What Was The Last Movie You Watched?

[Fading Fast]

Le Deuxième Souffle (Second Wind) from 1966, a French film


It might be 1966, but Le Deuxième Souffle is closer to classic film noir than neo noir, with its prison break, hideouts, heist, criminal code of honor, and intrepid detective all riding comfortably in the genre's well-worn grooves.

Director Jean-Pierre Melville didn't serve up a tired offering, though; instead, he delivered another engaging take on noir's paradigmatic elements and themes. Shooting in noir's traditional black and white only reinforces his movie's classic feel.

At the opening, Gu – a well-respected underworld figure because he never rats – escapes from prison and returns to Paris to see his sister, Manouche, and his long-time trusted friend, Alban. In true noir fashion, Gu returns on a night when Manouche's restaurant becomes the site of a gangland hit.

At first, it's confusing to keep the competing gangs, the bad guys, and even the cops (who compete for jurisdiction with each other) straight, but it's easy enough to follow at a high level, while taking in the incredible atmosphere and style.

It's all about Gu, played by noted French actor Lino Ventura. His plan – and the movie's main plot – is to pull one last heist so he has money to get out of France and live somewhere without being hunted.

While trying to do this, he's tracked by police commissioner Blot, another example of that wonderful cinematic creation: the French detective who is smart, dedicated, and persistent, almost to the point of obsession, in his pursuit of someone like Gu.

The movie now follows Gu as he joins a heist team, executes the heist, hides the stolen platinum, and hides himself until he can get his share in cash before Manouche and Alban smuggle him out of the country to that perennial noir nirvana: somewhere else.

This is all old hat for the genre, but Melville makes it gripping by creating an engaging French noir atmosphere: a world of gangster honor codes and compelling characters in Gu, Blot, Manouche, Alban, and a few others.

Gu is not a good man by any normal standard. He is a crook who kills cops and others to get what he wants, but he is also a man who lives by an honor code in his world, which allows us to respect him knowing it's all a cinematic creation. We want the Gus in real life put in jail.

Blot is interesting on screen, but he violates so many legal rights of suspects that, in real life, we want the Blots of the world in jail, too: There's no justice if cops can ignore the law. Alban and Manouche are also people we enjoy on screen, but know in real life they belong in jail.

Like the characters, Melville's world is wonderfully noir, wonderfully artificial, and wonderfully engaging. His crooks have all these "rules" they live by, even dispensing "justice" in their own way. This is the crazy parallel criminal world that made The Godfather so compelling.

Despite being 1966, Melville's style is classic noir with his signature stamp. Shot in black and white, gangsters dress in dark suits and ties, cops in somewhat less drab suits and ties, and almost everyone wears a hat. Visually, it's still the 1940s in Le Deuxième Souffle.

Melville weaves the mundane into his story without making it boring. While hiding from the police, Gu, trying to do a lot in a short time, somewhat disguises himself and rides so many public buses it’s practically an advertisement for France’s transit system.

The action is here too, though – sniper shots taking out motorcycle cops, a few gun battles in small rooms, more than one rubout, and several chases – but Melville goes out of his way to remind viewers that even criminals have plenty of mundane downtime.

The climax is less about legal right and wrong and more about an unwritten code of honor not only between the crooks, but between the cops and the crooks when it's a crook "with integrity" like Gu. Look for Blot's final gesture of respect to Gu - it's subtle but beautifully done.

Le Deuxième Souffle is a classic noir released years after classic noirs had all but stopped being made. In Melville's noirish world, crooks live in an alternate universe that happens to intersect with the law-abiding world only when the crooks need something from it.

Otherwise, his characters go about their insane lives – running corrupt businesses, fighting and killing mainly each other, and playing an endless game of cat and mouse with the police – almost removed from real planet earth.

It's this "alternative universe" that makes Melville's noir so visually and emotionally appealing. It allows the viewer to have a sort of corrupt mental rumspringa from the safety of his living room. Life here is cool – even honorable in its warped way – and not hemmed in by law or convention.

Few would want to live in that world, but fantasizing about it is undeniably fun. Film noir, considered a darkish hellscape – as it often is – is made into an oddly set-apart and engaging universe in Melville's interpretation of the classic genre.

Le Deuxième Souffle is a classic film noir with a French twist. It’s a strong film with a compelling plot, but its special ingredients are its noir themes, characters, and style, which – crafted for cinematic effect rather than to reflect reality – have secured its place as a hallmark of French noir.

 

[rhenry]

View attachment 658948
Le Deuxième Souffle (Second Wind) from 1966, a French film


It might be 1966, but Le Deuxième Souffle is closer to classic film noir than neo noir, with its prison break, hideouts, heist, criminal code of honor, and intrepid detective all riding comfortably in the genre's well-worn grooves.

Director Jean-Pierre Melville didn't serve up a tired offering, though; instead, he delivered another engaging take on noir's paradigmatic elements and themes. Shooting in noir's traditional black and white only reinforces his movie's classic feel.

At the opening, Gu – a well-respected underworld figure because he never rats – escapes from prison and returns to Paris to see his sister, Manouche, and his long-time trusted friend, Alban. In true noir fashion, Gu returns on a night when Manouche's restaurant becomes the site of a gangland hit.

At first, it's confusing to keep the competing gangs, the bad guys, and even the cops (who compete for jurisdiction with each other) straight, but it's easy enough to follow at a high level, while taking in the incredible atmosphere and style.

It's all about Gu, played by noted French actor Lino Ventura. His plan – and the movie's main plot – is to pull one last heist so he has money to get out of France and live somewhere without being hunted.

While trying to do this, he's tracked by police commissioner Blot, another example of that wonderful cinematic creation: the French detective who is smart, dedicated, and persistent, almost to the point of obsession, in his pursuit of someone like Gu.

The movie now follows Gu as he joins a heist team, executes the heist, hides the stolen platinum, and hides himself until he can get his share in cash before Manouche and Alban smuggle him out of the country to that perennial noir nirvana: somewhere else.

This is all old hat for the genre, but Melville makes it gripping by creating an engaging French noir atmosphere: a world of gangster honor codes and compelling characters in Gu, Blot, Manouche, Alban, and a few others.

Gu is not a good man by any normal standard. He is a crook who kills cops and others to get what he wants, but he is also a man who lives by an honor code in his world, which allows us to respect him knowing it's all a cinematic creation. We want the Gus in real life put in jail.

Blot is interesting on screen, but he violates so many legal rights of suspects that, in real life, we want the Blots of the world in jail, too: There's no justice if cops can ignore the law. Alban and Manouche are also people we enjoy on screen, but know in real life they belong in jail.

Like the characters, Melville's world is wonderfully noir, wonderfully artificial, and wonderfully engaging. His crooks have all these "rules" they live by, even dispensing "justice" in their own way. This is the crazy parallel criminal world that made The Godfather so compelling.

Despite being 1966, Melville's style is classic noir with his signature stamp. Shot in black and white, gangsters dress in dark suits and ties, cops in somewhat less drab suits and ties, and almost everyone wears a hat. Visually, it's still the 1940s in Le Deuxième Souffle.

Melville weaves the mundane into his story without making it boring. While hiding from the police, Gu, trying to do a lot in a short time, somewhat disguises himself and rides so many public buses it’s practically an advertisement for France’s transit system.

The action is here too, though – sniper shots taking out motorcycle cops, a few gun battles in small rooms, more than one rubout, and several chases – but Melville goes out of his way to remind viewers that even criminals have plenty of mundane downtime.

The climax is less about legal right and wrong and more about an unwritten code of honor not only between the crooks, but between the cops and the crooks when it's a crook "with integrity" like Gu. Look for Blot's final gesture of respect to Gu - it's subtle but beautifully done.

Le Deuxième Souffle is a classic noir released years after classic noirs had all but stopped being made. In Melville's noirish world, crooks live in an alternate universe that happens to intersect with the law-abiding world only when the crooks need something from it.

Otherwise, his characters go about their insane lives – running corrupt businesses, fighting and killing mainly each other, and playing an endless game of cat and mouse with the police – almost removed from real planet earth.

It's this "alternative universe" that makes Melville's noir so visually and emotionally appealing. It allows the viewer to have a sort of corrupt mental rumspringa from the safety of his living room. Life here is cool – even honorable in its warped way – and not hemmed in by law or convention.

Few would want to live in that world, but fantasizing about it is undeniably fun. Film noir, considered a darkish hellscape – as it often is – is made into an oddly set-apart and engaging universe in Melville's interpretation of the classic genre.

Le Deuxième Souffle is a classic film noir with a French twist. It’s a strong film with a compelling plot, but its special ingredients are its noir themes, characters, and style, which – crafted for cinematic effect rather than to reflect reality – have secured its place as a hallmark of French noir.

View attachment 658950

Great Review!

 

[AeroFan_07]

B29-Frozen in Time

If you like resourcefulness, WWII planes, and living as far out on the edge as a group of men could do, this is a documentary for you. This was done by Nova, a PBS subsidiary. It is well narrated, and gives a lot of detail as to the challenges faced by such an expedition in northern Greenland.

I don't want to give away too much, it's only ~ 56 minutes, it's well worth a watch for sure.

 

[Fading Fast]

Champion from 1949 with Kirk Douglas, Ruth Roman, Arthur Kennedy, Paul Stewart and Marilyn Maxwell


In the middle of the twentieth century – hard as it may be to believe today – boxing and horse racing were major sports in America. Both were deeply woven into the country's cultural fabric: Grandmothers bet on "the ponies," and "Friday Night Fights" on TV was a cultural touchstone.

The early "indie" movie Champion capitalized on that popularity while also making Kirk Douglas a star. This "sports-themed" noir has lost little of its power to hold your attention, even if its message is the evergreen but banal one that some sports heroes are selfish ingrates.

It opens with two brothers, played by Douglas and Arthur Kennedy, broke and on the road to California. Kennedy, who has a limp from WWII, is the older, calmer brother, while Douglas is the "I'm tired of being poor, kicked around, and disrespected" brother.

After Douglas is forced into a shotgun marriage with a woman, played by Ruth Roman, whom he canoodled, he skips town on her with Kennedy in tow. Douglas then begins boxing and starts climbing the grubby ladder of corruption that dominated the fight game back then.

It's by-the-book stuff now: Douglas wins fights, makes money, and "dates" a blonde gold digger, played by Marilyn Maxwell. Harsh reality hits, though, when his manager, played by Paul Stewart, tells Douglas that the mob that runs boxing demands that Douglas takes a dive in a title fight.

Stewart, a good guy and old pro at the game, is so calmly matter of fact about it to Douglas that its implication almost slides by unnoticed. But then you realize that he's saying a top sport in America is run by organized crime and that many fights are fixed.

That's tough stuff for 1949 America and Douglas to hear. Douglas wants to win and be champion, not take a dive and get his shot later "when it's his turn." A lot more happens in the movie, but nothing unwinds the fact that boxing, popular as it is, is corrupt.

In the movie's money sequence that follows, Douglas turns the tables on the powers that be – but at a big price. After that, Douglas continues to "make deals" for his career, his bankbook, and his "girlfriend," which sells out a lot of people who supported him.

It is a tangle of mob corruption, contracts being written and rewritten, crooked deals being cut, sex being had, expensive things and women being bought and sold, and friendships and families being bent or jettisoned as powerful people jockey for advantage.

Those are all classic noir themes that come up time and again in sports- and non-sports-themed film noirs. The late 1940s marked the peak of noir, revealing an America surprisingly willing to confront, or at least witness, the seedy underbelly of its post-war culture.

Here it's the old story of money, greed and power, combined with talent and ego, leading to a moral mess. With the Motion Picture Production Code still in control, there's a "reckoning" of sorts, but the points about the corruption of boxing and of the soul are still standing when the credits roll.

All this works as a movie because it's stripped of pretense – and because Kirk Douglas was tailor made for the part: You still kinda like him even when he's a rat. He'd play that role many times – Ace in the Hole and The Bad and the Beautiful being just two other examples.

Kennedy, one of those incredibly talented supporting actors, is excellent as Douglas' foil and, sometimes, conscience. Stewart, too, as the wearily honest manager trying to navigate a venal sport is outstanding at quietly conveying the complex emotions life has forced upon him.

Roman, who should have had more screen time, is sexy-smart playing Douglas' morally conflicted wife who knows Douglas isn't a good man or good for her, but the heart and (and she makes this viscerally obvious) libido want what the heart and libido want.

Filmed in black and white and on a tight budget, the fight scenes have a rawness that is impressive for the day. There is no Hollywood shine here, as the sport looks brutally violent in an uncivilized throwback way. Kudos to Douglas here, too, as he truly got into shape for the role.

If Champion has a flaw, it's that there's no moral center, no hero, no hopeful commentary on human nature. It's just a noir world of moral compromise all down the line. It's good; it's entertaining; it's well acted; but it will leave you feeling a bit soulless and exhausted.

 

[rhenry]

View attachment 660126
Champion from 1949 with Kirk Douglas, Ruth Roman, Arthur Kennedy, Paul Stewart and Marilyn Maxwell


In the middle of the twentieth century – hard as it may be to believe today – boxing and horse racing were major sports in America. Both were deeply woven into the country's cultural fabric: Grandmothers bet on "the ponies," and "Friday Night Fights" on TV was a cultural touchstone.

The early "indie" movie Champion capitalized on that popularity while also making Kirk Douglas a star. This "sports-themed" noir has lost little of its power to hold your attention, even if its message is the evergreen but banal one that some sports heroes are selfish ingrates.

It opens with two brothers, played by Douglas and Arthur Kennedy, broke and on the road to California. Kennedy, who has a limp from WWII, is the older, calmer brother, while Douglas is the "I'm tired of being poor, kicked around, and disrespected" brother.

After Douglas is forced into a shotgun marriage with a woman, played by Ruth Roman, whom he canoodled, he skips town on her with Kennedy in tow. Douglas then begins boxing and starts climbing the grubby ladder of corruption that dominated the fight game back then.

It's by-the-book stuff now: Douglas wins fights, makes money, and "dates" a blonde gold digger, played by Marilyn Maxwell. Harsh reality hits, though, when his manager, played by Paul Stewart, tells Douglas that the mob that runs boxing demands that Douglas takes a dive in a title fight.

Stewart, a good guy and old pro at the game, is so calmly matter of fact about it to Douglas that its implication almost slides by unnoticed. But then you realize that he's saying a top sport in America is run by organized crime and that many fights are fixed.

That's tough stuff for 1949 America and Douglas to hear. Douglas wants to win and be champion, not take a dive and get his shot later "when it's his turn." A lot more happens in the movie, but nothing unwinds the fact that boxing, popular as it is, is corrupt.

In the movie's money sequence that follows, Douglas turns the tables on the powers that be – but at a big price. After that, Douglas continues to "make deals" for his career, his bankbook, and his "girlfriend," which sells out a lot of people who supported him.

It is a tangle of mob corruption, contracts being written and rewritten, crooked deals being cut, sex being had, expensive things and women being bought and sold, and friendships and families being bent or jettisoned as powerful people jockey for advantage.

Those are all classic noir themes that come up time and again in sports- and non-sports-themed film noirs. The late 1940s marked the peak of noir, revealing an America surprisingly willing to confront, or at least witness, the seedy underbelly of its post-war culture.

Here it's the old story of money, greed and power, combined with talent and ego, leading to a moral mess. With the Motion Picture Production Code still in control, there's a "reckoning" of sorts, but the points about the corruption of boxing and of the soul are still standing when the credits roll.

All this works as a movie because it's stripped of pretense – and because Kirk Douglas was tailor made for the part: You still kinda like him even when he's a rat. He'd play that role many times – Ace in the Hole and The Bad and the Beautiful being just two other examples.

Kennedy, one of those incredibly talented supporting actors, is excellent as Douglas' foil and, sometimes, conscience. Stewart, too, as the wearily honest manager trying to navigate a venal sport is outstanding at quietly conveying the complex emotions life has forced upon him.

Roman, who should have had more screen time, is sexy-smart playing Douglas' morally conflicted wife who knows Douglas isn't a good man or good for her, but the heart and (and she makes this viscerally obvious) libido want what the heart and libido want.

Filmed in black and white and on a tight budget, the fight scenes have a rawness that is impressive for the day. There is no Hollywood shine here, as the sport looks brutally violent in an uncivilized throwback way. Kudos to Douglas here, too, as he truly got into shape for the role.

If Champion has a flaw, it's that there's no moral center, no hero, no hopeful commentary on human nature. It's just a noir world of moral compromise all down the line. It's good; it's entertaining; it's well acted; but it will leave you feeling a bit soulless and exhausted.

View attachment 660127

To me, that last paragraph sums up the best of the noirs. Moral ambiguity is closer to reality than happy endings.

 

[Trenchfriend]

Das Boot - 1985 uncut TV series

 

[Fading Fast]

You Can't Buy Everything from 1934 with May Robson, William Bakewell, Jean Parker and Lewis Stone


While You Can't Buy Everything is loosely based on the life of Hetty Green, "The Witch of Wall Street" from the Gilded Age, Hollywood transforms her story into a veiled retelling of A Christmas Carol without the yuletide framing.

The real Hetty Green is still debated today, but she was miserly, charitable in ways, and amazingly successful on Wall Street, so much so that she had a seat at the table in 1907 when J.P. Morgan famously organized a "rescue" of the banks.

Balance and truth, though, are not what Hollywood is about, so in this Tinseltown telling, Green's name is changed, as are many details of her life, to create a "better" story. May Robson, thus, plays the "Witch of Wall Street" more like Scrooge than like a smart woman of finance.

Robson, for some reason, nurses a bitter grudge against one of the most important men on Wall Street, played by Lewis Stone. She is so resentful of him that she moves her vast sums of money out of the bank she uses when he is hired to be its president.

Robson became a businesswoman only after her husband wasted away almost all of her money before he died. Robinson, now a widow and single mom, accumulated massive amounts of money, stocks and bonds through shrewd trades and investments.

Despite her wealth, she lives like a miser – think Scrooge not heating his house in the dead of winter. She raises her son, played by William Bakewell, whom she loves deeply, to be equally miserly. Her plan is for him to become a banker and grow the family fortune.

Bakewell, though, is a nice young man with neither his mother's miserly ways nor her investment prowess. While working at a job he hates at the bank to please his mother, he meets and falls in love with the daughter, played by Jean Parker, of his mother's bête noire, Stone.

This sets up the climax, no spoilers coming, as the mother will be forced to choose between embracing her son's marriage and her new daughter-in-law – and, by proxy, forgiving the man she hates – or losing her son, the only person she loves in this world.

There's a neat but too-easy twist at the end that explains Robson's grudge against Stone, but the value of the story, like the value of A Christmas Carol, lies in the lesson of how greed destroys a soul, while love and charity nourish it.

In this black-and-white Hollywood telling, of course the story denounces greed and embraces love as it's one of Hollywood's favorite stories. But most people, in the real world, have to balance the need for some personal financial security with the wants of others.

Robson is very good as a Wall Street Scrooge as you feel that her anger and stinginess stem from some event in her life. Bakewell, in one of his stronger roles, is engaging as Robson's son and foil. He comes across as genuinely torn over his mother.

Lewis Stone, like Bakewell, proves to be an excellent foil to Robson as his sympathy toward her – even when she shows him nothing but bitterness – has an echo of Scrooge's nephew who feels sorry for and not angry at his curmudgeonly uncle.

A true biopic of Hetty Green, a woman who, whatever her faults, achieved equal status with the men on Wall Street at a time when finance truly was a boys club, could be a fascinating movie. Perhaps a modern-day moviemaker will take on the project.

For now, though, all we have is the reasonably enjoyable You Can't Buy Everything, which turned Hetty Green's life into a pat retelling of A Christmas Carol without the ghosts, chains, presents, and goose.

 

[rhenry]

As I've stated before, moral ambiguity defines the best of the noirs for me. A good example of that is Detour (1945) staring Tom Neal and Ann Savage. I just happened upon it last night on YouTube. I confess, Fading Fast's excellent review of Champion peaked my interest in noir again.

While Detour can hardly be described as a "great" film, it typifies the dark and moody character of the noir era films.

Detour involves a lounge singer and her pianist lover. She moves to Hollywood to try her luck in film. He follows but has to hitchhike due to a shortage of money.

Enroute, he's picked up by a somewhat shady character, a bookmaker, who ends up dying of natural causes on the road, but not before he tells the story of a "dame" he picked up in Louisiana that he tossed out on the road because she wouldn't "put out".

Moral dilemma #1: When the guy fell out of the car, dead, he struck his head on a rock making it appear he'd been murdered. After arguing with himself about what to do, our hero drags the dead guy into the weeds, takes his wallet and drives away in his car.

While driving to LA, he stops at a gas station to get water for his radiator. He picks up a female hitchhiker and they drive off together. As luck would have it, it turns out this is the very woman the driver picked up in Louisiana. She turns out to be a complete psychopath. She's able to dominate our hero thoroughly, taking the money he took off the body of the driver and trying to get him to sell the car. Our hero claims he doesn't want the money or the car.

Moral dilemma #2: In their motel suite, the woman says she's going to call the police and report him for murdering the bookmaker. She runs into the bedroom with the phone on a long cord. He attempts to stop her by pulling on the cord. It turns out the cord had gotten wrapped around her neck and he ended up inadvertently killing her.

Instead of reporting the incident to the police, our hero once again takes the easy way out and runs off.

In each case, the hero was faced with a no-win scenario in which doing the right thing might result in his execution. Given the facts know to the viewer, the question becomes how should we judge him?

 

[Fading Fast]

As I've stated before, moral ambiguity defines the best of the noirs for me. A good example of that is Detour (1945) staring Tom Neal and Ann Savage. I just happened upon it last night on YouTube. I confess, Fading Fast's excellent review of Champion peaked my interest in noir again.

While Detour can hardly be described as a "great" film, it typifies the dark and moody character of the noir era films.

Detour involves a lounge singer and her pianist lover. She moves to Hollywood to try her luck in film. He follows but has to hitchhike due to a shortage of money.

Enroute, he's picked up by a somewhat shady character, a bookmaker, who ends up dying of natural causes on the road, but not before he tells the story of a "dame" he picked up in Louisiana that he tossed out on the road because she wouldn't "put out".

Moral dilemma #1: When the guy fell out of the car, dead, he struck his head on a rock making it appear he'd been murdered. After arguing with himself about what to do, our hero drags the dead guy into the weeds, takes his wallet and drives away in his car.

While driving to LA, he stops at a gas station to get water for his radiator. He picks up a female hitchhiker and they drive off together. As luck would have it, it turns out this is the very woman the driver picked up in Louisiana. She turns out to be a complete psychopath. She's able to dominate our hero thoroughly, taking the money he took off the body of the driver and trying to get him to sell the car. Our hero claims he doesn't want the money or the car.

Moral dilemma #2: In their motel suite, the woman says she's going to call the police and report him for murdering the bookmaker. She runs into the bedroom with the phone on a long cord. He attempts to stop her by pulling on the cord. It turns out the cord had gotten wrapped around her neck and he ended up inadvertently killing her.

Instead of reporting the incident to the police, our hero once again takes the easy way out and runs off.

In each case, the hero was faced with a no-win scenario in which doing the right thing might result in his execution. Given the facts know to the viewer, the question becomes how should we judge him?

Outstanding review, rhenry – I loved reading it. I wrote about "Detour," which I only saw for the first time a few years ago, here: #28,367

To your last question, my take, and that is all it is, is that he's not a reliable narrator, but one building his own self-serving story as he goes. And my God, she's one scary woman.

 

[theeprimitivesound]

Last week i was on jury duty, so i made sure to watch, 12 Angry Men, to prepare myself.

 

[rhenry]

Outstanding review, rhenry – I loved reading it. I wrote about "Detour," which I only saw for the first time a few years ago, here: #28,367

To your last question, my take, and that is all it is, is that he's not a reliable narrator, but one building his own self-serving story as he goes. And my God, she's one scary woman.

Thanks for the kind words. I have to agree with your original review especially this statement: "And it took thirty-four years, but I have now found a woman who scares me more than Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction."

 

[Fading Fast]

One Way Ticket to Love, a Japanese film from 1960


One Way Ticket to Love is a fictionalized street-level look at the urban youth music scene in Tokyo in the early 1960s, where several lives – driven by ambition, poverty, sex, and love – intersect in a series of escalating encounters.

At the center is a forlorn young woman, Maki, who is contemplating suicide because her married lover just left her. A young sax player, Sharai, talks her out of it, cares for her overnight, and helps her get a job at a music talent agency where he himself has just found work.

He hopes this is his big chance to start a musical career, while Maki is hired as a nude dancer, which, of course, is an edgy choice for that time. The last two major pieces of the puzzle are their agent, Eiko, and her star singer, "The Japanese Elvis," Ueno.

The Elvis angle reflects Japan at that time, when kids, especially, had a passion for American culture. But while American Elvis was a genuine grassroots phenomenon, Ueno is a "product" like the music group The Monkees, packaged by business to sell to the youth culture.

Ueno even has screaming young female fans bought and paid for by the agency. They like Ueno, but still, it’s a paycheck – not passion – that has them following him around and screaming adoringly at his concerts. It's like Japan needed to create American groupies.

The plot, if there is one, is everyone's life moving forward over the next few weeks amid a series of personal and business crises and conflicts. It starts with Ueno getting bored of sleeping with his older manager Eiko, who needs Ueno for her career.

Ueno, seeing the younger Maki, wants her, but she’s more interested in Sharai, who is more focused on his career – and still processing Maki’s affair with a married man and her seemingly nonchalant decision to become a nude dancer.

It amps up as Maki's married lover comes back, Eiko tries to whore out Maki to Ueno to keep Ueno in line, and poor Sharai is the one Maki keeps coming back to for solace and understanding when her bad luck and decisions start to crash her life.

Toss in a friend of Sharai who joined the Yakuza because he couldn’t find legitimate work, along with a talent agency attempting to manipulate everyone for business purposes – and eventually, a melodramatic climax, for better or worse, brings it all to an unsettling conclusion.

As a story, it's just okay and seems forced at the end, but the value of One Way Ticket to Love – noted director Masahiro Shinoda's debut feature – is its genuine capture of a sleeve of Japan's youth culture in 1960.

Like youth in most cities in post-WWII democratic capitalist countries, these young people’s personal and business lives are all tangled up, with emotions driving actions and decisions at least as much as logic and reason. These kids are "adulting" haphazardly, in real time, and without a net.

The acting is mixed, which doesn't help the already thin story, but it gives the movie a sense of verisimilitude as it isn't slick. Filmed right on the street in black and white, the movie could almost be an amateur documentary about real kids struggling to figure life out.

For us today, One Way Ticket to Love has incredible value as a time capsule. It's like walking around Tokyo in 1960 and learning about the struggles of the young kids who make up the urban music scene. It's not a great movie, but it is a neat piece of cultural ephemera.


N.B. Nothing more risqué is shown than in an American movie of this era, but casual sex – single women, in particular, sleeping around – is discussed with an honesty and understanding absent from most American movies of the time. A single woman having sex isn't treated lightly here, but it also isn't treated as a "Walls of Jericho falling" moment either.

 

[Fading Fast]

Intermezzo from 1939 with Ingrid Bergman, Leslie Howard, Edna Best, and John Halliday


Intermezzo is a poignant short story told as a movie. It doesn't have the sweep or complexity of a major picture, but it is an honest and insightful look at a man's mid-life-crisis colliding with a beautiful young woman and potentially wrecking a marriage that deserves better.

Leslie Howard plays a Swedish concert violinist undergoing a mid-life crisis. After returning from a tour to his lovely wife, played by Edna Best, and their two charming children, all seems good until Howard meets his daughter's new piano teacher, played by Ingrid Bergman.

Bergman, at twenty-four, aglow with youth and beauty in her Hollywood film debut, captures Howard's character's heart, which quickly leads to an affair.

Now on tour with Bergman as his pianist and later vacationing with her, Howard intellectualizes his selfish behavior with a bunch of words that neither he, Bergman, nor the audience believes. Bergman, too, spends a lot of time agonizing over the wrong she knows she is doing.

All of which is supposed to shift our sympathies to the lovers. Movies being movies, and actors being good at their jobs, it works to an extent. But Best and the kids did their jobs well, too, so we never forget the lovely family Howard and Bergman are selfishly breaking up.

Director Gregory Ratoff and uber-producer/meddler David O. Selznick made this illicit love story as visually striking as possible, with sets and Santa Monica scenery standing in for elegant, old-world Europe.

You won’t be fooled, but you’ll still love the polished appearance and style, especially with Bergman and Howard, dressed in chic attire, looking young and happy together. But after the initial "glow" of their affair fades, both face decisions.

Does Howard really want to smash up his family? And does Bergman, who was just offered a prestigious scholarship to study piano, want to jeopardize both his family and her promising career for a love affair?

It's 1939, so you can guess the answer, but the conclusion is Intermezzo's least interesting part. What Intermezzo did well was show a good family being torn apart by a mid-life crisis, which is just a euphemism for a middle-aged man (or, sometimes, woman) behaving badly.

There is a strong supporting cast here, too, which includes John Halliday playing Howard's pianist and friend who counsels both Howard and Bergman throughout their affair with a desire to put Howard's family and Bergman's career back on track.

Halliday gives Howard and Bergman the shove they need in the right moral direction, though his advice is initially dismissed. Yet they both quietly reflect on his words, which humanizes them as they begin to contemplate righting their wrong.

The climax feels overly Hollywood, with forced drama and all the parts neatly shuffled back into their Code-approved slots. Yet audiences, both then and now, understand that much damage was done to a good family because a man and a young woman did something they shouldn't have.

This smart, short, seventy-minute runtime movie works because it captures the affair – the intermezzo – from all its angles: the passion of new love, the hurt of the discarded wife, the anger and confusion of the children, the sincere friends trying to help, and the guilt of the lovers.

It also works because the cast is so talented that you genuinely feel for Edna Best as the wronged wife, while almost understanding Howard’s selfishness and Bergman’s youthful passion and naivety. The movie had a fine line to walk, but it had just the actors to walk it.

Six years and one world war later, director David Lean, in Brief Encounter, would give us another classic story of an affair – an intermezzo – where good people do bad things to other good people because libido and boredom combine in an unfortunate way.

The two pictures make a poignant pairing of midlife crises buckling good families. It's easy and right to say that those having an affair are wrong, but the skill of the moviemakers in these pictures is making you understand that it's not simply black and white.

Or is it? These movies were made in a time when everyone stood up and pledged their lifelong commitment to another. Nothing in these movies shows that "the other" did anything but honor their commitment, so why should one party get to indulge in a mid-life sexual rumspringa?

Intermezzo respects its title by capturing a brief, sad, yet common occurrence – an affair that could wreck a family – with thankfully few extraneous details. Like a well-written short story, it made its point and was done. Modern filmmakers should take note.

 

[Fading Fast]

We're Not Dressing from 1934 with Bing Crosby, Carole Lombard, George Burns, Gracie Allen, Ethel Merman and Ray Milland


We're Not Dressing is an early musical wrapped around a romcom with a side of the comedy team of George Burns and Gracie Allen. Today, the fun lies in seeing all the stars, including Bing Crosby, Carole Lombard, Ethel Merman, and a young Ray Milland.

Lombard plays a stock 1930s Depression era character, the rich, spoiled heiress who floats blithely through life until something disrupts her pampered world. Here, the disruption is a handsome sailor on her yacht – a "working-class man" well beneath her station.

Just seeing crooning Bing – he, Merman and a few others break into song regularly in this one – on the boat fires up Lombard's libido. Yet it's when she winds up shipwrecked on a putatively uninhabited island with him that she has to really face her feelings.

After the boat capsizes in a storm, Lombard, Crosby, a couple of gold-digging pretty boy "princes" trying to marry her, and a few others from her party wash up on the island. Milland, in a small role, is one of the handsome "princes."

The first-class passengers are all but helpless as Crosby starts to organize the group for survival. Some balk a bit at taking orders from a "lowly" sailor, but most realize the logic. Lombard, with sex and ego blocking her rational thought, is the lone holdout.

It took a while to get here, but fans of the romcom formula all but know what will happen next in some form or another: Crosby and Lombard will flirt-fight their way into love as they both learn to respect the other. It's a movie cliche because it works.

Unbeknownst to the shipwrecked party, Burns and Allen happen to be on the other side of the island. His character is doing scientific research, but it's really just a chance for Paramount to feature their popular vaudeville team, as their scenes feel almost entirely separate from the plot.

Most of the movie is screwball comedy, including Lombard's pet bear on roller skates, plenty of songs from the era, and the usual romcom tropes – it works if you enjoy the stars and their chemistry.

It's hard not to like either of these stars, but their on-screen chemistry is only okay. The lack of light-up-the-sky fireworks, the modest plot, and the odd insertion of Burns and Allen's scenes make this more of a 1930s curio today than a memorable movie.

Still, We're Not Dressing is worth watching for fans of Lombard, Crosby, the team of Burns and Allen, or even Ethel Merman, who belts out a few songs as well. Plus, the movie is short enough that it's over before you're really getting tired of it.

 

[Julian Shellhammer]

From a dusty, forgotten, unlit corner of the Lounge, where shadows seem to take on the quality of solid matter dripping with calamitous intent, here is a delinquent update on the backlog of movie watching at La Casa della' Moviettis, aka the Shellhammer Cineplex.

Phantom Lady (1944) with top-billed Franchot Tone showing up about half-way through the story, Ella Raines as a determined office manager sleuthing out the real murderer of boss Alan Curtis, and filmdom's GOAT screen creep, Elisha Cook, Jr., who seems to hold the key to who really dunnit. Raines takes on the persona of a fun-seeking partier, connects with Cook, who takes her to an after-hours jam session in a basement. The musicians gyrate and thrash as they play, all revved-up on something. Cook's wild-eyed drum solo must be seen to be believed. Garnering clues, Raines works with a sympathetic police detective who unofficially lends a hand. We see who is the real criminal, and spend the last third of the story hoping Raines escapes their clutches.

The Christmas Movie Viewing Season kicked off a couple weeks back with Elf, the perennial starter for the extended family. We sang along with the opening credits music, and even some of the Pennies From Heaven song.

Somewhere in there was the 1938 production of A Christmas Carol with Reginald Owen in the title role. It was a never-before-seen version of the story. We liked it, but it will not supplant the Alastair Sim portrayal.

Klaus (2019) a Spanish-helmed production with international participation, telling a parallel-universe story of How Santa Came to Be. Fun in its own way, more favored by the kids than the olders.

As we near Christmas Day the slate of titles is completely Christmas, and with a mutligenerational and scattered audience, viewing together needs coordination: the hearts are willing, so we'll make it happen.

 

[DesertDan]

The theatrical re-release of The Fifth Element.
I missed the opportunity to catch it in the theater when it first came out, so I really enjoyed it.

 

[Fading Fast]

The Small Back Room (US release title: Hour of Glory) from 1949 with David Farrar, Kathleen Byron, Jack Hawkins, Robert Morley, and Anthony Bushell


The Small Back Room, a WWII weapons intelligence drama from the noted English filmmaking team of Powell and Pressburger, combines elements of bureaucracy, alcoholism, military research, romance, and quiet heroism in a somewhat noirish wrapper.

David Farrar plays a scientist buried in the back room of a neglected research division of the Army during WWII. With an artificial foot due to a war injury, he's in constant pain – physically and emotionally – making him aloof and, often, sarcastic to his superiors and, at times, his girlfriend.

Farrar, a product of his times, will carry his disability through the rest of his life, but that only gives him a pass from fighting. He now finds himself a cog in the bigger war machine – but an obscure cog. This war took an emotional toll not just on Farrar, but on an entire generation.

His girlfriend, played by Kathleen Byron, has a preternatural ability to put up with his moods. She believes in his brilliance and character, thinking his spell of anger and depression is just something he's going through, mainly due to his artificial foot

Early on, we follow Farrar through his tedious days in his group's claustrophobic lab, as his civilian and military bosses come and go, forcing him, against his nature, to put on a series of dog-and-pony shows to keep the funds flowing.

Also on Farrar’s plate is a mystery German bomb that's been popping up unexploded in England, but is killing civilians when it subsequently blows up. So far, the experts have been unable to defuse and study it.

A good part of the movie shows Farrar growing angrier at his artificial foot and the bureaucrats who devalue his work, while Byron is sometimes an oasis for him and sometimes the outlet for his anger. It's not always pretty, but it feels like real life – this is no WWII propaganda movie.

At his lowest point, Farrar, who is always fighting his urge to get drunk, goes all in on the alcohol, sparking a Daliesque and The Lost Weekend montage of images, including a giant whisky bottle threatening to topple over on Farrar.

In Act Three, Farrar comes off a bender and heads out to see if he can defuse one of the mystery bombs that has yet to explode. Farrar, isolated with the bomb on a beach, will either be successful or blown to bits. It is quiet British heroism at its best.

Farrar gives a strong performance as the troubled genius fighting with himself, the bureaucracy, and his girlfriend, sometimes, to advance science and the war effort, and sometimes, because he's bitter and angry. It's a meaty role that he carries well.

While everything seems set up to make this Farrar's movie, with him as the star, Byron takes over all her scenes, so much so that you miss her when she isn't there. It's a combination of her character, her screen presence, and her acting talent that makes her performance so powerful.

Farrar is the troubled genius – he's interesting – but we've seen that many times; Byron is the smart person who quietly keeps him in balance and the lab's lights on – she's the lab's secretary. She also helps direct Farrar's career much better than he does himself.

Today, we don't like seeing women or even men in this role as everyone is supposed to fully flourish at whatever they want to do, but this leaves no space for the many men and women who prefer being the number two person, the person behind the person.

Yes, Byron is very pretty, but what makes her so appealing is her intelligence, integrity, and will. She's not going to invent a brilliant new weapon or defuse a bomb, but she's going to right the Farrar ship so that he can try. Supporting someone else doesn't have to be effacing.

There are other performances of note, including Jack Hawkins as the politically astute boss Farrar hates because he plays the power game; Robert Morley as an out-of-touch war minister; and Anthony Bushell as the war-hardened, but honorable Major.

Powell and Pressburger tell this quirky tale – a sort of inside-baseball military intelligence story that reveals the warts, pandering, opportunism, and heroism integral to it – in stripped-down black and white, with a subdued soundtrack and noirish touches in the darker moments.

Despite being known for several lavish color productions, here, Powell and Pressburger show an understanding of how less can be more in examining the life of a damaged man. Their tight shots and austere noir framing echoes and emphasizes Farrar's mental state for the viewer.

The Small Back Room was a critical success but a box-office flop, perhaps because the public, in 1949, didn't want to see its recent victory tainted by reality. But time has worked in the movie's favor, as today it stands as a powerful look at the messy, human side of war – a story that resonates far beyond its era.

 

[Julian Shellhammer]

This just in, from the Shellhammer Christmas movie binge-o-rama;

The 1966 TV special How the Grinch Stole Christmas, wonderfully performed with Boris Karloff narrating, June Foray as Cindy Lou Who, and Thurl Ravenscroft singing. Masterfully presented by Chuck Jones.
Followed within moments by 2018's feature-length The Grinch, featuring an unrecognizable voice performance by Benedict Cumberbatch as the titular character. The kids liked it a lot. A straw poll indicates it should be part of the permanent rotation.
Earlier it was Scrooge, (1951) with Alastair Sim as my favorite portrayal of that "squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old sinner." Michael Horden's ghost of Marley is indescribable. He only blinks about three times during his delivery to the cowering Ebenezer.
And the always-controversial It Happened on 5th Avenue (1947), which is not a Christmas movie, declares one faction, but is considered a Christmas movie by the Missus, and somehow she persuaded the whole clan to buy into the idea. So up on the screen it appeared. (It could be reasoned that the story sort of, kind of, almost, maybe recasts the Scrooge story into post-war NYC, where a success-obsessed old rich guy learns lessons about humanity and there being more to life than making untold millions of dollars...)

 

[DogFacePonySoldier]

Just watched Blow Out (1981) the cinematography acting and pacing is amazing. part noir part political thriller, and fascinating display of technology of the day. I also like to gauge the fashion of the day and find that timeless look of certain wardrobes.

 

[Fading Fast]

Bunny Lake Is Missing from 1965 with Carol Lynley, Laurence Olivier, Noel Coward, and Keir Dullea


Director Otto Preminger uses black-and-white cinematography and Carol Lynley to great advantage in Bunny Lake Is Missing, an early missing-child mystery that also showcases why Laurence Olivier and Noel Coward enjoyed long and successful careers.

Lynley, here, plays a single mom to a four-year-old daughter. Boldly for the day, she makes no excuses for being a single mom – paraphrasing: "Boyfriend was a fling, so be it, I want my baby." She, her daughter, and her brother have just moved to London for his job.

Lynley's brother drops her daughter, the titular Bunny, off at the nursery school on the first day. Lynley later goes to pick her up, but she finds that Bunny not only isn't there, no one even remembers ever having seen her.

The police show up, led by Olivier as the superintendent. Linley's brother also races over to the school. A search begins with the police methodical, the school defensive, the brother aggressive with Olivier, and Lynley confused, scared, yet persistent.

This would be a standard missing-child mystery except the police and school begin to notice that, aside from Lynley and her brother, nobody has actually seen the child. In fact, nobody in the country has seen the child since they've only been there for four days.

Lynley kept Bunny inside for those first few days because the child had a cold. So while Olivier and the police search for Bunny, they do begin to ask Lynley and her brother some nettlesome questions about Bunny: "umm, sorry to have to ask, but who else saw your child?"

Lynley smartly underplays the possible "I made up my child" angle. If she is insane, playing it that way drains the movie of its suspense; if she isn’t, the audience would feel cheated later upon learning the truth. Lynley understood the nuance her portrayal needed.

Most of the movie is a compelling mystery driven by a police investigation with several suspects, including Coward playing a creepy-as-all-heck neighbor, a retired teacher who lives at the school, and even the supportive brother. The hook, though, is if Bunny even really exists.

Some of the best scenes feature Olivier and Lynley half working together and half jousting: she doesn't think he's doing enough and he has doubts as to Bunny's existence. Just watching those two sitting in a pub "chatting," becomes nail-biting drama in director Preminger's hands.

Olivier plays his inspector as a professional who is tired, but not worn out. He does his job thoughtfully and diligently, but it is still "just another case" to him, while a life-and-death drama for Lynley. It is a smart contrast and the dynamic that centers the picture.

Coward, conversely, goes all in on his prissy, creepy neighbor character providing an obvious suspect for the police – the guy just read "could kidnap a baby." He is either guilty or will waste a lot of police resources, while adding greatly to Linley's distress.

The long climax changes the direction and tone of the picture, but it’s best experienced fresh. The mystery is solved early in the climax, with the rest being a melodramatic end that drags on for too long as the cat is already out of the bag.

It will also either be to your taste or not as it drifts into horror territory, away from mystery. This might account for the picture's lukewarm box office as the climax is a lot of the same thing for several long minutes. It drains the movie of the mystery narrative it worked so hard to build.

Today, some argue the police only have doubts about Bunny's existence because Lynley is a single mom. That's just modern political posturing, though, as it's clear the police are diligently working to find Bunny, but they are right to consider the clues that question the child's existence.

Lynley's performance as the frenzied mother makes you wonder why she wasn't one of the era's top stars. She portrays several emotions convincingly; she drives the movie; and she equals heavyweights Olivier and Coward in their scenes together.

Those two heavyweights, though, give the movie a gravitas and spirit that leave you with no doubt why they were stars. Credit is also owed to Keir Dullea as the supportive brother who convincingly reveals several facets of his complex personality.

Preminger’s use of black-and-white cinematography lends the picture a timeless quality. It helps it read "vintage" or "timeless" London – especially with all the on-location shooting and even an appearance by the rock group The Zombies.

While not a film noir, the black-and-white cinematography, Preminger's use of exacting camera angles, and his smart framing of Lynley's distress – look for the scene of her frantically running through London's busy streets – add to the movie's mystery and tension.

Bunny Lake Is Missing is not perfect – the ending is a challenge – but it is strong filmmaking with an engaging story and talented actors creating characters you care about. You can read politics and social commentary into it if you like, but its real value lies in its good storytelling.