. And I get it, Mary Poppins is a long film too. But everytime I think about how you could trim Mary Poppins down, I can’t come up with how you do it. Every song advances the storyline, every sequence means something. So you want to cut out the Tea Party on the Ceiling and Uncle Albert…..well, then how do you get the remarkable resolution of elder Mr. Dawes laughing and flying? And cut down the chimney sweeps dance, or the adventures in the animated chalk drawings? FORGET IT! Those are moments of incredible technical virtuosity, from the animators to the music of the Sherman Brothers and Irwin Kostal, to the talents of Dick Van Dyke and others. Or trim down Mr. Banks walking alone through the deserted streets of London, en route to being fired? NOT A CHANCE. That whole sequence, with the orchestra playing a haunting version of Feed the Birds, and the pause to where the bird lady would’ve been, that all works. We guess that Mr. Banks, alone with his thoughts, is having the seeds grow that will lead to his complete turn-around, when he is discharged at the Bank. Trust me, I’ve thought about it PLENTY. I don’t see how you cut down Mary Poppins‘ running time without negatively impacting what is such a PERFECT film.

The same does not hold true for Pete’s Dragon. The songs and dances are there, but in too many cases, they don’t seem essential to the story. Rather, they’re there because it’s following the Poppins playbook. Take this scene, for example. What’s happened is Lampy, the town drunk played by Mickey Rooney, has seen Elliot, and runs into the town bar to warn everyone. A song breaks out, about seeing a dragon. The rest of the barflies treat Lampy’s spiel like you would expect; the ramblings of a drunkard. Lampy’s daughter Nora, played by Helen Reddy, shows up to retrieve drunk ol’ Dad. And then the scene just goes ON. First off, we have some of the barflies being rough with Nora, something that’s pretty cringeworthy viewed now. Secondly, a wholesale big production dance breaks out, with stomping on the bar and kegs being popped open. It’s as if the writers thought, Mary Poppins had chimney sweeps dancing a production number on the London rooftops. How do we top that? I know, let’s go with drunks dancing on the bar and beer flowing like geysers! The concept is weird for a family film, and I’ll get to that in a bit. But the bigger problem is….why is this production happening? We just met Lampy one scene earlier, when he encounters Pete and Elliot. We haven’t been introduced to Nora; she entered during this song. And yet here we have this huge song and dance production, involving a bunch of saloon denizens. It’s so different than the Step in Time sequence in Mary Poppins. That one happens late in the film, we already know all the characters, and because of Chim-Chim-Cheree just 10 minutes earlier, we know all about chimney sweeps. If you want to say that scene goes on, I’ll disagree but I can listen to the complaint. The point is, Step in Time flows naturally out of the story. I Saw a Dragon worked just fine as Lampy trying to explain what he saw. But as a full-fledged production number, it just seems ridiculous. Who are these people, that they’ve earned the right to go extravaganza on us this early on? We don’t even know them!

Impressive spectacle….but for spectacle’s sake?

Something similar happens when Nora takes Pete to school. The fishermen aren’t happy to see him because, since he came to town, all the catches have gone bad. Nora responds with the lovely There’s Room for Everyone in the World. It’s a nice song with a great sentiment. But what happens is, again, it becomes a full song and dance production number with a huge cast. Here’s the scene. I guess you can justify in that, with all the school children joining in, it shows that Nora’s message of acceptance is working. I can buy that. But for me….the scene is just kind of….blah. The song is nice….but not great. Not to keep comparing to Mary Poppins, but here’s the thing: the production numbers in Poppins are SOMETHING. They blow you away in their quality, and they always advance the story. Spoonful of Sugar, with the magic of the nursery cleaning itself? AMAZING! Jolly Holiday, be it just Bert and Mary, barnyard animals, or penguins? Maybe the greatest work done in Walt Disney’s lifetime (and that’s not hyperbole; someday I am going to write about how that sequence is the culmination of his career). So if Jolly Holiday goes on, SO WHAT?! You’re watching magic happen. Dick Van Dyke dancing with penguins, for crying out loud! But when a bunch of Maine school kids dance around, it just doesn’t feel that special. Maybe because it’s just…..ordinary. Sure, it looks great, but its not unique. We’ve seen big dance production numbers from lots of movies; its not Disney exclusive. Though I will say, the creation of the fictional Maine town of Passamaquoddy is impressive to look at. So if There’s Room for Everyone ‘s spectacle is an excuse to show that off, I guess I can allow it. But if the complaint is that Pete’s Dragon is just too long, which I think it is, these are two examples where you could easily make up time. And I’ve got more example than that coming!

One of the things that sort of stands out in the Disney films of the 1970s and ’80s is how dark they could get. I wrote about how, in 1986’s The Great Mouse Detective, we have heavy drinking and a mouse being fed to a cat, yet its treated so ridiculously, it doesn’t really bother you. Pete’s Dragon comes 10 years earlier, but its sort of the same idea: present something dark but so ridiculous, it doesn’t disrupt the merriment. There is a LOT of drinking in Pete’s Dragon. I’ve already talked about the beer a-flowing in I Saw A Dragon. The character of Lampy is nearly always drunk; we never get any reason why. There’s a never backstory, of something dark in his past that has turned Lampy into a lush. He’s just (nearly) ALWAYS drunk. Its played as a joke….like, hey kids, let’s have a laugh at Grandpa Drunky! I get that was Dean Martin’s shtick for so many years….but I also don’t recall Dean Martin being in a Disney film.

The constant alcohol use is not just the propriety of Lampy. We have a scene where two of the villains, Dr. Terminus (more on him shortly!) and his sidekick Hoagy, are consoling themselves in the saloon, with a bottle of whiskey to share. The so-called doctor doesn’t seem too much of a drunkard, though he does throw a few glasses down. But Hoagy, he’s right there with Lampy. And no wonder they hit it off so well. Heck, Hoagy carries a flask with him that even he later shares with Elliot! Lampy is played by the famous Mickey Rooney, and he just goes over the top with the imbibing shtick. It’s cheesy and makes me wonder how it got into a Disney film. But then again, you bring in Mickey Rooney and subtlety is not on the menu. And no…I’m not going to share ANY clips of him from Breakfast at Tiffany’s; you’re on your own there. But when director Don Chaffey put a drunk Lampy and a drunk Hoagy together, to go find Elliot…..now you had inebriated comedy that actually worked. It helps when Hoagy is played by veteran showman Red Buttons. Everyone in Pete’s Dragon hams it up, and Buttons, as the sidekick to number 1 villain Doctor Terminus is no exception. Yet for some reason or other, I found his drunk act amusing. Maybe because it’s not all he does in the film. The same cannot be said Rooney, whose Pete’s Dragon is ALMOST a one drink, err one trick pony. Anyway, here’s a scene where the two drunks go dragon-hunting. These are two actors from a previous generation, where slapstick was a thing….and it shows. It really plays like a Vaudeville routine, and I think is one of the more underrated moments in Pete’s Dragon.

But Buttons and Rooney weren’t the only stars of a previous era to make an appearance in Pete’s Dragon. The opening scene introduces us to Pete (and Elliot) running away from the Gogans, a really unattractive hillbilly family that purchased him to work their farm. The Gogans are crude, ugly and evil. And they’re led by Ma Gogan, played by another Oscar winner from decades before, Shelley Winters. Just like everyone else in Pete’s Dragon, she goes to town in terms of over-acting. My guess is, with her years as a sex symbol gone, Winters said, What the Hell, and decided to go all-out cheesy. And the way the film begins, it’s another example of Disney presenting the dark so ridiculous, you don’t really notice how dreary it is. The song is The Happiest Home in the Hills, and I really don’t know how to describe it. Here you go, have at it. I have no memory of what I thought as a kid. Was I scared? Watching this scene last week, me now being 47 years old, I had no idea what to think. The two boys are singing of all the horrific things they’ll do to Pete; everyone is dancing and singing while brandishing weapons. I know its supposed to be ridiculous, but as I watched it, I was just struck by how morbid a tone was being struck. And it’s like I wrote about the Ratigan song in The Great Mouse Detective; when you turn the villain’s song into something cheery, just as this is, it lightens the scene. Still….this is the opening moment of Pete’s Dragon. Everything is dark, dreary and grimy. You’re definitely not in Mary Poppins!

Welcome to Pete’s Dragon!

There are two acting performances in Pete’s Dragon that really added something to the film. One was Helen Reddy as Nora. If you want compare to Mary Poppins, she’s the Julie Andrews….and if that’s the bar, Reddy comes out very well, despite how high that bar is. She had already had her major hit with I Am Woman (Hear Me Roar). In some ways, the comparison to Andrews is apt, as she was just coming off starring on Broadway in both My Fair Lady and Camelot, but had not made a movie yet. I THINK (not positive on this) Pete’s Dragon was Reddy’s first film and I have to say, I am quite surprised she didn’t have more of an acting career. Take a look at this scene, one of her first with Peter. She’s naturally comfortable, and this happens in scenes beyond ones that involve singing. In perhaps the only scene in the movie where Lampy is NOT drunk, they argue about Nora not letting go of her assumed dead fiancee. Likewise, there’s a very good exchange later on, where Nora advises Pete to forget about Elliot (whom she assumes is an imaginary friend) just as she needs to give up on Paul (her long lost fiancee).

Now, calm down; no, I’m not about to say that Helen Reddy was better than Julie Andrews. But hear me out here. Mary Poppins, as we all know, is, (say it with me) “Practically perfect in every way.” Or as Michael Banks put it, “Rosy cheeks and everything!” Mary Poppins came out in 1964, Pete’s Dragon in 1977. In the years in between, there was the war in Vietnam, the Civil Rights movement, rioting, the assassinations of Martin Luther King Jr and Robert F Kennedy, the violence at the 1968 Democratic National Convention, and Watergate. America had seen a LOT between the releases of Poppins and Pete. And I think Pete’s Dragon reflected that. I mentioned how it has darker elements than Poppins, from the Gogans to all the drinking. And the same goes for the female lead. Nora is big hearted, just like Mary. But she’s dealt with heart-break and loss. Her life hasn’t been easy. She’s also not magic, like Mary Poppins. She’s earthy, she’s gritty. And she’s played by the woman who sang I Am Woman (Hear Me Roar). She’s a Mary Poppins, updated for the time. And Helen Reddy was great in it. Again, how she didn’t become a bigger movie star after this, I don’t know. I’m not going to say she was better than Julie Andrews. What I will say is, its one of the finest performances by a female lead in a live-action Disney film. Its not even fair to compare to Andrews, because the roles call for something so different. Poppins: magic. Nora: grit. But both played with a whole lot of heart. Put me down as an audience member, impressed by both. Is that fair?

Pete’s songwriters, Al Kasha and Joel Hirschhorn, gave Reddy a big ballad, with which to bring down the house, Candle on the Water. It’s definitely a creation of its time; I could hear Carly Simon singing it. It’s set up for Reddy to knock it out of the park, and while she does just that vocal-wise……and lackluster is director Don Chaffey’s filming of it! It’s just Reddy on the top of her lighthouse. That’s it! So much more could’ve been done with this. Nifty camerawork and special effects, stretching from near and far, over different landscapes. Instead, it’s so….static. This really should’ve been a much more grand moment. Take a look for yourself.

Sean Marshall, as the title character, is sort of….ehh for me. He has the whole cute kid thing going for him. The problem is, personally, I find the characterization the exact opposite of Helen Reddy. He’s just too sweet. This is a kid who is an orphan and has been purchased by a family of brutes to basically be their slave. Yet, he is unfailingly optimistic and full of cheer. Yes I know, he has a pet dragon who’s looking out for him; that would cheer me up too. But I guess my thinking here is, this is a movie which shows plenty of darkness: abusive, exploitative foster home, and then heavy drinking amongst adults. It doesn’t mean Pete needs to be suicidal. But look back to the scene I posted, where Nora and Pete have their first song together (It’s Not Easy). Pete is so sweet-natured and takes to Nora instantly. Wouldn’t you think that a boy who has been through so much might just be a little guarded, especially around adults? Now of course, Nora isn’t the monster that Ma Goggins is, BUT STILL. I would think Pete would be just a bit shell-shocked and withdrawn around adults by this point. But nope, he takes to Nora like a cat to cream. It’s as if director Don Chaffey decided, there’s enough darkness, let’s make the kid as bright as can be. We’re going to make him as Disney as possible.

Who knows, maybe child actor Sean Marshall just didn’t have the range to play Pete with depth. Maybe that was the case. Look. he’s fine. He’s cute, he’s wholesome, he’s likable. But for being the title character, to me, Pete just isn’t memorable. He’s kind of the vehicle that the story centers on…..but those that are orbiting that center are just more interesting. That’s the case with Helen Reddy as Nora. It’s the case with Red Buttons as Hoagy. I wouldn’t say Ma Goggins is an interesting character but Shelley Winters clearly was having a ball playing her. And even though there’s no depth, no interesting backstory to his character, Mickey Rooney’s Lampy at least is entertaining. That is, if jolly alcoholics is your brand of humor. Somewhere Barney Gumble approves. And there is one more character I haven’t really talked about too much, who is most DEFINITELY interesting. And that character, for me, is, far and away, the best element of Pete’s Dragon.

I’m talking about Jim Dale as the primary villain, Doctor Terminus.

Maybe the greatest Disney villain ever….and that’s not hyperbole

I mentioned how I don’t remember much about Pete’s Dragon from childhood. Well, I did remember Dr. Terminus. And how could you not?! Just look at Jim Dale in that picture: top hat, goatee, ascot tie, scarlet waist coat, cape and kid gloves. Mickey Rooney and Shelley Winters may have chewed on their scenes but that was NOTHING compared to what Jim Dale did. But you know what? It works BEAUTIFULLY. “Dr.” Terminus is a quack artist. He comes to town peddling all kinds of dubious medical treatments, and it turns out he’s been to Passamaquoddy before. He travels by a sail wagon because as he mentions, he lost his horses to settle a malpractice suit! I have no doubt in my mind at all that Jim Dale was channelling The Music Man’s Prof. Harold Hill for the role. And why not? Both were con men, preying on small town early 20th century America. Dale was a stage performer in England, and not long after Pete’s Dragon, won a Tony for his portrayal of P.T. Barnum in the Broadway musical Barnum. You have to think that show’s producers were inspired to choose Dale after seeing Pete’s Dragon. Here’s Dr. Terminus’ debut number; you tell me if this isn’t the successor to Ya Got Trouble?

I really hesitate to say Jim Dale overacts. He is a lightning bolt of energy that just dominates the screen. And there is such total commitment to the role; his facial expressions are deliciously wicked, his voice so silky smooth, his mannerisms all with a purpose. This character works so well. Shelley Winters: okay, I’m going to play a dirty mean, old lady and have fun with it. That she does….but how much screen time do you want of a dirty, mean old lady? Mickey Rooney: I’ll be the lovable town drunk and have fun with it. And it’s fun….till that joke gets old. Meanwhile, Jim Dale….whereas Robert Preston bellowed his way into River City, I’m going slime my way into Passama….whatever the town is called, and charm the local residents out of their cash. And you, gentle viewer, won’t be able to look away. It’s a total commitment to a role that is completely one -dimensional and shallow. There’s no backstory on Dr. Terminus, there’s no redeeming grace. He’s an unapologetic sham and Jim Dale milks everything out of it, and then some!

To put into perspective how much Jim Dale dominates the film, Dr. Terminus doesn’t arrive till about 45 minutes in….and all of sudden, everything shifts into high gear. Everything had been uneven till that part: Pete escapes from the Gogans and their song and dance, he and Elliot have a VERY forgettable number together, Pete comes to town and mischief ensues, we have Lampy and the saloon dance, and then Pete is taken in by Nora. Nice film, nothing special. But then the good Doctor blows into town, and from that point on, friends, I could’t look away. Every scene he was in became must-watch. This movie, which had been taking its time, like a pleasant, uneventful stroll, suddenly became a sprint through a minefield. Everything is exciting and its all from what Jim Dale brought to the role. If he wasn’t as enthusiastic in his delivery, the film falls flat. Dr. Terminus isn’t a menacing villain. He’s not going to hurt Pete, Nora or Lampy. And his scheme is so simple. He doesn’t want to capture Elliot to show him off, like King Kong. No, it’s about chopping a dragon to peddle more “cures.” The whole villain scheme is that simple. Yet it works because Dale is just so delicious in every scene. There’s a great moment when he comes to the lighthouse to recruit Pete . Nora doesn’t approve and he just shuts her down, “Paint your lighthouse, Nora.” It’s sexist, its misogynistic, and it should be noted, he’s saying this to the woman who sang I am Woman (Hear Me Roar). We should hate him for it, especially with the zeal Dale delivers the line. Again, it’s such a commitment to the role.

Dr. Terminus only gets two songs and both are tour de forces. You already saw his introduction. For my money, Terminus’ second number is the best song in the entire film. It’s where he’s just discovered how many cures he can make from a dragon. Again, the concept is so silly; no, I’m not afraid of a fire breathing dragon. All I want is to use him to increase my business. I don’t want to overthink this, but isn’t it interesting how the villains in Pete’s Dragon are all scheming for business gain? When the Gogans come to claim Pete, they sing about how they have a Bill of Sale. And Dr. Terminus and Hoagy’s shining moment is a song extolling all the money they’ll make. Nora and Lampy take Pete in for love, while the villains are out for financial gain. A commentary by Don Chaffey in 1977? Hmmm?

Anyway, I’ve said how some of the musical moments in Pete’s Dragon go on too long by becoming spectacle. That’s not the case with Every Little Piece. You’ve got two professional song and dance men in Jim Dale and Red Buttons; let them go! And boy, did they deliver. Take a look. And when you do, look at the facial expressions from both of them, especially Dale. His gestures, too! And that diabolical laugh. Not to mention the dance routine. This is the exact opposite of I Saw a Dragon. We know who these two characters are, and their giddy dance is all part of the story; it’s their glee at the nefarious plot being hatched. Not to mention, Dale and Buttons are just sooooo good. Did you see near the end, where Dale tosses his cane to Buttons, who tosses it right back? It’s consummate showmanship. Every little thing Jim Dale does in Pete’s Dragon is worth watching. He is, without a doubt in my mind, the best part of the film, and quite possibly the greatest Disney performance you probably don’t remember. What a pity!

There are two more things I’d like to discuss about Pete’s Dragon. One is the music. Unlike Mary Poppins, the typical Disney songwriting team of the Sherman Brothers was not on hand, Instead, the honors went to Al Kasha and Joel Hirschhorn, who were hot at the time. They had apparently had the market cornered for songs from disasters pics, with Oscar-nominated tunes from The Poseidon Adventure and The Towering Inferno. Their work on Pete’s Dragon is, to me, hit and miss. Candle in the Wind is the big anthem; Nora and Pete’s duet of It’s Not Easy really quite lovely, and I’ve waxed on about the two numbers for Dr. Terminus. They also have a big, happy anthem in Brazzle-Dazzle Day. On the other end are Pete and Elliot’s duet, which I might go so far as to call the cheesiest, most forgettable song in any Disney film EVER. I know that’s a strong statement but judge for yourself. When I watched it last week, I almost hit the fast-forward button. See what I mean about Sean Marshall just being too cute? This one, like Marshall himself, is too sweet, enough to make one sick.

My biggest problem with the songs to Pete’s Dragon is that they tend to sound like when they were composed: the mid 1970s. Here’s the thing about the Sherman Brothers and Mary Poppins. The movie came out in 1964 and is set in 1910. The songs aren’t really imitations of Gilbert and Sullivan or contemporary English styles; there’s just a timeless, undated sound to them. They’re neither 1964 or 1910….they just exist on their own. And that’s why they work so well still today. Seth MacFarlane (yes, THAT Seth MacFarlane) opined a few years back how the current trend in Broadway shows doesn’t really give a long life to the tunes, since they’re written in current styles. Here’s the article, if you’d like to read it. MacFarlane talks about how a show like Brigadoon has a timeless quality, because the music isn’t wedded to a particular popular style.

Just before I watched Pete’s Dragon, I also watched The Greatest Showman, the movie musical about P.T. Barnum. Wonderfully filmed, beautiful to look at, colorfully staged….a whole lot of fun. But what didn’t work for me was the music. Something about people from the 1840s singing in current styles just seemed off. This doesn’t bother me with Hamilton because from the get-go, you know this is a unique take on history. Thomas Jefferson played by a black man, for starters! So, when Alexander Hamilton raps, it doesn’t seem out of place. But when figures such as P.T. Barnum and Jenny Lind are in their contemporary setting, in their contemporary clothing, singing in modern styles, it just seems off-putting. That’s what I feel about much of Pete’s Dragon. Songs like Brazzle-Dazzle Day, It’s Not Easy and Candle on the Water are really nice…..but the sounds of soft rock 1970s in early 20th century Maine just didn’t mesh. And that’s another reason the Dr. Terminus numbers absolutely DO work. I don’t know if Kasha and Hirschhorn set out to make Every Little Piece sound like a show tune from the first decade of the 20th century. But what they did create was what the Shermans did with Mary Poppins; that tune has an undated feel to it. It seems completely in place in early 1900s Maine. With the exception of the Elliot/Pete duet, the songs of Pete’s Dragon are not bad. Occasionally they’re terrific. But they don’t work together as a unified whole like the Shermans’ do in Mary Poppins. There’s too much variety in styles…..especially when the styles don’t fit with the setting.

It probably sounds like I didn’t like Pete”s Dragon. That’s not the case. There is much of it I liked, and more than just Jim Dale and Red Buttons. Helen Reddy, as I mentioned, was terrific. What also was terrific, and may have been an improvement over Mary Poppins is the filming. Sure, I criticized the staging of Candle on the Water. But let’s look back at Poppins. Everything was on a sound stage. Nothing was shot outside, nothing natural. Pete’s Dragon is a BEAUTIFUL film to look at…..well, when we’re not looking at the ugly Gogans, that is! The recreation of the Maine waterfront is so picturesque. I’ve been to Maine beach towns plenty; Disney really got the New England feel right. It was all shot in Southern California, but I thought the recreation was perfect.

Also, look at the costumes! Disney did a FINE job with the recreation.

Another part of the production that I think anyone who saw Pete’s Dragon remembers is the Lighthouse. To my great surprise, that was not a pre-existing structure! Disney had it built and installed near Los Osos, California. It’s no longer there. I can’t imagine the cost and this wasn’t at at time when the studio was rolling in cash, either. And while the lighthouse didn’t add too much to Candle in the Wind, Don Chaffey made up for that with Brazzle-Dazzle Day. Here is another example of justifying the full-blown production. Its a happy buoyant song, coming in the film right after Nora and Lampy tell Pete they’d like him to live with them. Spirits are high; the moment calls for extended celebration. And while the song, yes, is out of place in early 20th century Maine, the sentiment is fitting. Chaffey makes the most of this sequence with all kinds of long range shots that just emphasize the majesty of the setting. It’s a lighthouse on a cliff, better make the most of it, and Chaffey did! It’s everything Candle on the Water was lacking. Yeah, the butt rub of the glass is weird…..but just go with it. It’s a delightful scene, and in this regard, if it doesn’t top Poppins, it at least matches it. What Mary Poppins brings in animated and sound stage magic, Pete’s Dragon matches with outdoor, aerial shots that showcase the natural beauty. Sure, that’s the Central Coast of California, not really Maine….but I don’t care. Is Mary Poppins‘ sound stage 17 Cherry Tree Lane really Edwardian London? It doesn’t matter; what it was was magic. Just as the California recreation of Maine works for Pete. At times, it’s a beautiful movie to behold.

Oh, one more thing about the Pete’s Dragon Lighthouse. I don’t remember much, if anything, about the film from viewing as a kid. But what I do remember is that in the climatic scene, Nora’s long lost fiancee is returning on a ship to Passamaquoddy, but a storm has extinguished the Lighthouse. It’s predictable what’s going to happen…..and damn, if I didn’t find the whole sequence really gripping. Watched just a week ago, at age 47, it’s still suspenseful. Really great bit of tension that just makes for an even better resolution to the film: the Gogans have been dispatched, Dr. Terminus has been foiled, but there’s one more obstacle to Nora being reunited with her love, and only Elliot can save the day. It’s also a nice touch that Nora, while completely sympathetic to Pete, never believed Elliot was real. And in saving her fiancee, she gets to meet the dragon. The whole sequence really draws you in and makes for a wholly satisfying wrap-up.

Well, I guess that about does it. I’ve discussed the music, the characters, the setting, the pacing, the acting. Anything I missed? Oh, how silly of me…..just this guy!

There’s an awful lot Disney did really well with Elliot. It probably starts with just how he’s drawn. He’s funny. There’s nothing terrifying about him at all. Him flying with those little wings, and his human like face are such a fun touch. My understanding is, in the remake, the dragon is CGI and more realistic. I get that, in the era of Game of Thrones. But in a film where Pete is escaping really grim circumstances (the Gogans) having the equivalent of a cartoon dog for the dragon ABSOLUTELY works. I also think Chaffey and his writers make a great choice in keeping Elliot invisible to most everyone else. We saw the wreckage he causes in Passmaquoddy (never out of ill will) and there’s the great visual of his outline framed in the ruined wall of the school house. But the only people who have seen Elliot besides Pete are Lampy and Hoagy….and both were drunk at the time! Even when Dr. Terminus captures Elliot with a net, we still don’t see him. We only see a dragon shape filling out the net…but no Elliot. Only when the plots have been foiled do the ordinary see Elliot, such as when Dr. Terminus is hanging from the pole, or when Elliot saves the Mayor and his committee. Great choice from the team of limiting how many people Elliot is visible to.

Another great choice was making Elliot a truly friendly dragon. Think about all the times we see him breathe fire: to roast an apple for Peter, and to incinerate the Bill of Sale the Gogans have to Pete. That’s it. Outside of knocking someone over, we never see Elliot attack a person. Heck, he knocks Dr. Terminus’ “medicine” wagon into the harbor, he doesn’t burn it up. In fact, Pete‘s Dragon is one of the very few Disney films where no one dies. Think of all the movies from 90s on? The Little Mermaid, Beauty in the Beast, The Lion King, Mulan, Tarzan, The Hunchback of Notre Dame….all the villains met their doom. But not so in Pete’s Dragon. Once the Gogans lose any evidence of owning Pete, they simply fall into tar, just like they fell into mud in the movie’s opening. We assume they just went home and continued to be awful people. Perhaps the townspeople run Dr. Terminus and Hoagy out of town on a rail….but they definitely aren’t killed. It’s actually quite refreshing that, for a movie that could be dark at times, the ending is so light.

I don’t mind that Elliott speaks in noises and Pete can understand him. If you have a problem with that, then I would like to know how you get around Han Solo communicating with Chewbacca. The one thing I wish we had a little more info on is how Elliot and Pete came together. Pete says something to Nora about how Elliot comes to help orphans in need. And then, right near the end, when it’s clear everyone has a happy ending, Elliot tells Pete he has to go now, as Pete no longer needs him. I know….I already said the movie is too long. But perhaps if you cut out some of the production numbers or I know….replace the silly duet with a song that explains how Elliot first came to Pete, that would solve it. Admittedly, it’s a minor gripe, but the notion of a dragon that came to the rescue of orphans, what an interesting concept. Anyone else interested in learning more?

So, the original Pete‘s Dragon, what to make of you? At your best moments, you’re a fun story that (after a while) drawn you in. You’re beautifully shot, whether on an artificial set or in nature. Your songs are hit and miss; the best ones are memorable (if somewhat out of place), but they have a tendency to go on too long. Not every song deserves a production. And you have actors who REALLY loved the camera. In the case of Jim Dale and Red Buttons, that’s an incredible plus going for the film. In the case of Mickey Rooney and Shelley Winters, a mixed bag. And in Helen Reddy, you have the most worthy successor to Julie Andrews possible. If Mary Poppins is innocence and optimism, Nora is world-weary yet still full of love. It’s a natural evolution, and Helen Reddy played it PERFECTLY. And I think that sums up Pete‘s Dragon pretty well too, if I say so myself. When it’s following the Mary Poppins playbook, it’s a poor successor: Candle on the Water is no Feed the Birds. Mickey Rooney is not Dick Van Dyke. Drunks on a bar are not chimney sweeps on London rooftops. But when Pete’s Dragon went its own way, it fared more than decently. Mary Poppins had no true villain; Dr. Terminus is the best villain in any Disney live action film I am aware of. And like Van Dyke, any moment Jim Dale is on the screen, you have to watch. Mary Poppins is on a soundstage; Pete’s Dragon gives us a recreation of early 1900s Maine, complete with a lighthouse. And maybe most interesting, in Mary Poppins, our characters jumped into the animation. Pete’s Dragon brought the cartoons into the real world.

Mary Poppins‘ supremacy as the greatest film of Walt Disney’s career is not threatened by Pete’s Dragon. In fact, it’s not even eligible, since Pete’s Dragon came a decade after Disney’s death. And when compared as a Poppins clone, Pete’s Dragon suffers. But when viewed on its own, without the comparison, it works. Sure, its too long. Sure, not all the songs are great. Sure, it could use some judicious cutting. And really, Mary Poppins is such a high bar to compare to. I know I’m biased, but I don’t find anything I’d change with that film. I can’t say the same about Pete’s Dragon…..but that doesn’t mean I didn’t like it. It’s a good film. I enjoyed it. Just because you may not be practically perfect in every way, doesn’t mean you can’t be brazzle-dazzle!

Check it out on Disney + and let me know what you think. While it’s not a masterpiece, it’s still worth your time. Or at least an hour and 45. And why that particular amount, you might ask? Because I figure after trimming enough of Pete’s Dragon to get to that running time, now you’ve got something!

These two performances alone, more than enough reason to check out Pete’s Dragon

A second look at a childhood favorite; or Disney’s most-criminally underrated animated film!

DisneyPlus is apparently an amazing resource for all kinds of entertainment options. I am told yesterday, a slew of new Star Wars and Marvel movies and shows were announced, as well as a bevy of other programming. That’s all well and good; I know many RAVE about The Mandalorian. Me, I’ve never watched one episode. I’m afraid my Star Wars fanhood has stayed strictly with the movies; no animated series, and no Mandalorian. Maybe that will change at some point; for now, though, DisneyPlus serves one purpose, and one purpose only: allowing me to revisit films I haven’t watched in decades….like 3 decades, maybe even 4!

Since getting DisneyPlus, I’ve watched Fantasia (probably last watched in high school; and for frame of reference, I graduated in 1991); Pinocchio…..no idea when I last watched that, maybe junior high; Bedknobs and Broomsticks, used to really like when I was a younger,…it sadly hasn’t endured as well as I’d like; and most recently, Snow White, which I may have not seen since my age was in single digits. If not that long ago, it had to be close!

Of the films listed above, all, except for Bedknobs and Broomsticks, are unquestioned Disney masterpieces. You do a list of the greatest films that Walt Disney himself was part of, all those, save Bedknobs, are going to be on that list every time. But today’s blog is not about any of those. No, today’s blog is about a Disney film I saw once in the theaters, I must’ve been in junior high at the time, loved it….and then it was gone. I never saw it again, its characters never made an appearance at Disneyland, I don’t think I ever saw it on TV. It just sort of stayed as a memory in my childhood, something pleasant, a past enjoyment. Sort of like a root beer float, which I also don’t think I’ve had since junior high! But thanks to DisneyPlus I was able to watch for only the second time in my life, and for the first time since 1986, this seemingly forgotten Disney film:

And when I say The Great Mouse Detective is vanished from common Disney fandom, I’m not just talking about no ride in the theme park. I’m talking about…..no one talking about! I can’t remember the last time I ever discussed this film with anyone. Maybe because it came out in 1986, 3 years before The Little Mermaid. My current college students love Disney, but Ariel and Sebastian seem (For the most part) to be where their Disney knowledge begins. If asked to bring up an underrated or forgotten Disney flick, I’m likely to hear The Hunchback of Notre Dame or Atlantis: The Lost Empire. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone mention The Great Mouse Detective in….well, ever! Imagine my surprise, when out of curiosity, I read on Wikipedia that not only did the film make money, it basically convinced Disney executives to keep making animated films. And what came 3 years later? You’d think a film whose success made The Little Mermaid possible would be better known. Why this neglect?

Well, fortunately, DisneyPlus doesn’t just keep Star Wars or Disney classics….it apparently has every Disney film ever made, which, of course, includes The Great Mouse Detective. Last seen (and really liked) by a junior high me, what would a 47 year old version think? Well, let’s dive into this, shall we?

For those who have never seen The Great Mouse Detective, which I am guessing is most of you, it’s an animal version of Sherlock Holmes, with Basil of Baker Street the title character. It’s apparently based on a series of children’s books, which I’ve never read. Something I found fascinating, and it’s a shame Disney has never done this since (that I am aware of), all the animals live in the same universe as humans, and live a parallel existence. For example, not only does Basil lives within the walls of 221B Baker Street, but the actual Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson live above him. Similarly, in the walls of of Buckingham Palace is a Queen Mouse who is modeled right after Queen Victoria. Here she is:

So it’s this neat world, where there’s a real Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, a real Queen Victoria, and their mice counterparts, co-existing at the same time. Kind of a parallel universe. They never cross; we never get the real Sherlock Holmes encountering Basil. It’s not like the Looney Tunes or Who Framed Roger Rabbit, where humans interact with anthropomorphic animals. No, despite the fact that most the animals (more on that shortly) in The Great Mouse Detective walk upright and wear contemporary clothing (for 1897), they are size appropriate for their species.

I just found this fascinating; in the dark, dingy London of 1897, there’s a parallel animal experience. It’s in the same London, happening at the same time, and in plain view….just smaller: In addition to Basil’s residence and the Queen Mouse, there’s a dive bar down on the wharves, in pretty much the same place such an establishment would be for the human citizens of London. And this bar on the wharf is filled with the same kind of characters you’d expect…..except they’re all mice.

A house of ill-repute for 1897 Londoner mice

I can’t remember if I had discovered Conan Doyle before I saw The Great Mouse Detective. I know I first started reading the Holmes stories in junior high. So was The Great Mouse Detective the entry drug, or did I enjoy the movie so much because I already knew Holmes? Impossible to say. But I do know that in the years since, I’ve probably read all the Holmes stories a couple times (My favorite: The Adventure of the Red-Headed League), And what struck me was how clever, at times, The Great Mouse Detective works as a parody of Holmes. Sure, there’s the obvious things: if Basil is Sherlock, then he must have a Dr. Watson. In this case its Dr. Dawson. And in a parody of Holmes’ abilities, Basil is able to deduce Dawson is a doctor who served in Afghanistan, just by the stitch in his coast. And again, this interesting world where just as the real British Raj is going on, with the Brits in Afghanistan, so too are apparently Britain’s mice!

As anyone who has read Conan Doyle can tell you, Sherlock Holmes can come across as arrogant. And Basil is just that. But this being a Disney film, between Dawson and the cute girl mouse Olivia wearing on him, he learns how boorish his behavior can be. For the viewer, Basil learning to curb his worst habits (thankfully, no cocaine usage, unlike Sherlock Holmes!) provides some of the funnier moments. When Basil agrees to take the case to find Olivia’s kidnapped Father, he insists that there is no way she will be part of the mission. The film then cuts to Olivia clearly in tow with Basil and Dawson as they go to recruit Toby, the bloodhound with the keen scent.

So much we know of Sherlock Holmes, we find in Basil. Arrogant: check. Confirmed bachelor: check. Plays the violin at a high level: check. Seen in the famous cap: what do you think? Master of disguise: well…..sort of. He and Dawson go undercover to check the dockside bar. But after their capture, archenemy Prof. Ratigan (more on him shortly!) mocks Basil’s disguise for what it was…a taped on mustache. I don’t recall any criminal exposing Holmes so easily!

Dawson and Basil in disguise

The silliness of Basil’s discuses is what The Great Mouse Detective does best; it’s a parody of Conan Doyle. Sherlock Holmes’ deductive ability always stretches credulity and The Great Mouse Detective takes that idea and RUNS WITH IT. Because The Great Mouse Detective is already unbelievable to begin with (hello, talking, clothes-wearing mice!), Basil’s analytical skills knows NO bounds. We first get him being able to decipher, just from the texture of a sheet paper, where Professor Ratigan’s lair is. But that doesn’t even compare to when Basil and Dawson find themselves trapped in a mousetrap on steroid, Ratigan’s Bond villain-esque device for bringing their demise. Here’s the scene. It’s preposterous, it’s Conan Doyle to the extreme….and it’s a delight! Sherlock’s abilities were already stretching belief….why not use animated mice to point out how absurd they can be….and have some fun with it?

Most popular continuations/versions of Sherlock Holmes have as a villain, the “Napoleon of Crime”, Professor Moriarty. He may have only appeared in, I think, two Sherlock Holmes stories (The Final Problem and The Valley of Fear) but the notion of a super villain as intellectually gifted as Holmes has long fascinated those who adapt Conan Doyle. The Great Mouse Detective is no different, and in this case, it’s Moriarty is the most memorable character in the entire film. One of the true shames about The Great Mouse Detective lack of renown is that it’s heavy is absent from the pantheon of Disney’s greatest villains. I am speaking of this odious fellow, one so diabolical he gets his own musical number to extoll his evilness, Professor Ratigan.

The Great Mouse Detective does not feature any famous names for voices….except for one. That would be the legendary Vincent Price, whose silky voice is the perfect match for Ratigan. Price clearly put his all into the work; he goes from arrogance to fury on the flip of a coin. And Prof. Ratigan is such a great character to work with! His name is part of the joke. Despite being MUCH larger than all of the mice, despite having a ratlike tail and other rat features, he insists he’s a mouse (“A very big mouse” one of his cronies adds). So insistent is Ratigan upon being known as a mouse, in one of the film’s most dark moments, he has a henchman eaten alive for drunkenly calling him a rat. But that’s what makes The Great Mouse Detective work for me….what could be a really grim moment just comes across as absurd. Ratigan’s method of execution: a gigantic cat with a bow upon her head, entitled Felicia. I also recently watched another animated film from my childhood, The Secret on NIMH. The household cat in that one is absolutely terrifying, Dragon. We hear that Dragon kills mice, including the protagonist’s husband. But we never see it happen. In The Great Mouse Detective, we actually see Felicia eat a mouse! But because Felicia is so ridiculous, the execution of the drunken henchman isn’t scary….it’s just part of the merriment. Here’s the scene. Composer Henry Mancini (more on that GENIUS shortly!) played a HUGE part in making this sequence work by having Ratigan’s song not be dreary or scary; it’s a bright, cheery anthem. A villain celebrating being a villain. The only thing I can think of to compare it to is the Gaston song in Beauty in the Beast. But that number was just extolling how great Gaston is. Ratigan’s song does the same….but the extolling is a cataloguing of dastardly deeds.

Felicia, Prof. Ratigan’s executioner. Intimidating, isn’t she?

This anchoring the darkness in ridiculousness is what I think makes The Great Mouse Detective work. Ratigan is a wonderful character but never really scary, even though we see him execute one of his own. It has nothing like the impact of Judge Doom dipping the toon shoe in Who Framed Roger Rabbit. Another similarity to Who Framed Roger Rabbit is the stage show at the dockside bar in The Great Mouse Detective. And before I get to that, I have to point out, there’s all kinds of drinking going on in this establishment. Disney in 1986 did not shy away from showing cartoon mice engaging in alcohol and tobacco. This is a tough bar, and the poor stage acts are frequently getting objects thrown at them. That all changes with a sultry performance from, at first, a meekishly dressed female mouse. But by the time our performer has gotten to the second verse of her Henry Mancini original, she’s gone from bookish to voluptuous, long legged, and not afraid to show it….and still a mouse! Jessica Rabbit, in Who Framed Roger Rabbit, was an animated woman…..obviously not realistic, but still supposedly a human. But this chanteuse, who the Disney animators gave a full figure is still a mouse!

First verse on the right, second verse on the left

We never find out anything about this character, and I’ll mention later how I think the screenwriters missed out there. But again, it’s part of this unique universe The Great Mouse Detective exists in; all the trappings of the underworld of 1897 London, but populated by mice, and happening in the same place and time of the real, human world. And in case you’ve never seen it, here’s the entire number.

So what else works about The Great Mouse Detective? I’ve mentioned it being a really effective parody of Conan Doyle; I’ve mentioned the fascinating concept of an animal world parallel and in the same time as the human one; and I’ve mentioned the great characters of Basil and Prof. Ratigan. I mentioned how Vincent Price was the only big name talent to provide a voice to characters. That’s not entirely true. The other MAJOR voice involved was composer Henry Mancini. For those not familiar with Henry Mancini, here’s his bio. 4 Academy Awards, 20 Grammys. We’re talking the guy who wrote The Pink Panther, Baby Elephant Walk, Peter Gunn, Moon River. In others words….an absolute LEGEND. I have to think Mancini was the biggest name composer to write for a Disney film to that point. I put that in bold, so don’t come at me with Phil Collins, Elton John, Hans Zimmer, etc. John Williams never wrote for Disney. Nor did Bernard Herrmann, Alfred Newman, Miklos Rozsa or any from the Hollywood Golden Era. The closest would probably be John Barry (see my blog about Octopussy to appreciate how brilliant that guy was!) composing the score for Disney’s The Black Hole. The point is, Henry Mancini was a giant of Hollywood composing who had never written for animation before, let alone worked for Disney, before.

But if you thought Henry Mancini would have viewed a Disney cartoon as a lesser assignment, you would be WRONG. I’ve already spoken about his two great songs, The World’s Greatest Criminal Mind and Let Me Be Good to You. There’s even a third, Goodbye So Soon which is even more ridiculous. Most villains monologue before executing their enemy. See any James Bond film. But Prof. Ratigan goes beyond that. He doesn’t just perform a song for the entrapped Basil and Dawson; no, he plays a record he made of himself singing…and the completion of that record triggers the execution. Talk about villainy overdrive! Again….it’s The Great Mouse Detective upping Conan Doyle into the realm of preposterousness, and I love it! But back to Mancini; his main theme is absolutely perfect for the film. It sounds completely at home in 1897; if you told it me was Sir Edward Elgar, I wouldn’t doubt it. It’s perfectly late Romantic and somewhat British sounding. Swashbuckling, full of adventure, triumphant and noble…..the perfect tone for the adventure. Heck, I think it would have worked for the real Holmes! Have a listen. Throughout the film, Mancini’s score adds to the action and suspense. He was one of the greats of Hollywood composers, and kudos to whoever at Disney thought to bring him in. I don’t think he ever did another Disney films, which is a shame….that could’ve been a great partnership!

Henry Mancini with what we assume is a pink panther

While I consider The Great Mouse Detective quite possibly the most criminally underrated Disney film (especially since it features The World’s Greatest Criminal Mind), it’s not the greatest Disney film. That, in my opinion, is Mary Poppins, and at some point, I’ll write a blog about what a perfect film that one is. Dare I sat practically perfect in every way? The Great Mouse Detective is not a long film, it’s running length being under 90 minutes. That being said, it’s finale confrontation between Basil and Ratigan goes ON! It begins with Ratigan kidnapping Olivia and escaping in his dirigible, pursued by Basil, Dawson and Olivia’s father, Mr. Flavisham, in pursuit in a jury-rigged balloon featuring a re-purposed Union Jack. This is a striking scene, as they chase in the skies over a nighttime London.

That leads into a very visually exciting duel between Ratigan and Basil inside and on the face of Big Ben. The combat in the clock gears is especially memorable. Also, during this savage combat, Ratigan’s suave ascot tie, cape and waist coat go by the wayside. Instead, we see him snarling on all fours…..in other words, Basil has forced him to become who he really was all along, a rat. It’s very effective……but the fight just keeps going. There are multiple falls off Big Ben before finally, SPOILER ALERT, Ratigan falls, and Basil survives. Now….I am watching this at age 47. Perhaps 13 year old me loved the combat. I just felt, trim just a little bit off that fight scene; the point had already been made. You don’t even need to shorten the film; I have an idea, which I’ll put in the next section about where you could have used that saved time.

So if that’s why I don’t find The Great Mouse Detective to be a perfect film, though I enjoyed it plenty, I also wanted to consider, why is it so universally underrated, Just why isn’t The Great Mouse Detective considered a Disney classic? So, with your indulgence, here are the reasons I think the film is excluded from the all-time great lists. Drum roll, please!

First off, the most obvious: the animation. It’s not bad. The characters are memorably drawn, especially fitting their personality. Take a look:

Basil: arrogant, smart, decisive
Dr, Dawson: kind, a bit stuffy, somewhat bumbling
Olivia: innocent, in need of help.
Professor Ratigan: suave, oily, deliciously evil
Fidget, Prof. Ratigan’s henchman. Doesn’t look like a nice guy, does he?

There’s nothing wrong with the animation in The Great Mouse Detective; it all works fine to advance the story. But it never, outside of the fight in the gears of Big Ben, really strikes you. You never stop, and are wowed by the image. That would not be the case in the Disney films that followed. Look at this shot from Beauty in the Beast:

Just look at the level of detail. Check out the depth, how you can see the chandeliers looming in front of the wall. Look at how you can tell the room is curved. Or how you can see the starry night through the windows. You can even see the shadows of Belle and Beast, on the floor underneath them. Or think back to the opening scene of The Lion King. And yes, I’m sure you just sang the Circle of Life in your head. The whole sequence of the animals arriving for the presentation….it’s a masterpiece. It took my breath away when I first saw it, and it still continues to amaze me, over 20 years later. There’s nothing like that in The Great Mouse Detective. Check out the backgrounds in the still of the characters. They’re not shoddy; they absolutely work for the course of the story. They’re just not on that level of artistry that you’ll find in the ’90s Disney films…..except for maybe The Emperor’s New Groove. That might be comparable; like The Great Mouse Detective, The Emperor’s New Groove is entirely character-focused, and so the animation is less detailed in the background.

Here is an example from the one visually striking sequence in The Great Mouse Detective. I’ve read this is the first use of CGI by Disney.

Raigan, caught in the gears of Big Ben

Also, it needs to be mentioned that The Great Mouse Detective actually seems to recycle some Disney animation. Amongst Ratigan’s gang is a green creature, who looks just like Bill, the lizard who is recruited to go down the White Rabbit’s chimney in Alice in Wonderland. Take a look:

Bill, in Alice in Wonderland
Is that Bill, now in Ratigan’s gang?

Also, I’m fairly certain the henchmen swinging from the chandeliers in Ratigan’s song is pretty much the same animation as the chandelier swinging in Mr. Toad. Check it out on your own.

Another reason that The Great Mouse Detective is excluded from the roster of Disney classics comes down to the nature of the story: it’s Holmes vs. Moriarty….err, Basil vs. Ratigan. And with Dr. Watson….err, Dawson along for the ride. Take Olivia Flavisham, the daughter of Mr. Flavisham, the mouse toymaker who has been abducted by Ratigan. Here she is:

Cute, isn’t she? The Great Mouse Detective came out in 1986, the same year as the non-Disney animated film, An American Tail. As you may recall, the latter starred Fievel, a cute kid of a mouse. He was the center of attention. But in The Great Mouse Detective, Olivia, as cute as she is, is only a plot device. She’s trying to find her father. Dawson feels sorry for her, and Basil, somewhat, tolerates her. A running joke is that he is so preoccupied, he can never recall her last name. Olivia is sweet, innocent and cute….and only exists to move the plot along. Our focus is on the arrogant and somewhat unlikable Basil, the clumsy Dawson, the vile Ratigan, and his gross looking bat crony, Fidget. Perhaps if Olivia, who seems to have no flaws, was fleshed out more, or had a bigger role, that would raise The Great Mouse Detective‘s stock. As it is, the story focuses on characters who are fun, who you like to watch….but aren’t exactly likable.

Another usual feature of Disney films, but one completely missing from The Great Mouse Detective, is any kind of romance. Granted, there are no love stories in Conan Doyle, unless you count Watson and the daughter from The Sign of the Four, and, of course, the never-ending speculation of Holmes and Irene Adler from A Scandal in Bohemia. You know, the one where Watson famously narrates, “To Sherlock Holmes, she is always the woman.” But other than that, romance doesn’t show up in Conan Doyle. Nor does it in The Great Mouse Detective. But it could have…and it wouldn’t have taken up any more of the film’s running time. Remember when I said how the ending fight goes on too long? Trim a few minutes off that, and put into the bar scene. Remember that sultry singer?

We never find anything about her, she sings her song and then is gone. But what if it turns out she and Basil have a history? It doesn’t have to be more than a few minutes. Perhaps, after the song, Basil and Dawson go backstage, to find out what she knows about Ratigan. In return, she slaps Basil for neglecting her, or standing her up? Perhaps she used to also run with Ratigan’s gang? Just some shared history between the two; it would’ve given the singer some depth, and also provided a little more about Basil. It needn’t have been a relationship throughout the rest of the film, just a few lines, one added scene, that would tell us more about just who the Great Mouse Detective is. You look at the Disney films that followed: The Little Mermaid, Aladdin, The Lion King, Pocahontas, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Hercules; they all had a romance as part of the plot. But not The Great Mouse Detective. And I would propose that the lack of it is part of why the film isn’t included as a Disney classic.

So what then is The Great Mouse Detective, if not a classic? Well, with it’s lack of romance, but its emphasis on zany characters and a dramatic caper of a plot, it actually plays more like a long episode of DuckTales, which took to the air just a year later. Many of the Disney classics like The Lion King or Aladdin are about the characters, with the plot being secondary. But in The Great Mouse Detective, there is a major plot at hand, in which our characters are engaged. It’s not the characters of Basil and Ratigan that drive the movie, it’s Basil trying to stop Ratigan’s plot. Compare that to Aladdin, where Jafar’s plot is basically ancillary to the bigger story of Aladdin and Jasmine. Stopping Jafar is a plot device in Aladdin, the same with Simba dethroning Scar in The Lion King. The real story there was about Simba himself. But The Great Mouse Detective isn’t about Basil; it’s about Basil trying to stop Ratigan. The plot is everything, just like it is in Conan-Doyle.

What is The Great Mouse Detective? It’s a very entertaining, fast-moving romp with two memorable leads, dueling against each other, in an absolutely fascinating situation. Mice (and other animals) that dress, walk, talk and act like humans, in a parallel yet simultaneous universe with their human counterparts of 1897. Oh that Disney should revisit that concept! I’ve thought about what other works of fiction could be adapted in the same fashion as The Great Mouse Detective. The one that comes to immediate mind is Jules Verne’s Around the World in 80 Days. That would be a natural; just as the real Phileas Fogg and his servant Passepartout embark on their globe-trot, so too would be animals, acting out the same story at the same time. I that might have potential; anyone got an “in” at Disney, that can pass the word along for me?

But before I wrap this up, there is one thing about The Great Mouse Detective I don’t get. All the animals are anthropomorphic….except for Felicia the cat and Toby the dog. Those two don’t wear clothes, don’t speak English….and basically never stop being a cat and dog. Why is that? Both are much larger than all the characters. Is that only small animals: mice, lizards, rats, bats get to be human-like in The Great Mouse Detective universe? Anything bigger than that is just an animal? That’s never really explained.

Basil and Toby on the left, Ratigan and Felicia on the right. Why are the dogs and cats….well, dogs and cats?

So what doesThe Great Mouse Detective have going for it? Ratigan’s master plan is to replace the Queen with a mechanical version, which will proclaim him the Supreme Ruler. Why, a robot in 1897, along with a bicycle-powered dirigible? It’s downright steam-punk, years before that was a thing! Great music by a true master, in Henry Mancini. Two great adversaries: the somewhat unlikable but mostly unstoppable Basil, and the absolutely slimy and cunning Prof. Ratigan. And with Ratigan you get the incredible vocal performance of Vincent Price. I know everyone loves Robin Williams as the Genie in Aladdin, but give The Great Mouse Detective a try. Ratigan may not be as manic as the Genie….but he’s still pretty darn memorable. Again, he deserves a spot in the pantheon of great Disney villains.

But more than all of this, what The Great Mouse Detective has at its core, what it does best (and what I probably missed as a 13 year old) is a very ridiculous, over the top, yet still completely effective spoof of Sherlock Holmes. Especially since we see clearly that Basil is based out of the same 221B Baker Street that Sherlock himself occupies, the joke hits home. Take all the eccentricities and implausibilities of Holmes and blow them up a hundred times, and have it happen directly under his nose. But who would notice when its mice and one rat? Blow up what was sometimes hard to believe in Conan Doyle and make it completely preposterous; you can do that when you have animated animals, It’s satire….and The Great Mouse Detective does it very, very well.

So let’s review:

Romance: Nope.

Catchy pop tunes that kids love to sing: Nope….though Henry Mancini’s tunes are REALLY good. The Ratigan song wouldn’t be out of place in a Gilbert and Sullivan show, which would be that time period. Still, there’s no Can You Feel the Love Tonight or Under the Sea in the score.

Jaw-dropping animated visuals: Not really.

Warm, likable characters, such as Jasmine or Belle: Nope. Olivia is the only one that comes close, and she’s almost a minor character.

Great leading characters, who, while not likable, are PERFECT opposite each other: ABSOLUTELY.

Clever satire of a literary classic: BINGO

So that’s why The Great Mouse Detective isn’t a classic; it’s clever, it’s witty….but it’s not cuddly nor is it ground-breaking. Basil, Dawson, Rattigan and Fidget will never be the equals of Simba, Timon, Pumba and Scar. I’m never going to try and argue that The Great Mouse Detective is the Disney film you need to see. But what I will tell you is this: don’t know Sherlock Holmes, or have read all of them, The Great Mouse Detective is a VERY enjoyable 100 minutes. It goes by fast, and outside of an overly finale fight, there’s never a dull moment. I won’t call it a classic, but I will stand by this: The Great Mouse Detective may be the most underrated Disney film out there. So go ahead, take a break from your Mandalorian and use DisneyPlus for what it’s for: exploring all the Disney films you’ve missed. Which is probably The Great Mouse Detective. After all……Basil of Baker Street is waiting to take your case!

James Bond re-visits the Raj; or, Watching “Octopussy” in 2020

I’ve always been a Bond-o-phile.  I don’t know how old I was when I saw my first James Bond film, or which one it was.  The first one I saw in the theaters was A View to a Kill (hey, I was a kid; I didn’t have the best taste!), and I think I’ve seen every one that’s come out since in the theaters too.  I’ve seen every film at least once.  I haven’t read too many of the novels, sticking pretty much to cinematic Bond.  It’s impossible for me to choose a favorite Bond, villain, female interest, theme song, or simply a movie.  But there are a few that I do hold above the rest.  It’s easy to default to Goldfinger: it set the template for the whole series.  Opening scene with nothing to do with the rest of the plot; menacing villain who likes to monologue about a ridiculous scheme; female interest with suggestive name; henchman with a gimmick; Bond one-upping the villain in a game; and of course, Bond drives an Aston-Martin.  So much of what follows throughout the entire series began with Goldfinger.  No wonder it’s considered by many to be the best.

One of the films, made nearly 20 years later, that follows the Goldfinger template fairly closely, is also usually ranked near the bottom of Bond films.  I am referring to 1983’s Octopussy.  Look back at my list of Bond tropes from last paragraph.  While Pussy Galore may have been a character in Goldfinger, she never had a film named after her.  That is not the case with Octopussy (the character herself).   I don’t recall when I first saw Octopussy; I’m sure I didn’t see in the theaters.  I would’ve been 10 years old when it came out.  And I’m also unclear when I went against the grain and started ranking it near the top of my Bond favorites.  I remember my reasonings were, the Indian setting (ever since I first read Around the World in Eighty Days I’ve had a fascination for the Subcontinent…particularly stories of British India); the villain Kamal Khan, and the fact that Octopussy was older than your typical Bond leading lady….therefore making a better match for an again Roger Moore.  As the years went by, I listened to the critiques and agreed with some of them; yes, the plot is hard to grasp.  So the bad guys are smuggling jewels out of the Soviet Union, but there’s also a circus, an island of women, and a nuclear bomb.  Wait….what?  Still, I maintained the general opinion was wrong; Octopussy was solid James Bond film.

It was with that mindset that I watched Octopussy for the first time in probably over a decade, just last night.  I have on DVD all of the Sean Connery and Roger Moore Bond films.  My wife is not as well-versed in all things Bond as I am; I think our first movie date was to see Casino Royale back in 2006.  To catch her up on the past, I’m pretty sure we rented Octopussy at some point; I know she’s seen it, as Kamal Khan’s dinner invitation to Bond, “Please…the soufflé can’t wait” has become part of our vernacular.  Still, assuming that it was 2007 or 2008 when I showed her Octopussy, that’s still 12 or 13 years ago.  Heck, that’s pre-President Obama.  So much has changed since then!  Would I still staunchly defend the case of Octopussy after that long an absence?  Well…let’s do this by category….

  1. Main Villain 

What worked:

I don’t think it’s essential that you have to have a great villain to have a great Bond film.  The Spy Who Loved Me…true, it gave us Jaws, but he was a henchman. True baddie Stromberg is pretty forgettable.  Menacing, but his scheme was ridiculous (cause World War III and start over under the seas).  And there have been really good villains saddled with bad films; Christopher Walken as Max Zorin in A View to a Kill; Christopher Lee in The Man with the Golden Gun; and most recently, Christoph Walz in Spectre.  Generally, the best Bond films have really memorable villains: Auric Goldfinger, Raoul Silva in Skyfall, and of course, Alec Trevelyan in Goldeneye.  And for me, one of the reasons I love Octopussy is the villain, Kamal Khan, as played by Louis Jourdan.

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I love this picture.  To me, it sums up everything about Kamal Khan.  Elegant, debonair, controlled, confident, smug.  Kamal’s backstory is pretty much summed up in two different scenes.  At Sotheby’s, the art expert tells Bond he’s typically a seller, not a buyer.  And then when Bond arrives in India, Vijay informs Bond that Kamal is an exiled Afghan prince and a sportsman.  That’s about all we get on Kamal.  And if your complaint is, why is a French actor playing a character who is Afghan…..well, point taken.  But Jourdan plays the character so well!  Pretty much until the Pierce Brosnan films, the Bond villains were not played by the most notable actors (Christoper Lee of course, being an exception).  How familiar are you with the work of Curt Jurgens (The Spy Who Loved Me), Charles Gray (Diamonds are Forever), or Michael Lonsdale (Moonraker)?  That changes in the Brosnan era, when you get actors such as Sean Bean, Sophie Marceau, Robert Carlyle, Jonathan Pryce, and Rosamund Pike all working against 007.  But with Octopussy, we get Louis Jourdan, who already had enjoyed a long career in movies, most notably the 1959 MGM musical Gigi.

Kamal Khan is a different kind of Bond villain.  He’s not a megalomaniac; world conquest is not his goal.  He doesn’t employ a massive, uniformed private army like so many Bond super villains.  His Palace is guarded by local security.  His right hand man is a towering Sikh, Gobinda (more soon to follow).  From what we see, Kamal is fabulously wealthy, lives a life of leisure, and his racket is jewel-smuggling.  He doesn’t have any grand scheme; it’s Soviet general Orlov who has the master plan.  Kamal merely helps him out by providing the connection to Octopussy’s Circus.  Oh, and he has his own team making counterfeit Russian jewelry in his palace.  Kamal really just seems to be in it for money.  Not power, not sex, not control….just to make money.  Heck, when he’s abandoning his Palace near the end of the film, he reveals he has plates to start printing currency.  Quite resourceful!

Some would say this makes Kamal Khan a boring villain.  Anything but!  In my opinion, he is the most smooth, urbane, well-polished villain in the entire canon.  He rarely raises his voice, he is great with a quip, and he just looks SOOO good.  Here’s a short compilation of Kamal speaking.  And while you dwell on that luxurious voice, look at the suits he wears!  A tux, a business suit, two different Nehru collars, an open collar with blazer, and even something appropriate for a safari.  There are other villains who treat Bond to dinner, but I’m not aware of one who so seems at ease as an aristocrat as Kamal Khan.  Then again, he is an exiled Prince; did Bond ever encounter other royalty?

I’ve got much more to talk about than just Kamal Khan, but let me give you a few more reasons why he stands out to me.  For starters, he never monologues to Bond.  The only scene where that might have happened is the dinner, but that’s halfway through the film.  All Kamal does is talk about how Bond will be made to talk.  Maybe it’s because Kamal is not the creator of the scheme, but only an enabler.  Whatever the reason, he doesn’t get the chance to reveal it to Bond.  He also never comes up with outlandish ways to kill Bond.  He sends his henchman Gobinda after him, he hires mercenaries, he leaves Bond to be destroyed in a nuclear blast.  There’s no strapped down to a table with a laser, or fed to sharks.  The only thing that comes close is a hunting party….but it makes for a great action sequence.  It is interesting to me that Kamal Khan is in almost the entire film.  Many Bond villains are seen intermittently.  Often, such as with Blofeld in You Only Live Twice, Bond doesn’t encounter them till in the film’s second half.  That’s not the case with Kamal.  Bond first runs into him in the auction, and then continues to cross his path.  My guess is director John Glen realized what he had with Louis Jourdan, and made milked it for all he was worth!

The last thing I’ll mention about Kamal that I find interesting is….is he gay?  When we first encounter him at Sotheby’s, he has the beautiful Magda with him.  Later, she is at his side when he’s playing backgammon, and she even appears to live in his Palace.  Yet Kamal seems uninterested when Magda sleeps with Bond to get the Faberge egg back.  When he goes to visit Octopussy, on her island of only women, Kamal finds everything mundane.  Lastly, near the end, when Kamal is preparing his exit, Gobinda tells him the noise is “women, selling themselves.”  There’s a bit of detest in his voice and a slight rolling of the eyes.  Are we to believe there is something between Gobinda and Kamal?  As fashionable as Kamal, it wouldn’t be too far-fetched to see him as gay.   Just for speculation.

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What doesn’t work:

For starters, as wonderful as Louis Jourdan is in the role, Kamal Khan is Afghani.  There’s a long history of this in movies.  Sir Alec Guniness playing King Faisal in Lawrence of Arabia or Yul Brynner playing the King of Siam in The King and I.  This may not have been perceived as a problem in 1983, but watching in 2020, it does bother me.  If Octopussy was made today, I would hope an Afghani actor would play Kamal.

Related to that, there are a couple moments when the script went too far with Kamal.  Dinner at 8 in very formal attire…..perfectly fitting for the character.  Eating stuffed sheep’s head and munching on the eyeball….why?  Maybe it’s truly a delicacy.  It just seemed…well, why give this man, who is the definition of sophistication such a touch?  And then, before the hunt begins, Bond hides in a room in the Palace that has dead humans in it.  Again….why?  Why does Kamal Khan keep dead people?  Perhaps they found out something about him that they weren’t supposed to?  Perhaps it’s to tell the viewers that despite how smooth he is, Kamal is a bad dude.  That could be.  For me though, I don’t think we need to see a savage side to Kamal.  Let him stand on his own as the most gentlemanly of any Bond antagonist.

2. Other Villains

Joining Kamal as the baddy in Octopussy is Soviet General Orlov.  He’s the one with the scheme, and it’s actually a pretty darn good one.  It’s kind of what makes Octopussy work for me.  The Roger Moore films had some pretty over-the-top story lines; rich shipping magnate wants to end life on Earth so everyone can live under the sea (The Spy Who Loved Me); weird guy with droll inflection wants to wipe out life on Earth from space and then breed a master race (Moonraker).  After that, things calmed down with For Your Eyes Only; a real spy story where an underworld crime lord tries to sell a decoder to Soviets.  Everything was realistic, anchored in the Cold War; nothing outlandish.   Octopussy stays with the Cold War, and even though it’s a little more fanciful, it actually makes sense: Orlov wants to detonate a nuclear bomb on a U.S. base in West Germany.  It will be assumed this was an American error, and West Germany will insist on nuclear disarmament.  The Red Army would then be unopposed.  It actually seems like something that could happen.  Now Orlov himself is fine.  Steven Berkoff plays him with the right amount of malevolence.  He snarls, he loses his temper….basically everything a glory-seeking Red Army general would be, as depicted by a Western movie during the Cold War.  Its a stereotype, but it works.  It will always seem a secondary villain to me, like there are in many a Bond film.  Berkoff just isn’t the actor Louis Jourdan was.  I think John Glen felt the same; Orlov meets his demise long before Kamal does.

More interesting, though, is the aforementioned Gobinda.  I actually think he is one of the very best henchmen in the entire James Bond canon. octopussy_s_04_500

You see, Gobinda doesn’t have a gimmick. He doesn’t have metal teeth, he’s not mute (he doesn’t talk much….but he does talk), and he doesn’t have an unusual weapon.  No throwing his hat, here!  His method of intimidation are crushing dice into power….which seems believable by a man as big as him.  Gobinda’s weapons vary from a blunderbuss (okay, that’s a bit weird) to a sword, to a knife, to a rifle.  And he doesn’t have to do it all himself.   When Kamal’s previous attempts to be rid of Bond doesn’t work, he and Gobinda hire mercenaries to attack Octopussy’s island.

I never found Gobinda to be cartoonish; I actually found him menacing.  And Bond really isn’t able to ever beat him.  He finally dispatches him by releasing an antenna on his face, when both are clinging to the top of Kamal’s plane.  Perhaps that’s why Gobinda typically isn’t mentioned on the list of great Bond henchmen; there’s no gimmick.  He’s not a cartoon.  He’s just a really tough, intimidating big man who is more than enough for James Bond to handle.

3.  Bond Women

What Worked:

Octopussy for a Bond film has a relatively low women count.  I know that sounds insane for a film in which there is an island inhabited completely by beautiful women.  But if you go by what women Bond actually has relations with, there are only two.  I guess you can go three if you go with his ally in the pre-credit sequence.  Here’s the thing: none of the women are disposable.  They all play a part in the narrative, none of them meet a tragic end (as often happens when there are multiple Bond girls), and each of them can function on their own, without needing Bond….for the most part.  Yes, Octopussy requires Bond to save her at the end….but we’ll get to that.  And heck, you could say that’s balanced out by the woman in the pre-credit sequence in some Latin American country (I always assumed Cuba but the fact that Bond flies over a crossing area into a different nation makes me wonder); she not only gives Bond his disguise to get into the airplane hangar, she’s the one who rescues him when he’s captured.  So, if Bond does indeed have to save Octopussy at the end, let’s consider it an even trade for he being bailed out by his female companion at the beginning!

Alright, let’s look at the two female leads, starting with Octopussy herself.

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So before revisiting Octopussy, I thought the titular character was a great leading lady for James Bond.  The actress Maud Adams was older (at least not in her 20s), and that worked with a Roger Moore who was then in his 50s.  What I didn’t realize till my recent rewatching is….Adams was still 17 years younger than Moore.  I guess that was wishful thinking on my part.  Still, it’s better than a 25 or 30 year age gap.

But there’s more to appreciate about Octopussy than her being somewhat older than a typical Bond girl.  One is her backstory.   Is there a more fantastic storyline in the Bond canon?  She’s the daughter of a rogue agent Bond exposed decades ago.  She respects Bond because he gave her father the option of suicide, rather than public disgrace.  Sort an honor amongst thieves, I suppose.  Octopussy assumed command of her father’s operation and boy, did she run with it!  It’s explained very briefly, but from what we she tells Bond, she revived the cult of the Octopus and took in young women who are roaming around Asia, looking to find themselves.  Octopussy gives them a purpose: in addition to running a jewel-smuggling ring, she also operates a circus.   All the time, the beautiful women reside on her floating island, row her galley, and serve as her security force.  They’re all gorgeous and powerful; her army pretty much takes out Kamal’s security detail, with only minimal help from James Bond.  It’s a story that really deserved much more fleshing out.  Just as Daniel Craig’s Bond recently encountered Blofeld, perhaps a future Bond can reimagine Octopussy, and how she created her own kingdom?  Who wouldn’t want to see Octopussy recruiting her forces and her training program?

So this is what works about Octopussy: closer in age to Bond than the typical Bond girl, her backstory is tremendous, and she (and her forces) really can stand on their own.  Though Kamal does work behind her back, to her face, he is very deferential (and soooo smooth.  Just listen to anytime he says her name; so silky!). When Kamal hires mercenaries to take out Bond, they warn him they “don’t want any trouble with The Woman.”  Octopussy is powerful and respected.  And though Bond does have to rescue her, it’s not like so many scenarios, where the Bond girl is helpless and he has to do everything.  Octopussy’s forces have infiltrated the Monsoon Palace, and she has Kamal at gunpoint.  Kamal being Kamal, he is almost able to talk his way out of it, and then he and Gobinda overpower her.  Yes, Bond has to save the day….but hey, it’s a Bond film.  What did you really expect?  And again, he only saves Octopussy after her own women have pretty much laid out all of Kamal’s goons.  Here’s the scene.   Also pay attention to the shot at 4:07 in the clip.  I’ve always been impressed by the camerawork there: Octopussy fighting the goons, and Kamal walking into the shot, with the camera rising.  You’re seeing it from the perspective of Bond and Q in the balloon.  Director John Glen had worked on as second unit director on previous Bond films, and shots like that show he knew how to frame something.

The other Bond woman (not counting the one in the pre-credit scene) is Magda.

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She’s the first one Bond encounters, as she is seen at Kamal’s side at the auction.  Magda is more your typical Bond girl in that she’s young and beautiful.  But there’s more to her than that.  The relationship with Kamal is left unclear.  You might first assume she’s his mistress, but as we see, Kamal seems to take no notice of women.  In addition to being with him at the auction, she’s at his side when he plays backgammon, and later, not only is a guest at dinner but appears to be living at the Monsoon Palace.  She seduces Bond, in order to retrieve a Faberge egg.   And again, Kamal seems to have no problem with Magda being with Bond.  But then in the film’s second half, Magda appears to be working with Octopussy.  She is a costumed performed in the circus, and when Bond (as a clown) pleads that a nuclear bomb will go off, she warns Octopussy that he’ll ruin the whole operation.  We must assume that by “operation”, Magda is only referring to jewel smuggling.  Though she is tied to Kamal, the fact that she’s in the circus with the ticking bomb would have us believe she’s not in on the real plan.  Heck, maybe she really was Kamal’s lover, and he leaving her in the dark about the plan is his way of getting back at her for sleeping with Bond.  Or maybe I’m thinking too much into this.

As the secondary Bond girl, Magda doesn’t need to be well-drawn out.  But she’s definitely different than the typical Bond second girl.  For starters…she doesn’t die, a fate pretty common with secondary Bond girls.  Secondly, she’s a tough one.  Her seducing of Bond to get the egg is followed by her dive from a balcony, using her gown as a rope.  And then in the attack on the Monsoon Palace, we see her laying waste to Kamal’s goons.  And at the point, there’s no doubt why she’s in league with Octopussy; Kamal left her to be blown up!   There’s a moment when Bond in disguise is sneaking around the circus train in East Germany.  Magda clearly spots him…but never says anything.  Why?  Much like all of Octopussy’s plots, this is just one more aspect that you just go “huh”?  Just roll with it and enjoy the film.

Who would’ve thought, a film named Octopussy would actually have some of the most confident, self-reliant, not-in-need of help resourceful women in the entire Bond series?  Octopussy, Magda, the woman in the pre-credit scene, and all of Octopussy’s underlings; Bond may save the title character at the end, but overall, this is a movie where the women can stand on their own!

What didn’t work:

Maybe its because Octopussy doesn’t appear till about halfway through the film, I always feel like her character is underdeveloped.  It’s more than just the backstory.  She welcomes Bond because he gave her father a choice, she tells Kamal not to kill him.  She then offers Bond an opportunity to work with her.  He refuses, she gets all mad and has a tirade over loyalty to Queen and Country, he grabs her, kisses her….and that’s it.  From that point on, Octopussy is now a pawn in Kamal and Orlov’s plot, and then later Kamal’s prisoner in need of rescue.  All that I wrote about before, her backstory, her power….it all sort of goes away when Bond kisses her.

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Look, I get it.  I know that’s the Bond playbook.  The Bond kiss conquers all.  I get it, this is a Bond film made in 1983; we can only expect so much.  But still…..we got such a great backstory on Octopussy; you’d think someone who has built up a crime empire, developed her own business, and has a horde of women all serving her (they literally row a yacht for her!) would be tougher to conquer.   Or if indeed she is a romantic foil for Bond, let it be on her terms.  It just seemed too easy for someone who has done so much, to have all that power and uniqueness melt down for 007.  It also doesn’t help that Maud Adams just isn’t a great actress.  I couldn’t find the love scene on Youtube; the only version I could find was in Spanish so that’s not going to help.  The point is, with a better actress, you might have been able to have more dramatic effect with Octopussy yelling at Bond that she has no country to be loyal to.   Perhaps that was it; with Maud Adams, there was just going to be a limitation in really dramatically developing Octopussy.  Give the backstory and move on.  Still….if ever there was a Bond woman who you wish had more than one film, it’d be Octopussy for me.  I’d love to see more about her operation; you’d have to think 007 would encounter it again sometime.

The other thing that could’ve worked better with the women of Octopussy would’ve been if they hadn’t been all white.  It’s the same thing with Louis Jourdan playing an Afghani character.  Actually…no it’s not.  Jourdan was a French actor playing an Afghani character.  With Octopussy and her proteges, and also Magda at times, you get white women playing at Indian.  They are often dressed in Indian attire…but they’re clearly white.  It’s what you’d call cultural appropriation.  Jourdan is a white actor playing an ethnic role.  But Octopussy is a white character that is trying to act like a cross between a guru and a maharajah.  If you made Octopussy today, you could still have the backstory, you could still have her mentor young white women searching for themselves…but what if Octopussy actually was Indian?  And then, of course, make her more resistant to James Bond’s kiss.  I know, I’m talking of a movie made in 1983.  But if you made a new Octopusssy, that would be an improvement.

4. Bond’s allies

What worked

james bond octopussy retrospective 1983 roger moore vijay amritraj desmond llewellyn mark west strange tales pinewoodIn the Sean Connery James Bonds, 007 is often assisted by CIA counterpart Felix Leiter.  The majority of Connery films take place in the United States (Goldfinger, Diamonds are Forever) or nearby (Dr. No, Thunderball) so Leiter’s presence makes sense.  With Roger Moore, the action is much more worldwide, and so Leiter only appears in the first installment,  Live and Let Die.  Moore’s 007 had a bevy of different allies, and Octopussy gave us one of the very best.

I’m talking about Vijay, played by Indian tennis pro Vijay Armritraj.  Vijay is one of the most likable characters in the entire Bond canon.  His introduction is also one of the most memorable.  As Bond arrives in India, a snake charmer catches his attention by playing the James Bond Theme.  Talk about a self-aware Bond!  Vijay proves quickly to not be an Indian stereotype; he laughs with Bond about his disguise and how he hates snakes.  Vijay drives Bond through a memorable car chase on a Tuk Tuk and delivers him to Q.  His response to anything Bond says is “No problem.”  Like many Bond allies, Vijay does not make through the film.  Thankfully we don’t see it, but it’s implied he’s killed by the thug with the yo-yo saw blade (talk about a ghastly death).  It’s clear to me that director John Glen knew how well-received Vijay would be.  When Bond discovers his death, composer John Barry’s score takes a distinctly melancholy turn.  And in the following scene, when Bond is being chauffeured into East Germany, his driver comments “No problem,” to which Bond winces.  Throughout the cannon, Bond has seen plenty of good men die.  Most often, the character is forgotten by the next scene.  To see Bond grimace when another character uses Vijay’s catchphrase was something different. It’s one thing for a Bond ally to meet a gruesome demise; it’s commonplace in the series.  But to have take such an emotional toll….that was different in Octopussy, a tribute to how good a character Vijay was.

The other major ally in Octopussy is none other than Q.  Octopussy is the film that breaks with the usual Q routine.  Sure, we get the visit to Q’s laboratory, with the insane weapons of silly destruction, and Bond’s childish antics.  And Octopussy, I must say, takes the cake for Bond immaturity.  Just after I got done talking about how much power the women of Octopussy have, this is the film where, in Q’s lab, Bond zooms a camera’s focus on a woman’s cleavage.  You can look the scene up yourself.  But where Q differs in this film is that he plays a role beyond the one gadget scene.  We get Q and Vijay on stake-out duty, while Bond is on Octopussy’s island; it’s Q who is the one who finds Vijay dying.  And of course, we get the scene of Q and Bond in a Union Jack hot air balloon. coming to the rescue at the Monsoon Palace.  As I already mentioned, Octopussy’s forces pretty hold their own.  But when one goon them at gunpoint, it’s Q in a balloon that saves the day.  And who doesn’t like the the old, flustered Q, grumbling as the women fawn all over him?  Call it Q’s finest hour in the whole Bond cannon!

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What didn’t work?

ABSOLUTELY NOTHING.  What a perfect trio of allies: the woman who helps Bond in the pre-credit scene (and rescues him, rather than the typical other way around); the very likable Vijay (did ever a Bond ally’s death have such an impact?); and Q getting to do more than just provide gadgets.  And I might add, the gadgets Q does supply are so low-key: a fountain pen that allows Bond to escape from his room in the Monsoon Palace; a watch connected to a video camera; and a hidden microphone in a Faberge egg.  That’s it.    Of course in a film where the villains are shot in the back (Orlov) or killed in a plane crash (Kamal), you really don’t need over-the-top gadgetry.  Anyway, nothing needs improving for Bond’s allies in Octopussy; they’re all perfect.

5.  The Setting

What Worked:

Bond films have been known for their exotic settings.  The Man with the Golden Gun took us to Thailand and Hong Kong.  The Spy Who Loved Me included Egypt and Sardinia.  One place Bond had not been was India.  George MacDonald Fraser, author of the Flashman novels, worked on the story for Octopussy and was the one who brought up India as the setting.  And maybe that’s why I’ve always loved Octopussy; I’ve always been fascinated by India.  And my, does Octopussy give us so much of it.  We have a crowded city bazaar, we’ve got Tuk Tuks, we have sword swallowers and fire breathers.  We’ve got Octopussy’s beautiful floating palace, and the glamour of the hotel Bond stays at.  And it’s all filmed on location, in Udaipur and it looks gorgeous.  For someone who is fascinated by India, Octopussy makes me want to go there.

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The real floating palace of Octopussy

But only half of Octopussy takes place in India.  The bomb sequence gives us East Germany.  Just after the credits, we see 009 trying to escape with a counterfeit egg to the British Embassy in East Berlin.  Bond is dropped off at Checkpoint Charlie.  We see the circus train searched at the border as it crosses from East Germany to the West.  Though pretty much every Bond film pre-Pierce Brosnan takes place in the Cold War, never was it depicted at the forefront.  Many a Bond film featured a plot device of goading the US and the Soviet Union into nuclear war….but the action took place in some far-off locale.  From Russia with Love occurs in Turkey and aboard the Orient Express.  The Spy Who Loved Me has Bond working with KGB agent Amasova, but the setting never goes behind the Iron Curtain.  Octopussy, unless I am forgetting something, was the only Bond film where the action is in the Eastern Bloc.  And it’s also one of the few that has a Russian as a villain.  True, General Orlov is acting on his own, to detonate a nuclear bomb on a US Air Force Base.  But his rationale is to create an opportunity for Soviet conquest of Western Europe.  It’s not SPECTRE or someone else trying to bring the Soviets and the US into combat; it’s a Red Army general who is the enemy.  Octopussy stands alone in the Bond canon for not just happening during the Cold War but really depicting the Cold War.

What didn’t work:

Though I loved seeing India in Octopussy in my recent reviewing, there’s much of the depiction that just hasn’t aged well.

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The Tuk Tuk street chase is terrific.  But once Bond is on foot, it becomes one stereotype after another.  Mystic who lies on a bed of nails: check.  Guy who breathes fire:  check.  Guy who swallows swords: check.  And it doesn’t stop at the scene.  We know what a gentleman Kamal Khan is; is the only reason he’s munching on a sheep’s eyeball because he’s Afghani and that seems like something an Afghani prince would do?    I understand situating the film in its locale; India in 1983 is exotic, so why not show it off?  But Octopussy, at least in the street fight scene, goes from local color to expected trope way too quickly.

But to me the bigger problem with Octopussy’s India is that it’s white people playing India.  While it takes place in 1983, at times it feels like the British Raj all over again.  Here’s the backgammon game, before Bond joins it:

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The players are two white people (okay, Kamal is SUPPOSED to be Afghani), while all the Indians are standing around.  Heck, Kamal’s opponent is a British Major!  This is 1983; why would a British Major be playing backgammon in a casino in India.  This isn’t 1883!  Think of who Bond interacts with India.  Yes, Vijay is Indian.  So is Gobinda, Kamal’s right hand man.  But Octopussy and Magda are not.  But they still dress as if they are.  That, more than the stereotypes, is what seems to have aged the worst about Octopussy.  Yes, it’s cringe-worthy when Bond hands cash to an Indian British agent and tells him, “That ought to keep you in the curry for a while.”  But it’s far more bothersome the idea of all the white people playing Indian.  Again, it’s different than a French actor playing an Afghani actor.  And I acknowledge that’s problematic (while I still LOVE Jourdan’s portrayal of Kamal).  But Octopussy and her troupe are assuming the lifestyle of Indian royalty and their court, but are clearly white characters.  They’re not white actors playing Indian character; instead, they’re white characters wanting to live like Indians.  Cultural appropriation at its finest…err, most unsettling.  Octopussy could have worked just as well, if the title character and her brood were actual Indians.

6.  The Action

What Works:

Director John Glen having previously been a secondary unit director was obviously good training for being the head man, for Octopussy has some of the best action sequences in any Bond film.  There’s not one that seems excessive, all are paced well,  Directors of modern action flicks could take a lesson here, instead of having the a ction goes on and on.  And on.  With Octopussy, the perfect balance is taken between plot and then action….and almost all the action comes out of that plot.  Take this pattern:  Bond arrives in India, beats Kamal Khan in backgammon.  Alright, time for action: cue the tuk-tuk chase/street fight.  Later on, Bond is on Octopussy’s island and they have their intimate moment.  This is immediately followed by the attack from the thugs Kamal hired.  And I have to say, the thug with the saw blade on a yo-yo was genuinely terrifying.  And in two cases, as soon as Bond begins to unravel the villain’s scheme, we go right to action.  No sooner has General Orlov’s helicopter flown away from Kamal’s palace but are we treated to human hunt scene, where Kamal and Gobinda on elephants are in pursuit of Bond.  As Kamal proclaims, “Let the sport commence!”  The second comes when Bond captures Orlov and he reveals what his nuclear ambition is.  Orlov soon escapes, and what follows is really, pretty much non-stop action (with a few breaks) to the end.  Bond trying to catch up to Octopussy’s circus train in Orlov’s car, even riding on the train rails; Bond battling Kamal and his henchmen on the train; and Bond doing whatever it takes to stop the bomb before it goes off (clown suit, anyone?).  From the moment we see the bomb placed on the train, the dramatic tension only keeps building.  And after a brief respite (like possibly 2 minutes), we’re back in India for the conclusion, with Octopussy’s forces raiding Kamal’s palace, Kamal taking her captive, and Bond coming to the rescue.

Because it’s Bond, and especially because the Bond is Roger Moore, a lot of the action is over the top.  The human hunt in the Indian jungle, for example.  Perhaps the most hard to believe is Bond holding onto to the exterior of Kamal’s plane.

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It’s outrageous…but I guess after the ridiculousness of Bond in Space just two movies earlier, this doesn’t really bother me.  However it was filmed, it looked very convincing.  And composer John Barry (more on him soon), like Bernard Herrmann with North by Northwest and its crop duster attack, knew that sometimes with aerial combat, its more impressive if the plane engine is the soundtrack.  Here’s the second half of the scene; this is preceded by a part where Kamal does all kinds of aerial acrobatics to dislodge Bond.  I know its ridiculous but it’s the final combat of the film…you have to pull out all the stops, don’t you?

I also have to mention that pre-credit scene.  It has absolutely nothing to do with the plot of the film; it’s just an 8 minute action stand-alone.  And it ABSOLUTELY works.  What’s striking about it is, Bond seemingly fails on his mission there.  He plants a bomb to blow up some experimental aircraft in this Latin America country (Cuba?), but his cover is blown.  His female accomplice bails him out, he then uses a secret miniature jet of his own, and still achieves his goal.  It’s a great scene; a bit over the top, but completely fun and sets the tone for the film.  It’s John Glen’s way of saying, buckle up friends, we’re going to have some fun tonight!

What doesn’t work:

There’s a bad tendency in Roger Moore films to put unnecessary slapstick/visual/aural gags into the action.  The Man with the Golden Gun has one of the best automobile stunts in all of James Bond…and its accompanied by a slide whistle.  Moonraker has a pigeon doing a double take when Bond drives a gondola out of the Venice canals and into St. Mark’s Square.  Octopussy is not free from these sins.  Bond swinging on a jungle vine during the hunt?  Sure, I can buy it.  But do we need a Tarzan yell while doing so?  And like that Venetian pigeon, Vijay beating a goon with a tennis racket and those watching turning their hands back and forth, as if watching a tennis match.  Yes, we get it…Vijay is a tennis pro….but could we do without the gag?  In both cases, it just takes away from what was a really good action sequence.

By now, you’ve probably got the impression that I really like Kamal Khan.  Louis Jourdan nailed the role.  The Bond films have so many crazy, threatening, snarling over the top villains.  Octopussy has that with Orlov.  But there’s a reason Kamal lasts till near the very end.  His suave, elegant nature improves every scene he’s in.  I can’t disagree more with people who consider him an unmemorable villain.  Sure, if you like your villain a megalomaniac with a world destruction plot, Kamal’s not for you.  Or if you want your villain to be physically threatening to Bond like Scaramanga or Largo, that’s not Kamal either.  But if you want a villain who doesn’t want world conquest but rather, just riches, is smooth as silk, as is just a suave operator, that’s Kamal Khan.

The reason I bring this up here is….I feel like Kamal’s death is sort of tacked on.  Bond and Octopussy get out of the plane and then it proceeds to crash.  Bond never personally killed Kamal, like he did Stromberg, Kananga, Scaramanga or Drax; he damaged his plane and Kamal never regained control.  In fact, Kamal and Bond never really have a one-on-one confrontation outside of backgammon.  So why do I bring this up?

Well, let me explain.  The Roger Moore films never had a reoccurring villain like Blofeld (I’m not counting Jaws, as he was a henchman not a head honcho, and he’s pretty much comic relief by Moonraker); due to legal questions regarding ownership, Blofeld and SPECTRE are out of sight in the Moore era.  For Your Eyes Only begins with Bond dumping a bald man with a Persian cat down a factory smokestack….but the name Blofeld is never given.  It’s the producers’ way of saying F YOU over the legalities of Blofeld.

So how does this relate to Kamal?  In a typical Bond film, the villain’s master plan is foiled and now it’s Bond just cleaning up.  That’s when Goldfinger goes down.  Stromberg too.  What was really going to happen to them?  Their master plan is over with; how do you come back from that?  But with Kamal, it’s different.  It was Orlov who wanted the nuclear explosion; Kamal just wanted the reward.   After that, he’s clearing out, with plans to go into counterfeiting.  How easy would it have been for Kamal to regain control of his plane, and as Bond and Octopussy pull themselves to safety, see it fly off into the distance.  Perhaps Kamal smiles and salutes, “To next time, Mr. Bond!”  And there’s your answer to Blofeld.  Kamal flies off to somewhere else obscure on Earth and begins a new criminal enterprise.  He’s kind of like Prof. Moriarty in Sherlock Holmes.  It’s Orlov who wants war, Kamal has the criminal operation to help him make that happen….for a handsome price.  I know Octopussy was possibly going to be the final Roger Moore film….and probably should’ve been, the way A View to a Kill turned out!  So there really wasn’t the need to introduce an archvillian who spanned multiple films at that point.  Too bad.  What if Octopussy had happened earlier in the Moore tenure?  Kamal wouldn’t have had to be a Blofeld-type out for constant world domination, but perhaps the head of an underground network who’s path Bond kept running into.  I think it could’ve had potential!

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Kamal, you deserved better!

Only two more categories to go.  Hey, Octopussy is over two hours long; this has to take a while!

9.  The Music

I’m going to go the opposite of what I’ve been doing and go first with..

What Didn’t Work

That song.  It has some nice moments to it, especially some very tasty guitar work during the “hold tight, let the fight begin” part.  But man…All Time High is SOOOO dated.  That light rock (or soft core porn, if you prefer) saxophone solo.  Here’s the opening credits.  The way that saxophone just rips in, it so perfectly DESTROYS all the fun from that pre-credit scene!  Look, I get it; composer John Barry was trying to match what Marvin Hamlisch did with Nobody Does It Better from The Spy Who Loved Me.  It’s just….not as good.  Rita Coolidge is not Carly Simon.  And Nobody Does It Better was a great song of the 1970s.  But Octopussy is 1983 and All Time High is not hip.  It’s soft rock.  It’s not a forgettable tune, it’s not a bad one….it just seems tired and out of place.

What Did Work

EVERYTHING ELSE MUSICALLY.  Literally….EVERYTHING ELSE.  John Barry did not score all of the James Bond films but he’s pretty much the guy who made the Bond sound.  A court case upheld Monty Norman as the composer of the Bond theme…but it’s pretty much agreed that it was John Barry who arranged it to the form we know and love.  But if there’s any doubt that John Barry didn’t create the Bond sound, I got one word for you: GOLDFINGER.  Admit it, you heard Shirley Bassey’s voice when you read that, didn’t you?  That was John Freaking Barry.  And it’s not just Goldfinger.  How about those wonderful cascading strings to start You Only Live Twice?  Or Bassey again, with Diamonds are Forever?  All John Barry.

I’ve long believed John Barry is right there near John Williams in terms of film composer greatness.  And there really isn’t anyone ever in Hollywood history who could write the HUGE, sweeping theme as JB.  Here’s one that won him an Oscar.  That theme.  Barry had done that his whole career.  From Born Free to Dances with Wolves.. And Octopussy is no different.  Remember when I said how soft rock an All-Time High sounded?  I stand by that.  But when John Barry uses it as the background for the love scenes, it’s positively GORGEOUS.  Man, I don’t know if another composer in movie history could write so well for strings.  Take a listen at 3:10 mark.  Isn’t that just beautiful?!

Two things stand out for me about John Barry’s work on Octopussy, which I really think is some of the best work of his entire career. In Out of Africa, Director Sydney Pollack wanted native African music.  Barry successfully fought against that because he said the movie was about the relationship between Karen Blixen and Denys Fitch-Hatton, neither of whom were African.  He does the same with Octopussy.  I’ve already talked about how, while the major characters are in India, none of them are actually natives.  Barry picks up on that.  He gives us music that is exotic, with a touch of danger to it….but it never claims to be Indian.  It’s full Western symphonic music.  Whether you want to add that to the complaints of Octopussy being white people playing at India…well that’s up to you.  Take a listen to the music for the scene of Kamal arriving at the Island of Octopussy.  There’s mystery to it, it’s exotic, there’s a touch of danger.  To me, John Barry completely captures the mood.  It doesn’t try to be imitative of India, it’s just….exotic.  I love it.

The other thing about Barry’s score to Octopussy is how he calls up the James Bond theme to kick some of the action scenes into higher gear.  That’s not coincidental.  Octopussy had to contend with competition at the box office from Never Say Never Again, the non-Eon James Bond film.  It had the rights to Blofeld, SPECTRE and basically the plot of Thunderball.. But it didn’t have the right to the music or the trademark Gun Barrel opening.  So with that being the case, Barry used that familiar theme to remind everyone that this was the REAL Bond.  Watch this scene from where Bond is escaping from the Russians, to chase Octopussy’s circus train.  The first couple minutes are silent.  John Barry typically doesn’t use music to accompany action, it’s more to set the mood.  But once the train is on the tracks, we immediately get the Bond theme.  The timing is PERFECT.  Barry had been with the franchise since Dr. No; he knew what he was doing.  No he didn’t write that song, but when composing for James Bond, nobody did it better.

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John Barry at his piano in 1967, the year You Only Live Twice — the fifth of the 11 James Bond films he scored — was released in theaters.

10.  James Bond himself.  

I saved this one for last because this is probably the biggest bone of contention Bond fans have with Octopussy.  You mean, the one where Bond is a clown?  It’s unforgivable!

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Or is it?  Let’s go first with

What Didn’t Work

This is really a commentary on the entire Roger Moore Bond era but there’s always an upping the ante in terms of the slapstick.  Starting with his first film, Live and Let Die, the preposterous gets hyped up.  The villain in Live and Let Die literally inflates and pops.  Don’t believe me?  The plots, as I’ve mentioned before, get crazier throughout the Moore tenure, till For Your Eyes Only grounds everything.  Octopussy looked like it was going to be the final Moore film, and we see someone who is very at ease playing 007.  Maybe just a little too at ease.

Here’s Bond at the end of the pre-credit scene, landing his mini-jet at a service station.  Look at the smug smile, as he says, “Fill ‘er up, please.” Unknown

It’s not a scene breaker; that is accomplished by the soft core porn saxophone that immediately follows.  But that smug smile….sort of, yeah I’m James Bond, I know that’s cheesy, but what are you going to do about it?  And for better or worse, I think that’s kind of what defines Roger Moore in Octopusssy, sort of a Devil may care attitude, this is my last go-around, so what the Hell?

People love to bag on Bond in a clown suit.  Let us not forget just 20 minutes of movie time earlier, he was in a gorilla costume.  I’ll explain in a bit why the clown moment doesn’t bother me.  And yes, I know, it’s a circus train, sure there’s a gorilla suit nearby.  But it just seems more like Roger Moore saying, “It’s my last go-around, why not wear a gorilla suit?”

But the number one problem with James Bond in Octopussy is, quite simply, Roger Moore was in his mid 50s.  Octopus is closer to Bond in age, Magda not so much.  I get that Magda was just trying to retrieve the Faberge egg for Kamal, but it’s still hard to fathom her being interested in someone who is so much older.  And if you think that age difference is bad, just stay away from A View to a Kill.  Look, Moore being older doesn’t impact the action sequences.  He’s in great shape, and he looks rightfully exhausted when he escapes from the jungle hunt.  Same with when he’s running through the German forest from the knife thrower.  I’m venturing into What Worked territory, but when Bond is trying to reach the U.S. Air Force Base, he looks completely drained.  He looks like…well, what a mid 50s guy would, after running.  That all works.

But what doesn’t work is the descent to immaturity.  The irreverent one-liners, that’s part of the Bond shtick.  But the scene that really sticks with me is Bond in Q’s lab.  You know the drill; outrageous killing machines being tested and Bond with a groaner of a line, to jab at Q.  While Q is showing off a video camera, Bond trains it on the cleavage of a nearby desk worker wearing a low cut top.  I don’t mind Bond flirting with Miss Moneypenny’s new assistant, Penelope Smallbone.  If anything, that was a great touch by John Glen to show how everyone is getting older.  Miss Moneypenny is training her younger replacement.  And of course Bond is going to flirt.  But zooming in on the cleavage of some woman who is probably 30 years younger?  That scene hasn’t aged well at all.  If Bond did it in Live and Let Die, when Roger Moore was much younger, it still would seem cringe-worthy today.  But when you add the age difference between Moore and whoever played the secretary….its just gross.  I’m not saying Roger Moore was too old to play Bond in Octopussy; in many ways (Miss Moneypenny’s replacement, looking tired, Octopussy herself being older), the script and direction accounted for an older Bond.  But there were still too many moments where you just wanted to say, James, really….haven’t you grown up yet?  Which is basically what Q tells him.  Here’s the scene.

What Did Work:

Alright, let’s get to the Clown Suit.  Look, I get it, I really do.  James Bond is too tough to wear a clown suit.  Bond just wouldn’t do that.  Well, a couple things here.  First off, the movie prepares us for it.  The first scene after the credits is a clown running from pursuers in East Berlin.  We find out that was 009.  So it’s not like Bond is the only 00 to go clown.  Next, let’s re-trace the steps that led to Bond as a clown.  He’s stowed away on Octopussy’s circus train, aware that there is an atomic bomb hidden in the cannon.  He’s first in the gorilla costume, and then in the red shirt and black vest of the knife throwing act.  He’s been thrown from the train, killed the other knife thrower (“That’s for 009,” he brags, as he dispatches the assailant) and is trying desperately to get to the Air Force Base.  Time is ticking down on the bomb.  We see Bond, James Bond, on the side of the highway, hitch-hiking.  That’s right, the man who drove an Aston-Martin is hitch-hiking.  And when a car full of teen-agers fool him into thinking they’ll give him a lift, he flips them the bird!  Bond ends up walking into town, is shut out from using a public phone booth, and resorts to stealing a car.  From that, he crashes into the Base and changes into the clown outfit.  If your next question is how he puts on all the clown make-up…..well, just roll with it.

Look, Octopussy is no Daniel Craig film.  There’s a limit to how vulnerable James Bond will be.  But again, as this was going to be Roger Moore’s last film, I do think he was open to taking chances.  And one of them was making Bond seem human.  This is a 007 with a limit.  He is affected by Vijay’s death, much more noticeable than when any previous accomplice died.  He is desperate to try and stop the bomb; there’s no gadgets, no fancy ride.  Bond tries to hitchhike, steals a car, and dresses up as a clown.  There’s no Bond in a tux with a deadly shot; this is as humbling as it gets.  It’s a preview of the Bond who will be played in later films.  Here’s the entire clown scene.  Yes, I understand if you can’t handle Bond as a clown.   But this goes to my point of how, at this point in the role, Moore was okay with Bond not being invincible.  Not only is Bond a clown, he can’t even convince anyone that there really is a bomb about to go off.  It’s about as hopeless as a Roger Moore James Bond has ever been.  You might have to go all the way to Casino Royale for the next time Bond seemed so desperate.  Sure, I get it; James Bond as a clown who no one will believe is a long way from Bond in a casino, in a tux, drinking a martini, shaken not stirred.  If that’s the only way you want envision James Bond, then yes, the clown outfit just doesn’t work.  But if you’re open to Bond being shown with his defenses down, at his wit’s end, up against impossible odds….then the clown suit works.  And that’s why I put James Bond in a clown suit as what worked about Octopussy.

Overall thoughts

So, after all that, does Octopussy work in 2020?  Yes….with reservations.  All that made it enjoyable are still pretty much there.  The action scenes are still gripping, the setting is still fabulous, the characters are still memorable….its still a fun ride.  And it could be made today….with some necessary changes.

And that’s what I’ve been thinking about.  The last Bond film, SPECTRE, brought back the character of Blofeld, and even gave him a backstory.  The next to be released film, No Time to Die, is rumored on the internet to give us the character of Dr. No, from the very original film.  If Eon Productions is revisiting some previous Bond characters/ideas, another look at Octopussy would actually work really well.  Here’s why and how:

  1. The character of Octopussy and her operation.  Perhaps even make her a villain, or explore more of the moral ambiguity of what she does.  Octopussy never really went there.  There’s so much potential in the character of Octopussy and her operation.  Bond encountering a criminal operation in India, run by all beautiful women, also fronting legitimate business enterprises, and operate as a cult on a floating palace…there’s so much to be done there.  BUT….

This time around, Octopussy has to actually be Indian.  Or if you want to keep the tie to her father being a rogue British agent apprehended by Bond, make Octopussy’s mother Indian.  Just don’t make her all white.  If you want much of her minions to be white, fine.  You can keep the idea of women coming to Asia searching for something.  Octopussy can still be their guru.  But make her authentic to her setting, rather that someone playing Indian..

2.  Keep all the action, just remove the slapstick.  Let Bond swing on a jungle vine, just do so without a Tarzan yell.  Keep a Tuk Tuk chase, just take out the Indian stereotypes.  The action itself is great.

3.  In terms of villains, a new version of Octopussy would have to replace the Cold War setting.  So, something would have to take the place of General Orlov and Red Army ambitions.  But there’s definitely a place for Kamal Khan in re-imagined James Bonds.  A fabulously wealthy and silky smooth gentleman operator of international criminal enterprises….to me, a a reimagining of Kamal Khan would stretch multiple films, but would never be the arch enemy.  I see Kamal as someone Bond crosses paths again and again.  Each film has a villain with a global scheme…..but Kamal is always operating in the background as a connecting force.  Perhaps this modern Kamal doesn’t exactly hate Bond; they run parallel to each other, a Ying and a Yang.  Some films, Kamal might have a small part, others a bit larger.  Think of him sort as the opposite of M.  Or of Q.  Perhaps Kamal is selling weapons.  Or information.  Bond repeatedly encountering a villain who doesn’t have a scheme, but just operates a network that enables other baddies….that’s something that could really work.  And Kamal Khan is the type to pull it off.  And of course….if Kamal is Aghani, have him played by an Afghan actor.  No offense, Louis Jourdan!

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Look, there’s probably not any movie 40 years old that hasn’t had problems with aging.  The most egregious thing about Octopussy today is the cultural appropriation: white people playing at India.  And with Bond being British, it’s the idea of revisiting the Raj.  The white-centric of all the Indian scenes is troublesome.  But it’s a long list of scenes from Bond films that aren’t great today.  Sean Connery telling a girlfriend to run along because it’s Man Talk now in Goldfinger comes immediately to mind.  But for me, the question is, is there more to Octopussy than these problems?  Take the tropes out of the Tuk Tuk chase and it’s a great sequence.  The attempts to stop the bomb are great.  Kamal, Gobinda and Orlov are all great villains.  The plot is both fantastic and realistic.  Octopussy herself (yes, cultural appropriation) has such a different backstory for a Bond girl.  And related to that, it’s a Bond film where the women can stand on their own.  Team Octopussy taking out Team Kamal is terrific.  That in and of itself, is something remarkable for its time.  And it’s all filmed so well.  Octopusssy is not without its problems, but its still a Bond film I rank very high.  Flawed, yes…..but it works.  I put it right there with The Spy Who Loved Me for Roger Moore’s finest.   It’s a mess….Faberge eggs, a crime network of beautiful women in India, Cold War nuclear schemes, a Circus…..but somehow, between Roger Moore, John Glen, John Barry and Louis Jourdan it all just works.

And for those reasons, Octopussy will always be a Bond film I’ll periodically return to.  I can’t say the same for Moonraker, The Man with Golden Guy, or Live and Let Die.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, the soufflé can’t wait.  And I must learn how to play backgammon!

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Biblical Epics, Hollywood Style: The Tale of the Tape

As I write this, we’re five weeks after Easter.  I think we’re technically still in the Easter season; I’ll know more in a few hours, when it’s time to watch Mass on television.  Oh, the going to Mass in person seems to get more and more distant….but that’s not today’s blog.  This is a blog I’ve had in mind for weeks, and it’s about time I get to it.

Cecil B. DeMille’s iconic 1956 film The Ten Commandments is a Easter season tradition on American television….yet it’s also a film I had never seen.  There’s a couple like that, movies that are noticeably absent in my catalogue of films I’ve seen; Roman Holiday; The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly and The Graduate are just three of well-known classics that I’ve missed.  I will say, I wasn’t in complete ignorance of The Ten Commandments.  How could anyone my age (46) in America be?  You’ve seen this clip before:

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You also know that it’s REALLY long, and that it’s about….well, the Book of Exodus.  And yes, Charlton Heston.  You know it’s directed by DeMille, and I think I also knew the cast included Yul Bryner and Edward G. Robison.  But that’s about it.

Palm Sunday passed and I still had not seen The Ten Commandments.  I had thought it was always televised Easter night…nope, the weekend before.  But lo and behold, a miracle almost as dramatic as a burning bush….I could speak into the remote of my cable box, and BOOM….the movie was available On Demand.  What a world we live in!  And since my wife was out, working overnight at our local hospital (hero that she is!), I had the near 4 hours to spare.  Time to address this void in my cinematic experience!

Apparently the television broadcast of The Ten Commandments differs somewhat from the full film.  The latter, which I watched, has a musical overture and interlude, and most notably, an introduction from Cecil B. DeMille himself.

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If you’ve never seen it before, you can do so here.  I don’t know that it’s necessary or not, but I can understand why DeMille did it.  He frames the story of Moses and the Exodus in terms of freedom, the idea of the Israelites in slavery to the Egyptians and being liberated.  Makes sense; The Ten Commandments comes out a decade after World War II and during the height of the Cold War.  The concept of freedom from an oppressor sure seemed appropriate; substitute brick making for the Egyptians for serving a Communistic State!

The other thing DeMille uses his introduction for is to explain the source material.  As I was soon to find out, the Book of Exodus is only a small part of what is filmed.  Perhaps because everyone knows that story so well, DeMille felt the need to include stuff we don’t know.  I’m not a scholar of antiquities so I couldn’t tell you if DeMille citing Philo and Josephus is accurate, or rather some fluff to cover the plot twists that are definitely not in the Bible.  But I get why he does it; Exodus gives us Moses adopted by Pharaoh’s daughter and then fleeing after killing an Egyptian striking a Hebrew slave.  That’s about it.  DeMille gives us the full story of Moses as an Egyptian Prince.  Whether he has sources or made the story up….well that’s what the introduction covers.

So anyway, as I was watching The Ten Commandments, I kept texting my Dad with my thoughts.  Particularly, I was texting my thoughts on how The Ten Commandments compared to another Biblical Hollywood epic, one very near and dear to my heart (and also a favorite of my Dad’s).  I am, of course, talking about Charlton Heston again, just a few years later….

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And if you’re like me, as soon as you drop a Ben-Hur reference, you immediately hear the first glorious notes of Miklos Rozsa’s incomparable score (more on that later) pounding in your head.  And in case you didn’t have that reaction.…  Now, before I go any further, I have to come clean, in comparing The Ten Commandments to Ben-Hur, I am far from unbiased.  I first saw Ben-Hur in 1992; we did a halftime show of its incredible music when I was in college.  I bought the soundtrack first and was instantly in love.  I’m getting ahead of myself, but to this day, Rozsa’s score is right at the top of my GOAT list.  Not longer after, I saw the film, and it’s been a favorite of mine ever since….not without its flaws, but still always in my conversation of best films.  A few years back, it played for 1 night at the local Cinemark.  Do you think I was going to miss seeing that spectacle on a big screen?  The chariot race, for crying out loud?!  I’m lucky my dear wife didn’t walk out, for as soon as the Rozsa score thundered….and yes it did thunder, through modern movie theatre speakers…I was bouncing in my seat.

The point of this is, I didn’t go into The Ten Commandments with an unbiased opinion.  I was comparing it, from the get-go, to a film I already had a very exalted bias for.  And I’m not the only one, apparently; Ben-Hur is still tied for the record for most Academy Awards, with 11.  Among those: Best Actor to Heston, Best Original Score to Rozsa (maybe the most deserving Oscar ever given), Best Director to William Wyler, Best Costumes, Best Editing, Best Cinematography, and most significantly, the biggest of them all, Best Picture.  The Ten Commandments, on the other hand, won one Oscar, for Best Special Effects.  For those of you scoring at home, that’s 10 less Oscars than Ben-Hur.  The Ten Commandments was nominated for Best Picture, but lost out to Around the World in 80 Days, a film I personally like but that’s for another blog.  The real loser in 1956 was John Ford’s The Searchers, which was not even nominated for Best Picture nor John Wayne for Best Actor.  But again….that’s for another blog.  Or should I say..,”that’ll be the day.”

So anyway, rather than share my text conversation with dear old Dad, I thought I’d try my best to give The Ten Commandments a fair shake.  My opinion is probably already made up, but what the heck, let’s do a category-by-category comparison of the two films.  I’ve done this previously, with two Holiday classics.  So why not try the same idea with these two Biblical epics.  First, let’s establish the categories.  In the interests of not-making this never-ending (both films are well north of 3 hours in running time), let’s go with only five.  They are:

  1. Presentation of the times depicted
  2. Character development
  3. Relationship to the Divine
  4. Music
  5. Spectacle/Cinematography/Movie Making

That last category kind of covers everything.  It might also be called “Better Director,” but  the Academy already settled that one.  Both moves are spectacles of a colossal degree, but which one was better at it?  And so, without further delay, let’s get to this!

1.Presentation of the times depicted:

In other words, this:

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versus

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Again, I should come clear with my biases.  I’ve never really been interested in Ancient Egypt, whereas Rome of the Republic and Empire has always been a fascination of mine. So I’m already leaning towards Ben-Hur.  How did the Roman people, not the Italians, but just Rome, dominate the Western world for such a long period?  Just fascinating. Egypt has never had that allure to me.  But enough of my biases.  Let’s try and do this comparison.

This might be my biggest gripe about The Ten Commandments; it feels like a bunch of contemporaries playing at Ancient Egypt, particularly in the first half of the movie.  I get that Cecil B. DeMille wanted recognizable stars, and he also probably wanted it relatable his 1956 audience.  I get all that.  But so much of it seems…so out of place.  The scene early on, when the baby Moses is found in the basket in the Nile, the Egyptian court ladies in waiting seem to be American teen-agers on Spring Break.  Here’s the scene.  Similarly, the way Jethro’s daughters moon all over Moses….I can get Cecil B. DeMille wanted his audience to not find Ancient Egypt so….well, Ancient, but it just doesn’t work for me.

The other thing that really bothered me with The Ten Commandments in this regard was that the accents are all over the place.  Most bizarre is Edward G. Robinson, whose thick New York accent, certainly is jarring as an Ancient Hebrew.  Take a look, err…listen.  Some of the Egyptians have distinctive, near-British accents, which seems acceptable.  After all, George Lucas proved with Star Wars, if you’re going to have bad guys, make sure they’re British!  Cedric Hardwicke as Seti is the most obvious example, and though not British, both Vincent Price and Yul Bryner speak with distinctive tones.  In fact, both Price and Bryner are perfectly believable as powerful villains, with how silky smooth their voices are.  And sure I’ll buy Moses not having an accent; he’s not really Egyptian, after all.

But then there’s Anne Baxter.

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Look, I get it.  She’s beautiful.  Those ruby red lips, the way her chest fills out the blouse she wears.  Anne Baxter plays Nefretiri as a classic seductress.  It would be terrific as a femme fatale in a film noir.  But her voice seems so out of place in Ancient Egypt.   Here, you judge for yourself.  She’s an Egyptian princess…..so why is her accent completely different from Cedric Hardwicke’s, Yul Bryner’s or Nina Foch….she has some relation to at least one of them!

Let’s contrast that with Ben-Hur.  There, the Romans are all British actors, which provides consistency.  From Messala to Pontius Pilate, Quintus Arrius to the Emperor Tiberius, all the Romans sound somewhat similar.  They also speak with polish, which is what you would expect from those in positions of authority in a world empire.   But more than the accent, the Romans in Ben-Hur act how you’d expect the Masters of the World to do.  There is a haughty arrogance to all of them.  It’s most pronounced in Messala, who boasts to Judah Ben-Hur, “It was no accident that one small village on the Tiber was chosen to rule the world. ”  Or the disdain Pontius Pilate has for the gathered assembly at the Chariot Race.  Even when not going about the business of oppression, the Romans in Ben-Hur feel right.  George Relph as Emperor Tiberius has maybe five minutes of screen time, but is completely believable in them.  I unfortunately couldn’t find the full scene of his receiving Quintus Arrius in triumph, but Relph completely nails it.  Seated upon his throne, a dour expression on his face.  And whenever he speaks, it’s what you’d expect the Roman Emperor to say: “So it is the will of the Senate, and the will of the people of Rome” spoken deliberately in a British accent, with gravity to it.  There is, of course, no film footage of Emperor Tiberius.  And of course, if there was, he’d be speaking Latin.  But I am willing to believe Tiberius as seen in Ben-Hur is probably closer to the mark than Anne Baxter as Nefretiri.

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Tiberius Caesar, from Ben-Hur

Both films used sound-stages, locations, huge budgets and hundreds of extra.  The Ten Commandments filmed in Egypt, while Ben-Hur was filmed in multiple locations.  The sets are impressive.  The Ten Commandments gives us Pharaoh’s palace and the massive Egyptian construction site.  Ben-Hur tops all that by giving us the center of antiquity, Imperial Rome, and, most famously, a Circus Maximus.  What makes it different to me goes back to the characters themselves.  With The Ten Commandments, it feels like actors pretending to be in the Book of Exodus, while Ben-Hur submerses the viewer into the times.  That’s a HUGE difference, and it’s the difference between the two men at helm.

Cecil B. DeMille’s name is synonymous with spectacle.  The enormous scope of The Ten Commandments seems perfect for his talents.  Ben-Hur was directed by William Wyler who, as of this writing, is the only director who has had three different films win the Oscar for Best Picture.  Prior to Ben-Hur, he had directed films such as The Best Years of our Lives, the Oscar winner about American World War II veterans re-adjusting to life at home, and 1953’s Roman Holiday, with the unforgettable image of Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck, zooming past the Colosseum on a Vespa.  Unlike DeMille, Wyler didn’t have a background in spectacle….and it shows in Ben-Hur.  Because what makes Ben-Hur work, for me, is how intimate it is. But let me hold off on that.

Here’s a scene from The Commandments where the Hebrew slaves are building a city.  An older slave woman is greasing the massive blocks and is about to be crushed.  It turns out that woman is really Moses’ mother, which we already knew, but we still don’t have much of a connection to her.  Maybe it’s because this all done on a sound stage, but I had a hard time connecting with the hardships of the Hebrew slaves.  Even when we’re early on introduced to Joshua, we know he’s an ancillary character.  The major focus is clearly Moses, Ramses, and Nefretiri.  I know these slaves are being mistreated….but there’s not an emotional connection for me.  This changes later in the film, when Moses realizes who he is and enters into the mudpit.  There we see the Hebrew slaves being whipped, and when the old man dies “dancing” on the mud, it has impact.  It’s not because he died, but because Moses is there.  A character we know and care about is being mistreated,  Now the brutality of the Egyptians hits home.  DeMille has made it personal.  I didn’t care about it earlier, but now that Moses is suffering, I feel it.

With Ben-Hur, William Wyler always makes the suffering personal.  He doesn’t give expository scenes of the Roman legions putting down Jewish resistance.  We see the Jews scowl when the legions march by, but we don’t see any brutality.  And though Messala may boast of military conquest, we never see the power of Rome until the characters we’ve already gotten to know become its victim.  If you’ve seen Ben-Hur and I say the words “ramming speed,” you immediately know what I am referring to.  My God, what an iconic scene!  And at the risk of jumping the gun, how PERFECT is Miklos Rozsa’s music?! We see how horrible this is for the galley slaves, and how sadistic Rome must be, as embodied by Jack Hawkins’ First Consul Quintus Arrius (what subtle acting, as he licks his lips!).  But the scene wouldn’t work if we didn’t already know who Judah Ben-Hur is.  At this point the film, we’ve seen this proud, rich Jewish nobleman be betrayed by his former best friend Messala, and lose everything.  All Wyler has to do is show that Judah is a galley slave.  The camera can then show us much more: all the slaves suffering, the varied expressions on Jack Hawkins’ face, the doubt in the first officer.  But because we already know Judah, it’s personal.

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The sense of intimacy is what William Wyler brought to Ben-Hur, and why, in my opinion, it won Best Picture.  Very rarely do we get spectacle.  Sure, we have Quintus Arrius being received with a victory parade in Rome.  But then we also, a few scenes later, have the wonderfully poignant scene where Judah tells Arrius he has to leave.  We never get a bird’s eye view of the magnificent city.  We just have the two conversing with the hills of Rome behind them.  Rome may be the center of the world at that time, but it’s just a still, sparkling backdrop for a bittersweet moment between a man on a mission, and the one who would be his father.

The juxtaposition of one or two people against imposing space is throughout Ben-Hur.  When Judah and Messala first reunite, they are separated by an immense, torch-lit hall, lined with spears.   It’s foreshadowing of the divide between a Jew and a Roman.  Similarly, much later in the film, when Judah rejects the offer of Roman citizenship extended to him by Pontius Pilate, the two are again spaced apart from each other, the only two humans in a broad, marble hall.  Pilate reminds Judah that when he ascends the steps, he is now the embodiment of Roman power.  Intimacy is broken up by space.  And most hauntingly of all is the scene after the famed chariot race.  Judah has just witnessed Messala die.  He walks out of the dark hospital, into the light of the now empty Circus.  Trash whirls in the wind.  A lone trumpet echoes the glorious fanfares of hours earlier.  I can’t remember, but I think Judah throws aside his laurel wreath.  The revenge Judah has long wanted has been attained, and he’s left empty.  What a striking image; the victor, on the now deserted field in which he had just triumphed.  Again, intimacy.

And that intimacy is why I give Ben-Hur the edge over The Ten Commandments in terms of “Presentation of the Times Depicted.”  It wasn’t actors playing Ancient Rome and Judea, it’s intimacy made it the real thing.

Ben-Hur: 1

The Ten Commandments:  0

And now, moving on….
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2, Character Development

Let’s go with Ben-Hur first this time, shall we?  And of course, where to go than with the title character.  Over the course of it’s 3 and 1/2 hours (or is it more than that?), we see Judah Ben-Hur go through A LOT:  Jerusalem’s most eligible bachelor: handsome head of a wealthy family, even a prince.  And he’s got connections; he’s BFF (or at least, was) with the Roman Tribune, and also is a well-respected member of the Jewish council.  An hour later, he’s a prisoner, first in the Fortress of Antonia, then on a horrific prisoner march (more on that later), and finally, the aforementioned galley slave.  The proud Jewish citizen is now one whom Quintus Arrius describes as “full of hate.”

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By 90 minutes in the film, the former Jewish Prince turned convict is now the adopted son of the First Consul of Rome.  And not just an ordinary son, but one who has, as Arrius proclaims, driven chariots to victory fives times in the Circus Maximus.  Sounds like a great life…..but that’s still not enough for Judah.  He’s soon on his way back to Judea; the reason he gives is to find out what has become of his mother and sister.  And I suspect that’s true.  While a galley slave, he tells Arrius that’s what keeps him motivated.  But there’s something more.  There’s a motivation to revenge himself on Messala.  He didn’t admit it at first, but when the Sheik (unfortunately played in brown face by Hugh Griffith.  That wasn’t so problematic in 1959, as attested by the fact he won the Oscar for Best Supporting Actor!), mentions the possibility of facing Messala in a chariot race, the wheels in Judah’s mind are set spinning.  That sets up this wonderfully dramatic scene, where Judah confronts his old friend.  Charlton Heston did not win an Oscar for The Ten Commandments but he did win Best Actor for Ben-Hur.  His intensity in that scene was probably a big part of the reason why.  Ben-Hur is a LONG film so there really wasn’t time to go other directions.  Still, I’ve always felt, after that scene, that an opportunity was lost in not following Judah living a double-life as a Roman noble and as a Jewish prince.  His hair combed in proper Roman fashion and looking correct in his robes, that would’ve been an interesting side story, how Judah could have used this double-identity to support his quest.  Now that I think about it, that was what Arrius had wanted for him, but much like Moses (soon to follow), Judah had to stay true to his birth.

What’s interested about Judah, though, so consumed for vengeance, is how hollow he feels after he wins the chariot race.  I’ve mentioned how there’s no glory after Messala’s death.  I’ve often felt the movie seems a bit aimless for the next 30 minutes.  Once the antagonism with Messala is gone, it lacks a purpose.  But after most recently watching Ben-Hur, I think that’s the point.  Of course the film lacks purpose; Judah has no purpose. The love interest Esther points out how he has become like Messala.  The hatred he has for Messala is now extended to all of Rome, so that he renounces being Arrius’ son.  It is only through his witnessing of Christ’s crucifixion that Judah finds resolution.  And it’s worth noting, this is before he discovers his family is cured of leprosy.  When Judah returns home from the Crucifixion, he tells Esther that he’s found peace.  Go ahead, call it a deus ex machina.  We are talking about an encounter with the Divine, after all.  The point is, we see the character of Judah Ben-Hur complete a full development in the course of the film:

  1. Jewish nobleman, successful, well-connected.  Loyal to his people, will not collaborate with his former friend if it means betraying his countrymen.
  2. Convict burning with a mission: unclear if motivation is revenge or saving his family.
  3. Vengeance is mine!….but it’s hollow
  4. Redeemed.  At peace.  And for an afterthought, your family is restored.  Its like the end of the Book of Job.  Job isn’t prosperous again because he has accepted God’s Will; rather, it’s his reward for doing so.  Judah accepts peace….and as a bonus, he gets his family back.  It’s all quite the development!

Moses has a similar character development….to a point.  Much like Judah, when The Ten Commandments gets into its story proper, Moses is also a prince.  He is an accomplished general, bringing Ethiopia under Egypt’s dominion.  But he is also a gracious ruler, bringing the Ethiopian delegation as a friends to Pharaoh, not prisoners.  We see him do what his rival, Ramses, cannot, build the new city with the Hebrew slaves.  And again, it is through being fair.  He gives grain to the slaves and a day of rest.  But much like Judah, it’s bound not to last.  When Moses finds out his true identity, he becomes a slave.  He kills Baka, the master builder, when he would seduce one of the Hebrew slave girls.  He does not repent of his actions before Pharaoh and is banished.  Somehow surviving the desert, he finds his way to Midian, where he is taken in by Jethro, and eventually marries his eldest daughter, Sephora.  Unlike Judah, though, Moses does not seem to burn with vengeance.  Joshua finds him and asks him to return to Egypt, to be the Deliverer to the Hebrew slaves.  Moses is not interested; he’s turned his back on those days.  Until, of course, he spies a burning bush upon Mount Sinai.    And what once looked like this….

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Now looks like this:

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That’s not out of keeping with the Book of Exodus. There, we’re told that Moses had to wear a veil after speaking with God, as his face glowed.  So, Moses being physically different after meeting the Divine…that works.

But here’s my problem with the film The Ten Commandments: Moses as a character, from that point on, has no more development.  In The Book of Exodus, we know that Moses is reluctant to return to Egypt, he makes the excuse that he won’t be able to speak.  God tells him his brother Aaron can handle that.  Only problem here is….Cecil B. DeMille has made the character of Aaron almost invisible.  By choosing to emphasize Joshua, as played by the muscular John Derek (later to be Bo’s husband), there wasn’t really room for Aaron.  So instead of Moses unsure about his command, we see him descend from Mount Sinai seemingly shell-shocked and on a mission.  And that’s the end of it.  For the remainder of the film, Moses is a demagogue.  He goes to Pharaoh (now his former rival Ramses) and demands his people be let go.  He warns of serious consequences, and we even see him bringing some about, such as turning the Nile into blood.  But Moses the man….he is now unwavering.  And it’s such a shame, as there were opportunities.  When Pharaoh refuses Moses’ demand but instead, increases the work order on the slaves, we see the people upset.  But what we never see is Moses worried or facing self-doubt.  When the Hebrews are ready to leave Egypt, this massive caravan of all ages, is Moses sure of himself?  Is he up for the challenge?  We just don’t know.  Or when Pharaoh’s chariots are in pursuit, an ocean lies ahead, and Dathan is stirring unrest….is not Moses weary?  Has he not been frustrated?  Does he doubt God?  Does he doubt his mission?  We know in the Bible he does.  But in The Ten Commandments, we just don’t see it. DeMille’s Moses, after the Burning Bush, is superhuman.  Heck, the only emotion we see from him is when he realizes that Pharaoh’s threat of the first-born has doomed Nefretiri’s son.  He is a rock after the Burning Bush.

And there was such a perfect opportunity that was missed, too!  When Nefretiri visits Sephora, the latter laments of how, since the return to Egypt, Moses has basically been absent as a husband and a father.  What a potential story there!  The Preacher’s Kid syndrome, where the Pastor is so focused on caring for other families, he’s not caring for his own.  The spectacle of the Hebrews preparing to leave goes on FOREVER!  That could easily have been shortened to give us a scene of domestic strife with Moses and Sephora. A scene where she yells at him for being absent, of not providing emotionally for the family, and he defending himself because of the needs of the people.  A debate over the priority of the family or the society.  It would’ve humanized Moses…..but DeMille just didn’t want to go there.  I’ll later debate about how each film depicted the Divine, but I’ve already commented a bit on that.  Seeing the Crucifixion brought about the resolution of Judah Ben-Hur’s ordeal.  Seeing the Burning Bush ended Moses’ character development….with still something like 2 hours more of movie to go!

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Thou Shalt Not Grow as a Character From this Moment On

As you can tell, in terms of protagonists for character development, it’s EASILY Ben-Hur.  Perhaps if DeMille had shown continued growth/change in Moses post-Burning Bush, we’d have an argument.  But with Moses becoming a monolith, it’s Ben-Hur all the way.

But before moving on, let’s look at a couple other characters.  Villains always sell copy, so why not go there.  Now, granted, both Yul Bryner’s Ramses and Stephen Boyd’s characters are pretty one-dimensional.  Both are deliciously evil and both actors have a tendency to overact.  Ramses’ motivation is pretty simple: he wants to be Pharaoh, and Moses is a threat to that.  He is nowhere as good as Moses.  Ramses couldn’t get the city built, Moses did.  Nefretiri always prefers Moses.  When he discovers that it was Moses who did away with Baka, he has his opportunity.  But strangely, like Moses, Ramses ceases to be interesting in the film’s second half.  He’s Pharaoh and pretty much plays the role like it’s depicted in the Book of Exodus.  He won’t change his mind about letting the Hebrews go, and once he finally does, he immediately changes course, sending out the chariots.  There’s nothing wrong with that, but again….it seems like DeMille just decided to not pursue emotional options.  Somewhere there could’ve been a scene, where, when Moses demands “Let My People Go”, the histrionics are then lowered….where Ramses recalls the previous years and the choices both made.  It’s natural that Ramses and Moses will be opposed….that goes back to the source material.  But seeing as how Cecil B. DeMille sure opened up storylines that were not part of Exodus, why not do so here?

But to do so would have been to make Ramses human.  Why do that when you can have this?

Stephen Boyd’s portrayal of Messala definitely chews up the lines but his motivation is interesting.  It’s all about Rome.  In their early reunion, Judah remarks how much he’s changed, to which Messala answers, “I’ve been to Rome.”  He brags about the military campaign from which he brings a brooch to Tirzah, Judah’s sister.  Messala scoffs at Judah’s God, by saying how the Emperor is real power.  Now granted….we have to accept this all as character development, as we never saw Judah and Messala before he left for Rome.  We’re only told they were once friends, but now Messala is a force of power.  But at the very least, these scenes give motivation for why Messala is who he is.  As Judah rants to Pontius Pilate late in the film, Messala wasn’t evil.  Rather, it was Rome that made him so.  Messala is consumed by Roman pride, or perhaps arrogance.  It’s why his chariot is the last one to enter into the stocks at the Chariot race.  It’s why he scoffs at Judah; he refuses to accept the Jewish people as anything but Roman subjects.  When the Sheik offers him a wager on the Chariot race, he gloats at “4-1 odds, the difference between a Roman and a Jew.”  No doubt, filmed in 1959, William Wyler was making an analogy to the Nazis of the previous decade.  It’s that racial pride/aspiration that makes Messala more interesting to me than Ramses.  And like a Nazi, Messala is unrepentant to the end. We see Ramses return to Nefretiri a broken man.  He’s lost his elite chariots, he’s lost his son, he’s lost, assuringly, his wife.  Everything is lost.  He’s been beat.  But Messala…his legs are crushed in the Chariot race.  Judah has bested him.  The surgeon says the legs must be amputated immediately.  Yet in his agony, he refuses.  Like some sort of rabid animal, he demands that he cannot be seen by Judah without his now useless limbs.  And when Judah does arrive, he uses his remaining strength to taunt one last time.  No, it’s not enough to inform Judah his mother and sister are still alive and in the Valley of Lepers….he has to get one more goad in.  “Look for them in the Valley of the Lepers…..if you can still recognize them.”  And after that…..he expires.  Messala the proud Roman to the very end, still can’t humble himself in front of a Jew who bested him.

I did mention how much Stephen Boyd chews up his dialogue.  He does have one great moment of subtlety, though.  When Judah is sentenced to the galleys and thrown upon Messala’s desk, he swears his vengeance to God.  Messala has one response: “Return?”  The questioning way he says it, it lets all of us know, you don’t come back from the galleys.  We haven’t even seen what the galleys look like, just Messala’s tone of voice leads to dread what’s coming next.  With the one word question, we now know the galleys is effectively a death sentence.  There’s not much subtle about Stephen Boyd’s Messala, but that one word makes the most of it.

Yul Brynner The Ten Commandments  vs. 37ff1417ae91653e74be588d5f36efb8

Point for character development in villains:  Ben-Hur

Now, note….I didn’t really say anything about the female characters because in both films, they tend to be undeveloped.  Anne Baxter is definitely memorable as Nefretiri, and for my thinking, for how out of place she seems.  But her character pretty much stays the same throughout the whole film.   She’s hot and heavy for Moses and doesn’t really like Ramses.  Nothing changes too much.  As I’ve mentioned before, Sephora had the potential to be interesting,,..but Cecil B. DeMille didn’t really seem too interested in going there.  There is the Hebrew slave girl who ends up with Dathan but was Joshua’s interest…..again, not developed enough.  Ben-Hur gives us Esther, the slave girl who Judah has feelings for.  Her character isn’t too interesting but does serve the purpose of being the one who brings the Hur family to Jesus.  So at least there’s a point for her being through the film.

The most interesting female character in either film is Bithiah, as played by Nina Foch.  She’s a member of the Egyptian royalty and the one who adopts baby Moses.  We see her threaten her maid with death if she ever reveals Moses’ true heritage.  And when Moses returns and the Plagues are in full effect, she chooses to leave the Egyptian Palace and join the Hebrews.  We see her sharing a meal with Moses’ family, and she leaves Egypt with everyone.  She embraces Moses’ birth mother and finds more in common with them than with the Egyptian royalty of which she is a part.  There’s no other female character in either film who is more fully realized.  She doesn’t get as many scenes as Anne Baxter, but Nina Foch is very effective in the role.  The audience can sympathize with her, and understand why she chose a mother’s love over the comforts of Pharaoh’s palace.

And so….for female character development, because of Bithiah, I’m giving an advantage to The Ten Commandments.

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Nina Foch as Bithiah, cradling the point for female character development

As far as supporting characters, you have a LOT to choose from: Finlay Currie as Balthasar, one of the Three Wise Men in Ben-Hur, Hugh Griffith as the Sheik, for which he won an Oscar, or Jack Hawkins as Quintus Arrius.  I’m going to put forth Arrius, as Balthasar doesn’t really change; he’s a kind old man who believes in Jesus.  Griffith is ruled out for the brown face.  So let’s go with Arrius.  First Consul of Rome.  A hard man, who may be sadistic; remember the “ramming speed” scene?  That look on his face as he watches the slaves pushed to the limit.  He’s a cynic; he tells Judah that his God has no meaning, just as his own does.  And he finds Judah’s (or #41, as he refers to him, his seat in the gallery) purpose laughable. When Arrius is thrown from his ship, he tries to kill himself, since as a Roman leader, he is responsible for the loss of his men.  Yet when he and Judah are rescued and Arrius becomes a hero, he raises Judah up with him.  Quintus Arrius is probably in the film only 20 minutes, but he’s completely memorable.  Jack Hawkins is convincing as the cynical, weary, embittered Consul, and then later, as the old man who has been rejuvenated by adopting Judah.  It’s a great role.

But I’m going to give the Supporting Character Development award to The Ten Commandments because of this man:

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Yes, I know….I already wrote about how out-of-place Edward G. Robinson’s accent is.  But once you get over that, and it does take a while, his character of Dathan plays an interesting role in the story.  At first glance, everything seems black and white: Hebrew slaves – good; Egyptian masters – bad.  But then you get Dathan.  He is a Hebrew, but is one who is willing to collaborate with the Egyptians.  Being shot in 1956, just over a decade after the end of the Holocaust, I wonder if Dathan was seen as an analogy of the Kapo, the Jews in concentration camp who worked as supervisors.  Early on, we see Dathan try to ingratiate himself to the powerful Egyptians by promising to find out who the Deliverer is.  He fulfills this when he reveals Moses to Ramses as the one who killed Baka.  But he doesn’t do this for loyalty to the Pharaoh; no, it’s an exchange for the title of Governor.  He now supervises the slaves.  And when Baka is no more, Dathan has no qualms in taking for himself his Hebrew slave, the one who was Joshua’s partner.

But then, Dathan’s character takes an even more interesting development.  Joshua paints blood on Dathan’s door the night of the Passover, even though there are no children there.  The reason ends up being, the Egyptians see the mark, associate Dathan with the Hebrews, and thus he has to leave with the rest of them.  All of Dathan’s power is gone; he’s jeered by the other Hebrews when he tries to move all his possessions in the caravan.  But if you were thinking Dathan would be redeemed, no way.  He’s always a rabble-rouser.  He’s the one who is raising charges against Moses’ leadership, as the Egyptian chariots draw near.  And again…here’s where DeMille missed a chance.  We never see Moses react.  Is he irritated by Dathan?  Angry at him?  We never find out.  Moses just keeps being…..Moses.  And even when Moses, through God, delivers the Hebrews across the parted Red Sea, that’s still not enough for Dathan.  For he’s the one who organizes the creation of the Golden Calf.   His reasoning: Moses has been gone for a long time, up on Mount Sinai and the people have no food.  Dathan, being known to Ramses, claims he can bring them to Egypt, but to do so, they need a god to go before them….hence the Golden Calf.  What happens next is an out-and-out bacchanalia, probably as close to a drunken orgy as could be shown in 1956.  Here it is.  And just look at Edward G. Robinson, dancing around!  He’s got no reservations in putting his old flame, Joshua’ wife as a sacrifice to the new god.

Of course, Dathan gets his just desserts in true Old Testament style.  The earth swallows him up, which is what I think happens to him in the Bible.  He doesn’t get a last word of spite to Moses, like Messala does Ben-Hur.  And again, he’s the not primary villain, Ramses is.  But Dathan is throughout the film, whereas Quintus Arrius or the Sheik only have some 20 minutes of screen time.  Arrius actually transforms, unlike Dathan…..but there’s just something sleazy about the latter, the fact that a scumbag opportunist stays true to his nature…it just works.  Sure, the voice is terrible, but the character is memorable.  And because of that, I’m going to award the Supporting Character Development to The Ten Commandments.  Yes, I know, I know….Dathan doesn’t really develop, does he?  Whereas Quintus Arrius does.  Maybe it’s a technicality based on who had more screen time.  Still….I’m sticking it with Dathan.  And to quote the big villain from The Ten Commandments

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So, to break up this round:

  • Protagonist character development: Ben-Hur, due to Moses ceasing to be interesting halfway through The Ten Commandments.
  • Villain character development:  Ben-Hur, due to Messala’s motivation being more interesting than Ramses
  • Female character development:  The Ten Commandments, thanks entirely to Bithiah’s story arc.
  • Supporting character development: The Ten Commandments….sure, on the technicality that Dathan has more screen time than Quintus Arrius.  So be it.

And so, that makes Character Development….a DRAW.  Both films get a point.  Which makes our score, after two rounds:

Ben-Hur: 2, The Ten Commandments: 1

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3. Relationship to the Divine

Okay, this one is hard to judge due to the nature of the subject matter.  The God of The Ten Commandments is the All Powerful Being, who doesn’t have a human form.  This is a vengeful God.  Meanwhile, Ben-Hur is set at the time of Christ, with multiple interactions with Jesus.  So, it’s two total different conceptions of God.

The Ten Commandments has Moses encounter God two times directly, both on Mount Sinai.  First is the afore-mentioned Burning Bush scene and the second is when God gives Moses the Ten Commandments.  In both scenes, there is no shape to God; He’s more like a source of energy.  There is a large, booming voice, and in the scene where the Commandments are given, a burst of flame is shot forth, to inscribe the stone tablets.  It works for the idea of the all-powerful God.  My complaint goes back to what I’ve said before about the Burning Bush scene; in The Book of Exodus, Moses hems and haws about the charge given to him.  He comes up with questions and excuses, with God always answering him.  We don’t get that in  The Ten Commandments.  Moses is given his charge, and goes to it.  I think this again plays into my complaint about the lack of character development of Moses.  In the Bible, he is full of doubt.  But we never get that once, post-Burning Bush.  He has become the agent of God and thus, he’s God-like.  But in all my readings of Bible, I’ve never gotten that impression.  Moses, time and again, is shown to be human.  There’s the great sequence in Exodus Chapter 18 where Jethro comes to visit, and tells his son-in-law that he’s taken too much on, and how he needs to delegate authority.  It’s a wonderful moment because it’s ever relevant.  Moses has real person problems; any leader has been there.  The Biblical Moses comes across human….much more so than DeMille’s version.

And of course, because of it’s subject matter, The Ten Commandments’ God is awesomely powerful.  Moses’ staff can turn into a snake.  The Nile can turn to blood.  And of course, this can happen:

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You might say, DeMille’s speciality was for the Old Testament.  But for a movie that will encounter Jesus periodically, a Jesus without grand miracles, then you want intimacy.  And that’s what William Wyler did so well with Ben-Hur.  The ability to create intimacy in an epic….that’s quite the task, and it’s what makes Ben-Hur work.

Take the opening of the film: with Balthasar’s narration, we are immediately placed into the epic.  Judea as part of the Roman Empire.  The decree of Caesar Augustus.  The Fortress of Antonia and the Second Temple.  But soon we are shown the Nativity.  And from the beginning, Wyler never really shows us Jesus.  We the Shepherds gathered outside the stable.  We see the Wise Men approach.  We see animals.  But we only somewhat see Mary, Joseph and baby Jesus.  This framing approach is used throughout Ben-Hur.  When the movie proper begins, Messala and his legion are seen approaching through the windows of Joseph’s workshop.  Tiberius’ palace in Rome is not seen fully, but rather, from the vantage of Quintus Arrius as he approaches the throne.  Even the Chariot race….well, I’ll save that for later.  The point is, Wyler likes to frame the moment. But just when we see the intimacy of the Nativity, a shepherd moves to blow his horn.  The Star of Bethlehem vanishes.  And the shofar is answered in the most magnificent manner of all: the awesome brass of Miklos Rozsa’s music.  Here it is.  I have to wonder, if you were sitting in a theatre in 1959, did you about crap your pants at the moment, with that incredible music surrounding you?  And the intimacy of the Bethlehem stable has been replaced with the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.  More specifically, this:

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You’re going to struggle to get more epic than Michaelangelo’s Creation of Man.  That’s William Wyler: the intimate and now the epic.  Just brilliant.

There’s several sequences where Ben-Hur shows us Jesus, but it’s Judah’s first encounter that is the most memorable.  It’s one of the most famous scenes in the film.  It’s right after Messala has sentenced Judah to the galleys, and he’s on the prisoner march.  It’s absolutely brutal, the prisoners tied together, barefoot, being dragged along unforgiving terrain.  Not all make it.  And then the procession stops for water.  Well…..why don’t you just watch the scene and we’ll talk afterward.  Here you go. 

Alright, watched it?  First off, how about again, Wyler using the window to frame the scene. It’s a carpentry shop and a young man with long hair working.  Hmm..  Also, look at how he makes Charlton Heston just one of many there.  The camera does not focus on him exclusively.  He’s just one of a group of convicts.  The shot where the camera goes down the line, treating him like any other.  It emphasizes just what Messala has done to him.  He’s taken away his whole identity.  The only time Judah receives focus is when the Centurion orders no water for him, and pushes him away.  The pure degradation of the Centurion spitting out water in front of the parched Judah.

And then, the encounter with the Divine.  Judah on the ground, praying for help.  A shadow comes over him and Rozsa’s score turns heavenly.  We never saw this person approach, nothing is said, He is just there giving water.  And Wyler’s decision to never show Jesus’ face in the film was BRILLIANT.  Rather, we get the facial expressions of those who gaze into who is presumably Jesus’ face.  First, Judah, who doesn’t say thank you, but somehow understands.  But that is NOTHING compared to the Centurion.  Charlton Heston won an Academy Award.  The actor who played the Centurion never even gets his name in the credits.  Jesus never says anything when the Centurion demands no water for Judah.  He just stands and turns to him.  But the gamut of emotions on that Centurion’s face!  Confusion, anger, doubts, fear, questioning….take your pick.  If there was any doubt of what a great director William Wyler was, that scene should answer it, getting such a performance out of a nobody.  As an aside, I’ve wondered if this scene explains Luke 4:30, where the Jews were going to throw Jesus from the top of a hill, “But he passed through the midst of them and went away.”  Did that angry crowd get the “Centurion” treatment from Ben-Hur?  And what’s also interesting about the exchange in Ben-Hur is that no one else notices it.  The other prisoners are drinking, the rest of the soldiers stand guard; no one takes notice of the Centurion backing down from Jesus.    It’s a individual, unspoken exchange, which I guess gets to the Gospel message of a personal relationship with God.

And then the way the scene ends.  Judah knows something is special.  The look on his face as he stares up at Jesus.  He realizes this wasn’t just an act of kindness, that there was something different happening here.  He never says a word, just reaching out to touch Jesus’ hand.   Judah goes back into the line, is whipped for not moving…BUT DOESN’T NOTICE.  He keeps staring back at Jesus.  An Miklos Rozsa jumps into the moment; the orchestra begins playing Judah’s heroic theme in a stirring, moving fashion.  We the audience know that Judah’s going to be all right.  And what makes it even better is what happens next.  There’s no conversion following this moment.  The very next scene is the galley slaves, where Judah is lean, muscular, and full of hate.  The water scene is only referred to on a couple of occasions: when Quintus Arrius orders #41 to be unchained, Judah recalls a man giving him water once and he never understood why; and then, when Judah re-encounters Jesus, when He stumbles on the Way of the Cross.  There’s no immediate ramification of Jesus providing water to Judah…just that it keeps him going.

There are other scenes with Jesus in Ben-Hur, and always you never see His face or hear His voice.  And even scenes that are familiar to us, Wyler uses the framing technique to bring intimacy.  Take a look at this:

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It’s Pontius Pilate washing his hands before sending Jesus to be crucified.  Pontius Pilate, who we have encountered several times throughout the film already, is front and center. The focus is on the character we know.  Jesus, I assume either Barrabas or one of the others to be crucified with him are in the background and then the crowd.  We never hear any dialogue; there’s no explanation of what is going on in this shot; Wyler assumed his audience knew the backstory.  But what’s striking to me is, again, the intimacy.  The focus is on the character we know, Pilate.  The camera is less interested in the epic-ness of the moment, it’s focusing on the personal.  Why give us a close-up of a character we don’t know?  Wyler, even in this well-known moment, makes it personal.

Still, despite the fact that Ben-Hur shows the Nativity, the Sermon on the Mount, the Via Dolorosa, and the Crucifixion, in my opinion, it’s best interaction with the Divine is the one not based on the Gospel…..unless there is an apocryphal Gospel story of Jesus providing water for the convicts.  Yet…it seems so likely, Jesus taking pity on the lowest of society, and how He was not to be stopped until the Passion.  It’s an intimate moment, and one who’s true impact wouldn’t be felt till much later in the film, when Judah’s remembrance of it at the Via Dolorosa leads to his finding peace.   For it’s totality, of Judah being just one in the prison gang, Miklos Rozsa’s stirring music, and the incredible facial expressions of the uncredited Centurion, I not am going to give Ben-Hur the point here for Relationship with the Divine but will go one further:  The Water Scene in Ben-Hur is the single best depiction of Jesus in any film ever.  It gets right to the crux of what Jesus was about…and it’s not even depicting a scene from the Bible.

And yes I know….this category wasn’t fair, as the God of The Ten Commandments is not he personal deity of Jesus of the Gospels.  But let’s be honest, if Cecil B. DeMille was directing Ben-Hur, do you think he would’ve pulled off the intimacy of the scene as William Wyler did?  That’s what I thought.

So…after 3 rounds:

Ben-Hur:  3, The Ten Commandments: 1

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The Ten Commandments was scored by Elmer Bernstein who really was an accomplished movie composer.  Among his memorable work are The Magnificent Seven (iconic theme, one of the definite Westerns), To Kill a Mockingbird, and that great jaunty march to The Great Escape.  Take a listen.  Isn’t that great?  The Ten Commandments had much opportunities for music, and Bernstein wrote fine, fine stuff.

I’m sure you’re saying, “So what’s the problem?”  Well, two things…

1.).  Like with my first category, it sounds exciting, dramatic, imposing….but it doesn’t always sound Ancient.  It sounds impressive and full of spectacle, which the movie was.  But to me, it sounds like 1950s epics, not Biblical times.  And yes, I know….we don’t know what the music of Ancient Israel or Egypt sounds like.  I get all that.  I find the themes dramatic, but I don’t find menace in them, sorrow in them, doubt, fear.  I just find….epic.  Maybe I’m wrong; here, you judge for yourself. 

But the biggest problem for the purpose of this discussion is….

2.).  Ben-Hur is, quite simply, in the short list for greatest film scores of all time, and that is a hill I am prepared to die on.  Remember how I said, I didn’t feel Elmer Bernstein’s score feels Ancient?  Compare that to this.  I listen to that and I feel I’m in Judea, as part of the Roman Empire.  It’s dramatic, its regal, it’s varied….and it just feels accurate.  Which is all the more amazing as….we have no idea what the music of Imperial Rome and its Provinces sounded like.  Sure, we have images of the instruments, but the music has not survived to today.  And that’s what makes Miklos Rozsa’s work on Ben-Hur so incredible: he basically has created for us an aural image of what Rome sounded like!  Just as John Williams has set the standard for the sounds of space, Rozsa did that for Rome.  Check out Gladiator.  Or any documentary on Rome.  Chances are, if you see the legions marching or the Colisseum in its day, you’re hearing music inspired by Rozsa.  The influence of the Ben-Hur score is incalculable.  Take a look at the Triumph for Quintus Arrius’ return to Rome.  We see a Roman marching band.  Since we see the instruments, it’s easy to assume that Rozsa’s music is authentic.  It might be…we just don’t have the historical records to know.  But it sure fits!

But just as William Wyler’s film balanced epic with intimate, so did Miklos Rozsa.  I can write on about the music accompanying the galley slaves or the Parade of the Charioteers (just wait!), but Rozsa also excelled with beautiful, moving accompaniment to the smaller moments in the film.  One of the most outstanding examples of this is the scene in which Quintus Arrius and Judah are conversing at his estate, overlooking the hills of Rome.  Arrius tries to convince Judah to stay.  It’s an intimate moment, between a man who would be Father to someone who feels pulled elsewhere.  And Rozsa’s music is perfectly sublime.  Take a listen.  Around the :40 second mark is where the music really hits its a high point.  The lush low strings, so warm and rich, and the solo violin.  It’s soft, it’s soothing….and it’s full of melancholy.  Judah is truly grateful to Arrius but knows he cannot stay.  Arrius lost a son before and realizes he is losing another.  It’s not pathos, it’s not maudlin.  It strikes the right balance.  And it ends with the three-note motif that appears throughout the film, to signify this part of Judah’s story is now done.

I could go on about Miklos Rozsa’s score, of the Alleluia motif for any scene with Jesus, or how he brilliantly places Messala’s brooding, menacing theme into a bright major key for the Parade of the Charioteers, but I think you get the point.

Elmer Bernstein, you did fine work on The Ten Commandments, and for that, I’m going to give you a point.  But you went up against a score in contention for the GOAT of film scores.  So I give Ben-Hur 2 points in this category….and really could’ve made it 10 if I wanted!

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1960 Academy Awards: presenter Gene Kelly with Oscar winner Miklos Rozsa

And so, before we being our final round:

The Ten Commandments: 2

Ben-Hur:. 5

And now…..

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5. Spectacle, Cinematography Movie-Making

This category, you would think would be a slam-dunk for The Ten Commandments.  After all, when you say Cecil B. DeMille, what word comes to mind besides “spectacle”?  And there’s no doubt The Ten Commandments has plenty of it.  The Hebrew slaves building a city.  The gifts of Ethiopia being brought to Pharaoh.  The parting of the Red Sea.  The bacchanalia in front of the Golden Calf.  I think, though, at times, The Ten Commandments goes for spectacle for the sake of spectacle.  Take the Hebrews leaving Egypt.  This should be an epic moment and it is…..but it goes ON!  This is only a sample of it.  The whole sequence takes over 10 minutes…probably more.  And the problem is, it’s just too much.  It’s one thing for the characters we know about, such as Dathan being thrown off his litter.  But there’s hundreds, maybe thousands of characters in this sequence who we’ve never encountered.  The ducks on the march.  The children.  I imagine DeMille thought it would humanize the moment, and it does.  But it doesn’t make it personal.  We have no connection to so many of these people.  DeMille could have shown the immensity of the undertaking and still have cut 4 – 5 minutes out of the scene; if anything, it might have had more impact.  And again, I know I’ve written about this before….but what a wasted opportunity.  We should see Moses with self-doubt.  Is he up for this challenge, of leading this mass of humanity out into the desert?  But instead we get a demagogue.

The most famous scene in The Ten Commandments is, of course, the parting of the Red Sea.  To us today, the special effects seem laughable, but I have no doubt they were the best possible for 1956.  It’s a spectacle and again……it takes SOOO long!  Take a look.  Two things strike me: how Edward G. Robinson and Charlton Heston are acting apart from each other.  Again, here was a chance to humanize Moses.  He has to be able to hear Dathan’s complaints.  Yet he completely ignores him.  The next: how long it takes for the Hebrews to walk through the dry land.  The Ten Commandments is a ridiculously long movie, over 3 hours and 40 minutes.  Just trimming both of the spectacles could’ve made the film shorter and still had the same impact.  And while we’re at it, take out most all the scenes of Jethro’s daughters in Midian.  You could get the movie closer to 3 hours and still have plenty of spectacle left.  And that’s my big criticism of DeMille: not that it’s spectacle, but that the spectacle just runs on.  And on…and on.

Alright, let’s go over to Ben-Hur.  If you think the parting of the Red Sea when you think The Ten Commandments, then there’s also one particular scene in Ben-Hur that immediately comes to mind.  Yes friends, it’s finally time to talk about:

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Where to even begin?  How about the fact that William Wyler knew he wasn’t the director to pull such a spectacle off, so he enlisted legendary Hollywood stuntman Yakima Cannut.   You know, the guy who 20 years earlier did this?   With that kind of cred, why not give him the reins (some pun intended) for what would be an epic film’s make or break moment.    Yet even if Cannut directed the race itself, Wyler’s touch is on everything.  Let’s take a look at how it all begins.  We don’t start in the Circus.   No, we’re backstage.  We’ve never seen anything overhead, there’s no idea what’s coming next.  The viewer has no idea what the Circus will look like/. And what a perfect decision to have Messala come in late.  The Roman arrogance on full display.  And then….look at the 2:12 mark.  Rozsa’s brilliant brassy music begins, the chariots enter the circus,…and then the camera pulls back.  But not suddenly.  It’s a gradual, slow curtain raising.  Again…what this must’ve been like to see in the theater in 1959.  The music blaring and the screen slowly becoming more full, till finally, we see the immensity of the Circus.  And just as the screen is full, so does the crowd noise amplify.

It’s simply stunning…..but it works because Wyler didn’t throw us into the spectacle.  He starts with the intimate….Judah, Messala and the others, backstage….and then slow burns what were about to experience.  Absolutely brilliant film-making….intimacy amongst spectacle.  And a quick aside back to the music, at the 3:00 mark, we see Roman trumpeters.  Why, of course Rozsa’s crowning achievement, the justly lauded Parade of the Charioteers seems acceptable as the sound of Empire.  We see it being performed!  And again, the framing angles: the chariots parading in front of the reviewing stand, as seen in the background of Pontius Pilate and his delegation, taking their seats.  Compared to The Ten Commandments, nothing seems excessive.  Why?  Because Wyler doesn’t focus on strangers.  The camera shows Judah, Messala, Pilate, the Sheik.  The spectacle is intimate because it’s filled with those we know.

There’s not much I can say about the chariot race itself.  The biggest thing that can be said today is…..NO CGI.  It all happened with real stunt people.  Here it is.  To my way of thinking, it has aged incredibly well, maybe because it could never be filmed like this again.  The cost alone must’ve been staggering; how much was building the Circus?  An interesting decision by Wyler was to not have Rozsa compose music for the race itself.  All you get is the roar of the crowd and the sounds of the competition.  You didn’t need dramatic effect.  Rozsa only returns when the race is won, to announce a victor.  Messala’s demise doesn’t even get a dramatic musical accompaniment.  You see enough in the faces of the shocked Romans.  And there’s so many touches that heighten the sequence: the stretcher-bearers running onto the track when the chariots pass, so familiar to our auto races of today.  The storming of the infield as Judah reaches the finish line.  What can I say but this:

  • Kudos to William Wyler for knowing when to reach out to someone else to handle directing something like this.
  • The Chariot Race has to still be considered some of the finest movie-making in Hollywood history.

So in terms of spectacle, I’ll give The Ten Commandments a point.  Come on, I’d be doing Cecil B. DeMille a disservice to not award him something for spectacle.  But I’m going to give Ben-Hur 2 points for spectacle, as not even the parting of the Red Sea compares to the fabled Chariot Race.  The former: a special effects stunner for the time.  The latter: no effects, outside of matte painting of the full Circus.  Stunt professionals, the authentic sounds of the event, two brilliant directors, and yet in all of this, still intimacy.  You’re going to have a long search ahead of you, finding a better example of movie-making.

Both films are really long.  The Ten Commandments clocks in at 3 hours and 40 minutes, and Ben-Hur actually tops that, at 3 hours, 44 minutes.  Perhaps The Ten Commandments feels longer because, through the Chariot Race, so much happens in Ben-Hur: falling out with Messala, blamed for an assassination attempt on the Roman governor, an encounter with Jesus en route to the galleys. becoming Quintus Arrius’ son, return to Judea, the Chariot Race…..and then…and then…

You see, both films struggle with what happens after the main antagonist is gone.  The Hebrews have escaped from Egypt, and Messala is dead.  But both films aren’t over.  I’ve already spoken about how, after my last viewing of Ben-Hur, I understand how the narrative needs the remaining scenes to complete Judah’s journey.  Perhaps, though, Wyler could’ve have reduced it to only one visit to the Valley of the Lepers….though the first one leads to Judah being too angry to attend the Sermon on the Mount, and to then returning Arrius’ ring to Pontius Pilate.  Perhaps Wyler could’ve have left out Esther going to the Sermon.  I originally thought that the scene of Judah’s mother and sister being cured of leprosy after the Crucifixion went on too long, but looking at it on youtube, it’s under 2 minutes.  And it’s also effective.  You be the judge.  And so, while I agree Ben-Hur is lengthy….I guess I might cut back on some of the scenes with Esther and Judah.  Its a romance that really is never developed; if anything, it’s established in the first part of the film, so that there is a connection when Judah returns.  But other than that, I struggle with what scenes in Ben-Hur can be excised and the story still work.

The Ten Commandments, however, has a problem.  And its probably because of its name.  The movie is not a literal description of the Flight out of Egypt.  You reasonably could have ended the film after the Red Sea sequence.  The Hebrews are safely away from Pharaoh, who returns defeated to his place, and to the derision of Nefretiri.  A few more shots and a voice-over could have explained that the Hebrews reached the Promised Land, and a great nation was born.  End the film right there.  Only problem….the move is not called Exodus or Up from Egypt.  It’s called The Ten Commandments, and  if you end the film after the Parting of the Red Sea….well, there’s no commandments.

And so, Cecil B. DeMille gives us the sequence of both Moses receiving the Commandments and of Dathan bringing about the Golden Calf.  I get it, it’s part of the Bible story….but Moses leading Egypt into battle over Ethiopia wasn’t.  Nor a romance with Nefretiri or Joshua coming to bring Moses back.  There already had been liberties taken with the source material; the story didn’t need the Commandments and the Golden Calf….except for the fact that the movie was named The Ten Commandments.  I can complain about how long Ben-Hur continues post-Messala, but there is a need to resolve Judah’s story.  The Ten Commandments  didn’t need that.  The only thing that is resolved by adding this sequence is to finally be rid of Dathan.  But we’ve already seen Moses ignore him and his complaints.  It would’ve been reasonable to assume Dathan became quiet after the crossing of the Red Sea.  The real Dathan in the Bible does indeed rebel against Moses and is indeed swallowed up by the Earth….but it’s well after the Golden Calf.

But if the Commandments and the Golden Calf were essential to The Ten Commandments to justify the title, the final scene is way too much.  It’s Moses on Mount Nebo, his beard and hair now long and white, saying goodbye.  He passes the mantle of leadership onto Joshua and explains he cannot go into the Promised Land because of something he did that angered the Lord.  That part is  in the Bible…..but the problem is, we never saw it happen in the film.  Here’s the scene I’m talking about.  The part I am referring to starts at 6:38.  I know I’m beating a dead horse here, but I just hate DeMille’s decision to make Moses into such a wooden character.  He wasn’t in the first half of the movie; he showed doubt, concern, pride, vanity and tenderness.  But after the Burning Bush, he is completely one-dimensional: total faith in the Lord and distributor of Divine Judgment.  The Bible depicts Moses a human, with frailties.   Even in this scenes, Moses speaks of how he angered the Lord….but we don’t see it.  Yes I know….the last thing The Ten Commandments needed was more scenes!  But look at this final scene:  there’s no regret and not getting to enter the Promised Land.  There’s no sorrow for how so few remain of those who left Egypt.  There’s no sentiment even for his wife!  She says she loves him…..thats nice.  No, it’s Moses giving instructions and proclaiming freedom.  It’s so……Cecil B. DeMille.  To the very end, he stays true to his big theme of freedom, and won’t let any human interaction take away from that.

Here’s one of the final shots of The Ten Commandments:

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Spectacle to the very end.  Moses isn’t even human, apart and above everyone else.

Compare that with the end of Ben-Hur:

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Nothing grandiose.  It’s the re-uniting of the House of Hur, Mother and Sister healed, Judah at peace, and we assume to begin a relationship with Esther.  It’s human, it’s relatable, its full of sentiment that we can share.  It’s….and I know you’ve heard it before but even in the final shot, it’s intimacy vs. spectacle.  It’s Wyler vs. DeMille.  And it’s why one film won the Academy Award for Best Picture and the other didn’t.

Truth being told, the above is not the final shot of Ben-Hur.  This is:

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And here’s the scene in context.  Yes I know, Rozsa’s music is epic.  Anything but intimate. I’ll grant you that.  Perhaps in keeping with the film, it should of ended quietly, rather than what sounds like his version of the Hallelujah Chorus.  But….two things;

  1. It’s Miklos Rozsa.  I’ve read that Ben-Hur to this day is the longest film score of all time.  I’ll allow him a glorious ending, after everything he’s already written.
  2. At the risk of getting Biblical….it fits with Jesus.  Miriam and Tirzah never actually meet Jesus.  Yet they are healed.  Judah never speaks with Jesus, but he’s decided to stop being full of hate.  His turmoil is healed.  It’s miracles on a personal level, which is the point of Christianity.  And so, a family embracing and  flock of sheep passing the empty crosses is a fine ending.
  3. And yes….Rozsa probably should have turned it down a notch, but hey, an intimate miracle is a miracle too.  And well, after 3 hours and 44 minutes, why hold anything back?

So how will I score this?

  • As I mentioned, in terms of spectacle, 1 point to The Ten Commandments but 2 for Ben-Hur because this:

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just completely surpasses this

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The Chariot Race…..unless there’s a dramatic change in the movie industry, hard to see it ever being topped.

And then we looked at how the films end.  Both struggle with keeping the narrative moving, after the removal of the main antagonist.  But because Ben-Hur still needs more to happen to resolve its titular character’s story arc, I’ll allow it.  The Ten Commandments continues because Cecil B. DeMille felt like adding on more segments from the Bible.  They might complete the story, but I still maintain they weren’t necessary.  And we learn nothing new about Moses, just that Dathan is done for.  So, I’ll give Ben-Hur one more point here, and none for The Ten Commandments.  The total points for this round: 3 for Ben-Hur, 1 for The Commandments.

And so….after Five Rounds, our final score is:

Ben-Hur: 8

The Ten Commandments: 3

Behold, Your Champion!

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It really should come as no surprise.  The Ten Commandments was nominated for 7 Academy Awards, including Best Picture, and won one: Best Visual Effects.  Undoubtedly deserved.  Ben-Hur was nominated for 12 Academy Awards and won 11, a record it holds to this day, with Titanic and Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King.   Among the Oscars, one for Miklos Rozsa (as if there was ever any doubt), Best Supporting Actor for Hugh Griffith in the brown-face portrayal of the Sheik (ugh), Best Actor for Charlton Heston, Best Sound Recording (just watch the Chariot Race if in doubt), Best Cinematography (without question), Best Costume Design, Best Director for William Wyler, and Best Picture.  And if you’re interested in a stroll through history, here’s John Wayne presenting Wyler the Oscar, and Gary Cooper presenting the Oscar to Producer Sam Zimbalist’s widow.  Zimbalist suffered a heart attack during the making of Ben-Hur; the film was the most massive, expensive undertaking in Hollywood history.  Pretty easy to imagine the stress on Zimbalist.

Impressive isn’t it, that William Wyler beat Billy Wilder for Best Director, over Some Like It Hot?  That’s not a mistake.  Wyler is the only director to have 3 films win Best Picture.  He is the most nominated director in Hollywood history.  He also has the record with 36 actors receiving Oscar nominations from movies he directed, and 14 winning the award.  So how can a spectacle movie be better than the magnum opus of the master of spectacle?  By not being a spectacle.  Cecil B. DeMille made spectacles.  William Wyler had made Wuthering Heights, Mrs. Miniver, The Best Years of Our Lives, and Roman Holiday.  Nothing among those would have indicated that he was the man to head the epic of all epics.  In fact, I recall reading that Charlton Heston had apprehensions about Wyler as director, since the big picture wasn’t his calling card.  As it turned out, that wasn’t entirely true.  Some 30 years earlier, Wyler had been an assistant on the 1925 silent version of Ben-Hur.  But sometimes….it just takes the outsider’s touch.  Miklos Rozsa had already scored epics, including Roman ones, with Quo Vadis? from 1953.  Charlton Heston had played Moses.  Jack Hawkins was in Bridge Over the River Kwai just a few years earlier.  Wyler was the one who was new to spectacle, and I think that’s what made the difference.  The Best Years of Our Lives is an intimate film….and that’s the difference between Ben-Hur and The Ten Commandments.  Sure, there’s spectacle…..but even in the rowing of galley slaves, of Roman triumphs, of Chariot Races, and encounters with the Divine, there’s moments of smallness.  For me, The Ten Commandments is something I watch.  Ben-Hur is something I am drawn into.  Which is all the more ironic, as some of my gripes about the former is how out-of-place some scenes seem, where DeMille tries to make Ancient Egypt relatable.  Wyler doesn’t make Roman Judea relatable to us; but he puts a human story in an epic setting and now I can relate.

Again, I didn’t go into this unbiased.   I knew before I started writing this blog that I prefer Ben-Hur.  The Ten Commandments is spectacle; Ben-Hur is a great movie.  And some of the categories were slam dunks.  Poor Elmer Bernstein never stood a chance against Miklos Rozsa.  Heck, I doubt Leonard Bernstein could’ve toppled Ben-Hur.  But I did try and give The Ten Commandments a chance.  Hey, I gave it points for a better developed female character with Bithia and a better, more fuller supporting character with Dathan.  And Yul Bryner as Ramses is memorable….but I just found Messala’s character line more compelling, even though Stephen Boyd does chew on all his lines.  Roman bias over Egypt, sure, I’ll agree to that.  But the final score is what it is.  The Academy wasn’t wrong with which one won Best Picture.

Your champion of the Biblical epic, by a score of 8-3:  Ben-Hur.  But as a consolation to the loser, let me borrow a line:

 

SO LET IT BE WRITTEN…..SO ENDETH THIS BLOG!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Opera Hero Worship, or a (mostly) unblemished portrait of an artist

A few years back, I read James Kaplan’s two volume biography of Frank Sinatra.  I’ve been a Sinatra fan since I was a senior in high school.  That’s when I discovered Harry Connick, Jr, through the When Harry Met Sally soundtrack.  My Dad purchased for me the then newly released Sinatra: The Capitol Years cassettes (yes, that’s right.  Not CDs, but cassettes.  That should date this conversation).  His thinking, if you like this Connick kid, then it’s time for you to sit at the grown-up table.  Come and listen to who set the standard.  Those cassettes were basically a greatest hits compilation of Frank’s time at Capitol Records….basically the 1950s.  I was surprised, because the hits that I had previously known of Frank (you know, the ones everyone knows), My Way; New York, New York; Fly Me to the Moon weren’t on this collection.  But what I was introduced, via the excellent accompanying booklet were names like Gordon Jenkins, Billy May…and, of course, most exalted of all……Nelson Riddle.  From those tapes, I fell in love with Sinatra, and a few years later, when, as a music major, I first tried my hand at arranging music, Nelson Riddle became like a god.  Note: lower case g.  Not capitalized.  Nelson wasn’t the true God, but definitely a lesser deity.

I can’t remember what in particular drew me to Kaplan’s biography.  I think it was just a desire to know more about the man whose music I’d love for so long.  And to get the full story.  I had since bought my own Sinatra albums, but with the exception of It Might As Well Be Swing, the Quincy Jones-arranged collaboration with Count Basie from the mid 1960s, all the ones I owned were from the same time period as those original cassettes.  I had Come Fly With Me, the breezey, whimsical “around the world” concept album with Billy May, and Only the Lonely, the BREATH-TAKING collection of ballads of loss, arranged by Nelson Riddle.  There’s a good chance Only the Lonely will never be equalled in terms of pathos, sentiment, drama.  I could write a blog just about that.  But as for the rest of Sinatra, I didn’t know much.  Knew he had been married to Ava Gardner and Mia Farrow (amongst others), knew he had at least two kids (Nancy and Jr.), knew he started with Harry James and then Tommy Dorsey, heard that his career was washed up before getting a role in From Here to Eternity…..and that was about it.  I didn’t know why his output beginning in the mid 60s, wasn’t as good as before.  Or why he worked with Don Costa more than Nelson Riddle from then on.  So I turned to Kaplan.

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The purpose of this blog is not about Frank Sinatra nor James Kaplan, so I’ll shortly move on from them.  The reason I bring the books up are, they are not the sanitized “authorized” celebrity biographies you sometimes find.  For example, I recently read Bob Thomas’ biography of Walt Disney.  It’s very readable and enlightened me about who Walt was.  But it also tread lightly with regarding anything questionable or edgy.  It showed Walt as not always being pleasant, or difficult to work with…..but it definitely stayed away from pushing the envelope, if you will.

Then there are the other type of celebrity biographies, the ones that proclaim “Unauthorized” in sensational, eye-getting type right on the cover.  Frank definitely received that type of coverage, still in his lifetime.  The most infamous is Kitty Kelley’s His Way, which came out in the 1980s.  Many in that vein have to be taken with a grain of salt, as the credibility of sources is not always reliable.  Well, Kaplan’s biography gave a full treatment of Sinatra, warts and beauty at the same time.  And his impeccable research showed where previous “tell all” biographies weren’t accurate.  He exposed myths in the Sinatra legend, both those promoted by Frank and his crew, and those expounded by his critics.  What Kaplan masterfully pulled off was a detailed, nuanced portrait in full detail of a brilliant artist with glaring personal flaws.  It reminded me of the famous conductor Arturo Toscanini’s quote about German composer Richard Strauss.  Toscanini was outspokenly anti-Fascist, and in speaking of how Strauss composed music for the Berlin 1936 Olympics and accepted a cultural position in the Third Reich, he stated, “To Richard Strauss, the composer, I take off my hat.  To Richard Strauss, the man, I put it on again.”  That’s how I came away feeling about Frank after devouring Kaplan.  I now know his complete life, I knew where he came from, how he hit it big, the people he encountered along the way, his romances, his working relationships, his heroes, his enemies and more.  But just as Kaplan was unsparing in the gory details that put Frank in a poor light, he also gave plenty of information in what made Frank great.  He gave us the stories behind the music, and explained just what was so special about particular albums.  It’s why, after finishing the books, I immediately increased my album collection.  I now knew that I HAD to have In the Wee Small Hours (which may be better than Only the Lonely) and Songs for Swinging Lovers.  Kaplan gave me the man in full.  It may have made me never want to have known Sinatra….but it also increased my respect for his music. (Not to mention even increasing my admiration for Nelson Riddle….as if that was possible.  He really comes across as a genius in Kaplan’s telling).

I’ll sum it up this way: James Kaplan’s biography on Frank Sinatra is the model of what an artist’s biography should be.  It pulls no punches, but it also does not seek to tear down.  Kaplan more than gives Frank his due.  It answered for me, without a doubt, that age-old question: can you separate the art from the artist?  The man had his flaws….but the music (particularly when Nelson Riddle was at the helm, at Capitol Records) is perfection.  Kudos to Kaplan; that’s quite the feat to pull off.

Which brings me to the topic of today’s blog, a review of Ron Howard’s new documentary on the legendary Italian opera singer, Luciano Pavarotti.

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Now, I must admit, I didn’t see Howard’s documentary about the Beatles from a few years back.  I saw the preview for Pavarotti, while at Amherst Cinema a week ago, checking out a different documentary, Nureyev.  Because I am a musician and not a dancer, Nureyev didn’t get the blog treatment from me.  Luciano Pavarotti, however, instantly attracted me.  Speaking of Nureyev, Pavarotti was kind of like Mikhail Baryshnikov.  For pretty much my entire life, I was familiar with Pavarotti (just as I was Baryshnikov), but I had only a passing knowledge.  Very large Italian singer, beard, big smile, was one of the Three Tenors, famously brought down the house with Nessun dorma. And I knew he had died some time relatively recently.  But that was about all I knew.  So, this seemed like a great way to learn about who Pavarotti really was.

Here’s what Ron Howard’s documentary does exceptionally well:

Seeing Pavarotti perform, seeing him rehearse, seeing him interviewed, hearing him in his own words.  Basically, seeing this larger than life personality.  Seeing pictures of him in his youth and breaking into the business…basically seeing Pavarotti without a beard.  The archival interviews with Pavarotti, combined with interviews of peers, colleagues, and family really help you appreciate who the artist was.  Those interviewed range from the other two tenors, Jose Carreras and Placido Domingo, to conductor Zubin Mehta, to his wives, daughter, and to his managers and promoters.  Having opera singers explain what made Pavarotti’s voice so special was particularly enlightening.  For example, I didn’t know that Pavarotti could deliver high Cs on command, or that that was a big deal.  Apparently, his star was made when he nailed 9 high Cs, during performances of La Fille du Regiment in the 1960s.  And fortunately for Ron Howard (and all of us), because Pavarotti was a star, singing in the world’s most celebrated Opera houses, there is quality footage of it.  That’s part of what makes Howard’s documentary work so well.  Good luck doing a documentary on Enrico Caruso or even Maria Callas.  Where are you going to get the performance footage?  Caruso, probably little exists, and Callas will be of poor quality.  But I’m about to turn 46, and I distinctly recall seeing Pavarotti sing on TV.  Howard has much to work with, from televised performances at the Met in New York, to the now legendary 1990 Three Tenors concert in Rome.

Opera News Archives

It’s not hard to see why audiences loved Pavarotti.  The picture above tells the story.  It’s funny that so many of his famed operatic roles were tragic, such as Pagliacci, or Rigoletto.  Because, when you see Pavarotti, you see joy.  In the documentary, one of Pavarotti’s daughters recalls how much her father loved performing L’elisir d’amore, because being a comic opera, he was able to share his joy in the role.  And from the footage we see, Pavarotti was in ecstasy playing it.

Howard’s documentary moves chronologically.  We have Pavarotti’s childhood, his early musical experiences, and how his father (a baker by trade, but also a fine tenor singer) recognized and encouraged Luciano.  Father Pavarotti sent Luciano to study music.  It brings up again that age old question of “nature or nurture.”  For example, had Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart not been born to Leopold, a fine musician who recognized his son’s talents and had the knowledge of how to develop them, would we today have Mozart?  Or had John Philip Sousa’s father not been a trombonist in the Marine Corp Band and thus JPS did not grow up around bands, would he then still become the March King?  We can’t answer that, of course, but it is interesting to speculate if Pavarotti would’ve become….well, Pavarotti, if his parents had resisted music.

I bring this up now, and I’ll return to in greater depth later, but where Howard’s documentary struggles is….what’s not included.  Or should I say, the questions not asked. Pavarotti’s childhood and music education is told by….Pavarotti.  I don’t know of a reason to doubt him but I go back to Kaplan.  Now granted, he was working with a two volume printed format; he had the time and space to probe deeper.  Howard has a two hour documentary.  But the point is, Kaplan didn’t accept Frank’s telling of his background.  He did the research and set the record straight definitively.  Again, I’m not saying Pavarotti needed a fact-checker, but it struck me how all of his origins were explained by Luciano himself; no objective voice was heard.

The parts left unsaid grew more luminous as the documentary progresses.  We are introduced to Pavarotti’s business manager Herbert Breslin, and to different promoters, Hungarian-born Tibor Rudas, who comes across like P.T. Barnum meets Shep Gordon, and British promoter Harvey Goldsmith, whose background was in rock and roll.  We see how (I think it was Breslin) comes up with the idea of sending Pavarotti out on a recital tour, through the middle of America.   It begins in Liberty, MO, and we are told Pavarotti is terrified of performing out of costume, just on a stage; no opera role to “become.”  He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, and its suggested to him, just hold a handkerchief. And thus, Pavarotti waving his white towel became a thing.  Who knows if that’s really how it went down….but it makes for a good story!

I mention the recitals, because as the documentary progresses, we see less of Pavarotti in costume, and more of him in a tux.  He’s not acting in opera, he’s giving concert hall (and later, stadium) performances, in front of an orchestra.  We see him connecting with Princess Diana, we later see him staging concerts with pop and rock stars at his benefit in his hometown of Modena, and we even get Bono’s recollections of collaborating with the Maestro.  And of course, we see this:

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For anyone of my age, there’s no way you weren’t familiar with The Three Tenors.  Its story is well-known, and since Pavarotti is two hours just on Luciano, it only gets 15 minutes or so of playing time.  But what makes this memorable is getting the current recollections of Jose Carreras, Placido Domingo, and Zubin Mehta on it.  I guess I never knew the full story; I didn’t realize it started as a fundraiser for Carreras’ leukemia foundation.  And maybe other people had seen the rehearsal footage before.  I hadn’t.  So seeing Pavarotti, Carreras, and Domingo singing around a piano, while Mehta air-conducted…..it was like watching Babe Ruth take batting practice, Abraham Lincoln write the Gettysburg Address, Eisenhower reviewing D-Day landing plans.  That moment was the highlight of the film: a drop-in on history.  Howard gives us some footage of the first, Rome concert and it’s breath-taking.  I’ve never seen the DVD, so I don’t know if people have seen these angles before.  But the joy on not just the tenors’ faces, but that of conductor Mehta, as he mouths the words….that was memorable.  We’re told of how the three tenors kept trying to top each other….and boy, do they ever.  It’s like an NBA All-Star Game, where each star tries out-dazzle the other.  I’m now convinced I need to buy the album and the video.  It falls to Domingo to tell the story of how they had run out of music except Nessun dorma, and it hadn’t been decided who would sing it.  And so….all three sang on it.  And that was it for me.  I’m not too proud to admit, I cried this afternoon, sitting in Theatre 2 of Amherst Cinema.  Now….some of that is Puccini, who pretty much created perfection with that aria.  (And it may have been the last thing he ever wrote.  What a way to go out!)  But seeing/hearing those three masters sing it, and the pure elation on their faces, along with that of Mehta and the orchestra….that did it for me.  Bravo!

And that, in a nutshell is what makes Ron Howard’s Pavarotti work…..and what it’s flaws are.  To put it simply, it’s a homage.  There’s nothing inherently wrong with that.  It’s a loving look at an artist.  And not just any artist, but an artist of the very highest degree.  We see him in all his glory.  You can’t watch Pavarotti and not come away with an appreciation for how great Luciano Pavarotti is.  You understand what made him special, you share in the exuberance.  You see a man who considered himself blessed with talent, and wanted to share it with the world.  You saw a man who loved life and brought joy.  It made me want to buy his music.  So….was what I watched a two hour promotional video for Luciano Pavarotti.  Well no….but it does make you wonder what’s not being said.

I’ll freely admit, perhaps if I had never read Kaplan’s Sinatra biographies, I wouldn’t feel this way.  But I did read those, and so, as I watched Pavarotti, I kept thinking….so what’s the catch?  Now, please understand me, I am not saying that there has to be a dark side to Luciano Pavarotti.  I’m not looking for dirt to be upturned, just for the sake of finding any skeletons…of which there may not be any.   Pavarotti may have been as wonderful a human being as he was a musician.  That’s entirely possible.  But he’s also human.  We all have flaws.  Were Pavarotti’s flaws as disturbing’s as Sinatra?  Well, that’s the thing….Howard barely lets us know.  And again, Kaplan’s books are not a hit-job on Frank.  He absolutely gives Sinatra his due.  But he also documents the problems.  Pavarotti reminded me of that Bob Thomas biography of Walt Disney: it brings up critiques, but it doesn’t stay there long.  So what do we find out about Pavarotti that might be negative?

We know Luciano Pavarotti was married and had three daughters.  All of them are interviewed.  Seems like he’s a wonderful father, but is also gone quite a bit.  That’s to be expected; he’s becoming an opera star.  You can’t do all that from the comfort of home.  We see footage of Pavarotti teaching a masterclass at Juilliard. And as a sidenote, to my band director friends, look carefully at the scene.  Pavarotti is introduced by Juilliard president Peter Mennin, as in the composer of the band classic Canzona  We then get present day interviews with one of the Juilliard students who performed for Pavarotti in that masterclass, Madelyn Renee.  She  explains how Pavarotti offered to teach her, if she would be his assistant.  We hear stories of how she provided tea for him backstage, of how demanding Pavarotti was, and how he always was terrified before going on stage.  We then hear Renee talk about how Pavarotti would pull her on stage, so she could sing with him.  It all sounds great….and it inevitably leads to her saying they became lovers.

Later on in the film. after the Three Tenors segment, when Pavarotti is staging benefit concerts with pop stars, we are introduced to Nicolette Montovani.  She’s 30-some years younger than Pavarotti, but they will become an item.  She will bear him a child, and they’ll be married.  We get an interview with Pavarotti’s original wife, and she says she never believed any rumors of her husband having any affairs.  We also hear from a daughter from the first marriage, saying how she didn’t want to see her father after the marriage broke up.  Nicolette recalls that Luciano told her that his original marriage was long over.   But here’s the thing…..Ron Howard skips over why that was the case.  Based on what we saw, Pavarotti married and had a family.  He has an affair with one of his assistants/pupils, and he later divorces his wife and marries Nicolette.  So…..is that the full story?   Again, Howard gave us Pavarotti’s first wife, saying that Luciano always denied any rumors.  But what exactly were those rumors?  This is where I bring up, what was left unsaid?  Were there women besides Adua (his first wife), Madelyn Renee and Nicolette Mantovani?  I don’t know enough to say either way.  And one of the reasons I don’t know anymore is based on what Ron Howard doesn’t give us.  He just gives us enough to know that Pavarotti was married, had a relationship with a protege, and then married someone 30 years younger.  In fact, when Pavarotti is dying of pancreatic cancer, we hear how everyone in his life is there.  His first wife, his second, all his daughters, and even granddaughter.  There’s apparently been a resolution, so that Luciano can die withy everything taken care of.   Perhaps that was the case.  But if it wasn’t, there’s no way of knowing through this film.  Howard doesn’t go asking for anything beyond what we see. Kaplan “went there,” whereas Howard restricted what his lens took in.

And that’s my biggest problem with Pavarotti.  I speculate, reading between the lines, due to what wasn’t shown.  We get the voice of the critics, as Pavarotti’s star ascends.  But then, as his career enters its later stages, those tend to be limited.  We’re told critics questioned why an opera star would collaborate with pop and rock musicians.  We see the joy of Pavarotti performing at his benefit, with Sting, and later, U2.  We hear Bono tell the story of how Pavarotti got him to write a song for the collaboration.  But what we didn’t get was……was it any good?  The footage of these performances is very limited.  It appears all were enjoying themselves.  But I have to admit, I don’t recall hearing U2 and Luciano Pavarotti performing together.  This was sometime in the early 1990s; if it was a hit, it would’ve been on the radio.  I remember the beginning of Green Day, I remember Hootie and the Blowfish, I remember Alanis Morrisette.  I remember U2 always on the radio.  But I don’t recall them and Pavarotti.  Maybe I missed it, which is entirely possible.

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Similarly, there is vey brief coverage of a late in his career Pavarotti tour that didn’t go so well. We’re told Pavarotti’s voice wasn’t what it once was, and that he missed some notes.  But we never see the footage, we only hear from one expert.  We don’t see the news clipping. What we get instead is Bono, excusing any slips now made, based on what the artist did in the totality of his career.  While I get that….it still is a “What have you done for me lately?” business.  I probably shouldn’t keep going back to Kaplan, but he points out that Sinatra singing in stadiums in the 1980s was  long cry from the halcyon glory of those Capitol records with Riddle.  The album’s grandeur is not diminished, but a Sinatra forgetting the words, not reaching the notes wasn’t the same thing.  I get it, it happens.  If you’re a sports fan, how many times have you seen that story play out?  How many once-great pitchers have you seen hit around, their once blazing fastball no longer quite so fiery.  It’s part of the business.  But to only give brief coverage to this part of Pavarotti’s career, to me….that’s leaving out the story in full.  For example, the Maestro had to lip-synch Nessun dorma during the opening ceremonies of the 2006 Olympic Winter Games in Turin, he was so sick with pancreatic cancer at that point.  That’s all understandable; I don’t think anyone would criticize Pavarotti for it.  But leaving out the hard, sad truths of the artist’s life, the uncomfortable ones or just the melancholy ones (such as the Olympics), it just feels like the subject isn’t a picture in full.

Yes, I get it, there’s only two hours that Ron Howard had available.  And I don’t have problems believing Pavarotti was a good person.  We see his commitment to using his celebrity and talent for benevolent causes.  We see benefit concerts, we see him opening schools, we see his work with children, particularly in war-torn Sarajevo.  He seems a socially-conscious artist.  All of this is good.  But no person is perfect.  And mind you, I’m not calling for a “hatchet job” done on Pavarotti.  There’s a reason I’ve never read Kitty Kelley’s His Way.  Kaplan’s superb research reveals where some of her claims about Sinatra just don’t hold up. There’s no question Pavarotti was a musical artist of rare talent and is justly celebrated.  Howard gives us plenty of moments to savor.  And he obviously used his success to give back.  All of that absolutely deserves laurels.  But if there are warts, unpleasantness, chinks in the armor if you will, those probably should also be included.  It’s not to tear down the artist; it’s to present him in full.

The lack of critical commentary is what really held Pavarotti back.  I’m not talking about seedy details about Pavarotti’s personal life.  I’ve mentioned that I feel like that area is only gently touched upon.  But if Pavarotti is a portrait of a musical genius, the critical element is an important part of the full story.  As I mentioned, as his career (and the movie) progressed, we see less of Pavarotti in opera costume, and more in a tuxedo in concert.  What did the opera community think of that?  Jealous?  A feeling that he had neglected the art?  There have been numerous critics of the Three Tenors concept, yet we never heard from them.  I came away with the impression that Luciano Pavarotti was the Louis Armstrong of opera.  That’s not a negative.  Both were considered virtuosos.  Both were beloved, engaging entertainers.  They had personalities that filled up rooms.  Howard gives us clips of Pavrotti on television with Johnny Carson and Phil Donahue, and he is full of life.  Though much of Louis Armstrong’s career predates television, you can find him on Ed Sullivan and the like.  But just as Pavarotti seemed to become more a concert performer and less an opera star, so Louis Armstrong became an institution.  Be-bop and Cool had come on the scene, but Louis’ music was still the same.  He was, if anything, safe.  The similarities are striking.  Both were large people, both were open about loving to eat, both always performed in tuxes, and both had a smile that lit up the entire room.  Heck, they both used handkerchiefs as part of their indelible on-stage persona!

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Howard shows us how much Pavarotti gave back.  As social change came across America, Armstrong was sometimes castigated for being too close to the white establishment.  Yet he was outspoken when he didn’t feel President Eisenhower had done enough to help with the integration of Little Rock High School.

But if the image we best remember of Pavarotti is in concert, big smile, booming voice, the joy of belting out arias in front of an orchestra, then what we know of Louis Armstrong is singing in that gravely voice, dabbing his forehead with that handkerchief, and jamming out with a Dixieland combo.  He was doing this in the 1960s, at the same time that John Coltrane was shattering the boundaries of what jazz was.   Both, in a way, had become detached from their art.  I guess I should rephrase that.  I don’t mean that Pavarotti and Armstrong weren’t artists.  They were, and of the highest degree.  But what I mean is, Pavarotti at some point was not performing so many opera roles as he was singing arias in giant concerts.  It was sort of “Opera’s greatest hits”, but it wasn’t playing a leading role in opera, so much.  Same with Armstrong.  At a time when jazz was going into new, different directions, when you had Miles, Trane, Dexter Gordon, Thelonious Monk and so many more on the scene, Louis was doing his thing.  What both of them were seems to be ambassadors for their art.  They were the most famous, globally recognizable figures in their genre.  People who wouldn’t know who was starring in an upcoming performance of Don Giovanni at the Met would recognize Pavarotti.  I bet Stan Getz could walk down a street and go completely unrecognized.  But I would think Louis Armstrong would’ve been mobbed.  Just look at what they did as cultural ambassadors!  Armstrong toured the world on trips sponsored by the State Department.  They shared their art with the masses, and it worked because of who they were.  They had a personality that was joyous, that just affected people.  Sure, we can question the artistic choices at time.  I’ve mentioned how Howard gives some screen time to the complaints of Pavarotti performing with pop/rock artists at his festival.  Armstrong made albums such as a collection of tunes from Disney movies…..which, by the way, is really fun.  It just stands out as a sore thumb occurring in the same time as John Coltrane.  Call them ambassadors of their art for the masses.  And just as purists may have decried Pavarotti’s collaborations or Armstrong’s act, how many people did it introduce their idiom to?  I can’t speak to whether there were better tenors than Pavarotti.  Just as I can’t say who was better than Armstrong.  But ask this: was anyone ever more popular, globally famous, better know or commercially successful in their fields than Luciano Pavarotti and Louis Armstrong?

And so, that’s why, despite my concerns about Pavarotti not being a portrait in full, I can definitely recommend seeing the film.  Because….well, because it’s Luciano Pavarotti!  It’s an intimate look at a masterful performer.  You get to see what made Pavarotti.,…well, Pavarotti.  You hear the music, you feel the joy.  Now, whether the man was radically different from the persona, that’s the difference between what James Kaplan wrote and what Ron Howard directed.  But for two hours at a film, it is enough.  Is Pavarotti a work of opera fanboy-ism.  Sure, I can allow that.  But you can get away with that when your subject is Luciano Pavarotti.  If you’ve never seen Pavarotti before, this film is a gateway to seeing what he was all about.  If you’re like me and knew him, but weren’t sure what the big deal was, this movie works great.  If you loved Pavarotti and just want to see him again, go see the film.  And if you’re looking for the full story of who he was…..sure, check it out.  You’ll hear how he was brought up, how got into music, and learn some of his personal background.  Now whether that’s the full story…..that’s a biography of Pavarotti that will have to wait.  Perhaps there is a James Kaplan ready to take on that assignment.

In the meantime, enjoy Pavarotti.  It may be a bit of hero-worship…..but when that hero can produce such art, you just have to go with it.  I’ll end this blog the way Ron Howard did the documentary.  You could’ve seen it coming a mile away.  Through all the film, the only time we ever heard Nessun dorma was the joint performance by the Three Tenors.  But as the screen time neared conclusion, Howard let Luciano end his story in the most predictable, yet completely appropriate and wholly enjoyable way possible.  Bravo, Maestros Pavarotti and Howard.  Maestro Pavarotti, the floor is yours.

 

War and Peace on the Big Screen; or, The Soviets take on Tolstoy

For probably most people, if asked to recite a line from the Martin Scorsese film Goodfellas, the one you’re most likely hear is “From as far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be a gangster.”  Admit it, you read that with Ray Liotta’s grumble in your head.  As my parents, and now my wife, will confirm, I go on “kicks” with historical figures.  Some might call it manias or obsessions.  I prefer the term “fever,” because it will inevitably pass.  The subjects of my “fevers” are not always the most worthy morally correct choices.  But for some reason, I get possessed by them, and for however long that lasts, I’m reading everything I can, collecting memorabilia, and basically boring all conversation by injecting them into it….no matter how much of stretch it is.  For example, “Speaking of the Yankees, did you know that in 1066….”  Off the top of my head, those manias have included (but not limited to): the Norman Conquest; the Soviet Union from the Russian Revolution through World War II (aka, the Stalin years); aviation of World War I; Casey Stengel; Christy Mathewson; Frank Sinatra; and any number of World War II figures.  The list goes on.  Unlike Henry Hill, the protagonist/narrator of Goodfellas, I don’t stay fixated on topic for long.  No, like my literary counterpart, the amphibious rake Mr. Toad of Wind in the Willows, these obsessions only last till something else catches my eye.  The grass is always greener in some other part of history.

But if you asked me who was the first historical figure to grab hold of my imagination and thoroughly control it, it’s one who proves size doesn’t really matter when it comes to obsession.  I am, of course, speaking of….

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Vive L’Empereur!  

Napoleon Bonaparte himself….who, for the record, really wasn’t that short.  That was all British propaganda.  He wasn’t tall, but probably was around 5’6″….hey that’s about my height!  Coincidence, I am sure.  It all came about from a co-worker of my Father’s, who was a Francophile.  Why I latched onto to the Corsican, I really can’t recall.  All I know is, when I was in elementary school, when my classmates were learning to hit off a tee or throw a football, my mind was filled with places like Jena, Friedland and Austerlitz.  Let other boys know sports starts (I would, for the record,  later on make up for lost time there…and then some).  I was the one who could rattle off Michel Ney, Joachim Murat, and Talleyrand.  My Father’s acquaintance even gifted me a biography of Napoleon’s life.  It was in French, so I’ve never really read it….but I liked the pictures.  And speaking of that, I even had a print of one of David’s portraits of Napoleon.  I think it was the famed (and entirely fictitious) one of Napoleon crossing the Alps.  That stayed with me all the way through college.  It’s parting, at the final house party of my undergraduate career, is an event perhaps best summed up in an entirely different writing exercise.  Let it suffice, I’ll always have a soft spot for La Marseillaise.

Well, as the years went by, I found other fascinations.  But just as you don’t forget your first love or the first time you rode a bicycle, Napoleon always occupied a certain niche in my mind.  Call it the Saint Helena of my subconscious, if you will.  I never fully launched into Napoleon-mania again, but whenever his name was mentioned or I came upon him in some form, it possessed some degree of resonance.  The most obvious example was Napoleon’s encounter with late ’80s Southern California by way of Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure. While I loved the movie as much as any high schooler at the time did, I’m not going to lie if I didn’t say that I felt the Emperor deserved better representation.  God forbid if my peers thought of the man who conquered most of continental Europe only in terms of devouring the Ziggy Piggy!

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An ice cream sundae was as much a foil to Napoleon as the Russians were at Austerlitz

Perhaps the biggest manifestation of my childhood Napoleon fascination (I’m going to try and avoid calling it a “complex”, but you can, if you prefer) was taking on Leo Tolstoy’s “novel”, War and Peace.  My first attempt came in high school…but it lasted probably not even as third as long as Napoleon’s famed 100 day campaign.  I think it might’ve been sophomore English (maybe senior…I don’t remember.  I had the same teacher both years).  You had to do a monthly book report, making selections from a list.   But….if you chose an especially long book, you only had to do a report bi-monthly.  So I took on War and Peace because, of course, it had Napoleon.  I remember my Mother drew up a wonderful plan of how, if I read a certain number of pages a day, I could get the job done.  It was a perfect plan, it should have worked, it was Austerlitz in its perfection…..but then I got interested in baseball and there went that schedule.  But I wasn’t going to concede defeat permanently.  At some point, I was given my own paperback copy of War and Peace.  This has to be sometime around my senior year of high school, because I remember reading it on the airplane when my Father and I went to the Midwest to look at colleges.  I didn’t finish it then, though.  I must’ve taken a year or two off, because at some point, I deviated into Herman Wouk’s World War II take on the Tolstoy model, Winds of War and War and Remembrance.  But finish War and Peace I did, some time around 1993.  It was definitely while living off campus during my undergrad years.

And it’s a tribute to Tolstoy how much of it I still remember.  Not everything, mind you, and almost none of the dialogue.  But certain characters stay with you, and scenarios as well.  Pierre Bezukhov has always remained in my consciousness.  I don’t remember everything that happened to him; just that he was an intellectual, he was a carouser, he came from the aristocracy, he finds himself lost in society, and that he remains in Moscow when the French arrive.  I remember the character Andrei Bolkonsky, serving as an officer, and being found wounded by Napoleon himself on the field after Austerlitz.  I recalled the depictions of Russian high society, because it seemed so strange that French was the language of choice.  The battle sequences stood out, especially the scene of Napoleon observing the Battle of Borodino, not understanding why the strategies that had worked so brilliantly for years before were now not succeeding.  And I remember Tolstoy’s explanations, of how Napoleon’s time on the world stage was done, that History was moving beyond him. It wasn’t Kutuzov that defeated Napoleon, it was History itself.  Likewise, when time came for the French Grand Armee to leave Moscow, Tolstoy told us, it just didn’t exist anymore.  The Army’s structure had broken down in Moscow.  As an admitted admirer of individuals, Tolstoy’s explanation isn’t one I always find agreeable.  Call me a follower of Victor Davis Hanson, rather than Jared Diamond.  But I can’t deny, Tolstoy’s explanation stayed with me, long after I forgot pretty much everything about Natasha Rostov.

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At Borodino.  Why isn’t this working?!!!

Now, as I mentioned, there was a piece of my mind that, despite the passing of years, always felt something for Napoleon.  I wouldn’t call it respect or admiration….maybe just curiosity.  And so, maybe 5 years ago, when at a used book store in Concord, MA, I came across Frank McLynn’s 1997 biography of Bonaparte, I knew I had to have it.  I bought that and Samuel Eliot Morrison’s biography of Christopher Columbus because….frankly, between the Admiral of the Ocean Sea and the Emperor of France, I just didn’t know too much about either.  But don’t get thinking I immediately started walking around with m hand in my breast pocket.  McLynn’s Napoleon: a Biography promptly took an exalted spot in our library.  And stayed there.  And stayed there.  And remained there, much like its subject, housed somewhere in that massive sarcophagus in Les Invalides; a Napoleon to be admired from afar, but not be engaged with.

I must tell you, we have a lot of books in our library.  And it keeps growing.  Western MA has no shortage of used books retailers, and when the League of Women Voters has their annual sale, our library always expands exponentially.  So far, we haven’t run out of space, but I don’t doubt that day is coming.  Well anyway, the amount of books we have in our house keeps growing…and yet, I kept checking out books from the campus library.  Jennifer (my wife), in her proper judgment, drew my attention to this habit, and so, I have since taken it upon myself to read only that which comes from our own library, instead of going to a public one.  At my current reading rate, combined with the amount of books we have, you probably won’t see me in a library for about another 17 years….at least.  That is, unless it’s the coffee shop on the first floor of the W.E.B. DuBois Library.  There you will definitely find me.  But I digress…

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Like the Ark of the Covenant at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark, just waiting its time

Our home library has the fiction and non-fiction separated, with further separations for poetry, drama, art books, and text books.  So if I was going to devote my reading to all that resides in the basement….err, study of 7 Laurel Lane, then I needed a system that gives equal opportunity to all we posses.  And that system is alternating fiction and non-fiction.  I don’t really go beyond that….whatever fiction books piques my interest, and then a nonfiction that (sometimes) compliments that.  For example, when I recently read and loved Treasure Island, I followed that up with Peter Earle’s history of seafaring buccaneers, The Pirate Wars.  And so, when my most recent fiction was Mr. Midshipman Hornblower (which I also really enjoyed), it made sense that the time had come to dive into Napoleon.  After all, Horatio Hornblower is an officer in the Royal Navy during the Napoleonic War.  Isn’t it about time I knew the full story of the man responsible for all those conflicts?

And that’s when the randomness of the Universe sometimes just doesn’t seem so random.  For just as Tolstoy tells us History had decided when Napoleon’s time was done, so too did someone from afar seem to deem the present as my own, personal Napoleonic Renaissance.  Mind you, I haven’t gotten too far in McLynn’s biography; the subject isn’t even Emperor yet.  He’s only just convinced other to have him named First Consul for Life.  We’re a long ways away from the burning of Moscow in 1812.  But that’s not the way life works.  In a perfect world, this would have all happened when I got to that chapter.  In this world, at the same time that my eyes read of Napoleon’s victory at Marengo, they also beheld an e-mail from the Amherst Cinema.  Playing 1 week only, a four-part Soviet version of War and Peace. Just as war with Britain came too early for Napoleon  in 1803, so did this.

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So here’s the thing about War and Peace:  I think it pretty much set a standard for Russian authors to follow.  I’ve read three books from 20th century Russian scribes that all try to follow what Tolstoy’s lead.  There’s Boris Pasternak’s Doctor Zhivago, which uses the chaos of the Russian Revolution for it’s backdrop, while centering on the doomed love of Yuri and Lara.  There’s Vasily Grossman’s Life and Fate, which really is like Tolstoy, with countless number of characters, both real and fictitious, all existing in orbit of the World War II Battle of Stalingrad.  It’s a 1942 setting of War and Peace, with scenes given to Stalin and Field Marshal Paulus, countering philosophical discussions and at least one romance.  And finally, there’s Generations of Winter by Vasily Aksyonov, which follows three generations of one family, and how they survive (?) the Stalin years.  Again, real historical figures interact with the fictitious ones the author created….just like Tolstoy.

Now it is interesting to me that both Doctor Zhivago and Life and Fate ran afoul of Soviet authorities.  The manuscript to both works had to be smuggled out of the Soviet Union in order to be published.  Good thing Tolstoy was writing when he did, I suppose!  I enjoyed all three of these successors to War and Peace, though out of the three, I suspect Life and Fate is the best constructed novel.  Too many coincidental “run-ins” in Doctor Zhivago leaves one to believe that there were only around 15 people in Russia at the time!  Doctor Zhivago, as you probably know, had been filmed by Sir David Lean, with Omar Sharif as Yuri and Julie Christie as Lara.  Now, I did not know there was also a Hollywood version of War and Peace, shot in the 1950s.  I’d never heard of it, but it apparently had quite the cast, at least as far as the leads were concerned: Audrey Hepburn and Henry Fonda.  And that’s how the Soviet version came to be.  This was the time of the Cold War and the Space Race.  Hollywood had made a version of Tolstoy’s epic, the magnum opus of a Russian literary giant, a novel that deals with a vital moment in Russian history.  Hollywood had done that!  And so, Russia must answer!

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Russian officers toast their upcoming success over Napoleon in 1805.  Pierre Bezukhov (front, right) does not agree with going to war.  He is portrayed by director Sergei Bondarchuk.

And answer they did!  Mosfilm’s War and Peace is, in all likelihood, the most expensive movie ever made.  It took something like 6 years to make, and no expense was spared.  Look at the picture above.  All those magnificent period costumes.  Look at the setting, a banquet of the aristocracy.  Look at the table settings.  Everything is gorgeous!  Look at the balcony in the back; there’s an actual orchestra up there, moving.  Whether they were making music, I can’t say.  But the point is, it’s actual extras, all in period costume.  How many people are in that frame?!

Take a look at this next picture….that ballroom, those costumes, that chandelier! And again….how many people? This was no small-scale production!

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Mosfilms’ War and Peace came out in the mid 1960s, was very popular in the Soviet Union and beyond, received critical acclaim (the first Soviet film to win the Oscar for Best Foreign Langue Film)….and then sort of faded away.  It’s recently been restored and now is making the arthouse cinema rounds.  As anyone who has tried to take on reading War and Peace can attest, it’s a LOT of pages.  Director Sergei Bondarchuk, an actor who had only directed one film before, breaks Tolstoy down into four separate installments, each (after the first one) a little under 2 hours.  And the good folks  at Amherst Cinema had the courtesy to spread viewings out over the course of a week, so you didn’t have to binge the entire epic in one 7 and 1/2 hour day.  That worked great for me: Part 1 on Saturday, Part 2 on Sunday, Part 3 on Tuesday, and then concluding it all with Part 4 on Thursday.

The division reflects Tolstoy’s own, but even with 7 and 1/2 hours to play with, there’s way more to Tolstoy than Bondarchuk and his team could fit into film.  Characters were reduced (or eliminated) and subplots forgotten.  I can’t really explain that too well what was subtracted, as it’s been so long since I read Tolstoy.  What I do know is, I had a hard time keeping track of everyone.  Sure, I could follow close enough who Pierre (wonderfully portrayed by director Bondarchuk; he looked exactly how I’ve always pictured him), Natasha and Andrei were.  And the historical figures such as Russian commander in chief Kutuzov and, of course, Napoleon himself, were easy enough to identify.  But who were Natasha’s family in the country?  Not to mention who were the family of Andrei and Pierre?  Who was the rakish officer who seduces (I think) Natasha in part 2?  And what happened to Pierre’s wife?  Did I miss something?  They are an awkward, arranged couple in Part 2….and then it seems they’re no longer together. What happened to her, where did she go?  Lastly, who was the excitable young Russian officer who is killed during Napoleon’s retreat, near the end of Part 4?  He had to be someone important to get 15- 20 minutes of screen time devoted to him, and then to be shown as a casualty of war.  I can’t think he was just a random person Bondarchuk decided to showcase.  Maybe that’s just a Russian thing; I remember struggling with that when reading Zhivago, of how characters would reappear after being out of the narrative for a hundred pages.  I would find myself scurrying backwards, to reacquaint myself with them.  And maybe if I had a more recent familiarity with Tolstoy, I’d better know who everyone was.  But then again….should one have to have read the book to enjoy the movie?  Did the average Soviet audience in 1965 know their Tolstoy, so limited cinematic backstory was needed?  I can’t answer that.

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Pierre’s wife…..I think?  Not sure if the gentlemen to the right is someone important.  Anyone got a copy of Tolstoy handy?

So, what is Mosfilm’s War and Peace?  First off, it’s beautiful to look at as a walk back in time.  Bondarchuk (or his Soviet supervisors) insisted on historical accuracy, and like I said, spared no expense.  And while James Cameron can do that with CGI in Titanic, that wasn’t an option for Bondarhuk and his staff.  It’s interesting that the authorities had no problem with the lavish detail with which the lives of early 19th century Russian aristocracy is shown.  You would think that would be anathema to the Soviet ideal.  Yet, the balls and banquets absolutely glimmered.  I guess we do see the well-to-do of St. Petersburg society, completely unaffected by the disaster of Austerlitz or the hardships endured by those leaving Moscow.  And we also see Pierre, in his wonderful gentlemen’s clothes, go out to observe Borodino.  I guess that’s a subtle nod to Marxist dogma; the rich not bothered by the nastiness of war.  But then again, Tolstoy shows war coming for all.  The Rostov family retreats from Moscow and lodges in a cabin like everyone else.  Pierre’s handsome outfit is soon covered in mud, and he volunteers to bring cartridges to the artillery battalion.  Rich and poor suffer….somewhat.  Tolstoy’s characters are all of the elite of Russian society, and the Soviet film version doesn’t shy away from that; to do so would have been to re-write the source material!  Just like religion isn’t shunted away.  We see characters frequently crossing themselves, invoking God and offering their prayers.  I would have thought a Soviet War and Peace would have downplayed, if not outright removed, references to religion, but apparently that wasn’t the case.  The Orthodox Church was part of everyday Russian life in 1805 – 1812, and so it is shown here.  Kudos to Bondurchuk, Mosfilm, and the supervising cultural authorities, for letting historical accuracy take precedence over the need to promote Soviet state atheism.

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Pierre in that wonderful gentleman’s outfit, observing the preparations for Borodino

What else is War and Peace?  Well, what’s the first word in the title?  Bondarchuk’s film has to rank among the most impressive combats films ever made.  I’d put it right there with Steven Spielberg’s Saving Private Ryan.  Apparently, Soviet Red Army units were assigned to film, to create the thousands needed to bring Napoleonic warfare to life.  And does it ever come to life.  There are so many images that strike you: the end of Part 3, as the Grand Armeé marches across the Russian frontier, row upon row.  The Russian artillery units at both Schöngrabern and Borodino, firing cannonade after cannonade, despite the Russian positions collapsing.  You can feel what it was like….the black clouds of smoke turning a day into a fiery, Hellish cauldron; artillery-men stripped of their jackets but still wearing their caps, their chests covered in grease.  And yet, just a mile away, the sun shining on a clear day.  Regiments preparing to march into combat, going forward to the cheerful sounds of a military band,  no one uttering a word as random individuals in the ranks are felled by shots from ahead.  The general staffs of both the French and the Russians, in their brilliant dress uniforms, watching the battle on nearby bluffs, telescopes in hand.  We have Napoleon’s waiter, preparing him a lunch while the Hell of Borodino plays out in front of him.  Bondarchuk makes use of the entire canvas; countless aerial and long distance shots give the view a feel for how spread out the lines were, and how many different mini-battles played out in the course of the larger conflict.  And much like current film-makers, Bondarchuk is fond of removing the sound, slowing down the moment, to freeze the horror and chaos, before returning us to the melee.  He’s at his strongest in bringing intimacy to these moments of history.  We have a young idealistic Russian calvary officer panicked after his horse has been shot underneath him at Austerlitz, and Andrei Bolkonsky, one of our protagonists, contemplating if this is the end of life, when a grenade explodes near him.  These intimate moments include even the characters we know from the historical record.  I don’t claim to know the Russian actors who brought Tolstoy to life, but the one who played Napoleon did a fine job.  Military historians to this day argue if Napoleon should have committed the Imperial Guard at Borodino.  Bondarchuk gives us that moment, when the French General Staff argues for this, and their Emperor overrules them.  Vladislav Strzhelchik is the actor who portrayed Napoleon, and his facial expression at this moment show a Bonaparte unsure of himself….which fits with Tolstoy’s own vision.  History had decided Napoleon’s time was to end.

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Le Grand Armeé marches into Russia.  No CGI here!  How many thousands in full French Army costumes?

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Le Emperor at Borodino

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Le Grand Armeé at Borodino

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Kutuzov and staff, at Borodino

Bondarchuk’s War and Peace is a BIG film.  It deals with sizable source material, and with an unlimited budget, the idea seems to have been to show the world just what the Soviet film industry could accomplish.  And on that, it definitely wows.  The epic moments are just that.  The Grand Armeé’s entry into a deserted Moscow was particularly striking.  Again, no CGI was used.  One has to imagine Soviet law enforcement completely clearing large areas of city, filmmakers reimagining it as it appeared in 1812, and then parading thousands of Red Army soldiers, dressed in French uniforms of the early 19th century.  The soon-to-follow ransacking of the city by the French, and the ensuing fire is an orgy of chaos that leaves the viewer in awe.  And here again, the filmmakers didn’t shy away from religion.  We are supposed to be offended by the French ransacking cathedrals.  But don’t think that all of Bondarchuk’s epic moments are of the war.  A wolfhunt that Natasha participates in is given the same amount of spectacle as the battle scenes.

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Andrei Bolkonosky on the left, Natasha Rostova on the right.

And that’s what Bondarchuk’s War and Peace works as: a spectacle to look at.  I don’t remember much of the dialogue, but how much of that is due to the film being in Russian, with subtitles.  This was further complicated by that fact that the film relies extensively upon a narrator.  Not only does the narrator give the historical overview, but even fills in much of what the characters are thinking, the way Tolstoy himself would.  What makes that challenging is, Bondarchuk often has his characters give internal monologues, to let us know what they are thinking.  While that can work with the case of Natasha, as seen above, it can becoming when its a male character monologuing.  Was that Andrei thinking or the narrator?  All I can tell is that it’s a Russian male voice, and the subtitles doesn’t differentiate.  Now, if I was a Russian watching this in a theatre in, say, Leningrad in 1967, that wouldn’t really be a problem.  So I can’t really put that on Bondarchuk.

There’s no question Bondarchuk was out to tell a story by image.  He gives many close-ups of actors’ faces, letting their expressions speak for themselves.  Take a look at Lyudmila Savelyeva above, as Natasha.  Her uncertainty about her feelings for Andrei is made obvious to us by every detail i her face.  Below is Bondarchuk as Pierre, observing Borodino.  He has no lines during the entire sequence; we can only read his face (which is shown repeatedly) to guess his thoughts and emotions.

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Even real life figures are dependent on the close-up for us to know what they are thinking.  Yes, our omniscient narrator provides the context, but it’s the face that provides the ol’ “kick in the gut.”   Two scenes, taken straight from history, really illustrate this.  Perhaps my favorite segments in the film(s) is Napoleon in full dress, pacing in his Moscow headquarters, waiting for the Russian surrender that was never to come.  Actor Vladislav Strzhelchik has no lines in the scene; his impatient steps and his facial expressions tell more than dialogue could.  Boris Zakhava, as Kutuzov, has a similar scene.  There’s a scene near the beginning of Part 4, where he has told his staff that, after Borodino, the Russian Army will not be able to defend Moscow.  One by one, his officers leave the room, and we’re given a close-up of Kutuzov, his face buried in his hands.  That one shot tells us more about what he feels, about leaving the city open to the French invaders, than any monologue could (either by him or the narrator).  Later on, we get the reverse, when Kutuzov is brought the news that Napoleon is leaving the city.  Credit Bondarchuk, who knew that if he was going to adapt a book for the film, he needed to do what print couldn’t.  He had to show, rather than tell.  That’s probably why the dialogue is forgotten, but the image stays with you.

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Try and read Napoleon’s mind

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General Kutuzov contemplates leaving Moscow to the French

Now, I will say, I do feel at times that Bondarchuk fell too love in with images.  Look at this one below:

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Arresting, isn’t it?  It’s citizens of Moscow, several of them teenagers, being executed by a French Army firing squad.  Behind are smoke clouds from the burning of the city.  In the foreground, the bayonets of French rifles.  It’s definitely a powerful image, and you have to think Bondarchuk had Goya’s The Third of May, 1808 in mind we he filmed it.  See below for the similarities.

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Spaniards facing a French firing squad. I’m guessing Sergei Bondarchuk was more than a little familiar with this painting of Francisco Goya

The problem is, Bondarchuk stays with it for nearly 15 minutes.  You remember that scene from Platoon, where Willem Dafoe races to catch up to the helicopter, North Vietnamese in pursuit, and Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings replacing all the battle sounds?  It’s all  iconic, from the Dafoe’s face to that of Tom Berringer, to the aerial shots of Defoe running, with his pursuers in chase, from the POV of those in the helicopter.  But here’s the thing; that entire sequence lasts probably 2 or 3 minutes.  Director Oliver Stone makes his moment and moves on.  It’s iconic, it dwells with you, and you’re not beaten over the head with it.  Bondarchuk spends probably uses 10 times as much screen time,to show the firing squad scene.  It’s effective…but we got the point early on.  And this is far from an isolated moment for him.

I’ve told you how characters are developed through their facial expression.  That’s incredibly effective at certain dramatic moments. But there also comes a point where, well, to borrow a lyric from As Times Goes By, “a face is just a face.”  Yes, Natasha Rostova’s emotional development from adolescent to woman, and all the missteps she makes along the way, is written in her face.  And yes, Andrei Bolkonsky’s conflict between devotion to duty and his longing for a private life, are also detailed through his face.  But too much of anything, even a good thing, can be just that….too much.  That would probably be my strongest criticism of Bondarchuk’s War and Peace; it’s tendency to stay too long with something.  Even the justly acclaimed battle scenes seem to go on.  Now, you can argue that was his point; war shouldn’t be pleasant.  I’ll grant you that.  And it’s probably unfair to compare Bondarchuk to Steven Spielberg.  The Omaha Beach D-Day Landing in Saving Private Ryan is a narrow geographic field, compared to the wide open fields of Austerlitz or Borodino.  Still, I’d be lying if I didn’t say, as impressive as the battlefield filming was, that I wasn’t somewhat bored with it by the end.  Now….that being said…the ending shot of Austerlitz is beyond spectacular.  It’s  an aerial shot pulling back to reveal the victorious French cavalry riding in circles.  Take a look:

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I’ll give Bondarchuk his due; he knew how to end things!

Or did he?  I know this is going to sound bizarre, but after 7 and 1/2 hours, War and Peace felt like it ended too soon.  Moscow is being rebuilt, Pierre has returned and embraces Natasha…and that’s it.  The narrator gives some philosophical dialogue as the camera ascends from the Russian countryside and into the clouds, triumphant music playing.  That’s it?  Do we just assume Pierre and Natasha live happily ever after, since it’s assumed any filmgoer already knows their Tolstoy?  What about Tolstoy’s epilogue, where we see Pierre and Natasha married?  I can’t recall if Tolstoy tells us they have children, but the point is, there’s no ambiguity as to their fate.  They do live, for all intents and purposes, happily ever after.  Would it have killed Bondarchuk to have given us just a glimpse of their life together?  Perhaps the camera peeks in on Pierre and Natasha, with children playing on the floor, and then rises up into those Russian skies?  I know, I get it; 7 and 1/2 hours were already in the can….but I’m talking 5 minutes.  It would’ve been worth it!

Tolstoy’s second epilogue, which I admittedly skimmed through back when I read War and Peace, is his essay about history.  It’s where he takes on The Great Man theory, and why he believes you can’t credit historical moments to the individual.  Now granted, that essay doesn’t really translate to film; I’m not sure what Bondarchuk would’ve done with it.  But here’s where I wonder if the Soviet authorities gave some “input.”  They obviously felt highly enough about War and Peace as a national epic to want to film it at lavish expense, for all the world to see.  But I would think Tolstoy’s thesis, of diminishing the importance of “Great Man” was not what the Soviets wanted to champion.  Sure, I imagine you’re saying, “How can that be?  Doesn’t Marxism, by its nature, champion the collective over the individual?  Well, I’m sure it does….in principle.  But from Stalin on, the Soviet Union was as nationalistic as any country out there.  It engaged in hero-making, and promoted Russian heroes from without it’s history.  Remember, Bondarchuk’s film came out in the mid-1960s.  The Cold War is going on.  Why would you want to promote Tolstoy’s take on history, when  you have Mikhail Kutuzov?  Russia’s own, beating the great Napoleon Bonaparte?  You got that?  A Russian defending the homeland from Western invaders.  Let’s not forget that during the Second World War, the Soviet Union established the Order of Kutuzov, as a way of honoring military heroes.  Furthermore, the Red Army launched offensive operations named after Kutuzov and Bagration, a Russian general who lost his life at Borodino.  Soviet censors could accept the lives of 19th century Russian aristocracy and outright signs of religious devotion.  But to devalue the importance of a national hero, at a time when the State was in opposition to the West?  Well, that tone of Tolstoy needed a bit adjusting!

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Prince Kutuzov reviews the captured French standards.  Hero-making was in full effect for Mosfilm!

I cannot claim to be an aficionado of Soviet cinema.  The only other work I’ve seen before is Sergei Eisenstein’s Alexander Nevsky, another film that draws upon an epic of Russia defeating Western invaders.  That film, made during the Stalin Era, is unmistakable in its political message.  The invading Teutonic Knights are shown repeatedly to be overtly Christian, whereas the Russian populace of the 13th Century lacked any signs of religion.  Not to much the whole idea of a German invading force being defeated by a national hero…Eisenstein sure knew how to select a timely story!  Those invaders are shown committing all kinds of atrocities and have no redeeming values.  With Bondarchuk, though, it’s a different story.  Now obviously, he’s working from Leo Tolstoy as source material, whereas Eisenstein had Medieval Russian history/folklore to draw from.  In other words, Eisenstein could take more liberties from a source that wasn’t as well-known as Tolstoy.  Still, just as I observed how the Soviets may have reduced/removed Tolstoy’s view of history, they left in plenty of his other views.

Look at the French.  Yes, they are invaders, and yes we saw them ransacking Moscow.  But they are not inhuman as the Teutonic Knights were in Alexander Nevsky.   There’s a scene in Part 4, where a French captain comes to dine with Pierre.  He monologues boastfully, but also comes off as respecting the Russians.  He’s not a barbarian, and as such, appears to be still alive the film’s end.  When Pierre was a prisoner, not every member of the French firing squad seemed happy with their assignment.  And near the end of the film, Bondarchuk shows us what has become of the Grand Armeé: starving, shivering in inadequate uniforms, frost-bitten, deserted by their Emperor.  When captured, they are treated hospitably by Russian Army, provided with food, drink and warmth.  There is a recognition between soldiers of the different armies that they are all brothers.  It’s unclear where Kutuzov stood with this; his final speech recognizes that the French are human beings like them, but he also pronounces judgment on them coming uninvited.

Perhaps this was to be Mosfilm’s biggest Communist statement.  They were giving their Soviet take on their own Russian national epic.  The last time Napoleon is seen in the film, he is steely-eyed, riding in an enclosed carriage.  The narrator informs us that he is speeding away under a different name, leaving his army behind.  The camera pulls back.  The first ranks of the retreating Grand Armeé appear organized, marching with their standards held high.  As the camera proceeds down the long column, we see the army gradually dissolve.  At the very end, it’s no longer an army.  Rather, its corpses of men and horses, while stragglers crawl to keep ahead of winter’s howl. Above all this is the voice of Napoleon portrayer Vladislav Strzhelchik, boastfully speaking to his troops of the glory that awaits them in Russia.  Now we see what Napoleon’s braggadocio brought them: cold, starvation, death and desertion by their Emperor.  There’s your Marxist ideology exported to the world, courtesy of Leo Tolstoy by way of Mosfilm:  the soldiers of the armies are brothers; it is their Imperialist overlords who put them at odds.  Could Vladimir Lenin during the First World War have said it any better?

I don’t know enough about the historical record to tell you what happened to the captured French. Earlier, we saw a captured French youth being given all kinds of hospitality.  Whether that’s true, or whether the Russians executed/treated harshly their captives, I don’t know.  But what Bondarchuk gives us is a Russia whose grievance is with the enemy leader; amongst the common fighting man, brotherhood.  That’s quite a statement for the Soviet Union to make.  1965 – 1967, we’re in the middle of the Cold War, and as America is becoming embroiled in Vietnam.  Don’t listen to your war-mongering Western leaders; we’re all brothers down here.  Whether that message resonated in the West, I have no idea.  And how true it is in keeping with Tolstoy, that I also couldn’t tell you.

images My, 6,000 words written.  Well, I am dealing with a 7 and 1/2 hour, 4 part film adaptation of a book that is over 1,400 pages long….there’s no way to be brief whenever War and Peace is involved.  So what is Sergei Bondarchuk’s War and Peace?  A spectacle.  It’s a feast for the senses.  You may not remember its dialogue, you may be confused by who the characters are (or where they went)….but you won’t forget what you saw.  Or what you heard.  I don’t have enough space (or time) to write about Vyacheslav Ovchinnikov’s score.  Suffice it to say, no expense was spared there, either, as the credits tell us that a State Orchestra and Chorus were involved.  My particular highlight was the marching tune played behind the French lines.  I don’t know if it was authentic or composed for the film, but it sure was effective.  The savagery of Borodino rages, while Napoleon and staff are serenading by this triumphant tune.  Look out for that incoming cannon ball!

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If anyone sees this album anywhere, please let me know!  It seems to be unavailable.  Perhaps with the restoration of the film, the soundtrack will be next….please!

Is War and Peace perfect?  Far from it.  The ending feels rushed and too many times, Bondarchuk takes his time dwelling on images.  In addition to the close-up on faces, he loves split-screens, slow dissolves, and a blurred screen whenever a character is in and out of consciousness.  In some regards, War and Peace reminds me of Walt Disney’s Mary Poppins.  I know that sounds absurd, but hear me out.  Mary Poppins wasn’t ground-breaking cinema, but what it was, was Walt Disney showing, after 40 years in show business, he could take what everyone else had been doing in Hollywood, and put his own spin on it.  Original songs….Sherman Brothers…check.  Discovered new starlet making her screen debut…..Julie Andrews….check.  Big time dance segments…..check.  Wonderfully recreated period city, all put together on a sound stage…..check.  Animation that Disney was known for….check.  In many ways, Mary Poppins, was a synthesis of everything that had been previously done in the movie business, a way of Walt Disney showing that his studio could now do anything MGM, Warner Brothers, Universal, Fox and the like could do, just as well.  He was part of their club.

And in that way, that’s what Mosfilm’s/Sergei Bondarchuk’s War and Peace is.  The techniques Bondarchuk uses are impressive….but they’re not innovative.  You want innovation ahead of its time and Napoleon?  See Abel Gance’s silent epic from the 1920s….that is, if you got nothing to do for 6 hours!  From the aerial views to the impeccable attention to detail and accuracy, all is perfect, but it’s not new.  It’s what happens when an entire nation (and not just any nation, one of the world’s two super powers, at the time) gets behind a production.  Give a director and his team an unlimited budget, a national epic that everyone takes pride in, and here’s what happens.  That’s War and Peace.  It’s Mosfilm, and beyond that, the Soviet Union as a whole, showing to he world, we can make just as good, if not better, than Hollywood.  Here’s everything you’ve been doing in Southern California for the past 40 years.  We can do that too!  And if that was the purpose, than I have to say Sergei Bondarchuk and Mosfilm succeeded immensely with War and Peace.  A Soviet synthesis of everything film-making had been up to 1965.

Even at its most intimate moments, from the first time Pierre tells Natasha he cares for her, to its most grandiose (the French cavalry in their victory circle at Austerlitz), War and Peace is a spectacle to behold.  The setting, the costumes, the detail; you don’t just watch War and Peace…you experience it.  From the aristocratic ballrooms of high society St. Petersburg to be the field headquarters of the French and Russian Armies, Sergei Bondarchuk and Mosfilm don’t merely present to you Tolstoy; they put you in Tolstoy.  This is spectacle.  It’s not perfect, but it’s also not to be missed.  I know it’s available on DVD, but if you have an art house cinema near you, and you have multiple showings throughout the week, do yourself a favor.  As a member of Amherst Cinema, it cost me $20 in total to see all 4 parts.  One Andrew Jackson and I was immersed in Russia during the time of Napoleon.  For someone in the early stages of a re-occuring case of Bonaparte-Mania, I can’t think of a better fuel to throw on that fire.

The only question remaining is….how will Amherst Cinema feed my next mania, whenever that comes?!

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Napoleon encounters a wounded Andrei Bolkonsky, on the field of Austerlitz.  Just look at how that shot is framed!  That’s why YOU need to see War and Peace the way Sergei Bondarchuk intended, on a big screen!  Big book, big subject: big film!

A fresh look at a classic; or do the times change the view?

“Just you wait, ‘enry ‘iggins, just you wait!”

Ahh, Prof. Henry Higgins, one of the most memorable figures of any musical.  Yes I know, his origin is not My Fair Lady, but rather, the George Bernard Shaw play Pygmalion, which is the basis for the musical.  Colonel Pickering, Mrs Higgins, Mrs. Pierce, Freddy Eynsford-Hill, and of course, Eliza Doolittle herself, also own their origin to Shaw.  But since my familiarity with Eliza, Higgins and the rest is restricted to the Oscar-Winning film, I can’t really comment on Pygmalion.  Nor the Lerner and Loewe Broadway show either.  I can only talk about the film.

I don’t recall how old I was when I first was introduced to My Fair Lady.  It was definitely as a child, pre-junior high days.  I remember my Mother explaining it to me as happening around the same time as Mary Poppins.  Imagine my dissappointment that they never co-existed.  And such opportunities too!  After all, during the Little Bit O’Luck sequence, a suffragette parade passes right through.  Where’s Mrs. Banks?  But, of course, it never happened.  Nor did Freddy Eynsford-Hill ever encounter Bert and his fellow chimney sweeps, while he pined away outside Prof. Higgins’ residence.  What could’ve been!

I mention this, because I just recently saw My Fair Lady the way it was meant to be: on the big screen.  Every month, Turner Classic Movies, in conjunction with Fathom Events, presents a classic movie at the Cinemark theaters.  My wife, her parents and I had previously gone to last month’s (to be honest, I’ve gone to many of these!) installment, The Wizard of Oz.  And while there, we saw this month was to be My Fair Lady.  I was instantly excited to see it, and made my plans.  And for me, it’s funny, because though I’ve listened to the soundtrack so many times, there isn’t a lyric I don’t know by heart, it’s a whole different story from actually seeing the show itself.

But before I get into the show itself, I guess I should come clean about pre-conceived notions going in.  Look no further than Prof. Henry Higgins.

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I can’t admit to having seen much else of Rex Harrison (save stumbling over bits of Dr. Doolittle on tv here and there).  And I’m sure as a kid, I missed out on the subtleties (translation: boorishness, or worse) of his character.  What I do know is, he left quite the impression.  He wasn’t Mr. Henry Higgins, after all; no, he was Prof. Henry Higgins.  He spoke so quickly, used words like bullets out of a machine gun, and just dominated everything scene he was in.  The show may have been called My Fair Lady, but for me, it was The Great Professor.  Of course….I was a kid, and my judgement wasn’t….shall we say….fully developed.  My current students will tell you, it probably still isn’t…but I can assure you it was worse then.  Sure, Eliza’s story was nice….but it was a vehicle to show the greatness of Henry Higgins!  And for those of you who know the show….yes, you’re right.  I would’ve been celebrating Higgins too, and completely ignoring Eliza, extolling the triumph with lauds of You Did It!  I think I probably saw some of the warning signs; why is Higgins not dressed like everyone else at Ascot (more on that later)?  And why does his own mother, who seems a decent person, take to Eliza and not him?  But like I said, I had seen it, I liked it, I LOVED the music (On the Street Where You Live maybe my favorite song to ever originate on the Broadway stage), and it was a long time till a repeat viewing.  And oh yes, toss in a love of history, a fascination with the British Empire of Victoria and Edward, there was no question of where my class allegiances were.  Sure, Alfred P. Doolittle could bring the house down with Get Me to the Church On Time, but if I was going to be there, I wouldn’t be hanging out with him and his cronies, relying on a A Little Bit O’Luck.  Nor would I be in the market place with Eliza selling flowers.  No sir, put me in fancy clothes, give me elocution, a rigorous education, and call me a gentleman like Prof. Henry Higgins and Col. Pickering.  That’s what the younger me thought.  But just like our esteemed Professor, just you wait!

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Going into My Fair Lady in 2019, the first reservation I had was misogyny.  That’s no surprise.  It may have been years since I had seemed the film, but I still remembered that Higgins was rather nasty to Eliza.  And even if I hadn’t seen the movie, I’ve been listening to the soundtrack.  “Why can’t a woman be more like a man?”, the parade of insults when Higgins describes the pandemonium when you left a woman in your life, and all the jabs the Professor delivers right at Eliza.   These range from “cold, heartless, gutter snipe” to “brazen hussy.”  And that’s just what are included in Alan Jay Lerner’s lyrics.  How much more insulting was Higgins when not singing?

The other piece of the puzzle was not, just how much society has changed from 1964, when the film was made, but also in my own lifetime.  Heck, how much have societal norms changed in just the past five years?  I’m talking about, of course, #MeToo.  Though I don’t believe Henry Higgins ever sexually harassed Eliza Doolittle, a la Harvey Weinstein, he certainly wasn’t nice to her.  I didn’t need to have seen the movie recently to know, from his completely discounting her after the Embassy Ball to his petulant crowing during I’ve Grown Accustomed to Her Face, that Higgins was simply beastly to poor Eliza.  While I’m sure the music would still be great, how would My Fair Lady as whole still hold up?  Would it be like Annie, Get Your Gun, where the show lives on, but not without changes to the story and the dropping of certain songs?  After all, how should that final scene stand today?  It’s my understanding that in Pygmalion, it’s clear that Eliza Doolittle is free of Henry Higgins, and has married Freddy Eynsford-Hill, to which the possibility of our Professor cackled with scorn.  We all know (at least anyone who’s seen My Fair Lady knows), Eliza comes back to Higgin’s home/office and the film ends.  What are we to make of that now?

But before discussing all of that, let me tell you what My Fair Lady is today: in a word, beautiful.  It’s beautiful in it’s music, both in the melodies of Frederick Loewe, and in the interpretations by music director Andre Previn and his team of orchestrators and arrangers.  Its beautiful in its filming, in it’s color.  From the opening credits, one is immersed in beauty.  Take a look:

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All of those gorgeous flowers, dissolving from one bouquet into another, an orgy of technicolor, radiating from the screen.  It was a dreary February Sunday afternoon in New England when I saw My Fair Lady, but you could feel the warmth of those flowers sitting in the theatre, just like you were in a hothouse.  And again, accompanied by that glorious, glorious music.  The wonderful overture setting a frenzied pace, with the melody of Higgins’ triumph, You Did It, before settling into that transcendant anthem of unrequited love, On the Street Where You Live.  Whoever wrote the overture (Loewe himself?  Robert Russell Bennett or Philip Lang on Broadway?   Andre Previn and his staff?) knew what a great tune they had, and the orchestra plays it all the way through; this is no simple highlights of On the Street; no, you get the whole thing, complete with dramatic pause on “I won’t care if I.”  The orchestra then takes on the show’s second biggest tune, Eliza’s celebratory I Could’ve Danced All Night.  The music breezes on by, the strings luxuriating in Loewe’s great melody, while woodwinds dance around at very fast tempo.  It’s enthralling, and just like earlier in the overture, this instrumental version pulls out the dramatic pause right where it should be, where the lyrics “I only know” would appear when sung.  But this wonderful collage of musical highlights doesn’t overstay its welcome.  We only get three tunes out of of the full score, before everything is wrapped up with a stirring brass fanfare and series of chords that announce, up with the cinematic curtain, let’s tell this story!

In case you’re wondering what I’m talking about, here’s the entire sequence.  Warning that your computer probably won’t do it justice.  Producer Jack L. Warner and director George Cukor meant for this on the big screen.  And one more thing before moving on, if you’ll allow me…. just listen to that orchestra play.  Recently I had been thinking about Mary Poppins Returns, and how Marc Shaiman and the music staff wanted that same big studio orchestra sound that is such a part of the original’s appeal.  The new version comes close….but something’s missing.  You listen to the My Fair Lady overture; there’s a sound that you just can’t recreate.  Those studio musicians in 1964, who I am sure had played on many Hollywood classic musicals before….there’s confidence in knowing how to execute the material.  It just can’t be redone so easily.  It’s why Mary Poppins Returns doesn’t quite match Irwin Kostal’s orchestrations/musical direction from the original.  And interestingly enough, Mr. Kostal was beaten for the Oscar for Music, Scoring – Adaption or Treatment to Andre Previn and My Fair Lady.  As much as I love Mary Poppins, it’s hard to argue after listening to that overture.  If that’s the sound of Heaven, I sure hope I’m leading a good life!

One of the reasons My Fair Lady stands out is how each song has significance to the story.    Now a days, with completely sung-through shows such as Phantom of the Opera, Les Miserables, and Hamilton, it’s easy to believe every song in a musical has a dramatic purpose.  But that hans’t always been the case.  Look at The Music Man, a show I really like: Shipoopi and several of the barber shop quarter/school board songs don’t really do much to advance the narrative.  Not saying they’re not enjoyable; they just don’t add to the story.  Think about Singin’ in the Rain.  Most every song in there is just a musical number to enjoy; it doesn’t really tell us much.  Yes, Moses shows Don Lockwood taking speaking lessons (oh, if only he had Henry Higgins in Hollywood to help him.  What a story that might’ve been!)  But in reality, it’s just an excuse for a Gene Kelly/Donald O’Connor dance showcase.

That’s not the case with My Fair Lady.  Look at how so many of the characters’ ethos are explained through song:  we have barely met Alfred P. Doolittle before he launches into With a Little Bit O’Luck.  Because of that routine, we now know his entire outlook on life better than when he later explains it to Higgins and Col. Pickering.  We first meet Eliza Doolittle when Higgins is scrutinizing her elocution (or lack thereof) outside the theatre, .  However, we don’t really come to know her until n she sings Wouldn’t It Be Loverly.  That’s what introduces her as a kind, self-reliant, likable person with modest needs.  Admittedly, there isn’t much to Freddy Eynsford-Hill’s character, which was probably a point of Shaw and Lerner, a commentary on the blandness of the upper class.  But rather than have him explain his obsession with Eliza, why not do it in song?  And of course, all of Henry Higgins’ philosophies on life (or, if you prefer, his bigotries) are showcased in his famed pattern/diatribes, Why Can’t the English, I’m an Ordinary Man and A Hymn to Him.

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All you need to know about Freddy Eynsford-Hill, serenading On the Street Where Eliza lives

But the songs in My Fair Lady do more than just develop characters.  They also push the narrative along, or set the stage.  We are only given glimpses of Higgins’ training of Eliza, but between the Servant’s Chorus framing episodes such as Eliza with marbles in her mouth or the speaking “H”s into the burner, and Eliza’s own anthem of resistance, Just You Wait, we can tell just how grueling the process is.

The Ascot Gavotte serves a similar purpose.  We know the Doolittles are of the lowest class of any characters in the show.  Higgins and Col. Pickering are well-educated and professional, and the domestics in the Higgins residence all carry themselves on a level above the Doolittles.  But outside of everyone scurrying from the rain after the theatre lets out, back at the very beginning of the show, prior to Ascot, we really have seen little of this fabled upper class society. Col. Pickering appears to have attended the show that first night, but Higgins definitely did not.  Rather, we first encounter him lurking about outside, snooping on conversations and taking field notes.  Our Professor may be well educated and speaks perfectly, but at first glance, he’s not part of the upper crust society.  I take that back….he probably can be….but only when wants.  He looks the part at the Embassy Ball, in a dashing suit….but that’s about it.  At Ascot, he’s clearly not functioning in high societal norms.  After all, he’s dressed tweed, rather than in customary gray, and his choice of hat is definitely not of the expected top variety.  Do note, Col. Pickering is perfectly outfitted for the occasion….but not Prof. Henry Higgins.

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At Ascot.  Eliza and Col, Pickering dressed for the occasion.  Not so Henry Higgins

I tend to think Higgins has a claim to society, but chooses to pass on it.  We know he’s born into it; his mother is definitely part of it.  Why does the distinguished professor go out of his way to not conform?  There’s probably a story there….The Early Days of Henry Higgins, Professor at Large.  What an idea….but I digress.  The point is, when Higgins decides to take Eliza into society, to see how she will do, it’s the audience’s first look at this culture.  We’ve seen the buskers and the happy-go-luckies at the bottom of society, and we’ve seen the Higgins residency….but we haven’t seen how the well-to-do- really are, not till Ascot.  And so Lerner and Loewe give us the Ascot Gavotte; it’s prim and proper neoclassical melody; it’s very sarcastic lyrics poking fun at British expected manners; and it’s Bob Fosse-esque choreography  (anyone else think that?  Those very deliberate moves sure seem like Fosse to me!).  The whole number serves a purpose of letting us know just what is this society Higgins is trying to bring Eliza into.  It’s flat-out ridiculous, and it just makes you wonder, has all of Higgins’ browbeating been worth it?  You make Eliza go through all those ordeals to be part of this nonsense?!  But it all wouldn’t work without a song, again advancing the story.  Also, just look at the way director George Cukor and cinematographer Harry Stradling jump around, with different shots.  No wonder both won Oscars that year!

But where the songs in My Fair Lady really shine is not just in character development or updating the action, but in giving emotion to the moment.  I already mentioned how song lets us feel Eliza’s frustration with Higgins.  But then, when she finally gets it, how can you not help but break out into song?  And kudos to Lerner and Loewe, for taking a verbal exercise, “the rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain,” and making it into a bring- down-the-house, emotionally uplifting moment.  Sitting in the theatre, I was just as exuberant as Eliza, Higgins and Pickering.  I wanted to make merry  with them! Similarly, how could you not feel Eliza’s sheer joy when she tells us she could’ve danced all night?  Or, her complete frustration at English society, both in Higgins’ lecturing and Freddy’s longing, with Show Me?  All those emotions: frustration, elation, triumph, anger, joy…the whole gamut.  And it’s through song that you really feel it.

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Pure elation, as Eliza successfully recites (sings) The Rain in Spain

Really, in all of My Fair Lady, there is probably only song that doesn’t add very much to the story.  I’m speaking of the swan song for Alfred P. Doolittle, a Get Me to the Church On Time.  It’s an excuse to give him last hurrah….and I’m okay with that.  It comes at a time in the show that’s pretty much an emotional downer.  Eliza has left unappreciated from the Higgins residence, but now  in her fine clothes and proper manner, she can’t go back to the world of street sellers.  Similarly, thanks to Higgins’ mischief, Alfred is wealthy, attired in fancy clothes…and is about to marry.  Higgins has taken away their old way of life forever.  What a scoundrel!  I would guess Alan Jay Lerner and perhaps George Cukor felt the show needed a break from the Professor and his schemes at this point.  After all, what follows is Higgins storming about, unable to understand why Eliza has left.  And so, to give us a break from him (we last saw Eliza throwing a slipper at him, and he responding by damning everyone) we get Get Me to the Church On Time in between.  Time-filler?  Sure.  Pure fun?  Absolutely!  So  if it’s really is just an excuse to give Stanley Holloway another opportunity to clown around, then I say…play on!  There are many great moments in My Fair Lady and I’ll be honest, in my longing for the upper class, Alfred P. Doolittle has never been  my favorite character.  But the way Get Me to the Church ends, with Doolittle and his chums staggering out of a bar, realizing its morning, and the song becoming like a dirge….it’s just tremendous.  The last we see of him, he’s being carried away, laid out like a corpse, with a lily placed on his chest….I can’t think of a better farewell to his character.  A throw-away number?  Sure, I’ll give you that, but I can’t think of a better one!

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But as beautiful as Andre Previn’s conducting of the score, and all those great Lerner and Loewe songs, they wouldn’t work if they weren’t sung well.  It’s well known that Marni Nixon sang for Audrey Hepburn.  Lesser known is that Bill Shirley sang On the Street Where You Live, instead of Jeremy Brett.  Rex Harrison won both a Tony and an Oscar for Henry Higgins, and yes, while he pretty much talks to music, rather than sings…I wouldn’t sell him short.  When you think Henry Higgins, you probably hear his bombastic scene-dominating sermons.  You may hear, “But….let a woman in your life” and other egotistical pontifications.  And as much as those moments fill the screen, I don’t think they are the reasons Harrison won an Oscar.  No, I’d say he earned his Oscar with I’ve Grown Accustomed to Her Face.  He stills doesn’t sing, and yes…there’s another trademark Higgins smug monologue in there.  But…by the time the tune ends, there’s a different emotion in Harrison’s voice.  His tone is softer, there is a definite poignancy in there.  Could there even be sorrow?  Once he’s done boasting that he’s “very glad she’s just a woman and so easy to forget, rather like a habit one can always break”, his tone immediately drops.  What was just seconds ago a proud emphasis on the word “easy” and a swagger of breaking habits, is now a tone of resignation.   It’s as if he’s having to convince himself that he still believes he doesn’t need a woman in his life.  We are, of course,  left to our own interpretations of what Higgins really feels.  But that voice there, the way the song is resolved, this is a different Prof. Henry Higgins.  Is he broken?  Is he alone?  Is he saddened?  That’s for us to decide.  But it’s a Higgins we’ve never seen, and it’s only made possible by Lerner and Loewe’s song, and Harrison’s (one-time) sensitive touch.  I’m convinced that moment won him the Oscar.  Take a listen.

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I realize I’ve talked a great deal just about the music, but hey, it’s My Fair Lady.  Higgins talks a lot too!  To borrow from Eliza, “words, words, words, I’m so sick of words!”  And also, it’s a musical.  Of course you have to talk about the music.  But My Fair Lady isn’t just beautiful to listen to, it’s GORGEOUS to look at.  I’ve already talked about those wonderful flowers in the opening credits.  One thing that is striking to me is that, not only did My Fair Lady and Mary Poppins premiere in the same year, not only are they both set in Edwardian London, but they were also both entirely shot on a sound stage.  Not a single bit of outdoor shooting is in any of them.  Originally, I was going to give the upper hand to Poppins, due to Cherry Tree Lane, with its park across the street and the whimsical ship/house of Admiral Boom.  That seemed more impressive than Lady‘s street marketplace, the neighborhood where Alfred P. Doolittle avoided work, or the Higgins’ residence.  But then Lady moved beyond that.  With Poppins, Disney could rely on animation for a change of scenery.  Not so Lady.  The Ascot Opening Day….all on a soundstage.  But more impressive, and a sign that Jack L. Warner was willing to spend any amount to pull off My Fair Lady, the Embassy Ball.  Take a look below.

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The staircases, the furniture, the palatial walls….everything proclaiming the glory of high English society at the height of the British Empire….and none of it filmed on location.  Every touch created on the Warner Brothers lot.   No wonder My Fair Lady saw an Oscar go to George James Hopkins for Set Design.  Also nominated, not surprisingly, Mary Poppins.  Again, that word, beautiful.  Isn’t that what you see in that picture?  And I’m not even talking about Audrey Hepburn and that gown…..more on that shortly!

But that Oscar may not have just been for the spectacular, which the Embassy Ball most certainly is.  It’s also for the ordinary, or how unordinary the mundane appears.  Take Henry Higgins’ library/study:

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There’s so much going on.  Not just books, but models.  Toys, machines, graphs, instruments, artwork.  Some of it we see Higgins use, like his phonographs or the device with a flame that drills Eliza to  pronounce the letter “H.”  Others leave us wondering. For example, there’s a portait of St. Thomas More in Higgins’ study.  Why?  What is it about More that inspires Higgins?  We can only guess that our Professor is quite the polymath.  Or perhaps its simply that Cukor and Hopkins thought it best to cram his study with anything they could imagine.  It couldn’t have been cheap, but it makes its point: Higgins is a unique individual, with a thousand different interests.  As such, he’s at home in this environment, and not the society he was born into.  Seeing Higgins in this museum of knowledge underlines why he’s so badly out of place at Ascot.  His mother is in her element there, but not son.  One would have to think Freddy’s home wouldn’t be so interesting.  He looks the proper role at Ascot, but we’re led to believe his intellect is only surface level.

But of course, when you’re talking beautiful and My Fair Lady, you have to discuss Cecil Beaton’s costumes.  I’ve said enough; let’s let the pictures do the talking here.

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Col. Pickering and Eliza arrive at Ascot

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Eliza, Higgins and Pickering arrive at the Embassy Ball

Everyone remembers the spectacular costumes (and they are just that!) for the moments of high society, but Beaton deserves credit for how well he attired everyone, from all the levels of English class shown.

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Alfred P. Dolittle, looking appropriately dirty and clothes a mis-match

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Higgins’ typical attire, sorely out of place at Ascot.

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Eliza Dolittle, as we first meet her

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Eliza Dolittle, after being trained for society, in the outfit she wears when she leaves Higgins.

Much of what I’ve written are things I learned from watching My Fair Lady only just last week.  The music is what I was previously really familiar with.  And of course, I remembered Higgins’ look and many of those wonderful costumes…though I don’t know if I appreciated just how effective they were.  There’s the saying that “Clothes make the man.”  Well, while Higgins believes speech makes the man, there’s no question, the clothes the characters wear define them.  It’s not just Eliza’s new manners that separate her from her old crowd in the marketplace; it’s also the clothes she’s wearing, as seen in the final picture above.  And though Higgins speaks as well, if not better, than the rest of the aristocratic set gathered at Ascot, his refusal to wear proper attire (also see above) sets him an outsider.  I’ve already spoken about that.  It’s time to talk about Audrey.

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Jack L. Warner with his stars

It’s all been well discussed how Julie Andrews was the original Eliza Doolittle on Broadway, and how Jack L. Warner passed her over for the movie, because he felt he needed an established star.  In some respects, its understandable.  I’ve already extolled the sets and the costumes.  I don’t know much Warner paid Lerner and Loewe for the show, but the point is, this was a huge investment.   He needed some assurance it would work.  Julie Andrews, having never been in a movie, was a big risk.  As Ben Mankiewicz pointed out in the Fathom Events/TCM showing, this derailed Andrews’ career to such a great extent, Walt Disney immediately signed her for Mary Poppins, for which she won the Oscar for Best Actress.

Audrey Hepburn was not nominated for Best Actress.  Perhaps some of this has to do with the fact that she doesn’t sing.  Before I never really appreciated Ms. Hepburn in the role.  She was fine, she looked great, but she didn’t sing.  Harrison dominates every scene he is in, and Hepburn….well, she looks pretty.  Terrible thinking on my part…and completely incorrect.  And that leads into the larger discussion of, in today’s society does My Fair Lady still work?  Is it still necessary, or should it be retired as a jewel of the past?  I’ll talk about that, as I talk about just how much Audrey Hepburn brings to the film.

And in doing so, I have to talk about my old boyhood hero, Prof. Henry Higgins.

Let’s go to the first time we encounter our leads.  Outside the theater, Higgins writing down everything Eliza says, and then decrying to Col Pickering Why Can’t the English learn to speak.  Granted, Higgins is a boor to Eliza, but that’s not what bothered me during my recent viewing.  Rather, what bothered me was just how much an elitist he is.  Higgins rails against all other forms of English that doesn’t measure up to his ideals.  Years ago, I would’ve approved.  I was almost an English major in college before focusing exclusively on music.  Then, after going through academia and its demands for clear writing, I built up a pride in speaking correctly.  But at what price?  There are no minorities in My Fair Lady; every character is a white Londoner.  Class is what separates them.  To Higgins, it’s speech that causes that divide, and he contends that through his training, the walls can come down.  But what bothers me watching in 2019 is the notion that Higgins’ notion of the English language is the “be all, end all.”  I could see why he we would think that in his time, when Great Britain seemed the world’s greatest empire.  And I can still see that opinion being held in 1964.

But in 2019, it just reeks of superiority.  I’m not going to call it white supremacy because that’s extreme.  There’s nothing that shows Higgins as a racist.  But…in 2019, in a multicultural society, the idea of propping up one form of language as the only correct option just doesn’t seem acceptable.  I’ve been thinking the same about academia lately.  Do we need to loosen the standard for what is considered acceptable English, so that more can be accommodated ?  One wonders how many Elizas a Henry Higgins discounts, just because their speech doesn’t meet his standards.  There’s a line in Why Can’t the English about how the moment Eliza speaks, she’s already been judged. That classicism, which I wouldn’t have even thought about as recently as probably 5 years ago….that now bothers me in watching My Fair Lady in 2019.

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The Professor, at their first meeting, showing Eliza the “mistakes”in her speech

There is quite a bit of that judgment in My Fair Lady, such as the clear distaste Higgins’ butler has when he shows Alfred P. Doolittle in.  And its clear Higgins and Pickering both don’t consider Alfred to be their equal. But here’s the thing…..does My Fair Lady really prove Higgins’ theories to be correct?  Let’s look at when Eliza is taken out for the first time in society, to Ascot.  She may commit social faux pas by her choice of conversation but really…..she’s the only person in the Higgins’ box who has something different to say.  As we find out, the perfectly mannered Freddy Eynsford-Hill has nothing to offer.  And later, after Eliza finds herself unappreciated for the triumph at the Ball, she stands up for herself.  Both that night and the next day at Mrs. Higgins’ house, Eliza lets Higgins know exactly what she thinks.  What’s interesting, and perhaps bothersome is, Eliza was just as feisty when we first meet her, sparring verbally with Higgins in her cockney accent.  But it is only when she spars with Higgins using his English, that he finds her a worthy adversary.  As he proclaims, “I like you this way.”   Has Eliza really changed, or is it just her way of speaking?  We can still question whether Higgins actually respects her, but he holds does her in a different stature… but it’s only because of how she speaks.  Has Higgins really grown accustomed to Eliza’s face….or is it because her speech is now acceptable?

It’s that sense of judgment that gives me pause about My Fair Lady today.  Higgins, of course, is overbearing to to Eliza.  His speech is too often insulting.  But in his teaching, I give him more leeway.  It’s questionable if he cares about Eliza or does he just view her as a professional challenge.  Yet somehow, he does make a connection with her.  Take the moment right before The Rain in Spain.  Col. Pickering begs Higgins to call it a night.  Eliza is clearly exhausted.  But not only does Higgins not berate her, he inspires her.  He speaks calmly and convincingly, telling her he knows how hard this is, but also extolling why it’s important, and what benefit it will be to her when she accomplishes it.  And lo and behold…she gets it.  That’s why I can’t write Henry Higgins off as a complete monster.  He’s a boor, a classist, and a harsh task master….but he’s also a great teacher, and not one who completely doesn’t care.  Just as he inspires Eliza to accomplish The Rain in Spain, he also tells Col. Pickering, just before they are to leave for the Ball, that Eliza matters greatly.  Yes, I know….he then completely ignores her when it’s all over.  What can I say, the Professor is a man of contradictions.  But there is something in there that’s noble.  It may be a small part of him, but he’s not completely without merit.  Watching My Fair Lady in 2019 lowers my childhood admiration of Prof. Henry Higgins.  But at the same time, he’s not completely to be shown to the dustbin.  While not a complete hero, he does have his moments for good.  After all, just as Higgins is wrong to judge people completely, so to I’m not about to judge him the same.

So if Henry Higgins was what made My Fair Lady in the past, then it’s time to give credit for why the film is beloved to me today….and that’s Audrey Hepburn.  No, she’s not singing.  And yes, the first hour or so of the film, she seems a cartoon character.  Her cackling and yelling seems just putty in Higgins’ hands, an easy softball served up for him to knock out of the park.  No wonder as a youth I gave her little credence.  She was just something for Higgins to play with, while he had all those show-stopping monologue/songs.  After all, she’s got cute songs like Wouldn’t It Be Loverly or Just You Wait, while Higgins is raging, Why Can’t the English and I’m an Ordinary Man.  And with someone less than Audrey Hepburn, perhaps Eliza would’ve remained in Higgins’ shadow.  But… we’re talking about Audrey Hepburn, and when she correctly speaks “the rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain,” it’s not Henry Higgins and his methods that triumphed….it’s all about Eliza Doolittle (despite how much Higgins wants all the credit later).  I’m sure other actresses could play the role fine…..but would they beam like Hepburn did?  She is convincing beyond all doubt when she starts to realize she is speaking correctly.  It melted my heart sitting in the theatre.  I was completely beguiled.  I was no longer watching Audrey Hepburn playing a role; rather, I was watching poor, beleaguered Eliza Doolittle accomplish that which just earlier, seemed impossible. Her joy was not just believable, it encompassed everyone watching.  Sure, Higgins and Pickering danced and celebrated with Eliza, but the moment was hers.  And when Mrs. Pearce tries to put Eliza to bed, when she Could of Danced All Night instead, her elation is ours.  It doesn’t matter that it’s Marni Nixon’s voice; everything Audrey Hepburn has done has completely sucked us in.  It’s not Higgins who has done this, it’s Eliza, and we could go on dancing with her.

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The Rain in Spain Stays Mainly in the Plain….and melts our hearts

Eliza’s triumph is still far from complete.  After all, the sequence following I Could’ve Danced All Night is the Ascot Opening Day, where Eliza’s conversational skills and proper decorum are clearly, painfully not established.  But though that whole sequence is both awkward and funny,  it is Audrey Hepburn’s talents that make it so.  Look at the picture earlier in this blog, of Freddy, Eliza and Higgins watching an Ascot race.  Look at how expressive Hepburn’s face is.  Higgins doesn’t seem to care.  Freddy is properly amused, to the limits decorum allowed.  But Eliza is so completely enthralled.  How could you not expect her to proclaim, “Come on Dover, move your bloomin’ arse!”  With another actress, that whole thing might have been unbelievable; with Hepburn, though, it all seems natural.

But Eliza’s crowning moment, the point were everything  came together for me, happens right before Intermission.  I’m talking about that glorious sequence when Eliza descends the stairs of the Higgins’ residence, ready to go to the Ball.   Watch it before I go on. Everything is perfect.  Not the least of which is the music.  Kudos to Andre Previn, as I Could’ve Danced All Night swells in intimate strings.  And there she is, the street market flower girl now in an incredible gown, jewels draped upon her, her hair liked a crown.  When Col. Pickering utters, “Miss Doolittle, you look beautiful,” he speaks for all of us.  My gosh, I’m getting emotionally just typing this.  And it’s not just her gentile answer of “Thank you, Colonel Pickering.”  It’s the way she descends those stairs.  She’s practically floating!  Eliza is more a lady than probably even Higgins would’ve thought possible.  For me, it’s the most magical moment in the film, and I do not lie when I say I was completely choked up watching it.  I found my eyes watering and lumps in my throat.  All my reservations about My Fair Lady in 2019 were gone.  All of Higgins’ misogyny and classism, all was forgotten, at least temporarily.  Why?  Audrey Hepburn, that’s why!  “Thank you, Colonel Pickering” is all she says in the sequence, but it is, without a doubt, her moment.  Her grace, her beauty, her carriage, her demeanor; it makes the scene the emotional peak of the film.  And how does it end?  Higgins walking back, to offer his arm.  For one moment, however fleeting, Eliza Doolittle is not his toy, his student, his wager….is she his equal?  We know it doesn’t last, but in the moment, none of that matters.  We’ve seen all Eliza’s been through; this moment belongs to her and her alone.  If you wanted to make the case Audrey Hepburn deserved an Oscar nomination, you’d be hard pressed to find a stronger reason than that scene.

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The best picture I could find on-line of My Fair Lady’s grandest moment

Audrey Hepburn is also responsible for changing my opinion of Prof. Henry Higgins.  I’ve mentioned before how Higgins, Pickering and the domestics celebrate their triumph, without giving any credence to Eliza.  What I had forgotten till I saw the film again is how Eliza is present during that entire sequence.  She walks in by herself to the house, no longer on Higgins’ arm.  When she walks into the study, the celebration is in full order.  And most damning, there are times when it appears the celebrants are going to turn to her….but they never do.  Eliza has no lines during the scene, which more than makes up for in her following blow-up with Higgins.  But silent though she may be, she dominates the scene.  Sure, Pickering is toasting Higgins, and yes, Higgins in his trademark style tells us how the Embassy Ball went down.  It’s then that we find out what Zoltan Karpathy concluded, that Eliza’s English was so perfect that she had to be a Hungarian Princess.  It’s quite the moment for the Professor.  He won his wager, he successfully passed a flower girl off as a Lady, and he even outwitted a rival.  This should be the celebration of his greatness, of the triumph o this methods.  And if you listen to the soundtrack, it is just that.

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But thanks to Audrey Hepburn, the triumph rings hollow.  There she is, in the background, but there nevertheless.  Still in her gorgeous gown and jewelry, and still carrying herself with perfect posture.  But the look on her face is heartbreaking.  She’s a specter looming over the celebration, making sure we all know it’s incomplete.  The few times she thinks she’s about to be given credit, we see a hopeful, nervous smile….and then it’s gone.  It’s devastating, and it only works because of the pure expressiveness of Hepburn.  Kudos to her and director George Cukor, for the juxtaposition of Higgins’ major key triumph (thank you Lerner and Loewe) with the crushing disappointment and abandonment painted painfully upon Eliza’s face.  And there it goes again…..the lowering of my boyhood admiration of Prof. Henry Higgins.  From listening to the soundtrack, I knew Eliza was left out of the celebration.  But it was seeing it, seeing her hover in their midst, invisible and unappreciated, that hit it home. For every spark of humanity in Henry Higgins, there’s that much more to scorn.

So what is My Fair Lady in 2019?  Like I said, a beautiful film.  Beautiful to look at, beautiful to listen to, and still an incredibly enjoyable work of art.  But what it is not is the story of the The Great Professor.  Don’t get me wrong, Henry Higgins is still entertaining.  His words can be obnoxious, but they still cause a laugh.  I don’t think he was ever a hero, but to me, he was the center of My Fair Lady.  That’s no longer the case.  Part of that is the way society has changed the view.  His treatment of others and his elitism can’t be excused.  But just as society has changed my views of Henry Higgins, so it has brought about a greater appreciation for Audrey Hepburn.  Rex Harrison sings…..well, no he doesn’t, he talks to music, but it’s his voice.  Audrey doesn’t sing, she doesn’t chew on the scenes like Harrison did,  but she towers over the production.  From her feistiness to her desolation, her grace to her triumph….it is she who dominates My Fair Lady.  Let Higgins spew line after line after line.  He’s almost a one-trick pony.  The few moments he lets his guard down are effective (inspiring Eliza before The Rain in Spain) and his obvious deflation at the end of I’ve Grown Accustomed to Her Face.  But let not word count be confused with greatness.  The show is entitled My Fair Lady, and that’s no coincidence.  It’s Eliza’s story through and through, and I see that now.  I’m not saying Rex didn’t deserve his Oscar, and of course, Julie Andrews deserved hers….but Audrey should have at at least been nominated.  Can we agree on that?

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And finally….the ending.  My understanding is that, in Pygmalion, George Bernard Shaw made it clear Eliza is now on her own.  She has married Freddy, she’s not going back to Higgins.  That’s not how My Fair Lady ends.  BUT……the ending either George Cukor or Alan Jay Lerner gives us is far from definitive.  We see that Eliza has returned, and Higgins is glad of it.  He demands of her where his slippers are….but we don’t see Eliza actually fetch them.  It’s also a leap to say there’s a romantic relationship there.  While Higgins admits to feelings for Eliza, I’m not prepared to say that being accustomed to her face is the same as love.  It could simply be familiarity, and recognizing the spark her presence brought to his routine.  Not to mention there’s what is unsaid.  Higgins is in midlife and lives alone, a “confirmed old bachelor.”  And he invites another confirmed, old bachelor to live with him, Col. Pickering.  Nothing in My Fair Lady suggests that there is something more between Higgins and Pickering…but then again, the film is from 1964.  If there was a relationship, it surely would not have been shown.  That’s all speculation, of course.  But I think it’s just as much speculation to assume Higgins and Eliza will become romantically involved.

So why does Eliza come back?  Sure, I’ll speculate.  She obviously feels something for him.  I’m sure there is some degree of gratitude for all she has learned.  Perhaps she is interested in learning more about the science of elocution, and wants to become a Professor just like him.  And what a story that would’ve made!  Higgins, who sings about how women ruin your lives, training a woman professor at a time when women weren’t even allowed to vote.  And then Eliza proves to be even better than Higgins!  Perhaps plays a critical role in the upcoming First World War?  The possibilities are endless!

But here’s the thing….Cukor and Lerner leaves it to you.  There’s no need to assume Eliza is returning to submit to Henry Higgins.  He’s glad she’s back, but instantly covers it up by giving an order.  She takes a few steps forward…..and that’s it.  You decide what you’d like.  And that, my friends, is why My Fair Lady still works in 2019.  We don’t know what happens next.  But just because she’s back, there’s no need to assume Prof. Henry Higgins is triumphant.  We saw earlier how hollow his victory was.  And now, the man who bragged he would never let a woman in his life, is visibly relieved she is in it….in some undetermined form.   And with that freedom, I have no guilt in saying My Fair Lady is still wonderful today.  Viewed from a different perspective, yes; and Henry Higgins no longer reigns supreme.  But My Fair Lady is still a triumph….and even better than I remembered.  Different, and better.

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Oscars almost all around.  Jack L. Warner for Best Picture, Rex Harrison for Best Actor, and George Cukor for Best Director.  Sadly, only Audrey Hepburn is empty-handed

Now if you’ll excuse I need find whatever happened to my slippers!

 

A sequel enters the ring: a review of “Creed II”

Is anything as ever good as the first time around?  Well…yes, there are examples.  Huckleberry Finn makes his debut in the The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, but pretty much everyone would agree that the later The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn is a better work. It’s very hip to say The Empire Strikes Back surpasses the original Star Wars, and I don’t think anyone would argue that Dr. No was the best Bond film.  But for every Lord of the Rings that is far superior to The Hobbit, you have way more Ocean’s 12 or Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom.  So, it was with more than a little trepidation that I went to see Creed II this past week.

You had to understand, I absolutely LOVED the first Creed.  In fact, if I might be so bold, I even rhapsodized about it in this very format.  I thought it was the best movie of the year. Ryan Coogler’s direction simply blew me away: everything was understated.  You weren’t beaten over the head with the Rocky mythology.  There were little to no flashbacks and the focus was on the new characters: Donnie Johnson/Adonis Creed and Bianca.  Sylvester Stallone, in an impressively low-key performance, was a supporting character.  The story wasn’t about Rocky, but rather, the title character.  And by being so straight forward, I thought Coogler pulled off a miracle: I was so completely sucked in, I believed I now lived in a world where Apollo Creed and Rocky Balboa were real people.  It didn’t seem a Rocky film, it didn’t even seem a film at times….just a story about a challenged youth trying to make something of himself.

Now, obviously that’s a bar set mighty high and it was going to take a near-perfect effort to equal Creed.   But I was still interested in seeing the continuing story of Donnie, Bianca and Rocky, so with nothing better to do on Thanksgiving morning, I gave it a shot.

I guess at this point, I should post this, in case you haven’t seen the film and are planning on doing so.

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Let’s get this biggest question out of the way: is Creed II as good as the original?  That answer is easy to come by: no.  It’s definitely not.  But please note, I wrote….err, typed that in lower case.  It’s not an empathic “no” and it’s not really because Steven Caple Jr. is directing, instead of Ryan Coogler.  Sure, there are some choices Caple made that differ from what Coogler may have done…and some of that may have been because Stallone wrote Creed II….but those are minor quibbles which I’ll explain as we go along.  The biggest reason Creed II isn’t as good as the original is….because, well, it’s not the original.  Part of what Creed  so memorable is that it was an entirely new take on the Rocky saga.  It was in the same universe but it was something different.  Rocky himself is the only familiar character and he wasn’t the Rocky Balboa were remember.  He wasn’t blustering, he wasn’t the champ, just an lonely old man running a restaurant and living in a townhouse that’s seen better days.

I compare to  J.J. Abrams’ Star Wars trilogy (in progress), which gives us new characters, but keeps a foot (well. maybe a leg, all the way up to the hip) anchored in the original.  There, Rey, Finn, Kylo Ren and the rest are constantly interacting with, or at least referencing, the Star Wars we all know.  But with Creed, the Rocky of the ’70s and ’80s was only a passing reference.  There was a freshness there.  Just by being sequel, that freshness was bound to be gone.  It doesn’t mean Creed II was going to be a bad film; it just didn’t have the impact of a brand new take on an established canon….and, very important to note, a brand new take where the creator of the original gave leeway for something different.

In my review of Creed, I speculated that Stallone had complete faith in Ryan Coogler to handle his characters.  Stallone, as far as I know, was only an actor in the first film.  In addition to directing, Coogler also co-wrote the screenplay.  With Creed II, Stallone is credited as the writer.  And before you wince, do remember he has often done that.  Creed, in fact, was the first Rocky film to not be written by Stallone.  And if the sequel is any indicator, it might be the last to bear that distinction.  It does make you wonder, with Coogler not directing, did Stallone not have as much faith in Caple Jr.?  Or perhaps Stallone just wanted to be more hands-on with his property.  I have to imagine it’s difficult to let go of a franchise you alone created.  To be honest, Stallone’s greater involvement in the sequel does not make Creed II a bad film…it just gives it a different feel than original.

And that feel is, Creed II is a Rocky film.  That’s the number one difference in the two films.  Creed may have involved Rocky Balboa and it may have had the story of a boxer coming from nowhere to take on a the heavyweight champion….but it didn’t feel like Rocky.  That’s not the case with the sequel.  Whereas Creed made only passing references to the originals, Creed II falls right under the shadow. I have only seen Creed once, when I saw it in the theatres, so my memory may not be perfect.  But I seem to recall, the only time Carl Weathers (the actor who played the Apollo Creed) was actually seen in Creed was his picture during the Pardon the Interruption sequence.  I remember Donnie watches some of his fights, but I seem to recall they are seen out of focus.  Everyone else from the original films: Paulie, Mick, Adrian, Rocky’s children, are barely referenced, and never seen.

Creed II, however, has no such reservations in referencing the original canon.  We don’t have flashbacks to the previous films, but that may be the only place where the line is drawn.  Nowhere is this more apparent than in who the boxing opponent is this time around: Viktor Drago, son of the infamous Ivan Drago.  You remember Ivan Drago, right?  You know, the perfect, chiseled blonde-haired, steroid-enabled Soviet boxer who killed Apollo Creed in the ring, before losing to Rocky.  As a dear friend of mine said satirically about Rocky IV, if you look closely, you just might find some political imagery.  But you have to look closely, because it’s very subtle.

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Hammer, sickle, and Drago (Rocky IV)

Now, I’m not going to lie.  When I heard the son of Ivan Drago was going to be the villain, I groaned.  After what was such a fresh start to the Rocky re-imagining, we were now going back into the realm of the known.  This was now like J.J. Abrams, where we have a new version of Khan or a First Order that’s not the Empire….but sure looks like them!  The idea of the son of Apollo Creed having to avenge his Father’s death agains the son of his killer?  That sounds like an action film….but way too pedestrian for the promise that Creed had shown just a few years earlier.

But here’s one of the reasons Creed II, while not wholly original, is a very good film: the Dragos aren’t exactly villains.  If you’ve seen Rocky IV, you recall how everyone in Drago’s corner turns against him as Rocky takes the upper hand.  30 years later, Creed II shows us that that was only the beginning of hardships for Ivan Drago.  He’s trained his son, Viktor, but they fight far away from the bright lights.  Rather than the state-of-the-art training facility Ivan trained in, Viktor runs in the Russian cold, while his father motivates him from behind the wheel of a well-worn truck.  Both Dragos wear ordinary clothes, and at a formal dinner to honor the younger pugilist, Ivan’s suit looks shabby and ill-fitting.  It’s clear life has been hard on Drago.  What was once a chiseled example of perfect is now a face that has seen plenty of mileage.

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The two Dragos

And this is why I have to say, just because Creed II is familiar doesn’t mean its bad.  If Sylvester Stallone’s subtlety was the surprise performance of Creed, the sequel is Dolph Lundgren’s to steal the show.  And just like it was with Stallone, so it is with Lundgren that subtlety that is the key to the performance.  Though he definitely has more lines than he did in Rocky IV (not that that would take much!), much of Lundgren’s acting is with his face.  And it is there that being wrinkled and worn down by life really sells the part.  When Drago hints at how much he lost, we believe him.  We see it in his dress, his face, his being.  And here, Stallone and Caple are wise; they don’t give us a flashback of Drago’s life, post-Rocky IV.  We don’t need to know all that happened to him. Just looking at him and his current circumstances, we can fill in the blanks.  No, Lundgren doesn’t say too much….but everything we see of him makes us believes he’s lived these hardships.  And that’s just like what Creed did so well; it convinced me what I was watching was real.  The older Ivan Drago, thanks to Lundgren’s portrayal, is absolutely believable…..and sympathetic.

Drago of the Ivan variety uses his failings to motivate Viktor, and though Caple is much more tied into the canon than Coogler, we’re not beaten over the head with it.  We have the two Dragos standing on the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art (every Rocky fan knows the significance) and watching tourists take selfies with Rocky’s statue.  But we aren’t given any cheesy lines.  We don’t have Viktor using the locale to make a promise to avenge his father. When Rocky and Ivan meet in his restaurant, the latter observes that there’s no pictures on the wall from their climatic fight in Moscow.  There are pictures of many of Rocky’s other fights, but none of Drago.  Rocky doesn’t explain why that is.  It’s as if another subtle reminder of how much Drago lost that night…he even lost being memorialized.

In another example of how Creed II  taps into the Rocky canon more closely than it’s predecessor, we have a mid-movie appearance by Brigitte Nielsen.  You may remember her as Drago’s wife and handler from Rocky IV.  She also is back, and doesn’t really have much to do.  That’s okay, though; just her appearance at a celebratory dinner for Viktor makes the point.  We have heard Ivan motivate Viktor by reminding him of how much he lost, including his own Mother.  Her appearance at the dinner completely unhinges Victor, who storms out.  Ivan is also uncomfortable but demurring.  What was once invincible 30 years ago is now humbled, fully aware, and seemingly accepting of his lowered stature.  Drago, who told Rocky he would brake him, he himself seems broken.  Viktor protests to Ivan that she’s just a woman, and not his mother.  And is that point where Caple (and maybe it was also Stallone’s script; haven’t read it, so I can only speculate) improves, rather than re-makes Rocky IV.  Viktor Drago may have be Donnie’s opponent, but he’s not a villain.  It’s been a LONG time since I’ve seen Rocky IV, but I don’t recall ever feeling sorry for Ivan Drago.  It was the Cold War, he was a Soviet.  But in Creed II, you feel sorry for both Dragos.   Ivan has clearly been forgotten in the passage of time, and Viktor’s fight is not Russian propaganda; it’s a quest to honor his family.

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Brigitte Nielsen and Dolph Lundgren, as they appeared in Rocky IV

I’ve already warned you about spoilers, so at this point…it’s your own fault.  Still with me?  When Viktor seems a winner, Nielsen is at ringside.  She’s now with someone who seems to be the head of Russian boxing, and really…I don’t know if they ever say her name at any point in the film.  But even if you had never seen Rocky IV, you pick up that she’s Viktor’s mother.  And since we know from Ivan that she deserted them, it comes as little surprise that she also leaves once Donnie gets the better of the match.  I can’t remember if Vitkor (who is pretty dazed at this point) sees her walk out, but Ivan certainly does.  If we the audience members weren’t sympathetic to the Dragos yet, this is the finishing punch.  There’s Viktor getting pounded upon in the ring, barely able to stand up, and Ivan seeing history repeat itself, now upon his own son.  Once again, they are deserted.  The Russian crowd, that earlier was chanting the Drago name, has turned for Donnie.  And in a pleasant twist (not completely unforeseen, but still effective), it is Ivan throwing in the towel for his son.  You may recall, Donnie’s dad, the legendary Apollo Creed, forbid Rocky from throwing in the towel against Ivan Drago….and we know how that ended.

And if that’s not enough, we see the melee after the fight, as Donnie is celebrating, Ivan is consoling and embracing his furious son.  Ivan has been there, he knows far too well how this ends.  What was a taskmaster father earlier in the film, (seemingly) bent on revenge through his son, has become the only source of solace.  Lundgren doesn’t say much….but everything about him is sincere.  We see a father committed to protecting his son from the fate he had.  Ivan knows what will come next and he’s doing whatever he can to assure Viktor won’t go through this alone.  Caple (or Stallone) adds in a scene of the two Dragos training on a sunny morning somewhere in Russia.  They’re not in the lap of luxury, it looks like they’re back to square one…..but they’re together.  And in a subtle but effective touch, it doesn’t look forbiddenly cold as the Dragos run together.  Rather, the weather looks….nice.  The sun is out.  Life may not be so bad for Viktor, as it was for Ivan.  Ivan throwing in the towel for his son and being with him after the match ends…it’s one of the things that lifts Creed II above the level of “formulaic sequel.”  The Dragos may be the antagonists…..but they’re not villains.  In fact, there’s no reason to believe, as the movie unfolds that, they’re even bad people.

It’s interesting how Caple gives us a new twist on what we knew before.  In that way, it’s J.J. Abrams-esque.  Just like Rocky IV, we have a training montage, showing both Viktor and Donnie preparing for the big match.  But whereas Rocky IV hued it in the politics of the time (Drago training in a clean gym, always shaded by the red of the flag, while Rocky worked out in Siberia), Creed II does not.  Sure, Donnie and Rocky are working out in a desert outside Los Angeles, and the Dragos are in a large gym adorned with Russian emblems.  But rather than this be used to pit scrappy American against state-endorsed Russians superman, Caple reworks the contrast.  We don’t see Russian scientists working on Viktor.  Whereas Ivan Drago used to be a product of the State, this time he and his son are outsiders.  They’ve had to earn their way into the State’s gym.  This scene came after the dinner I mentioned before.  Knowing how much the Dragos have lost, you actually feel for them that they now get to train in Team Russia’s gym.  You would never have felt that way during Rocky IV!

Caple made a great choice in keeping all political undertones out of Creed II.  Donnie and Rocky are Americans, the Dragos Russians…but that’s it.  No references to Vladimir Putin or election infiltration.  The story is Donnie continuing to grow into his father’s legacy, while Viktor tries to redeem his father.  Making the Dragos sympathetic is a major credit to Caple and Stallone, and credit has to go to Dolph Lundgren.  Every crease on his face has a story to it, and the sympathy he later shows for Viktor is 100 % believable.  It’s not a role that’s going to net Lundgren an Oscar….but it does need to be mentioned.  He humanized a character that 30 years ago was anything but.

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One of the biggest surprises of Creed was the performance of Phylicia Rashad as Mary Anne Creed, Apollo’s widow.  To be honest, I don’t know if I had seen her in anything since The Cosby Show.  After seeing her reprise the role in Creed II, I have to ask….why do we not see Phylicia Rashad more?  Just as in the first film, she is memorable every time she appears on screen.  There is a grace in her presence that completely fits the role.  As Donnie embraces the mantle of being Apollo Creed’s son, his relationship with Mary Anne deepens.  You may recall from the first film, Mary Anne is not Donnie’s mother.  It’s revealed early on that Donnie is the son of a woman Apollo had an affair with.  In Creed II, Mary Anne continues as a surrogate mother, and the dinner scene, where she deduces that Bianca is pregnant is really well done.  Just like in the first film, it’s not a big role….but it’s memorable.  Again, why do we not see Ms. Rashad more?!

There are two problems with Creed II that, while they don’t prevent this from being a fine, effective film, keep it from reaching the level of Creed.  One is, again, its the close adherence to the Rocky canon.  In a manner that is as much Rocky III as it is IV, Donnie is soundly defeated by Drago in the first match.  Shades of Rocky and Clubber Lang there.  But instead of losing the title, a la Rocky III, Drago was disqualified for punching after the bell.  And so, once Donnie is healed, there’s the inevitable re-match.  And, of course, in Moscow.  It’s not carbon-copy, which is another reason Creed II is far superior than your average sequel.  I’ve already talked about the very pleasant variation on the Drago characters.  But whereas Creed felt fresh, this has that Abrams-esque feel of “It’s different but I still feel like I’ve seen it before.”

The other problem I have with Creed II, and this was also a problem with the original, is a tendency to put too many storylines into the film.  The plot device of Rocky battling cancer entered late into the narrative in Creed, and though it didn’t derail that film, it did feel like it was a storyline that just didn’t need to be there.  It worked; it ended up showing us how much Donnie really cared for Rocky.  But, to me at least, it just felt a bit too much.  Creed II has multiple moments like that.  Donnie and Bianca having a daughter is a nice touch; since this is the second movie for these characters, it’s appropriate to see them move through different stages of life.  The drama of that baby having a hearing impairment like her mother seemed unnecessary.  I never felt like this really impacted the characters; it’s introduced, they’re devastated, and now it’s on to training for the Drago re-match.  If that plot device is important enough to include, then it probably deserves to be dwelled on more.

Another plot element is the estrangement of Rocky and his son, Robert.  We hear in Creed that Rocky doesn’t really keep in touch with him.  It gives a touch of pathos to Rocky, and reinforces why he comes around to Donnie.  He’s alone and Donnie gives him something new in his life.  But since the movie is about Donnie and not Rocky, the family estrangement is never explored,  That’s not the case in Creed II,  We now see a Rocky that’s wrestling with making contact with his son, who can never bring himself to place the phone call.  The film’s closing, where we see Donnie and Bianca bring their daughter to Apollo’s grave, and father and son Drago training together, also includes Rocky stopping at his son’s house and meeting his grandfather.  I see what Caple want to do, and as I mentioned, it definitely humanizes the Dragos.  But again…the film is called Creed II, it’s not Rocky VI.  I preferred the approach Coogler took, where Rocky was a vital supporting character.  He was essential to the film, but it wasn’t his film.  It was Donnie’s.  By giving more attention to Rocky’s estranged fatherhood, I felt the focus was now shared between him and Donnie.  Again, the film isn’t called Rocky; it’s Creed.  Now….how much of that was due to Sly Stallone writing this film, where he was only an actor in Creed….well, that’s for us to speculate.

The storyline that was definitely undeveloped was that of the promoter, played by Russell Hornsby.  We saw him stalking around Kiev, he’s well aware of who Viktor Drago is, and he’s determined to bring the Creed/Drago match into being.  He’s then on TV, issuing a challenged to Donnie.  He approaches Donnie from behind, when he’s watching Bianca’s concert.  The promoter here is a “snake in the grass,” whispering sweet nothings to get Donnie to agree to the match.  Cut to the first fight, and now he’s wincing as Viktor pounds upon Donnie.  It seems he has regrets over setting this fight up, when it’s an obvious mis-match.  He sends a get well card to Donnie.  But after that….we really don’t get more about him.  I kept thinking there was going to be a scene, when Donnie is on the mend, where the promoter is there to apologize and do what he can to make amends.  Perhaps he decides to join Team Creed.  But that never happened.  Perhaps, like the real life Al Haymon, this promoter stays behind the scenes.  Or maybe there was such a scene and it just didn’t make the final cut.  It does seem odd, as early on, you’re led to believe this promoter is the driving force behind putting together Creed/Drago….and then his character never really moves on beyond that.

But just as I have said the things I don’t think work well in Creed II, I can double that amount with things that work just fine…and maybe even excel.  One of the things that makes Creed II a successful sequel is that it continues the emotional growth of characters we’ve grown to care about.  I realize I’ve talked a lot about Dolph Lundgren and haven’t even mentioned Michael B. Jordan and Tessa Thompson.  In the first film, Donnie is a young man full of anger.  I don’t recall if it’s stated how much time has elapsed since the end of Creed and the events of the sequel.  What is clear is how much Donnie has matured.  He’s ready to commit to Bianca for a lifetime together.  We see them move to Los Angeles, for a multitude of reasons: so she can focus on her music career, Donnie can train at the gym his Father did, and they can be close to Mary Anne.  And just as I complained that the Rocky and his son storyline detracted from a film about Donnie Johnson, moving out from Philadelphia to LA has the opposite effect.  Philadelphia is Rocky’s sacred ground.  But Los Angeles…that belonged to Creed.  Just the difference in geography gives Creed II some needed breathing space, to be its own film.

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I don’t know how much acting (outside of boxing) Jordan had to dig deep for in Creed II.  I was very impressed by his portrayal of Killmonger in The Black Panther.  In that film, he made you understand an antagonist’s motivation, and maybe even think he was right.  Creed II didn’t seem to press his acting chops, but I will say this: his portrayal of Donnie makes you care about the character.  He’s simply likable.  You want to be in his corner (boxing metaphor most definitely intended).  Tessa Thompson’s character of Bianca didn’t have as much to do in Creed II.  Her music career is taking off, she’s a mother, but, particularly when Donnie starts training, her role is diminished.  But just as she did in the first film, Tessa Thompson is extremely likable.  I think that’s why the chemistry of Thompson and Jordan works: they’re characters you just plain like and want to see do well.  It’s easy to get behind them.  Both Jordan and Thompson seem comfortable in the roles, and I think that’s part of why we like them so much.  They don’t seem to be so much acting, as they are living in the roles.  Believability = likability, I suppose.

But first and foremost, Creed II, like its predecessor, and like all Rocky movies for that matter, is a boxing film.  And it is in the trappings of the sport that it works best.  The script is familiar, and also predictable.  Donnie wins the title.  He is the challenged by Drago, who is so much bigger than him.  Rocky won’t be in his corner this time around, and Drago nearly kills him.  Long recovery, a rematch is set, and we have the training montage.  Rocky decides to train Donnie and he does it in the desert.  Re-match in Russia and Donnie is able to take enough punches to stay in the fight.  Like I said, we’ve seen this.  But what makes it work are the touches I’ve already mentioned…the sheer likability of Donnie and Bianca, and the sympathetic turn given to the Dragos.  And then there’s the boxing.

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Caple picked up where Coogler left off in being a master of filming a fight.  In fact, I might daresay, the second Drago/Creed bout is better than Creed/Conlon from the first film.  I found myself on the edge of my seat throughout.  I winced with every devastating blow Drago landed, and I found myself cheering with every jab Donnie got in.  And just like Coogler, Caple knew to wait till just the perfect moment to drop Gonna Fly Now into the soundtrack.  Maybe I’m a sucker.  I’ll freely admit that while Bill Conti will never surpass, say, John Williams, Miklos Rozsa, Bernard Herrmann or any of the other Hollywood movie composer greats, is there a better theme in all of cinematic history than Gonna Fly Now?  No, it’s not regal, it’s not awe-inspiring….but has any other theme just made you get out of your chair and run….say, up the steps of the Philadelphia Art Museum?

But it’s more than just the blows and the music.  Caple, like Coogler, “gets” what boxing is. I’ve always maintained one of the reasons Tin Cup should be considered one of the finest sports films ever made, is that the climatic U.S. Open feels “right.”  No…not the repeated attempts over the water, but, rather,  the lay-out of the day.  Jim Nantz and Ken Venturi, the TV producers in the truck, the gallery, the outfits, etc.  You watch Major League or The Natural and they’re great….but you never feel like it’s real.  Tin Cup absolutely nails what a Major feels like.  And that’s what both Creed films have done.  From Max Kellerman and Jim Lampley at ring side to Michael Buffer doing the announcing, to the pugilistic technique.  It’s not just landing punches and defending.  There’s the hugging that you see so much in heavy-weight fights.  The camera work was really well done, to the point that an audience member could feel it.  And when the movie followed the familiar Rocky pattern of taking pounding after pounding, but being able to keep going, I was caught up in it.  I’m very lucky not many people were in the theatre that early Thanksgiving afternoon.  That way, no one could object to me on my feet, cheering as Donnie turned the tides.

And again, that’s where Creed II avoided the obvious.  We don’t get Viktor Drago getting floored onto the canvas with one final devastating blow from Donnie.  There’s no finishing punch.  We see him getting pulverized.  Kellerman and Lampley remind us that Viktor’s well-ahead in scoring…if only he can make it to the end of the round.  We’re told this is hard to watch….and it is.  Wait….aren’t the Dragos supposed to be the bad guys?  Why am I not celebrating Donnie’s impending victory.  Again….this is why I believe Dolph Lundgren steals the entire film.  His son is getting beaten to a pulp, he’s seen his ex-wife (and his son’s mother), desert them again, everything is falling apart.  But for this viewer, any excitement at Donnie’s impending victory was now tempered by pity for the Dragos.  It was feel-good to see Donnie win, and I was elated as anyone.  But I don’t recall ever feeling sorry for Apollo Creed, Clubber Lang or Ivan Drago.  The playbook is there: Donnie will endure the punishment, and the longer the fight goes, the better his chances.  But it’s not in the Rocky playbook to feel sympathy for the other guy, when the inevitable swing of momentum comes around.  And to be honest….that was a welcome touch.  Why would you feel sorry for Drago in Rocky IV, with its blatant political message?  Drago= Soviet=Bad.  Rocky=US=Good.  In Creed II, Cold War politics are replaced by the father/son relationship between Rocky and Donnie, and the two Dragos.  Lundgren doesn’t say much….but his whole mannerisms during the sequence of defeat makes the film.  I daresay, it’s part of what makes Creed II  so much better than just a sequel/remake.  The Rocky playbook is followed…..but it’s a much better update to find sympathy for the antagonists.  Ivan Drago in Rocky IV: cold, unfeeling machine.  Ivan Drago in Creed II: father determined to lose the fight, if it means saving his son.  That’s a twist for the better.

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And so it continues…the odds are against a sequel besting the original.  That stays true for Creed II.  And I still can’t decide if it’s better to call Creed II a sequel….or a remake of Rocky IV?  Because really…if we decide it’s the latter, then it’s an improvement.  Creed II is an infinitely better film than Rocky IV….I might go so far as to call it the third best film in the Rocky Universe: The original, Creed and now Creed II.  That’s some illustrious company.  And I get where someone can argue Creed is actually a better film than Rocky. I get that.  But there’s something to be said for being the first.

There ended up being six films with the name Rocky.  I don’t know if there will be just as many Creed films.  Creed was so perfect, I was really hoping it would be a “one shot;” there just wasn’t going to be any way for it to be topped.  But that’s not the way the Hollywood business works, not when there’s money to be made.  But again, that’s where we have to give Creed II it’s due.  I understand the need for sequels; it is a business, isn’t it?  But Creed II exceeds the trappings of both sequel and re-make, it’s able to stand on it’s own feet.  Is it Creed?   No.  Is it Rocky IV?  No.  But it’s its own film and it triumphs in it’s own right.  I’m sure there will be more Creed films and I really hope the Dragos don’t continue.  For me, their story arc has been completed by seeing the care of Ivan for his son, and of them still together in the end.  Let that be the last we see of them; unlike in the ’80s, this time they’re not alone.

But for Donnie/Adonis Creed, Bianca, and of course, Rocky Balboa, I’m sure there’s still fights to be had.  And if Caple, Coogler or even Stallone can keep finding new twists and variations on the canon, I’ll keep buying tickets.  Creed II: familiar, but still fresh enough to be a winner.

The King of Cool’s Crowning Moment

When you hear the term “Hollywood Legend,” what do you think?  If you say “Clark Gable,” most people will only think Gone with the Wind, though his filmography goes well beyond that.  Probably the same goes for Judy Garland; tons of great films, but you’re likely to only answer Wizard of Oz.  Maybe, just maybe, a little love for Meet in St. Louis.  Maybe.  For other actors, it’s hard to narrow down to one film  Take Paul Newman, Robert Redford, Denzel Washington, Robert DeNiro or Tom Hanks.  All of them have been in so many great films throughout their long career, you can’t really come up with a definitive image.  So you say Paul Newman is Butch Cassidy?  Well, what about Cool Hand Luke?  Or do I dare bring up Slap Shot?  And then you get actors who are just sort of known for…well, for being themselves.  Larger than life personalities who, through longevity, and maybe some typecasting, are known more for image and brand than any role.  I’m thinking names like John Wayne, Cary Grant, Fred Astaire, Jimmy Stewart and Clint Eastwood.  All five of those are among the biggest names to ever grace a Hollywood marquee.  All had long careers and in cases like Eastwood, highly decorated in multiple formats.  Yet at the end of the day, unlike a Denzel Washington or Tom Hanks, these actors were a brand.  John Wayne: the most famous Western star of them all; Clint Eastwood, a darker West and the toughest of the toughs.  Cary Grant, doesn’t matter the role, you just know he’s going to look great doing it, and you’re going to want to be just like him.  Astaire….class all the time, while Stewart, integrity and middle America values.  These actors represented a brand, whether they set out to do that or not.  You think Fred Astaire or Cary Grant….it’s images that come to mind, what they embodied; individual roles, not so much.

But when you talk Hollywood cool, you’re talking Steve McQueen.  Just look at him.  Rugged, yet impeccable style.  There’s no question in my mind, Steve McQueen is every much a brand as Fred Astaire or Jimmy Stewart.  And like those icons, with the possible exception of Stewart, McQueen is known today more for his brand (in this case, cool) than for any film.  You say the name John Wayne, and all kinds of images come to mind.  But do you instantly think of a particular film?  Maybe The Searchers or True Grit, but the point is, Wayne is thought more of as a brand than any one film.  And if it wasn’t for Frank Capra, would we have the brand of good guy Jimmy Stewart to go with?  It’s a shame, because he really shows us something in his role as Scotty in Hitchcock’s Vertigo.  It’s more than the comfortable “Aw shucks” Stewart brand we almost always immediately conjure up.

So what then is Steve McQueen?  Cool, style, the 1960s and ’70s, fast cars and motorcycles, great stunts.  Heck, Sheryl Crowe gave us a song that, while not about Steve McQueen, sure embodies what we think “The King of Cool” stood for.  Even the video pays homage to some of the more iconic vehicular moments of McQueen’s career.

What are the films, then?  You might say The Great Escape, which has a huge cast and multiple storylines.  But if you know the film, what images come to mind?  For me, it’s easy.  Either McQueen tossing that baseball against the fence, or…..what else….

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And man, doesn’t he look COOL on that bike?!  The Great Escape is a perfect statement for McQueen too.  Though he’s a huge part of the World War II prison break, he’s a loner.  The escape is put together by the British, and they don’t always know what to make of the American who plays by his own rules.  Perfect for Steve McQueen.

Another movie that might come to mind first  is The Magnificent Seven.  I’ve always wondered why there aren’t more Westerns in the McQueen canon.  Perhaps he just didn’t want to be typecast.  He and Eastwood came on the scene at around the same time, and maybe seeing Clint’s smashing success with the spaghetti westerns, Steve knew he’d have to forge his own path.  Which is ironic, since Bullitt, which I’ll get to  really might as well be Dirty Harry, just not quite as quotable or…well…dirty.  Of course, Magnificent Seven is pretty close to the start of McQueen’s movie career; he’s not a big name….yet.  But like that iconic close-up of John Wayne when he first appears in Stage Coach, I think Hollywood knew what they had in Steve McQueen.  A big cast, and too much time spent on uninteresting characters.  But Yul Bryner and Steve McQueen in the front of the wagon, riding up Boot Hill?  That’s gold there.  And in what will become noticeable even more, and probably what sets him apart from Eastwood is, McQueen rarely needs a line to make his point.  There’s no “Do you feel lucky punk?” from the King of Cool.  With McQueen, the story happens, and if you want commentary, just look at his face.  Yes, The Magnificent Seven is “just about to become a star” McQueen….but what makes him the King is definitely on display!

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I will admit, I haven’t seen much of Steve McQueen’s filmography.  I know he was in The Towering Inferno, The Thomas Crown Affair, The Heist and so forth….and I haven’t seen any of them.  Like most, I know Steve McQueen as a brand.  But I had seen Bullitt.  Years ago, and all I could remember was (what else) the car chase through the streets of San Francisco, a chase across the tarmac of SFO, and Robert Vaughan riding away in a limo with a Support Your Local Law Enforcement bumper sticker.  That was about it.  Whether I had seen it on TV or rented it and watched on VCR, I don’t recall.  I just remember having seen some of it.

Now, if you know anything about Bullitt, you know this:

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Widely considered the greatest car chase in film history.  And if you don’t exactly remember the chase, you remember that car.  A 1968 Ford Mustang.  Maybe you even remember the car it was pursuing, a Dodge Charger.  But if you’re like me, your memory of Bullitt is pretty much McQueen and cars.  Not that that’s a bad thing.

Anyway, this past Sunday, I had a rare day off.  And I know that our local Cinemark theatre usually shows a classic film, one showing only, on Sunday afternoon.  To my pleasant surprise that was film this week was Bullitt.  It was being promoted as the 50th Anniversary edition.  My wife was asleep (she works nights), so I reached out to my Father in Law to see if he wanted to go.  A date was set, and so at 2 pm, it was time for late 1960s San Francisco, cops, cars, and the King of Cool in his prime.

Here’s the thing with Bullitt…it’s more than a car chase.  Which is something I don’t think the team behind the 50th Anniversary tour got.  The movie started with a 20 minute presentation from members of the McQueen family and others who worked with Steve.  And while I learned much about him, the focus was on the chase.  Yes, I get it; it is spectacular, and the opportunity to see it on the big screen was going to be awesome.  But as it turns out Bullitt is a darn fine film, and I daresay….maybe the definitive moment for coronating a King of Cool.  McQueen may have never been better….and Bullitt is an absolute classic, more than a chase.  Let’s talk about it, shall we?

Every now and then, you see a movie that may have modest goals…and by golly, it hits all of them.  There’s a story to tell and it does just that, without much excess.  Take, for example, the early 2000s movie Drumline, about marching bands at Historic Black Colleges.  Being in the band community, I know many of my peers have mixed feelings about that film.  But I’ll always maintain, Drumline has a story, and it tells it.  It doesn’t try to be The Godfather, it’s just a fun, engaging story, with characters you like, and it delivers.  The movie that lives up to what its trying to do.  The same can be said about the film that announced Liam Neeson as an action hero, Taken.  Little to no plot development, limited background on the characters, just a very tense storyline, and the filmmakers stay true to that.  Taken‘s momentum is never slowed by ancillary characters or secondary storylines.  It stays focused on Liam Neeson and his quest, and as such, it’s an unrelenting, tight story that takes the audience completely in.  Like Drumline, Taken hits all of is goals.

Bullitt is along those lines.  It sets out to tell its’ story, and it does just that.  What’s interesting to me, though, is how just little a story there is.  And I thought Taken doesn’t give you background info!  Taken‘s character development is veritably Tolstoyian compared to Bullitt. In that regard, I think Bullitt is a perfect summation of the Steve McQueen ethos, if you will.  All that made him the King of Cool is on display.  The director was Peter Yates, who I will admit, I know little about.  But I have to think McQueen’s hand was felt on pretty much all aspects of film-making.  The documentary introduction to the 50th anniversary of Bullitt told us that McQueen would take a script and just mark out the lines he thought were unnecessary.  Man, I would love to see what the original script of Bullitt, pre-Steve McQueen getting his hands on it, looked like!  There’s so much of that film, where a look, the scenery, an image, a sound (be it from the film or from Lalo Schifrin’s jazzy score) does what dialogue could.  Take the legendary car chase.  No dialogue at all.  Never do we hear a curse word when a driver struggles to control their car.  Never does McQueen mutter something.  Nor do the two “professionals” in the Dodge say a word.  They don’t discuss how the iconic Mustang is upon them.  We see the driver’s brow dabbled with sweat….but he doesn’t say anything.  No complaint, no oath, no conference with his companion.  Just silence.  By silence, I mean the incredible sounds of muscle car engines, screeching tires, and the blaring horns of opposing traffic.  Likewise, his compatriot doesn’t open a discussion when he puts together his shotgun.  The image, the moment suffices for dialogue.

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Driver of the Dodge Charger.  Look at the angle of the eyes, checking out the oncoming Mustang.  Those eyes do the work of dialogue

The notion of “less is more” permeates Bullitt.  What do we know about McQueen’s character, Frank Bullitt?  We know he keeps late hours, but not sure why.  His partner has to wake him up at 10 in the morning to go to work.  He wears very groovy pajamas.  He’s a Lieutenant in the San Francisco Police Department, and he has two other officers on his team.  He is involved with a beautiful woman (Jacqueline Bisset) but we’re never sure of the relationship.  Girlfriend?  Live-in significant other?  Spouse?  What we do know is that, until a moment in the second half of the film, she’s not aware of the true nature of police work.  We know his captain seems to support him, and that he is a decent man.  How do we know that?  We see him tell one of his men to go home to spend time with his wife.  When that same officer is the victim of a mob hit, Bullitt shows concern for him.  He may seem hard edged but there is a heart there.

And we definitely know Lt. Frank Bullitt is cool.  He drives a Ford Mustang.  For only half the film, though; there’s an amusing, seemingly forgotten sequence after the legendary car chase, where he tries to requisition a car from the police motor pool, only to be told there’s none available.  I’ve already mentioned the pajamas.  But did I mentioned this outfit?

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So many great roles have a set of clothes you associate with them.  Cary Grant in North by Northwest?  The grey suit.  James Bond?  A tuxedo.  But this look from Bullitt…just give it a gander.  A tweed blazer, over a turtleneck sweater, and charcoal slacks.  If that isn’t 1968 cool, I don’t know what is!  Heck, that’s cool today!  But Lt. Frank Bullitt’s cool doesn’t stop there.  It’s 1968 in San Francisco, but our man Bullitt isn’t checking out the Grateful Dead or the Jefferson Airplane; he’s having dinner and drinks with friends at some far-out jazz club, where a woman is wailing away on a flute.  Jazz is cool.  So is Frank Bullitt.  And so is Steve McQueen.

The “bare bones” philosophy is everywhere in Bullitt.  What do we know about the Lieutenant’s back story?  Is he a decorated member of the SFPD?  We assume he’s good, that’s why his Captain has his back, right?  Who are the bad guys?  We saw a mob shootout in Chicago to open the film, and then we’re led to believe there’s a Johnny Ross who is being protected by Bullitt’s squad, so he’ll testify against “The Organization.”  Ross isn’t who we’re led to believe he is, and maybe there isn’t an informer, but rather, someone who is just trying to pull one over on the Mob.  We don’t know.  The script never gives us dialogue with the “bad guys.”  They don’t get their own scenes; they’re merely plot devices, goals towards which Bullitt is moving.  No evil monologuing here!

And then there’s Robert Vaughan’s character, Chalmers.  We assume he’s a politico.  But we don’t exactly know of what sort.  Does he currently have an office?  He throws his name around to impress people, be they law enforcement or hospital workers, but he never lists his title.  What we know is, it’s vital for him to have a star witness at an upcoming Senate subcommittee meeting on organized crime.  And that’s basically the plot.  Johnny Ross is that star witness.  Chalmers has Bullitt’s unit protect him, things go awry, and Bullitt wants to figure out what’s really happening.  Vaughan is terrific in the role; icy, creepy, a slight bit of menace….not of violence, but of connections.  He’s not going to hurt you and your family; he just might block your career advancement, or impede your child’s college application.  He’s a political animal.  No political party is given, and he doesn’t have an office.  And Vaughan plays him with all the appropriate amount of sleaze.

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As for the “bad guys” we know, the two in the Dodge are “professionals.”  They wear suits.  We assume they’re hitmen.  There’s no names.  The only time we hear one of them talk is when he is trying to track down Ross at the hospital.  One drives the car, the other uses a pump-action shotgun for his weapon.  And as for the real Ross, I don’t think he ever has a line.  He may lead Bullitt across a dimly lit tarmac, underneath planes and back into the terminal….but his motives are left to him.  Apparently, it was to take the mob’s money and run, simple as that.  And what happens after the film?  We know Jacqueline Bissett’s character isn’t comfortable with the reality of police life.  He’s just come back from taking out the real Ross, he’s had a tense conversation with Chalmers, and now he’s back at his apartment.  Is he fulfilled that it’s all over?  Worried about the longterm affect of frustrating Chalmers’ plans?  Or is he now had his fill of police work and its over?  We don’t know; all we see is McQueen gazing weary-eyed into this bathroom mirror after washing his face…..and cue the credits.  That’s the McQueen ethos…..don’t tell me, show me, and do it with as little as possible.

just-how-many-hubcaps-were-lost-in-the-chase-scene-from-bullittLike I said, Bullitt is more than a car chase….but let’s face it, it is pretty much the most spectacular vehicle scene ever filmed.  Indiana Jones’ taking over the Nazi convoy in Raiders of the Lost Ark is also in contention but that’s an entirely different blog.  Between director Yates or McQueen, you wonder who was in charge here.  The pacing is perfect; it comes just about halfway through the film.  We’ve set the stage: the Bullitt unit is set up to protect Ross and something goes wrong; there’s misdirections at the hospital, between Chalmers trying to get involved and the “professional” on hand; Bullitt has gone on a trip across the city (thanks to not-yet-famous Robert Duvall as his cab driver) and met up with his informer; Chalmers is working against Bullitt.  The plot is well in motion, but rather than keep that developing, it’s time to take up 11 minutes of screen time with something utterly unbelievable and unquestionably awesome.

It would be impossible to describe the visual that is the Bullitt car chase but there are a few things that stick out.

  1.  When it begins, with Bullitt and “the professionals” playing hide and seek, there’s a nifty jazz score from Lalo Schifrin playing.  But when it gets serious, once the Dodge driver buckles his seat-belt, the music instantly stops.  From then on, it’s just the sounds of those engines and the tires squealing.  That’s a touch of great film-making.  Despite how brilliant Bernard Herrmann’s score was, the famed crop duster attack scene in North by Northwest is done without music.  Or the initial T-Rex attack in Jurassic Park.  No John Williams at that moment.
  2. If the 50th Anniversary of Bullitt is playing near you, it’s worth it just for those 10 minutes.  When those cars started flying down the hills of San Francisco,seeing it on a big screen was like riding a roller coaster.  I actually felt my stomach drop a few times.
  3. And then there’s the sounds.  This will lead to a bigger conversation of how Bullitt is a postcard of a time and a place, and of how I have no idea if San Francisco of 1968 was anything like what I saw.  But here’s the thing (and there are more moments like this throughout the film), the sounds of that car chase would soon be impossible to recreate.  Sunday, I not only saw it on a big screen, but I heard IT in stereo.  And what is this fabled IT  I am referring to?  It’s the sounds of the engines on Bullitt’s 1968 Ford Mustang and “The Professional’s” 1969 Dodge Charger.  That, my friends, is the sound of pure Detroit motor muscle.  Within a few years, the fuel crisis would silence such gas-guzzlers.  But sitting in a movie theater, with stereo sound…those engines were a more powerful sound than a Mahler Symphony.  I don’t know if McQueen and Yates knew what the future held, but the Romantic in me wants to believe they knew the era of the Muscle Car would soon end.  And if that was to be the case, then what a memento they left us with! Could there be an better possible homage to the power and glory of American automotive making than a duel between a Mustang and a Charger?  Henry Ford and the Dodge Brothers; automotive engineers; United Auto Workers; all preserved in glorious sight and sound…the sounds and images of an era that would soon be history.
  4. This goes without saying, but I’ll say it anyway:  the chase will never be topped.  It can’t be.  Today it would be done with CGI.  But not Bullitt.  All the filming happened on the city streets of San Francisco, and then out on some highway past the Cow Palace.  The cars were real.  The sounds were real.  And no, McQueen wasn’t behind the wheel for all of it….but he did more than a little of the driving, especially the famous shot of him hitting the reverse on the fly.  The Fast and Furious movies keep trying to top themselves in terms of outrageousness.  And you can do that with the latest technology.  But Yates had none of that.  Real cars, real location, real drivers.  It will never be topped.  NEVER.

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Like I said earlier, Bullitt is a moment of time, frozen, that can never be recreated.  And I’m not just talking about the cars.  Like the previous decade’s Vertigo, it’s a technicolor tour through San Francisco.  But unlike Vertigo, Bullitt doesn’t insist on showing you the sights.  The former makes the Golden Gate, Muir Woods, Palace of the Legion of Honor, the Mission Dolores and the Palace of Fine Arts crucial settings.  Bullitt doesn’t do that.  I honestly can’t remember if we ever see a bridge.  If we do, it’s in the background and not dwelt on.  We definitely don’t have the car chase going over the Golden Gate!  And while the car chase powers over the hills, it doesn’t go down Lombard Street.  Sure, we see cable cars, but they’re just in the back ground.  No, our car chase doesn’t run into them, ala The Rock.  They’re just traffic our drivers have to steer around.  There’s no Chinatown, no Golden Gate Park; probably the only landmark San Francisco settings on display are the Mark Hopkins Hotel, where “Ross” stops by early on; the exterior of Grace Cathedral, where Chalmers confronts the Captain; and the airport.  Otherwise, it’s some jazz club, a sleazy hotel where “Ross” is hold up; a hospital; corner cafes; Bullitt’s apartment; and police station.  In other words, not much that says, come see San Francisco!

But then I have to wonder: how true is Bullitt’s vision of San Francisco?  It’s set in 1968, and though the headlines in newspapers refer to the Vietnam War, we never see any hippies or protestors.  This is San Francisco, for crying out loud, in 1968!  Now granted, none of the action takes place in Haight-Ashbury, but everyone we see is well dressed, with maybe a little more sideburns than before.  At the airport, we see a good number of sailors and soldiers…but we also see a great number of nuns and priests going to Rome.  So, is this vision of San Francisco true to 1968, or selective?  I could venture that McQueen, who served in the Marine Corp, didn’t want the anti-war movement shown in the film…..but that’s just a complete moon-shot.  I don’t know his politics at all.  It just struck me that for a film made in 1968 and set in the home of counter-culture, there’s really none of it.

But what we get is a San Francisco where a well dressed man with tinted glasses and great facial hair knows all the criminal happenings in the city.   And you can just meet him at a restaurant called Enrico’s.   See below and tell me I’m wrong about the facial hair!

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It’s also a San Francisco in 1968 where the chief surgeon at a hospital is African-American, Dr. Willard.  All the other doctors and nurses appear to be white, and Dr. Willard is treated with complete respect.  The only person who is objectionable to him is Chalmers, and by that point in the film, we’ve already grown to dislike him.  Now I know San Francisco is not in the South, so perhaps an African-American surgeon would not have encountered obstacles in his career that would have occurred say,  had he been somewhere else.  But this is 1968, the same year Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated.  The Civil Rights battle is ongoing.  Were Yates and McQueen trying to make a statement by having the surgeon be African-American?  And more than that, treated with respect by everyone save the hissable Chalmers?   It’s as if Yates and McQueen are telling us, here’s another reason to not like Chalmers: he’s a racist.  Again, I don’t know if Yates and McQueen were trying to make a statement on race.  But it did strike me that for a film made in 1968, the surgeon was African-American and treated with respect. And though Dr. Willard is the only African-American character in Bullitt, we see people of all colors in the crowds at the San Francisco Airport.  The 1950s San Francisco of Vertigo might have been all-white, but that’s definitely not the city Yates and McQueen show us a decade later.  Good for them!

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A last thought I had involves Steve McQueen himself.  Is there really anyone like him today?  The only two I can think of are Tom Cruise and George Clooney, and in neither case does the shoe fit completely.  I thought Cruise because of his insistence on doing his own stunts, just as McQueen wanted to drive all the time.  And Clooney because….well, as Danny Ocean in Ocean’s 11, he just looks cool.  I love Ocean’s 11, and Clooney looks absolutely cool in that film.  But I don’t know if he brings the cool consistently like McQueen.  There’s a reason my friends and I constantly quote dialogue from Ocean’s back and forth; it’s got some of the most memorable, if not always witty, lines out there.  But that’s not Steve McQueen.  There’s not a memorable line from Bullitt that stays with me.  Rather, it’s the visuals.  Yes, it’s cars.  But it’s also the bumper sticker on Chalmer’s limo.  And it’s every look on McQueen’s face.  The bare minimum.  Lose the dialogue and let the image tell the story.

It’s fascinating to me the films McQueen passed up.  Around the same time as Bullitt, he had been offered the role of the Sundance Kid, in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.  It’s impossible for me to picture McQueen in that role, and not just because its so identifiable with Robert Redford.  We all love the banter between Paul Newman and Robert Redford, and the sense that Redford as Sundance is the junior in the partnership.  It always seems like Newman is the one in charge.  Maybe because he was older?  And there’s a lot of mirth between the two.  Who can forget Sundance’s refusal to jump because he can’t swim.  It’s funny, and it fits the tone that George Roy Hill and screenwriter William Goldman put out there.  I can’t imagine that working the same with Steve McQueen as Sundance.  First off, can you see him as the junior partner to Paul Newman?  I can’t, and I love Paul Newman.  Cool Hand Luke is a spectacular performance.  But it’s hard for me to see McQueen deferring to Newman.  And the notion of Sundance as a a bit of a goof?  That worked great for Redford; I have a very hard time seeing McQueen play it that way.  Plus, he’s just not going to go for the dialogue.  Whereas Redford can sarcastically ask Newman if he used enough dynamite, after the express car is blown to bits, I don’t see McQueen doing so.  In fact, I don’t think McQueen would’ve said anything.  His look would’ve done the talking.  You put Steve McQueen in Butch Cassidy and William Goldman is going to have to completely rewrite the script.  Or deal with McQueen rewriting it for him.  And by rewrite I mean crossing out line after line.

The other notable role McQueen passed on was Dirty Harry.  This one is a no-brainer.  He had already made that film.  It was called Bullitt.  Seriously.  Harry Callahan is a San Francisco police detective who plays by his own rules.  Callahan is a more cynical and definitely more sarcastic version of Frank Bullitt.  Whereas Bullitt is world-weary, Callahan might be a sociopath.  Bullitt maybe disgusted with his life (we’re left to interpret) after gunning down the real Ross.  Callahan revels in the mess he lives in….nay, thrives in it.  And that’s why it’s impossible to see McQueen as Dirty Harry, at least the way Clint Eastwood BEAUTIFULLY played it.

Take a look at this picture.

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If you are anything like me, you hear that voice.  “I know what you’re thinking, did he fire 6 shots or only 5?”  It’s iconic, it’s brilliant, it’s one of the greatest 4 minute sequences in action cinema history.  I love everything about it.   But if I put a picture of Steve McQueen up from Bullitt, I can’t imagine any dialogue coming to mind.  I can only think of lines because I just saw the film.  I haven’t seen Dirty Harry in probably close to 20 years.  But man…I can remember most every single world from that INCREDIBLE sequence.  In those 4 minutes, Eastwood completely shed the “Man with No Name” from Spaghetti Westerns and was now an unforgettable new role.  McQueen is also unforgettable as Lt. Frank Bullitt, but it’s not because of any line.  He was perfect in that role, just as Eastwood was for Callahan.  You put Eastwood in Bullitt and McQueen in Dirty Harry; neither film works….at least not as perfectly as they do with their respective leading men.

Like I said at the beginning, there are actors who have become brands, known for their image more than any one particular  film.  And you could argue Steve McQueen is the biggest brand of all of them.  A quick check of iTunes will show you, Sheryl Crow is not the only artist to write a song using his name.  His choice of shades, Persol, markets a line that bears his name.  TAG Heuer markets his watch.  And then there’s this: Ford has a 2019 Mustang called the Bullitt, channeling that incredible muscle car of 1968 for today.  Is there any other actor who, nearly 40 years after his death, has such strong advertising possibility?  That’s because Steve McQueen is more than an actor, he’s an ideal, an image, a brand.  He didn’t die young like James Dean, or die right as he was becoming big, like Bruce Lee (dead by the time Enter the Dragon played in the U.S.).  McQueen gave us a great body of work, but it’s only two decades long.  He’s dead at age 50 in 1980.  Unlike Paul Newman, Robert Redford, or Clint Eastwood, we never saw McQueen get old.  Would he have become a director like Eastwood or Redford?  Would he, like Robert DeNiro, decide to change it up in later years and switch to comedy?  Impossible to say.  But I think that’s why the brand of Steve McQueen has endured so strong.  We never saw him playing against type.  He never took a role that mocked his image for laughs.  He remains, like the San Francisco of 1968 in Bullitt, frozen in time.  And frozen in greatness.  Again, I haven’t seen his whole filmography, but from where I stand, there’s not a groaner film where you wish McQueen had said no.  There’s just a legacy of cool.  And of greatness.

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I don’t know if Bullitt will be on the big screen near you, but if it is, don’t miss it.  If you’re like me, your image of Steve McQueen is more the idea of cool.  He’s definitely that.  And he was probably never cooler than Bullitt.  Yes, the car chase is worth the price of admission all by itself.  But say you want to know what makes Steve McQueen the King of Cool?  You want to introduce yourself or someone else into the mystique of Steve McQueen?  It’s Bullitt.  Everything that makes him the King of Cool, from wardrobe to look, setting to car….everything that defines Steve McQueen (or at least the brand), you’ve got it in Bullitt.  He was the King of Cool, and never did his crown glitter more than in 1968.  But as for a throne….well, I guess you’ll find that behind the wheels of a ’68 Ford Mustang.

Love live the King!!!

Get on The Band Wagon; or The King Reigns Supreme

As I’ve written before, one of the real pleasures of living in Amherst, MA is the Amherst Cinema.  My wife and I are members of this community treasure.  It’s an independent, non-profit, member-supported cinema…aka, where all of your non-studio, non-blockbusters play.  That’s all fine and good; it’s definitely a great place to catch the Oscar-nominated films that your local chain theatre doesn’t have.  For example it’s where we saw Moonlight earlier this year.  For me, though, Amherst Cinema’s greatest appeal is when they periodically show classic films.  These may be as part of a series, such as a couple year’s ago Martin Scoresese festival, or as just one-off special events.  Typically, they get one showing, so if you can’t make it…better luck next time.  Here’s an incomplete list of the shows I’ve seen there, since moving to Amherst in July 2011:  Raging Bull, The Iron Giant, Dr. Zhivago, Treasure of Sierra Madre; Enter the Dragon; Who Framed Roger Rabbit?; Psycho; Mary Poppins; Citizen Kane…and I think you get the point.

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So anyway, right now Amherst Cinema is having a two month festival of musicals.  I’ve always loved the classic Hollywood genre, and the slate is really good: Singin’ in the Rain (which I saw at Amherst Cinema a year ago); The Wizard of Oz, The Band Wagon, An American in Paris, Carmen Jones, and The Umbrellas of Cherbourg.  I suppose you could criticize that, with the exception of Umbrellas, there’s no real outlier.  You’ve got the big budget MGM productions; where’s Cabaret, for example?  Now, as an absolute admirer of his genius, I’ll join you in lamenting the absence of one Bob Fosse.  But be that as it may, the current choices are still really good.

Yesterday’s showing was The Band Wagon, which I had seen before, but it’ been a long time.  And I found, I had forgotten most everything.  For those who have never seen it, a little background.  The Band Wagon was a product of the Freed Unit the division of MGM headed by Arthur Freed, which made glorious technicolor movie musicals in the late 1940s/50s.  They were big budget: the colors are glorious, the costumes incredible, and they’re just a visual delight.  The music is incredible; the studio orchestra had a sound, with horn players who must’ve been parts of the great swing bands of a decade earlier.  Arrangers, conductors and musical directors included were Conrad Salinger, Lennie Hayton, Carmen Dragon, Adolph Deutsch and others who knew who how to make the most of their source material.  The storylines tended to be original; most of the Freed Unit productions were not movie versions of Broadway shows, but rather, assembly of a collection of songs, with a romantic plot to host them.  The plots weren’t “throw aways” but they served a framing purpose for a collection of songs from a particular composer/songwriting team.  An American in Paris brought together an assembly of Gershwin tunes, just as Easter Parade did the same for Irving Berlin.

And what else did the Freed Unit have but star power!  The headliners reads like a “who’s who” of the classic Hollywood musical: Judy Garland, Fred Astaire, Gene Kelly, Cyd Charisse, Leslie Caron, Debbie Reynolds, Donald O’Connor, Peter Lawford and so many more.  When the 1950s began, the Freed Unit cranked out the “Big 3” of American movie musicals, in succession, An American in Paris (Oscar winner for Best Picture), Singin’ in the Rain, and The Band Wagon.  All three are instant classics.  Yet for some reason, the last of those seems to not quite be held in the same august regard.  But after seeing it yesterday at Amherst Cinema, I think that might need re-visiting.  I love all three of those pictures, but I do think a case can be made that history has gotten it wrong.  Not only is The Band Wagon not the weak link….it just might be the best.  And for the reason why, you need look no further than the lead.

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Check out what kind of hat that is!

Both An American in Paris and Singin’ in the Rain starred Gene Kelly.  There’s no question in my mind that Kelly was an absolute genius.  He has a very strong presence and his aspirations reach the level of art.  Though he has plenty of fun moments in both films, they also include his extended ballets in which Kelly is often showcased by himself.  And let’s not forget, Kelly’s most famous number, the title song in Singin’ in the Rain, is just him, a solo show (and no, I’m not counting the police officer at the end).  It’s all brilliant.  I think I read somewhere that Kelly was originally going to be considered for the lead in The Band Wagon.  Whether that’s true or not, I don’t know.  What I do know is, there’s no way Kelly could’ve pulled it off.  Sure, he could’ve sung and dance just fine.  But the way the team of Adolph Comden and Betty Green (who also wrote Singin’ in the Rain) penned the character of Tony Hunter, there’s no one who could have personified (not just played) the role better than Fred Astaire.  Astaire was in his 50s at the time of the film. and was recently back from an announced retirement.  Tony Hunter is a famed song and dance movie star who has seen better days.  How closely Tony Hunter is Fred Astaire is seen from the opening credit.  What’s that behind the credits?  Why it’s a top hat, white gloves, and walking stick; favorite props ever since Mr. Astaire dance and sang, “I’m putting on my top hat, tying up my white tie, brushing up my tails” two decades earlier.

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And this is where it appears Astaire must have been one of the most self-effacing stars of that Golden Age.  For, once the credits are done, we soon find that these props of star Tony Hunter are on the auction block…and with no bidders.  The idea of Tony Hunter being a “has been” continues.  We then see two gentlemen en route to New York on a train, and with one being from California, the talk goes to movie stars.  Again, Hunter’s better days are behind him.  And when the train arrives and the press is waiting, it’s not for Hunter; they’re there to see Ava Gardner.  Think of the humility this took.  John Wayne playing a washed up cowboy?  Tom Cruise playing an actor who can’t get action roles anymore?  Yet Astaire plays it with relish.

There are many things that struck me about Astaire in this film.  One is that he really can act.  Maybe it’s because he was in his 50s and had previously retired, but I found him absolutely believable as Tony Hunter.  Kelly could’ve sung and dance just as well, but he wouldn’t have “lived” Tony Hunter like Astaire did.  In non-musical moments, Astaire was always “all in.”  He has great facial expressions, reacting to dialogue and characters around him.  Astaire was definitely more than a “song and dance man.”  Just a few years later, he would give an excellent performance in the nuclear apocalyptic film, On the Beach.  Here he is with Ava Gardner and Gregory Peck, from that film.

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Something else about Astaire that struck me was that all his routines in The Band Wagon were in the company of someone else.  Unlike Kelly, who could command a song with a solo performance, Astaire, at least in this film, never does that.  The closest is the fantastic Shine On My Shoes sequence, at a penny arcade in Times Square.  Tony Hunter’s return to New York finds him again discovering time has moved on without him.  What was once a high society theatre is now a parlor of cheap amusements.  But since this is Fred Astaire, what better way to improve a mood than with a song and dance?  The vehicle is a shoe shine, but even this isn’t a solo performance.  The shoe shine is done in such a way that it’s provider, Leroy Daniels, is part of the action.  It’s completely entertaining.

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Another thing about the Shoe Shine scene.  Look at the expressions of the passer-byers.  In many a musical, when a song and dance breaks out, everyone is in on the fun.  I’m absolutely in love with La La Land; I can’t remember the last time I saw a film where I was entranced for every second.  One of the most memorable scenes in La La Land  is it’s first one, the celebrated Another Day of Sun, where everyone on the freeway knows the tune and has a few dance steps ready to go.  Well, in Shoe Shine, anyone who is not Fred Astaire or Leroy Daniels is completely perplexed.  They don’t know what’s going on.  After all, what kind of person just starts singing and dancing in every day life?  And it plays brilliantly into what The Band Wagon is.  Tony Hunter is yesterday’s star…so maybe a song and dance on a city street is the same; a relic of a bygone era.

Astaire’s decision, or that of screenwriters Comden or Green, or perhaps that of brilliant director Vincente Minnelli, to always give him partners helped make all of his routines in The Band Wagon unforgettable.  The source of the show’s music were songs written by Howard Dietz and Arthur Schwartz.  All of them were from shows decades earlier, one which was actually called The Band Wagon and featured a brother and sister song and dance team of….who else, Fred and Adele Astaire.  The only new song for The Band Wagon came when Arthur Freed insisted the show, a story about putting on a Broadway show, needed an anthem, a la Irving Berlin’s There’s No Business Like Show Business.  Dietz and Schwartz wasted no time, and in 45 minutes, created the tune that would become MGM’s theme, That’s Entertainment.  It was supposed to be an imitation of Berlin and frankly….it may be better.  The lyrics are just as witty, but the rhythmic pulse really puts That’s Entertainment over the top.  It makes for the perfect instrumental theme throughout The Band Wagon, as we see “the show within a show” being prepared and tried out on the road, before opening in New York.  Here it is, in its original incarnation.  The performers are Jack Buchanan, who is the show’s director and had a reputation as the British Fred Astaire, comedian and pianist Oscar Levant, and Nanette Fabray.  Astaire plays a limited role but watch his face.  Like I said, he really could act!  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t6gX37d2eP8

Jack Buchanan deserves further mention.  He was primarily a British entertainer and I’m not familiar with any of his other work.  But if The Band Wagon was his one American film, it more than suffices to secure a legacy.  His character, Jeffrey Cordova, is a theatre producer, director, writer and actor, supposedly based on Jose Ferrer and Orson Welles.  He’s pretentious, and Tony Hunter is right to fear his credentials to direct a musical.  When we first encounter his character, he’s playing the title role in Oedipus Rex….always good preparation for a musical.  He then turns the script for the show within a show, also called The Band Wagon, into a modern take on Faust.  It’s a delicious role that calls for overacting, from his over-meddling with Tony’s role to the elaborate stage scenery he devises.  Predictably, it all comes crashing down, and leave it to Tony to save the day.  He sells his own art collection (Degas, among the many impressive pieces) to finance an song and dance revue.  There’s little plot but a whole lot of fun moments.  And one of the most fun is his duet with Astaire.  Take a look.

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The Band Wagon may have played fun with Astaire’s 1930s persona, but come I Guess I’ll Have to Change My Plan, it’s back in fully glory.  For there’s Buchanan and Astaire wearing, what?  Why, it’s a top hat, white tie, and tails!  The routine is simple, sublime, and magical.  It’s a soft-shoe of the Vaudeville style that both play with panache.  But Minelli, or perhaps choreographer Michael Kidd, doesn’t let us forget this is 1953 and not earlier.  When both actors go to toss their top hats on their shoes, they both miss.  The act isn’t perfect…and again, there’s that humility.  Astaire was a legend and yet he has no problems with an intentional flub being immortalized on the screen.  I don’t know how many other stars would’ve done the same.  The entire routine lasts less than two minutes, just enough time for us to imagine what Buchanan and Astaire, now in their 50s, would’ve looked like in living color on the Vaudeville tap dance circuit.  If the joke of The Band Wagon was Fred Astaire past his prime, this sequence gives him and Buchanan a brief chance to recollect just what that prime was all about.  Worth noting is that Buchanan was going through painful dental surgery at the time of filming, yet it never comes across.  Talk about a show business professional.  Sadly,  he would pass away four years later, due to cancer.

But, of course, when you are talking Fred Astaire and partners, you have to talk about his  romantic counterpart.  Naturally, we always associate Astaire with Ginger Rogers, his partner from so many black and white films of the 1930s.  But come 1953, we’re in glorious technicolor, and this time, it’s Cyd Charisse in the role.  She was absolutely smoldering a year earlier, as the seductive vixen with the Broadway Melody ballet from Singin’ In the Rain.  So steamy was a sequence of her with her million dollar legs wrapped around Gene Kelly that it was removed for fear of censors.

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In Singin’ in the Rain, Charisse had no lines, just dance.  In The Band Wagon, her character of Gabrielle Gerard is at the center of the story.  Jeffrey Cordova’s artistic aspirations to Broadway leads him to want to cast a ballerina, instead of a typical music comedienne.  And again, what a sport we see Astaire to be.  We find him intimidated since he’s a song and dance man and Gabby is a legitimate dancer.  She’s also taller than him.  And then there’s the problem of age.  At first, it’s a joke, as when in their first meeting, Gabby informs Tony she saw one of his films in a museum.  The fact of the matter was, though, there was a 20 year age gap between the two.  This had been somewhat problematic with Astaire and Judy Garland in 1948’s Easter Parade so The Band Wagon handles this delicately.  Despite a couple of a very sensual dances (more on that later), the romance between Tony and Gabby really isn’t developed. They’re working professionals and for much of the film, she is in a relationship with her choreographer.  Though he leaves the show, it’s not clear whether their romance is off.  Toward the end, Tony in a conversation with Lester Marton (Oscar Levant’s character) reveals he’s crazy about Gabby, but an encounter between the two before the show’s Broadway debut provides nothing conclusive.  Gabby’s penultimate speech, at the celebration of the show’s premiere, indicates that there is a future for them, but again, it’s not deliberate.  Kudos to Minelli and all involved on how this was handled.  There’s definite chemistry between Astaire and Charisse, but the sparks are only detailed through dance.  The rest is up for us.

But make no mistake, dear friends, the sparks most definitely fly between Astaire and Charisse.  The Dancing in the Dark sequence is one of the most passionate dances I’ve ever seen.  The way Comden and Green set it up is brilliant.  Tony offers to take Gabby to a night club but she refuses.  Instead, they go for a carriage ride through Central Park.  Getting out, they pass through a public dance.  But they just walk through.  Anyone expecting to see our two leads dazzle for a crowd are mistaken.  We have to wait till its just Gabby and Tony by themselves for something to happen…and it’s worth the wait.  There are no words to this version of Dancing in the Dark, it’s just the MGM Studio Orchestra in all its glory.  And what a creative decision that was, because as Astaire and Charisse’s moves get more and more passionate, the orchestra rises in volume.  Let’s get back to La La Land.  One of the things I really appreciated about that film is how it uses dance to suggest.  There are no sex scenes in La La Land.  Obviously, Sebastian and Mia are living together so you can put two and two together.  But we never actually see them engage.  But their delightful frolic at the Griffith Observatory has more impact than mattress romp could.  It’s the same with Dancing in the Dark.  Gabby and Tony are not a couple at this point.  They are fully clothed…and I must add, beautifully so.  Charisse in that flowing all white outfit and Astaire, always one of the best-dressed men in Hollywood, in a white and yellow suit that absolutely works.  Yet the way the dance moves, coupled with that incredible music….it’s a scene as passionate, as sensual as any sex scene ever filmed.  And they never kiss!  But you want suggestive….watch till the end of the routine.  As they ride away in the carriage, again, fully clothed, Astaire and Charisse both sit there, their eyes staring straight into space, exhaust and burning with afterglow.  If you didn’t know better, you’d think they had just had the most passionate, soul-enhancing, mind-blowing sex in the universe.  That’s what those great musical could do, and what La La Land brought back.  Do a song and dance right and you don’t need to show sex; the song and dance did enough for you!

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As I’ve mentioned, Tony Hunter protests at Gabrielle Gerard joining the show because she’s ballet and he’s a hoofer.  In reality, Astaire hopefully give himself more credit.  Each of the Big 3 of Freed Unit musicals had an extensive ballet sequence near the end.  An American in Paris has Gene Kelly’s artistic interpretation of Gershwin’s tone poem as envisioned in his character’s dream. Singin’ in the Rain features  Broadway Melody which has little to do with the plot but hey, it brings Cyd Charisse into the film, so why not?!  With The Band Wagon, we get the Girl Hunt ballet.  It’s a throwback to the original idea for the “show within a show’s” plot.  As the Martons explained it (and it goes by fast, so you can easily miss it), the original concept was a children’s stories author who moonlights writing hard-boiled detective mysteries….or maybe it was the other way around.  Not important.  What matter is, the Girl Hunt ballet is the reflection of this.  It’s a 15 minute romp, where Astaire provides a voice-over, dance fighting with mobsters (sort of like the rumble in West Side Story) and engaging in very sultry moves with a blonde and a brunette, both played by Charisse.  She absolutely steams, and if the ballets in An American in Paris and Singin’ in the Rain were an excuse for Gene Kelly to stretch his artistic wings, then I can definitely accept 10 minutes or more of a detective sketch, if it means more Astaire and Charisse, with palpable sexual tension.

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You can feel the heat!

I guess I should say, at this point (gee, I’ve already gone over 3,000 words!) whether I feel The Band Wagon is a better picture than Singin’ in the Rain or An American in Paris.  That’s a tough call.  It’s not a perfect picture.  For, as much as I rave about Astaire, there’s more to the film than him.  It’s been a long time since 1953 and tastes have changed.  Oscar Levant is in both An American in Paris and The Band Wagon.  I found him amusing in the former, and annoying in the latter.  He and Nanette Fabray have a scene between just the two of them, after Tony Hunter has angrily walked out of rehearsals.  I suppose it was supposed to be for comedy, but it just doesn’t work.

Both Singin’ in the Rain and The Band Wagon deal with the production of shows.  With the former, it’s the transition between silent films to talkies.  In The Band Wagon, it’s Broadway, and we can speculate what the theme is.  Tony is back on Broadway for the first time in what seems decades (which would’ve been true with Astaire) and it appears his preferred style, a song and dance revue with slim plot is out of vogue.  Jeffrey Cordova proposes a strong book show, a telling of Faust, to give the musical comedy more depth.  But in the end, after a disastrous out of town preview in New Haven, that’s thrown out the window and we’re back to a non-narrative sequence of songs…which everyone loves.  I wonder if there was a message being sent here.  At the same time the Freed Unit is cranking out these pictures, Rodgers and Hammerstein have been putting shows on Broadway that are more serious, have a strong book, and the songs advance the story.  With the exception of a 1951 adaptation of Show Boat, the Freed Unit stayed away from such shows. They much preferred the song book shows, of which A American in Paris, Singin’ in the Rain, and The Band Wagon are perfect examples.  The fact that The Band Wagon “show within a show” is depicted as being a smash; was that MGM’s way of telling America we’re not interested in the “strong book” musical and neither should you?  We can only speculate.

I think I lean a little more toward Singin’ in the Rain because of the comedy of Hollywood struggling to adapt to sound.  Jean Hagen’s Lina Lamont, the delusional silent cinema queen with the horrid voice and devious intent, was brilliantly funny.  The Band Wagon lacks that comic element, at least from a supporting character.   Likewise, there’s no equivalent of Donald O’Connor, who was so scene-stealing as Kelly sidekick Cosmo Brown.  You look at The Band Wagon, there’s no song and dance scene that doesn’t involve either Astaire or Charisse, outside of Nanette Fabray’s Louisiana Hayride, while Singin’ in the Rain gives us O’Connor’s tour de force  with Make ‘Em Laugh.  And I find a couple of the numbers in the out-of-town try-outs for the re-vamped show in Band Wagon to be tedious: the afore-mentioned Louisiana Hayride and the simply bizarre Triplets, which involved Astaire, Fabray and Buchanan as toddlers.  Again, time and tastes change.

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This might’ve been funny in 1953.  Now?

But what The Band Wagon has over An American in Paris and Singin’ in the Rain is Fred Astaire and that alone is enough to cover for any plot weaknesses (the narrative is pretty much out the window, once the “show within a show” gets going….but hey, An American in Paris literally ends as soon as the ballet does, with tons of plot lines still out there.  At least The Band Wagon resolves everything!).  There’s no one who could’ve played Tony Hunter the way Astaire did.  And though his career was far from washed up in 1953, he certainly made you believe that wasn’t the case.  Fred Astaire’s only Academy Award nomination came from a role in which he never sang, The Towering Inferno.  It’s too bad. I think you can make a very compelling argument that he’s one of the top 10, if not top 5, actors in Hollywood motion picture history.  He had many fine roles.  But when you consider how believable he made Tony Hunter; how much chemistry he had with everyone he danced with (from Leroy Daniels the show shine guy to soft shoe elegance with Jack Buchanan, to steaming sexual passion with Cyd Charisse); and his entire presence raises the entire material he works with, it’s no leap of faith to call The Band Wagon Astaire’s greatest role.  An American in Paris won Best Picture.  Neither Singin’ in the Rain nor The Band Wagon were nominated.  Such a shame.  Based on what I saw yesterday, there’s no doubt in my mind.  The Band Wagon deserves an august place as one of the single greatest movie musicals ever made.  Now that’s a bandwagon I’m proud to jump on!

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