Thursday, August 23, 2018

SUGARLAND EXPRESS, THE



(April 1974, U.S.)

I recently watched Steven Spielberg's most recent film READY PLAYER ONE and was grossly disappointed. It then occurred to me that I've been grossly disappointed with every Spielberg adventure film since his terrifying remake of WAR OF THE WORLDS in 2005. I have instead preferred his historical dramas, from MUNICH to THE POST. That in mind, it felt necessary, if not therapeutic to return to the beginning of Spielberg's theatrical career (after his 1971 TV movie debut, DUEL) with THE SUGARLAND EXPRESS; a crime film, a road film, and also based on a real incident that took place in Texas.

Had I not been part of the later generation who discovered Goldie Hawn in her films of the '80s and '90s (not to suggest that they were all so great, because they weren't), I would have likely been immediately turned off by her in this film because she is, let's face it, a nagging and whining bitch throughout just about the entire story (perhaps she was the precursor to the nagging and whining bitch that was Kate Capshaw in INDIANA JONES AND THE TEMPLE OF DOOM). Perhaps this was the most effective way to identify the redneck, hillbilly-type of Texan woman back then...who knows. Whatever the reason for her character traits, one can best approach THE SUGARLAND EXPRESS as the first adventure film of Spielberg's screen career.

The year is 1969 and Lou Jean Poplin (Hawn) is visiting her incarcerated husband Clovis Poplin (played by William Atherton) to inform him that they're going to lose their baby boy forever because he's due to be placed in the permanent care of his foster parents. With only four months left of his sentence, his crazed wife convinces him to escape from prison with her help. Actually, escape is hardly the word I'd choose because it's a simple matter of him changing his clothes and walking right out with the other visitors, which should give you a good idea of just how bad the prison security is. Free and on the run, the Poplins are now on a desperate mission to retrieve their child. Hitching a ride with a clueless elderly couple, they're on the brink of getting away with their escape until an unexpected stop by patrolman Maxwell Slide (played by Michael Sacks) provokes them to take his police car and make a break for it. This moment is about as high speed as the chase gets because it's not long until they crash the car and kidnap Maxwell with his gun, Clovis claiming, "I never shot a man!" From this moment, as Lou Jean and Clovis are on the run from what looks like every lawman in Texas, including police captain Harlin Tanner (played by Ben Johnson in a sympathetic role that may remind you of Harvey Keitel seventeen years later in THELMA & LOUISE) the chase has reduced itself to a slow-moving caravan across the state. As the desperate mommy and daddy travel with their hostage through drive-through food stops, drive-in movies and even a trailer dealership, the three form an almost cliché bond of mutual respect for one another. As parents who are fighting for the right to keep their child, Lou Jean and Clovis have become state heroes, winning the admiration (and even assistance) of many of the local yokels of the towns they drive through. On the flipside, though, are the local Texas gun freaks who are looking for any excuse to take their shot at the Poplins and take them down.

As the caravan slowly draws to its final destination at the home of the foster parents, one can't help but feel the impending doom that looms over our two anti-heroes, who like Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow, will meet a violent and bloody conclusion. Unlike that 1967 film, however, only Clovis is killed, leaving Lou Jean wounded and in total dismay and bewilderment of how it all ended for her. This is another moment when you can't help but feel something personally negative for Goldie Hawn because you can't believe just how stupid her character was this entire time, as if she really expected to succeed in getting her child back in this manner? Well, I guess the joke is ultimately on us because according the end credits, Lou Jean spends fifteen months of a five-year prison term in a women's correctional facility, and upon getting out, manages to obtain the legal right to live her life with her son. Go figure.

THE SUGARLAND EXPRESS is certainly not the highlight of Spielberg's great career, but it's a good reminder of where we all start out in our careers. As a debut theatrical feature, it continues the traditions of the road movie already popular of its era. For its time, there are many technical aspects of the chase that Spielberg concentrates on, be they car chases, explosions, whatever, and that's highly effective for a thriller as this. Unfortunately, it can deter itself from any potential character development we may want to experience from the Poplins and even their hostage. On the other hand, we're talking about blue collar characters without much sense or logic in their actions, so perhaps it's best not to expect too much from them. Perhaps we just sit back and appreciate THE SUGARLAND EXPRESS for what it really is; an entertaining theatrical debut from the man who would next take us into the water and remind us that "We Are Not Alone" through the remainder of the 1970s.

Favorite line or dialogue:

Maxwell Slide: "He took my gun, but he wasn't gonna use it!"





Saturday, August 18, 2018

STRIPES



(June 1981, U.S.)

When I was fifteen years-old in the summer of 1982, I had a bunk mate at sleep away camp named Michael W. whose favorite movie was STRIPES. I knew this because he made it well known verbally, but he would also repeatedly quote lines from the movie. I can't begin to tell you how many times he would get in my face and say, "Look if you don't want me in your camp, then kick me out! But get off my back!" and "Any of you guys call me Michael, and I'll kill ya!" Hell, Michael even got another kid at camp who didn't speak much English to sing a little of "Da Doo Ron Ron" without knowing why he was singing it. Well, all of this wouldn't have bothered me so much if it weren't for the fact that I still hadn't seen STRIPES by 1982, so I had no idea what Michael was talking about. I didn't actually see the movie until November 27, 1983 when it premiered on the ABC Sunday Night Movie, and of course, that was all edited-for-television. Still, it also reminds me why underage children should be allowed to see R-rated comedies. It's because children will find anything and everything funny about them. Even on television, STRIPES had me in stitches from all of its wild and outrageous antics from a wise-ass like Bill Murray as John Winger (whom, by 1983, I'd only seen on screen in MEATBALLS and TOOTSIE) trying to make his way in the United States Army.

This is not to suggest that STRIPES still isn't a funny movie, because it is. It just doesn't have me in stitches the way it did when I was a kid. In fact, today there are times in the film when I find the wit and sarcasm of Harold Ramis as John's best friend Russell Ziskey more entertaining than ol' Bill himself. But even as a kid, I looked for any opportunity to be drawn into the world of R-rated films, even if it meant only watching and taping them off of TV at a time before I could afford to buy my own uncut, unedited VHS movies. At sixteen, my hormones were raging and I enjoyed the opportunity of getting even a momentary glimpse of P.J. Soles's gorgeous ass behind her sexy nightie as she stood up from inside the wooden chest after having sex with Bill Murray, which he found "interesting"...


Of course, after having done a little bit of extra research for this post, little did I know that we the audience have still been cheated all these years by extra graphic nude scenes of P.J. Soles that apparently never made the final cut of the film (those bastards!)...


The entire basic training portion of STRIPES still holds up well because a man like John Winger, who never takes anything seriously in life, is not one to ever survive the strict disciplinary routines and structure of the army, particularly when he has a man like drill Sergeant Hulka (played by the late Warren Oates) up his ass about every little thing he does or says. One can only imagine and compare men like the Marx Brothers or Cheech & Chong in a similar predicament to appreciate the full value of the film's humor. Unfortunately, from the moment these misfits of the army arrive in Italy, the film attempts to turn entertaining comedy into an almost spiritual adventure where the pride and honor of America reigns supreme against our adversaries of the Soviet Army because a bunch of goofball soldiers (even John Candy) inevitably learn the valuable lesson of what it means to join the U.S. Army and "Be All You Can Be". It is, after all, this vintage TV commercial that first attracts John during the film's opening credits. But I suppose I prefer the consistency of John Winger as the lazy bum who joins the army as a quick and easy solution after losing his job, his car, his apartment and his girlfriend in just a matter of two hours time rather than the John Winger who decides to become a true American patriot. I suppose in my opinion, military patriotism is best left to Sylvester Stallone in the '80s and Tom Hanks in the '90s (SAVING PRIVATE RYAN) and not Bill Murray of 1981.

Favorite line or dialogue:

Army Recruiter: "Now, are either of you homosexuals?"
John Winger: "You mean, like, flaming, or...?"
Recruiter: "Well, it's a standard question we have to ask."
Russell Ziskey: "No, we're not homosexual, but we are willing to learn."
John: "Yeah, would they send us someplace special?"


Sunday, August 12, 2018

STRANGERS ON A TRAIN



(June 1951, U.S.)

Every once in a while, like a drug, I need to revisit, re-experience and re-absorb the work of Alfred Hitchcock, particularly the work that doesn't necessarily involve Cary Grant, James Stewart or a butcher knife in a shower. STRANGERS ON A TRAIN was a relatively late discovery for me and I first became aware of it through a rather unlikely source; it's brief cameo mention in a rather stupid 1987 comedy called THROW MOMMA FROM THE TRAIN (sometimes movies work that way).

The story, based on the original story by Patricia Highsmith, concerns two strangers who meet on a train, a young tennis player named Guy Haines (played by Farley Granger) and a charming (and possibly homosexual) psychopath named Bruno Antony (played by Robert Walker). During the course of their bizarre conversation, Bruno suggests that because they each want to "get rid" of someone, they should "swap murders", so that neither of them can get caught due to lack of suspicion and motive of killing a total stranger. Guy would love to see his cheating, double-crossing wife Miriam dead because she's refusing to grant him the divorce he needs to marry his new sweetheart Anne Morton, who also happens to be the prominent daughter of a U.S. senator. Bruno would love to see his father dead simply because he hates him. While Guy doesn't take the conversation seriously, he humors Bruno long enough by pretending to find the whole thing amusing. Bruno, however, interprets Guy's amusing response as a solid agreement to go along with the scheme. By the time the entire encounter is over, Guy has accidentally left behind his monogrammed lighter for Bruno to retrieve and even use against him later on in the film.

Now on a mission of murder, Bruno tracks down Miriam and follows her to a local carnival, where he eventually strangles her. This scene of murder is particularly inventive in the way that Hitchcock shoots it on a double printing technique, through the point of view of Miriam's black and white glasses lens, having fallen to the grass in front of her. Take a look...


Once the awful deed is done, Bruno insists on payment from Guy, who has no intention of killing Bruno's father in return. While being devilishly charming throughout the entire experience, Bruno is, nonetheless, a psychotic who won't take no for an answer and expects Guy to fulfill his obligation and proceeds to follow and harass Guy all over town of Washington D.C. Brought to the point of desperation, Guy inevitably pretends to agree to Bruno's original plan and attempts to warn Bruno's father by creeping into his bedroom while he sleeps. As one might suspect, Bruno is in the bed instead and finally realizes that Guy has no intention of going through with what he though was a legitimate agreement between two strangers on a train. From this moment through the remainder of the film, Bruno will use Guy's lighter to set him up for Miriam's murder and Guy must stop him. This is where Hitchcock uses the game of tennis to build the tension of time running out and working against Guy in order to clear his name of any crime. We watch the game as we would any other sporting event on film, knowing full well, however, that if Guy doesn't win the match quickly, he may very well go to jail for murder. It's subtle tension, but Hitchcock knows just how to work it to the advantage of gripping his audience. Still, even subtle tension must often build itself to the point of a more hardcore climax. At the carnival where Miriam was murdered, Guy and Bruno face each other on an out-of-control merry-go-round up until the last moment when Guy's name is cleared by the revelation of his lighter tucked into the palm of Bruno's cold, dead hand.

It's interesting to know that in the American version of STRANGERS ON A TRAIN, the final scene shows Guy reunited with Anne on a train home. A minister, who's also a tennis fan, recognizes Guy and attempts to strike up a conversation, but remembering the trouble he got into by talking to a stranger like Bruno on a train, Guy and Anne leave the train car.

Hitchcock repeatedly loved the theme of the ordinary man caught up in a web of fear and circumstances he cannot control and will have to fight to survive. A man like Bruno Antony is fiendishly effective because it's his quiet and persistent charm and patience that makes him all the more frightening and dangerous. The film, while not particularly fast or exciting, is still woven with a very wicked style and a certain degree of deliciousness, making it one of Hitchcock's most entertaining thrillers. Watch carefully the scene where Guy arrives home to his apartment building only to discover Bruno lurking in the shadows across the street not long after he killed Miriam. This is a rendezvous Guy cannot possibly comprehend because he never took Bruno's proposal on the train seriously to begin with. A deed has been done, a pair of glasses is delivered as the receipt of that deed, and now payment is expected. This scene effectively symbolizes just who Guy and Bruno are and the twisted relationship they've gotten themselves into. And while not officially designated as film noir, Hitchcock's use of light and darkness manages to give his two main character the proper overlapping qualities of good and evil.

Favorite line or dialogue:

Bruno Anthony: "Everyone has somebody that they want to put out of the way. Oh, now surely, Madam, you're not going to tell me that there hasn't been a time that you didn't want to dispose of someone. Your husband, for instance?"












Sunday, August 5, 2018

STRANGER, THE



(July 1946, U.S.)

In the '90s, I was dating a girl (her name was Kathy) who had a cinematic fascination with Nazi stories (rest assured, that's as far as her Nazi fascination went). One day she confided in me that she had a story idea about a former Nazi war criminal trying to hide and pass himself off as a local member of an American suburban town, all the while a member of the War Crimes Commission hot on his trail. Well, I think I just about broke her poor, little heart when I told her that story idea had pretty much been done already with Orson Welles's film of THE STRANGER, based on an original story by Victor Trivas. At first, she didn't want to believe my claim, but when I finally showed her the film, the poor girl looked and felt defeated. That was just about twenty-five years ago and I have no idea if she ever pursued her story idea in any way after that.

Like the film I posted before this one, THE STRANGER is also a 1946 film noir feature and it's also one of those public domain films that should never be forgotten, especially since it's one of Welles's most intriguing premises. It's the year just following the end of World War II, and Mr. Wilson (played by Edward G. Robinson) of the United Nations War Crimes Commission is hunting down Nazi fugitive Franz Kindler (Welles) who has diabolically managed to erase all traces of evidence that would identify his past identity. As a respectable member of a Connecticut town, he lives his live as prep school professor Charles Rankin who also enjoys his hobby of tinkering with the big clock at the town square church, and is also about to be married to Mary Longstreet (played by Loretta Young). Of course, no one's evil past can remain secret for too long. A former Nazi associate shows up on the day Charles is to be married. Meeting secretly in the woods, Franz Kindler strangles his former associate rather than allow himself to be exposed.

Wilson eventually deduces who Charles Rankin really is, but still must prove his suspicions. He soon goes after Mary, trying to convince her of who her new husband truly is. Naturally, the devoted wife will hear of no such accusations against the man she loves, but time and mounting evidence soon pile up, leaving the devoted wife in a state of fear and panic, despite any love that continues to blind her. She's torn between her need to learn the hard truth of the possible monster she's just married and the notion of trying to live a normal life with him. Mr. Wilson shows her graphic footage of Nazi concentration camps and explains how Rankin, as Kindler, developed the idea of genocide (THE STRANGER was actually the first Hollywood film to present documentary footage of the Holocaust). It's not until she realizes that her dear new Nazi hubby is plotting to kill her that she finally takes a stand against him, actually daring him to kill her. He shows no hesitation in the attempt, but is ultimately stopped by Mr. Wilson. Kindler's final doom is the very clock he's put so much love and attention into when he's impaled by the machine's mechanism.

THE STRANGER was only Welles's third directorial feature, after CITIZEN KANE and THE MAGNIFICENT AMBERSONS. Unlike those first two, it was an instant box office hit and only solidified the man's talents as a director and an artist. The combination of mystery, suspense, intrigue and melodrama manages to take full advantage of a story that holds high relevance following the very end of World War II, though one could very easily make comparisons to Alfred Hitchcock's SHADOW OF A DOUBT, released three years earlier, though I personally don't like to confuse apples and oranges, particularly when it comes to something as politically hard-hitting as the Nazis. Orson Welles, for all of his prior Charles-Foster-Kane-charms and graces, is diabolically effective and even frightening as the desperate and even psychopathic Nazi who doesn't want to be found out or caught.

Sorry Kathy, but it looks like your story idea never stood a chance. If it's any consolation, one could hardly expect to compete with the great Orson Welles.

Favorite line or dialogue:

Mary Longstreet (to Franz Kindler): "Kill me! Kill me! I want you to! I couldn't face life knowing what I've been to you and what I've done to Noah! But when you kill me, don't put your hands on me!"

Saturday, August 4, 2018

STRANGE LOVE OF MARTHA IVERS, THE



(July 1946, U.S.)

Every once in a while on my blog, I end up straying off into other cinematic worlds for so long (in the most recent case, STAR TREK and STAR WARS films) that I almost forget to acknowledge the true pleasure I experience in black and white classics from Hollywood's Golden Age. THE STRANGE LOVE OF MARTHA IVERS falls into that category of film noir that many have probably never even heard of, despite its star Barbara Stanwyk. If absolutely nothing else, fans of Kirk Douglas (yes, the man is still alive!) should know that this was his film debut (today, it's one of many classic films in the United States public domain).

Beginning in 1928 in Iverstown, Pennsylvania, thirteen year-old Martha Ivers tries to escape the clutches of her wealthy and domineering Aunt Ivers by running away with her street-smart friend Sam Masterson. The two are quickly caught by police and sent home where her tutor and his timid son, Walter O'Neil Jr. also reside. During a power failure, Martha discovers her aunt beating her cat with a cane. Driven to the point of no return, Martha wrestles the cane away and repeatedly strikes her aunt across the head, killing her. Of course, just as Aunt Ivers hits the floor at the bottom of the stairs, the lights come back on, and it's time to make a decision about who did what and who ultimately takes the blame. Greedy opportunist Walter Sr. makes it clear to both his son and Martha that he knows what really happened, but that as long as he and his son stand to benefit, he'll play along and see that some stranger takes the blame and is convicted for Aunt Iver's killing. Meanwhile, little Sam Masterson has hopped a freight train and left town.

Now we come to the present day, which is 1946 and Martha (Stanwyk) has inherited her aunt's wealth and practically controls the entire town. She's also a spoiled bitch who's married to town district attorney Walter Jr. (Douglas) out of convenience and pretty much has the poor, powerless bastard by the balls! Despite this bizarre situation, he still loves her, even though his love is not returned. Sam (played by Van Heflin), a former World War II soldier, unexpectedly returns to Iverstown after some car trouble. While in town, he meets platinum blonde Antonia (played by Lisabeth Scott) who's just been released from prison for theft. Circumstances drive Sam to contact Martha and Walter to see if they can help his new girlfriend, but such a request doesn't come cheap without unleashing the past and reopening old wounds of crime and conspiracy. Walter is convinced that Sam intends to blackmail them, while Martha harbors romantic feelings for her long, lost friend.

While Sam is merely just passing through his hometown and just trying to help his new love interest, what truly strikes him is just how ugly and detestable his two old childhood friends have become. Greed, lust, jealousy and murder soon follow, because let's face it, film noir just would be what we expect it to be without those glamorous human emotions and actions. Even as Sam is torn between his new love and the strange past he once shared with Martha, he still can't shake the reality that he may not leave Iverstown alive. In the end, though, the ultimate price is paid by Martha and Walter, and one can't help but feel that even they know that violent death is the proper justice for two persons of such low moral fiber and convictions as themselves. But even as things end on a predictably dark note in this film, the story still needs to remind us of even the smallest triumph, as Sam and Antonia drive out of town together.

Getting back to films in the public domain for a moment, it's easy to see how too many of these films are overlooked outside of their occasional airing on Turner Classic Movies. They're often grainy, low quality prints that test one's visual patience in a world where high definition rules. Still, cinema is about history, and history should never be ignored simply because the picture doesn't look as good as we'd like. THE STRANGE LOVE OF MARTHA IVERS continues to prove what a domineering presence Barbara Stanwyk was on screen. In fact, when I think of women who had a natural talent for keeping men under their spell and authority, Stanwyk is often the first to come to mind (hell, she might have made a great dominatrix, if that was her thing!). Kirk Douglas, even as he played a weak and immoral, little weasel, was off to a great start to his long and distinguished career (because we all gotta start somewhere!).

Favorite line or dialogue:

Martha Ivers: "It would have been so different if you hadn't run away. It would have been you instead of Walter. Or if you had stopped me. When I lifted the cane, why didn't you stop me? You know how much I hated her! Why didn't you stop me?"
Sam Masterson: "I wasn't there, Martha."
Martha: "And then I stood there after it was over...you... you weren't there?"
Sam: "No, Martha. I wasn't there. I left when your aunt came into the hallway. I didn't want to stick around. I was in enough trouble as it was. I never saw what happened. I never knew until tonight about your aunt or that man...the one they hung...the man that you and Walter killed."