Noir City no. 1: Opening Night

"If she's your sister then I'm a boa constrictor in heels."
Shelley Winters, Larceny (1948)

I could compose this post purely of quotes from Larceny, the second feature to kick off Noir City 8, and not only would it be completely, satisfyingly entertaining, but better than any review I could come up with. Sadly, I was too caught up in the savvy screenwriting to grab a pen and paper, and, even more sadly, this film is not available on DVD to hear those brilliant wisecracks again. You will just have to take my word for it, and base my fervent proclomation that this is one of the funnest smack talking noirs I've ever seen on the quote above. (And the fact that Shelley Winters plays said smack-talking dame.)

Now that the festival has officially ended I can safely say this double bill was one of my favorites. I'm not saying these were superbly made films, or on par with classics like Pickup on South Street (1953) or The Big Heat (1953) [what a fabulous year], but they were fun, intriguing, typically noirish in some ways and unconventionally noirish in others, and they were an excellent pairing. Kudos to the programmer on this one.

I admit I was a bit suspicious of Lizabeth Scott playing the good girl for a change (she's just too good in Dead Reckoning (1947). But I was both mistaken and surprised by her convincing subtlety. She and Powell had wonderful chemistry, and Jane Wyatt and Raymond Burr (in an appropriately creepy early role) were strong supporting characters. I'm anxious to discover more Andre de Toth films as his handling of noirish and adulterous themes was both refreshing and well thought out. This is a film that has aged incredibly well; you could tell by the lack of giggles and titters from the audience.

Larceny, on the other hand, was so full of corner-of-the-mouth dialogue you couldn't help but completely let go and enjoy yourself. This was a great pairing, and a fantastic opening night.

Jean Simmons 1929-2010

Play time with Tati.

The first time I saw this film I couldn't wait to see it again, and before I knew it 7 years went by. Recently, it came to my hometown and was as fresh and wonderful as I remembered. Tati's creation of a sterile, cold and ultra-modern Paris nearly bankrupted him, but I like to think he felt it was worth it. The enormous set presents a conformist, industrial vision of the City of Light devoid of any originality or creativity. Office workers sit in boxes within boxes, all in perfectly aligned rows, the janitor stares blankly at immaculately clean floors, and families live in fully exposed apartments that more closely resemble shop windows than homes. It's a wonderful poke at the modern world and technology posing as progress. Play Time (1967) also happens to contain one of the best party scenes on film (think Holly Golightly's soiree x 10) and is delightfully brightened by Tati's popular character Monsieur Hulot--bumbling and struggling to make sense of it all. In the end, Tati leaves us with a congregation of buses and cars trapped in a roundabout. With nowhere to go they circle round and round and round.

Noir City 2010

For months I have been telling myself I would write a new post soon. There's been no shortage of new or repeated screenings worth talking about; namely Ball of Fire (1941), Letter From an Unknown Woman (1948), and Notorious (1946)--the latter at the gorgeous Castro Theatre. Today I was shocked to realize this inner dialogue has been going on, ignored, for almost a year, and while I don't have the time or energy to try to recall the freshness of previous viewings I feel like if I don't post something now, right this second, heavy make-up wearing Germans might be done for. So this post is designed to give me a little kick in the butt, albeit a kick of motivation, and let myself and any of you lurking readers out there (who every blogger fantasizes are there) know that I intend to give more dedication to this thing called blogging. The fabulous poster above should give you a hint as to what's to come in the next few weeks.

Greta Garbo.

"Your joys and sorrows. You can never tell them. You cheapen the inside of yourself if you do tell them." Greta Garbo

WARNING: A long post follows. I will not be held responsible.

To anyone slightly familiar with the Swedish superstar's career and/or legacy, the name emits mystery, seclusion, and sadness. There have been enough books and essays dissecting this woman to fill a library. Some claim to have "solved the mystery", some honestly admit she still remains one. "I want to be alone" is a popular quote tied to the actress, a statement that has become almost as famous as Garbo herself, but at some point it was revealed to be nothing more than a simple phrase she whispered in Grand Hotel (1932). As Garbo herself cleared up, "I never said 'I want to be alone.' I only said 'I want to be left alone.' There is all the difference."

She came to America as a young girl, most likely swept away by the cameras, the flowers, the compliments. But there I go making quick assumptions like everyone else, pretending to understand her. In the silent era, she quickly became typecast as the femme fatale, albeit a new kind of femme fatale. The modern femme fatale. The femme fatale we watched develop into a femme fatale. The femme fatale with a broken heart. For most of these films she played opposite John Gilbert, a major star, also known as "the great lover", who had enough swooning fans to rival Valentino. Maybe their romance was inevitable. After several proposals she finally agreed, the date was set, and Gilbert waited at the altar for a bride who never came. There are no definite answers when it comes to Garbo, no easy conclusions, though it has been said by some that the love of her life was the poet and playwright Mercedes de Acosta, who allegedly had affairs with both Marlene Dietrich and Tallulah Bankhead (much later she played Belle Watling in Gone with the Wind (1939)).

When "the talkies" hit, Garbo's husky accent shot her even further to the top, and her first sound film, Anna Christie (the English version released in 1930, the German in 1931) cemented the star status that would stick with her the rest of her life. Publicized as "Garbo Talks!", imagine the audience, leaning forward in suspense, waiting for those first words. "Give me a whiskey, ginger ale on the side. And don't be stingy, baby." Gilbert, unfortunately, wasn't so lucky, and his rather high-pitched voice literally ruined his career, leaving behind nothing but a merciless, snickering audience. He eventually became an alcoholic, but before he died at the age of 36, Garbo had enough star power to insist he play opposite her in Queen Christina (1933).

Like any old biopic, the film may be dated at times, but it hardly detracts from the sheer beauty of the cinematography, the gorgeous, crisp, film noir-like lighting, and the acting. Garbo's acting--which, unashamedly and enchantingly, relies heavily on her stunning face. The role of Sweden's androgynous, 17th century queen, who started her reign at the age of 6 and abdicated the throne at 28, was one Garbo fought to play on screen, and you can tell she savored every moment of it. The well-known scene where she memorizes the room she and her lover first spent the night in, touching objects in silence and consuming a vine of grapes, is enough to insist you see this film. As does the film's famous last frame, analyzed almost to death by scholars and critics, in which Garbo was allegedly directed to think of nothing, to remain a blank slate.

After the comedic success of 1939's Ninotchka, publicized as, you guessed it, "Garbo Laughs!", and co-starring Gilbert's ex and widow, Ina Claire, Garbo starred in the god awful Two-Faced Woman (1941)--a sad attempt to reproduce Ninotchka's success--before eventually withdrawing into secluded retirement amidst New York City's crowded streets. In her later years lucky fans and photographers caught her briskly walking through the park in sunglasses and a pulled down hat. She quietly died in 1990 of pneumonia and kidney failure. Almost 20 years later, after all this time, she still refuses to be categorized or understood, and for whatever reason, I admire that.

If you're interested in Garbo's films, here are a few recommendations:
Flesh and the Devil (1926)
Anna Christie (1930)
Grand Hotel (1932) -----> As much for the all-star cast and glossy sets as for Garbo's pouty ballerina.
Queen Christina (1933)
Camille (1937) ------> Perhaps her most famous film.
Ninotchka (1939) -----> Directed by one of the screwball greats, Ernst Lubitsch.

And if you have any interest in learning more about Greta Garbo, I highly recommend the fascinating biography, simply titled "Garbo", by Barry Paris.

An Onyx in the Rough

“There's nothing funny about a clown in the moonlight.” Lon Chaney

Unleashed from the bizarre mind of Tod Browning, who later crawled under the skin with the cult classics Dracula (1931) and Freaks (1932), The Unknown (1927) is a grotesque, morbid, and, appropriately, little known onyx of a tale. A gem that favors the darker, edgier crevices of attraction rather than beauty’s plush satin comforts. This film crept up on me. It was one of those old-movie-lover late nights when you expect nothing and let go of any reservations or favoritism. You’re up for anything TCM will give you at such a late hour. The credits start rolling: Lon Chaney, Joan Crawford. You sit up, suddenly more attentive, but have no idea what you’re in for, no suspicion of what weird images lurk around the corner. And they do lurk.

Chaney, the one and only “Man of a Thousand Faces”, plays Alonzo the Armless, whose popular act entails throwing knives with his feet around the carnival owner's daughter, Nanon. He is also madly in love with her. Beautiful Nanon (a fresh faced Joan Crawford before make-up completely concealed her freckles) hardly fits in with the physical deformities surrounding her, but her bizarre and unexplained phobia of men's hands gives Alonzo an obvious advantage, and the circus strongman, Nanon's other suitor, a clear disadvantage.

When it is soon revealed that Alonzo actually owns a very able and healthy pair of arms, complete with attached man hands, the story plunges into a black hole of obsession, murder, and gruesome consequences. It's not until you remember this was pre-Production Code that its shocking developments seem possible. And then you know anything goes; the safety net is gone. This is a weird one, to be sure. Wonderfully weird. The story is one I doubt Hollywood could resist stuffing into a formulaic horror genre, or submitting to the same fate--hasty oblivion--as the similarly cliché-bound remakes of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and Dial M for Murder (re-titled A Perfect Murder in 1998). This is a film that needs black and white, that needs silence, and that can't be overdone with sentimental whims or bloody carnage. It is also a film that reveals these things can work--subtlety and control--and it's a pity modern Hollywood doesn't recognize that more often.

I love this film because it's weird, because Lon Chaney is always remarkable, and because it does things I've never seen done before. It may not be a film that is instantly thought of as one of either Chaney's or Browning's crowning achievements (perhaps forever stuck in the shadow of The Phantom of the Opera (1925) and Freaks) but that seems almost as it should be. It's like a hidden secret you're delighted to be a part of. And an old secret--one that was around long before the horror genre cut its celluloid teeth, and long before the fully morphed serial killers and monsters under the bed. It hovers like a dark foreshadowing of what awaits us. And it's not pretty. It's deliciously sinister.

The Joker's Origins

Batman creator Bob Kane used Conrad Veidt's [The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920), Casablanca (1942)] portrayal in The Man Who Laughs (1928) as inspiration for The Joker. Veidt plays Gwynplaine who, as a young boy, has a permanent smile carved on his face by the King. Unfortunately, there are no superheroes to put things right.

A comment made by another blogger has made me want to add to this post. He mentions the decline of importance and respect that old films previously held with audiences, students, and art houses. He questions that the day when cinema's origins were deemed relevant and noteworthy may have passed. I mean what, really, is the benefit of knowing where one of Batman's most famous villains came from? Other than generating a nod of the head and a "Huh, that's interesting", what good is it? I don't know, but I like knowing it. It adds a depth and past to the character. He becomes an extension and new interpretation of a great idea, and proves that, if nothing else, looking back at what's been done before can trigger and encourage a new stomping ground of creativity and imagination.