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Saturday, February 21, 2009
Friday, February 6, 2009
White Heat: a film noir to scorch the screen
White Heat was the last, great film noir of the 1940s, a picture that has lost none of its power to astonish and amaze.
James Cagney stars as Cody Jarrett, a mama-obsessed psychopath on a rampage of robbery and murder. White Heat ranks among the greatest films of the genre, unfolding with shocking violence (for its day), incredible dialogue, and a story lifted from Sophocles.
A bit of plot
Jarrett and his gang stage a daring daylight train robbery, murdering the railroad employees as they seize the loot. One of Jarrett's gang is mortally wounded in a freak accident during the raid. Decamping to their hideout, the robbers mull over what to do with their dying colleague. Jarrett's bug-eyed psychosis becomes obvious as he suffers a crippling seizure while arguing with an underling. But his devoted Ma (Margaret Wycherly, The Yearling), who is almost as dangerous as her grown son, comforts Cody and makes sure the gang does not see him in this compromised state. Any sign of weakness could lead to a power grab by Jarrett's associates: thieves and killers all.
Jarrett decides to take it on the lam with his sultry but duplicitous w
ife (Virginia Mayo, The Secret Life of Walter Mitty) and calculating mother. As the cops close in, he hatches a plan to take the rap for a lesser crime committed by a hood in another state so he can avoid a death sentence for the railroad caper. His psychosis worsens in prison as undercover cop Hank Fallon (Edmond O'Brien) joins the inmates in an attempt to ingratiate himself with Jarrett and finagle a confession out of this 
killer. (Side note: A versatile character actor, O'Brien played Gringoire in the definitive 1939 version of The Hunchback of Notre Dame. He worked steadily during a 40-year career, collaborating with such cinematic luminaries as Cecil B. DeMille and John Frankenheimer.)
The men escape prison and plot a final heist as Jarrett creeps around town, settling scores with the double-crossers in his old gang. But stupid blunders by his colleagues, and even his aging mother, allow the police to triangulate Jarrett's position and corner the gang at an oil refinery for the justly famous, climactic confrontation.
Under the taut direction of Raoul Walsh (High Sierra), Cagney and the rest of the cast create an indelible portrait of criminals whose honor and trust exist only at gunpoint. Today the film is best remembered for Cagney's harrowing performance as a crazed psychotic, quick with a crude quip and a volatile temper that finds release only in murder. Cagney was a three-time best-actor Oscar nominee, winning for Yankee Doodle Dandy in 1943. That film and White Heat represent his most enduring work, followed by The Public Enemy (1931), a positively feral film in which Cagney famously mashes a grapefruit in Mae Clarke's face.
As Cody’s morally flexible wife Verna, Virginia Mayo isn't quite a femme fatale in the classic mold, although her shifty opportunism keeps viewers guessing about her motives and schemes. Margaret Wycherly's performance as Ma Jarrett is a small treasure of the cinema. Her beady eyes, practically shimmering with madness, provide the first of many clues that Cody’s own deranged state has its origins in heredity. It is a stunning performance, every bit the equal of Cagney’s work. Wycherly had won an Academy Award in 1941 for another maternal role, that of Gary Cooper’s kindly mother in Sergeant York – the very antithesis of her work as Ma Jarrett in this classic gangster flick.
White Heat offers much more to amaze the first-time viewer. The violence is outrageous for a film made during the censorial reign of the Hays Code. Dialogue drips with venomous sarcasm. And in the 60 years since the film's release, no other mainstream movie has explored madness and unpleasant Oedipal obsession with such grim relentlessness. White Heat weaves the stuff of Greek tragedy into the hardest noir of the 1940s.
The screenplay by Ivan Goff and Ben Roberts was inspired by crime writer Virginia Kellogg's short story. She earned an Academy Award nod for Best Story, the film's lone nomination (it's unclear why Goff and Roberts were omitted). And what fabulous writing it is: Characters bristle and bark at each other in spectacular torrents of verbiage that was simply unheard-of in 1949 and remains amazing today. A taste of that dialogue:
Gangster (voice trembling): “You wouldn't kill me in cold blood, would ya?”
Jarrett (sneering as he pulls the trigger): “Naw; I'll let ya warm up a little.”
At a fast-paced 113 minutes, fans might wish White Heat would unspool for another hour or more.
Thoughts on the DVD
Warner Bros., the studio from Hollywood's Golden Age that specialized in violent gangster pictures, unleashes White Heat with a superb set of disc extras:
Film critic Leonard Maltin introduces "Warner Night at the Movies 1949," an enjoyable time capsule featuring a newsreel, a comedy short, a Bugs Bunny cartoon (“Homeless Hare”), theatrical trailers, and White Heat, our feature presentation. Like the Night at the Movies features on other Warner discs, these selections can be played individually or in succession, which approximates the theatrical experience more than half a century ago when a ticket cost 25 cents, audiences actually got their money's worth, and they didn’t have to sit through asinine commercials.
James Cagney stars as Cody Jarrett, a mama-obsessed psychopath on a rampage of robbery and murder. White Heat ranks among the greatest films of the genre, unfolding with shocking violence (for its day), incredible dialogue, and a story lifted from Sophocles.
A bit of plot
Jarrett and his gang stage a daring daylight train robbery, murdering the railroad employees as they seize the loot. One of Jarrett's gang is mortally wounded in a freak accident during the raid. Decamping to their hideout, the robbers mull over what to do with their dying colleague. Jarrett's bug-eyed psychosis becomes obvious as he suffers a crippling seizure while arguing with an underling. But his devoted Ma (Margaret Wycherly, The Yearling), who is almost as dangerous as her grown son, comforts Cody and makes sure the gang does not see him in this compromised state. Any sign of weakness could lead to a power grab by Jarrett's associates: thieves and killers all.
Jarrett decides to take it on the lam with his sultry but duplicitous w
ife (Virginia Mayo, The Secret Life of Walter Mitty) and calculating mother. As the cops close in, he hatches a plan to take the rap for a lesser crime committed by a hood in another state so he can avoid a death sentence for the railroad caper. His psychosis worsens in prison as undercover cop Hank Fallon (Edmond O'Brien) joins the inmates in an attempt to ingratiate himself with Jarrett and finagle a confession out of this 
killer. (Side note: A versatile character actor, O'Brien played Gringoire in the definitive 1939 version of The Hunchback of Notre Dame. He worked steadily during a 40-year career, collaborating with such cinematic luminaries as Cecil B. DeMille and John Frankenheimer.)The men escape prison and plot a final heist as Jarrett creeps around town, settling scores with the double-crossers in his old gang. But stupid blunders by his colleagues, and even his aging mother, allow the police to triangulate Jarrett's position and corner the gang at an oil refinery for the justly famous, climactic confrontation.
Under the taut direction of Raoul Walsh (High Sierra), Cagney and the rest of the cast create an indelible portrait of criminals whose honor and trust exist only at gunpoint. Today the film is best remembered for Cagney's harrowing performance as a crazed psychotic, quick with a crude quip and a volatile temper that finds release only in murder. Cagney was a three-time best-actor Oscar nominee, winning for Yankee Doodle Dandy in 1943. That film and White Heat represent his most enduring work, followed by The Public Enemy (1931), a positively feral film in which Cagney famously mashes a grapefruit in Mae Clarke's face.
As Cody’s morally flexible wife Verna, Virginia Mayo isn't quite a femme fatale in the classic mold, although her shifty opportunism keeps viewers guessing about her motives and schemes. Margaret Wycherly's performance as Ma Jarrett is a small treasure of the cinema. Her beady eyes, practically shimmering with madness, provide the first of many clues that Cody’s own deranged state has its origins in heredity. It is a stunning performance, every bit the equal of Cagney’s work. Wycherly had won an Academy Award in 1941 for another maternal role, that of Gary Cooper’s kindly mother in Sergeant York – the very antithesis of her work as Ma Jarrett in this classic gangster flick.
White Heat offers much more to amaze the first-time viewer. The violence is outrageous for a film made during the censorial reign of the Hays Code. Dialogue drips with venomous sarcasm. And in the 60 years since the film's release, no other mainstream movie has explored madness and unpleasant Oedipal obsession with such grim relentlessness. White Heat weaves the stuff of Greek tragedy into the hardest noir of the 1940s.
The screenplay by Ivan Goff and Ben Roberts was inspired by crime writer Virginia Kellogg's short story. She earned an Academy Award nod for Best Story, the film's lone nomination (it's unclear why Goff and Roberts were omitted). And what fabulous writing it is: Characters bristle and bark at each other in spectacular torrents of verbiage that was simply unheard-of in 1949 and remains amazing today. A taste of that dialogue:
Gangster (voice trembling): “You wouldn't kill me in cold blood, would ya?”
Jarrett (sneering as he pulls the trigger): “Naw; I'll let ya warm up a little.”
At a fast-paced 113 minutes, fans might wish White Heat would unspool for another hour or more.
Thoughts on the DVD
Warner Bros., the studio from Hollywood's Golden Age that specialized in violent gangster pictures, unleashes White Heat with a superb set of disc extras:
Film critic Leonard Maltin introduces "Warner Night at the Movies 1949," an enjoyable time capsule featuring a newsreel, a comedy short, a Bugs Bunny cartoon (“Homeless Hare”), theatrical trailers, and White Heat, our feature presentation. Like the Night at the Movies features on other Warner discs, these selections can be played individually or in succession, which approximates the theatrical experience more than half a century ago when a ticket cost 25 cents, audiences actually got their money's worth, and they didn’t have to sit through asinine commercials.
Film historian Drew Casper delivers an insightful, feature-length commentary on an alternate track, dishing on all manner of production information and trivia for the true fan.
There's also a 17-minute featurette, White Heat: Top of the World, exploring the historic importance of the film, with insights from Martin Scorsese and other filmmakers who speculate on what was wrong with Cody Jarrett. Migraines? Epilepsy? Full-blown psychosis? Whatever his affliction, this short feature is informative and entertaining.
Coda
White Heat is a genuine noir classic. The print and sound on this DVD are pristine, the quality extras are comprehensive, and Warner packages the disc in a smart-looking case at an attractive price.
As for Cody Jarrett, his fate is sealed in film immortality: “Made it, Ma! Top of the world!”
Ka-boom.
Copyright © 2009 by Steve Evans // dba Cinema Uprising. All rights reserved.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Rediscovering The Browning Version (1951)
The Browning Version: Criterion Collection
1951// 90 Minutes // Not Rated
Review by Steve Evans
“I am of the opinion that occasionally an anticlimax can be surprisingly effective.”
A masterpiece of British realism, The Browning Version features beautifully nuanced acting in the service of scabrous dialogue, as a repressed professor comes to terms with failure in his autumnal years. Characters practically ooze hatred for one another, yet they smile in their devotion to proper English manners. This faith in social proprieties may be all that keeps them from coming to blows, indeed, from killing each other. The teacher, his unfaithful wife, her lover, the school headmaster—these people practically suffocate under the weight of their life choices and the burden of maintaining a thin veneer of civility. Patience rewards the careful viewer, as seldom have such vicious conversations been delivered with such élan on film.
A Bit of Plot
During his final year as a classics teacher at an exclusive English prep school, embittered schoolmaster Andrew Crocker-Harris (Michael Redgrave, father of Vanessa) questions the meaning of his life as poor health and a disintegrating marriage lead him into depression. His students mock him behind his back. His casually malicious wife Millie (Jean Kent, who starred in the director's earlier The Woman in Question) indulges in an affair with Frank Hunter (Ronald Howard), her husband's colleague. Adding to these insults, scheming headmaster Frobisher (Wilfrid Hyde-White, The Winslow Boy) wants to deny Crocker-Harris his pension on a technicality — early retirement due to declining health.
As Crocker-Harris slowly comes to grips with these slights, he begins to evaluate the folly of pride and his own arrogance. Ever stoic, his rigid manner hides profound remorse over the cruel remarks he has made to colleagues and students through the years. He simply does not know how to express his sorrow. Only young Taplow (Brian Smith), a sincere and unassuming student, harbors any compassion for the stern schoolmaster.
The film’s title refers to a translation of Agamemnon, the so-called Brown
ing Version of the classical play. Taplow finds a second-hand copy of the book, which he gives to Crocker-Harris as a farewell gift. This simple sentiment and Taplow's gentle inscription inside the book lead to a devastating emotional catharsis for Crocker-Harris. His farewell address to the school is both tearless confessional and understated plea for redemption.
Context, Significance of the Film
Only the most jaded viewer would dismiss The Browning Version as much ado about nothing, although a brief plot outline could give this impression. The characters are unpleasant, stiff, and devoid of feeling. Their plights are petty and mostly self-inflicted. Only when we discover their inner pain, the remorse that comes with the realization of a wasted life, do we feel pity for the universal humanity grown stagnant in their souls. At first blush the film seems similar to another classic dealing with a retiring English teacher, but The Browning Version is the very antithesis of the uplifting Goodbye, Mr. Chips.
Directed with remarkable restraint by Anthony Asquith, the film draws most of its tension from Redgrave's career-defining performance and the screenplay by Terence Rattigan, which he adapted from his one-act play. Rattigan and Redgrave took best screenplay and acting honors at the 1951 Cannes Film Festival. Redgrave also takes credit for launching two other impressive thespian careers, those of his daughters Vanessa and Lynn. As Millie's lover, Ronald Howard displays a convincing crisis of conscience that elevates his character beyond that of a mere cad (trivia note: he is the son of Leslie Howard, who played Ashley in Gone With the Wind). Brian Smith, who was 19 when he made this film, portrays the adolescent Taplow as a kind-hearted innocent, unsullied by the conniving adults in his prep school and the world beyond.
Technically, the film can stand as an equal with anything from the period by Asquith's British peers, notably David Lean (Great Expectations), Carol Reed (The Third Man), and Alfred Hitchcock (The 39 Steps, whose protagonist, Robert Donat, would later star in Goodbye, Mr. Chips). Here, Asquith uses stunning deep-focus cinematography to fill the frame with gloom and shadow—techniques reminiscent of The Third Man and Citizen Kane before it. The superb camerawork and taut direction cleverly obscure the visual limitations of what is essentially a filmed play.
This seldom-seen film deserves a wider audience, especially for the ripe dialogue and rich performances. Students of sharp cinematography will be absorbed by the crisp work of cameraman Desmond Dickinson, who also shot Asquith's The Importance of Being Earnest and, in 1948, had framed Hamlet for Laurence Olivier.
Noted British director Mike Figgis (Secrets and Lies), filmed the 1994 remake of The Browning Version with Albert Finney (Tom Jones). In an extensive video interview on this disc, Figgis calls the original film a work of subtle genius. He describes Crocker-Harris as "the ultimate passionate stoic"—a paradox of repression brought to life by Redgrave's spot-on performance. Beneath the teacher's barely contained restraint and self-loathing lurks a seething rage, coiled tightly like a venomous snake.
On the commentary track, film historian Bruce Eder describes the picture as a "heartbreaking study of rigidity." He notes that the teacher has over-intellectualized life to the exclusion of joy or any other emotion. Crocker-Harris has become so detached and disaffected that he is practically a bystander to his own existence. The character of wife Millie, Eder says, remains a villainess rivaled only by Lady Macbeth in all of English theater and film. Yet she is not entirely unsympathetic. Caught in the soul-deadening trap of a miserable marriage, both Millie and Crocker-Harris resort to vile, rhetorical torments in a futile effort to escape from their marital prison. Eder also supplies fascinating insights into the production, mainly historical aspects of the story and subversive content in the subtext. (Playwright Rattigan remained a closeted homosexual for much of his life, using his writing to explore—and possibly editorialize upon—the dysfunction he perceived in male-female relationships. Knowing this, it’s probably only a matter of time before an ambitious grad student writes a thesis comparing and contrasting Rattigan's work with the writings of Alan Ball, who won an Academy Award for his American Beauty screenplay.) Eder's running commentary provides excellent insight into the film and comes highly recommended.
The cineastes at The Criterion Collection present a flawless package, as is their custom, replete with generous extras, including a 1958 interview with Redgrave. Video and audio are pristine.
Caveats
Asquith directs at a mannerly pace, building his themes methodically. Younger audiences weaned on flash-cutting and cursory character development may grow impatient with these unlikable characters. Anyone who has endured a miserable marriage (not least of which is the discovery that one’s ex-wife is a conniving sociopath), and survived the experience can relate to the quiet desperation on display in this film. But we ought to approach these stuffed shirts with compassion — or at least appalled fascination — in order to appreciate their plight. Redgrave's repressed professor, while an inspired creation, is still an arrogant and obnoxious man. Only in the final act does his essential humanity force its way to the surface. But it is Redgrave's ability to transform this unsympathetic man into a pitiable figure that ultimately makes the film such a rewarding experience. That, and the jaw-dropping dialogue. There are lines in this picture that slice clean to the bone.
Coda
Crocker-Harris gives his own valediction. Criterion receives high praise for its production and release of superb DVD packages, offering unsurpassed quality for the discriminating collector.
Copyright © 2009 by Steve Evans // dba Cinema Uprising. All rights reserved.
1951// 90 Minutes // Not Rated
Review by Steve Evans
“I am of the opinion that occasionally an anticlimax can be surprisingly effective.”
A masterpiece of British realism, The Browning Version features beautifully nuanced acting in the service of scabrous dialogue, as a repressed professor comes to terms with failure in his autumnal years. Characters practically ooze hatred for one another, yet they smile in their devotion to proper English manners. This faith in social proprieties may be all that keeps them from coming to blows, indeed, from killing each other. The teacher, his unfaithful wife, her lover, the school headmaster—these people practically suffocate under the weight of their life choices and the burden of maintaining a thin veneer of civility. Patience rewards the careful viewer, as seldom have such vicious conversations been delivered with such élan on film.A Bit of Plot
During his final year as a classics teacher at an exclusive English prep school, embittered schoolmaster Andrew Crocker-Harris (Michael Redgrave, father of Vanessa) questions the meaning of his life as poor health and a disintegrating marriage lead him into depression. His students mock him behind his back. His casually malicious wife Millie (Jean Kent, who starred in the director's earlier The Woman in Question) indulges in an affair with Frank Hunter (Ronald Howard), her husband's colleague. Adding to these insults, scheming headmaster Frobisher (Wilfrid Hyde-White, The Winslow Boy) wants to deny Crocker-Harris his pension on a technicality — early retirement due to declining health.As Crocker-Harris slowly comes to grips with these slights, he begins to evaluate the folly of pride and his own arrogance. Ever stoic, his rigid manner hides profound remorse over the cruel remarks he has made to colleagues and students through the years. He simply does not know how to express his sorrow. Only young Taplow (Brian Smith), a sincere and unassuming student, harbors any compassion for the stern schoolmaster.
The film’s title refers to a translation of Agamemnon, the so-called Brown
ing Version of the classical play. Taplow finds a second-hand copy of the book, which he gives to Crocker-Harris as a farewell gift. This simple sentiment and Taplow's gentle inscription inside the book lead to a devastating emotional catharsis for Crocker-Harris. His farewell address to the school is both tearless confessional and understated plea for redemption.Context, Significance of the Film
Only the most jaded viewer would dismiss The Browning Version as much ado about nothing, although a brief plot outline could give this impression. The characters are unpleasant, stiff, and devoid of feeling. Their plights are petty and mostly self-inflicted. Only when we discover their inner pain, the remorse that comes with the realization of a wasted life, do we feel pity for the universal humanity grown stagnant in their souls. At first blush the film seems similar to another classic dealing with a retiring English teacher, but The Browning Version is the very antithesis of the uplifting Goodbye, Mr. Chips.
Directed with remarkable restraint by Anthony Asquith, the film draws most of its tension from Redgrave's career-defining performance and the screenplay by Terence Rattigan, which he adapted from his one-act play. Rattigan and Redgrave took best screenplay and acting honors at the 1951 Cannes Film Festival. Redgrave also takes credit for launching two other impressive thespian careers, those of his daughters Vanessa and Lynn. As Millie's lover, Ronald Howard displays a convincing crisis of conscience that elevates his character beyond that of a mere cad (trivia note: he is the son of Leslie Howard, who played Ashley in Gone With the Wind). Brian Smith, who was 19 when he made this film, portrays the adolescent Taplow as a kind-hearted innocent, unsullied by the conniving adults in his prep school and the world beyond.
Technically, the film can stand as an equal with anything from the period by Asquith's British peers, notably David Lean (Great Expectations), Carol Reed (The Third Man), and Alfred Hitchcock (The 39 Steps, whose protagonist, Robert Donat, would later star in Goodbye, Mr. Chips). Here, Asquith uses stunning deep-focus cinematography to fill the frame with gloom and shadow—techniques reminiscent of The Third Man and Citizen Kane before it. The superb camerawork and taut direction cleverly obscure the visual limitations of what is essentially a filmed play.
This seldom-seen film deserves a wider audience, especially for the ripe dialogue and rich performances. Students of sharp cinematography will be absorbed by the crisp work of cameraman Desmond Dickinson, who also shot Asquith's The Importance of Being Earnest and, in 1948, had framed Hamlet for Laurence Olivier.
Noted British director Mike Figgis (Secrets and Lies), filmed the 1994 remake of The Browning Version with Albert Finney (Tom Jones). In an extensive video interview on this disc, Figgis calls the original film a work of subtle genius. He describes Crocker-Harris as "the ultimate passionate stoic"—a paradox of repression brought to life by Redgrave's spot-on performance. Beneath the teacher's barely contained restraint and self-loathing lurks a seething rage, coiled tightly like a venomous snake.
On the commentary track, film historian Bruce Eder describes the picture as a "heartbreaking study of rigidity." He notes that the teacher has over-intellectualized life to the exclusion of joy or any other emotion. Crocker-Harris has become so detached and disaffected that he is practically a bystander to his own existence. The character of wife Millie, Eder says, remains a villainess rivaled only by Lady Macbeth in all of English theater and film. Yet she is not entirely unsympathetic. Caught in the soul-deadening trap of a miserable marriage, both Millie and Crocker-Harris resort to vile, rhetorical torments in a futile effort to escape from their marital prison. Eder also supplies fascinating insights into the production, mainly historical aspects of the story and subversive content in the subtext. (Playwright Rattigan remained a closeted homosexual for much of his life, using his writing to explore—and possibly editorialize upon—the dysfunction he perceived in male-female relationships. Knowing this, it’s probably only a matter of time before an ambitious grad student writes a thesis comparing and contrasting Rattigan's work with the writings of Alan Ball, who won an Academy Award for his American Beauty screenplay.) Eder's running commentary provides excellent insight into the film and comes highly recommended.
The cineastes at The Criterion Collection present a flawless package, as is their custom, replete with generous extras, including a 1958 interview with Redgrave. Video and audio are pristine.
Caveats
Asquith directs at a mannerly pace, building his themes methodically. Younger audiences weaned on flash-cutting and cursory character development may grow impatient with these unlikable characters. Anyone who has endured a miserable marriage (not least of which is the discovery that one’s ex-wife is a conniving sociopath), and survived the experience can relate to the quiet desperation on display in this film. But we ought to approach these stuffed shirts with compassion — or at least appalled fascination — in order to appreciate their plight. Redgrave's repressed professor, while an inspired creation, is still an arrogant and obnoxious man. Only in the final act does his essential humanity force its way to the surface. But it is Redgrave's ability to transform this unsympathetic man into a pitiable figure that ultimately makes the film such a rewarding experience. That, and the jaw-dropping dialogue. There are lines in this picture that slice clean to the bone.
Coda
Crocker-Harris gives his own valediction. Criterion receives high praise for its production and release of superb DVD packages, offering unsurpassed quality for the discriminating collector.
Copyright © 2009 by Steve Evans // dba Cinema Uprising. All rights reserved.
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