29 Apr 2012
by Catherine
in List, To See
Tags: 1940's, 1940's film, Film, Film Noir, List, movies, To See

I’m embarking on decades throughout the year; I am currently making my way through the 1940′s. At first I was sad to leave the 1930′s; too sad. I went into the 40′s resenting them, a patently ridiculous sentiment. Quickly though, my hesitancy washed away. Of the films I have watched so far, a handful of them would already be placed among my admittedly large group of all-time favorites. I tried to narrow the list down to 20 but this never seems to work. So I’m watching as many of these as I can before mid-May. I did the 20′s and 30′s earlier this year watching from each about 15 and 35 films respectively. I won’t be able to make it through all of these but I hope to keep this as a reference guide. I feel like I’m pretty well-viewed, especially for being 24, so if a film does not appear it may be because I’ve seen it already.I have a 70-page Word Document chronologically chronicling every film I have ever seen (this was a huge project for a while) and I have seen roughly 120 films from the 1940′s
I have no idea what will happen when I get to the 70′s and 80′s, two decades I’ve seen a lot from, but comparatively speaking to how much there is, I haven’t even scratched the surface from those s in particular.
Note: I had a lot of amazing help on this list from Andreas from Pussy Goes Grrr. She was kind enough to make a post for me in which she brought together five ‘obscure-ish’ films from each year that were recommendations from her to everyone. Luckily I had only seen a little over 10 of them. Her picks were a wonderful combination of films that were either on my brainstorm list (that she had seen and recommended them provided further incentive to see them) or were films I had not heard of and was delighted to come across. http://pussygoesgrrr.com/2012/04/10/obscure-ish-movies-of-the-1940s/
The goal here was to have a mix of well-known canon films and obscurities or at the very least films that may not be universally known amongst film buffs.
So here is the list. In bold are the films I have watched since making the list. Please comment and tell me which ones I would be crazy not to miss; I will not have time to watch all of these in a mere 3 weeks!
Whisky Galore!
The Man in Grey
They Live by Night
The Man Who Came to Dinner
Night Train to Munich
The Thief of Bagdad
City for Conquest
The Flame of New Orleans
Man Hunt
Moontide
Kings Row
Day of Wrath
The More the Merrier
Henry V
National Velvet
The Children Are Watching Us
The Lodger
Green for Danger
No Regrets for Our Youth
The Red House
Lured
Pursued
Thieves Highway
The Seventh Veil
The Small Back Room
Oliver Twist
Act of Violence
Blood of the Beasts
On the Town
Shoeshine
La Terra Trema
Tales of Manhattan
Miracle on 34th Street
The Strange Love of Martha Ivers
Foreign Correspondent
Ivan the Terrible Part I
Dark Passage
Odd Man Out
Meet John Doe
Cabin in the Sky
The Clock
The Woman in the Window
The Strange Affair of Uncle Harry
Crossfire
Secret Beyond the Door…
A Canterbury Tale
Brighton Rock
The Secret Life of Walter Mitty
The Shanghai Gesture
The Suspect
My Favorite Wife
The Set-Up
The Devil and Daniel Webster
Criss Cross
The Big Clock
The Wolf Man
The Dark Mirror
The 49th Parallel
And Then There Were None
Pride of the Yankees
Spring in a Small Town
Stray Dog
Drunken Angel
The 47 Ronin
Meshes of the Afternoon
Listen to Britain
Fires Were Started
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15 Apr 2012
by Catherine
in 2012, Film Review, Short Review
Tags: 2012, Cabin in the Woods, Drew Goddard, Film, Horror, Joss Whedon, Meta, movies, Review, Slasher

IMDB Summary: Five friends go for a break at a remote cabin in the woods, where they get more than they bargained for. Together, they must discover the truth behind the cabin in the woods.
Drew Goddard and Joss Whedon clearly have a love-hate relationship with horror. In Cabin in the Woods, affection for clichés and tropes linger even as it lambasts every last one of said formulas. They get that when characters make bad decisions, it never feels organic. The genre forcefully places stupidity and bad judgment onto placeholder characters that are trapped in an unoriginal scenario that never derails off-course.
Nowhere is this more prevalent than in the slasher film, the most repetitive of horror subgenres. In recent years, a push towards meta-horror has already outstayed its welcome, despite several worthy entries. This is mainly because meta-horror rarely goes beyond exclamations of ‘hey we’re being self-referential, get it? Wink wink!’ Cabin in the Woods takes things into uncharted territory.
But to simply label Cabin in the Woods as meta is reductive. The film works on several different levels, fully committing to its ideas with an admirable audacity. It carries a fondness for its underdeveloped characters; an immediate deviation from the norm. It refuses to conform; every time you think it has, director/writer Goddard and producer/writer Whedon have another trick up their sleeves. Every cliché it takes on serves the film’s larger purpose. It places an additional layer of onlookers/stakeholders who are central to the story (Richard Jenkins, Bradley Whitford, and the incomparable Amy Acker) between us and the victims, forcing the audience to dissect how we interact with horror films and what we really get out of them. It does all of this without the false sense of superiority Michael Haneke insists on seeping into every frame of Funny Games (love the director though I do). Goddard and Whedon fully implicate themselves into the genuine curiosities the film ponders.
Is it self-congratulatory? Of course it is. Is it scary? Not really. However, neither of these minor quibbles can detract from the whole. It is almost mind-boggling to think what Cabin in the Woods accomplishes in a tightly-packaged 95 minutes. Goddard and Whedon are freakishly on-point every step of the way.
Cabin in the Woods sounds like a fictionalized essay; but it manages to deconstruct an entire genre while being one of the funniest, entertaining and genuinely involving films to come around in quite some time. And it manages to go into surprisingly off-the-wall directions to boot. It is surreal to have finally seen this after years of anticipation stemming from the three-year gap between filming and release. I am happy to say that Cabin in the Woods was worth the wait.
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11 Apr 2012
by Catherine
in 2012, List
Tags: 1971, adaptation, Based on a Book, Charlie Bucket, Fantasy, Film, Gene Wilder, Grandpa Joe, Jack Albertson, List, movies, Peter Ostrum, Roald Dahl, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory
An unexpected installment this week. I found myself incapable of summing up my thoughts about these characters in a few paragraphs. So here is a whole host of rambling nonsense that hopefully sums up how I feel about these folks. I am also convinced that this post may prove as evidence of my insanity.
The next installment will cover the 1970′s and 1980′s.
Charlie Bucket, Grandpa Joe and the Entire Bucket Family (yes, even the bedridden grandparents) – Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (1971)
On the surface, Charlie Bucket sounds like a poster child for generosity, innocence and honesty. Sometimes casting and performance can muddle up the transfer from page to screen. This is exactly what happened with Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. The Charlie Bucket of the Roald Dahl book and vastly inferior 2005 Tim Burton film convey the proper Dickensian poverty-stricken empathy. This kid deserves the best there is; what a selfless creature! A bad performance has the power to make even the noblest characteristics seem like a pile of overreaching piety and incessant defeatism. Ladies and gentlemen; Peter Ostrum:

It is not a coincidence that Charlie Bucket was Peter Ostrum’s only performance. He left acting at a very early age and rightly so. Nobody can call this performance good. It is a catastrophe. Overly strained and entirely one-note, Ostrum inspires a special kind of irrational hatred. Case in point; the amount of time I have spent rolling my eyes at innocuous lines like “It’s payday Mr. Jopeck” proves Ostrum’s ability to annoy with even the simplest of dialogue. It also proves that I may be a little insane.
Then we have Grandpa Joe; a source of never-give-up enthusiasm. He always believes in Charlie and in his heart knows he will go places and rise above the cards he has been dealt. He is always looking out for his grandson and encouraging him to never give up. An incident of miscasting takes all of these lovely traits and spits them out as across-the-board selfishness. What a flibbertigibbet wackadoo, and I do not mean that as a compliment. At one point he says “If she’s a lady, then I’m a Vermicious Knid”. No Grandpa Joe; that would be an insult to Vermicious Knids. Ladies and gentlemen; Jack Albertson:

Jack Albertson is a fine actor, but his portrayal never roused my sense of spirit. The man stays bedridden for decades, even though Charlie and his mother are left to scramble together any scraps of pittance pay in order to stay in their broken-down abode. Yet when Charlie wins the Golden Ticket, he is suddenly able to stumble out of bed? By the end of “I’ve Got a Golden Ticket”, Grandpa Joe is jumping and springing and leaping around like a total asshole, not to mention showing off way more Grandpa Joe leg than I never needed to see:

Way to prioritize. Apparently a desperately impoverished family is not enough to get your ass out of bed, but a visit to a freaking chocolate factory is? How can I like someone this selfish? Grandpa Joe is clearly supposed to be quite flawed yet ultimately endearing; but he isn’t here. The lyrics to the song do not generate sympathy; he sounds like a person who gave up on life very early on, and is now using Charlie’s ticket to give himself an entirely falsified sense of purpose. But that’s just me.
In case it is not clear at this point, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory is completely engrained in me. The thing practically runs through my veins. Some films you see enough times to carve out an individualized connection with it. What makes my relationship with this film so distinctive (in comparison to my relationship with the other films I love), is the dissonance between what I get out of watching it. The second half of this film, which sees Gene Wilder take center stage, is legitimately great. In fact, there is no performance I cherish more than Wilder’s work here. Yet the first half is wildly uneven as it sets up Charlie’s woeful predicament and his unlikely journey to the gates of Willy Wonka’s factory.
On the one hand, the slightly absurdist scenes depicting how far adults will go to find the tickets are one-minute nuggets of darkly comedic gold. The frenzy that the Golden Ticket fiasco ensues is supposed to be funny; except when it comes to Charlie. Charlie and his decrepit bunch of relatives are supposed to be taken seriously. They live in a hole of their own self-perpetuating misery entirely outside the comedy going on around them. Between the sad attempts to play this storyline completely straight, and the bad casting and execution, everything involving the Bucket family becomes unintentionally funny.
Charlie’s mother swishing around nondescript blue sheets in dirty water with a big wooden paddle: hilarious. Charlie being derided by his teacher and classmates because a Wonka-related math problem forces him to announce he has only opened two chocolate bars: hilarious. Charlie silently sobbing in his bed after hearing news of the soon-to-be-revealed fraudulent fifth ticket: hilarious. Remember when Charlie pitifully tricks his family into thinking he got a Golden Ticket in his birthday chocolate bar, only to say – “Fooled you didn’t I? You thought I really had it” (yeah Charlie; you showed them), with that always-present expression of his that suggests his dog was just hit by a car? That scene makes me laugh harder than most comedies.
It would be entirely possible for me to do a list of least favorite Charlie Bucket expressions. They would all be variations of the same thing. I could do this; but even I have my limits. But here’s a sampling:




There are certain lines of dialogue that are so overly saccharine and self-deprecating, how is anyone supposed to do anything but laugh?
Charlie: [to Grandpa Joe, after opening the Wonka bar they think has the last Golden Ticket in it] “You know… I’ll bet those Golden Tickets make the chocolate taste terrible.”
Charlie’s Mom: (about a loaf of bread) “A real banquet”
Grandpa Joe: “When a loaf of bread looks like a banquet, I’ve no right buying tobacco.”
The above is pretty much the representative example of Grandpa Joe’s selfishness. You know what? You are right; you have no right buying tobacco. He is all talk and no action. His words mean nothing.
To this day, I skip the “Cheer Up Charlie” scene. Leave it to Charlie Bucket to be the subject of quite possibly the worst song in a musical.
“You get blue like everyone
But me and Grandpa Joe
Can make your troubles go away
Blow away, there they go…”
Someone get me a paper bag to hurl into.
When they gulp down the Fizzy Lifting Drinks, I always hope the fan annihilates them, but this unsurprisingly never takes place.
As I mentioned earlier, their so-called saintly characteristics have the opposite effect; they are either funny or infuriating or both. Here is an onslaught of examples (I have so many things to say, I have resorted to bullet points):
“The Candy Man” song features Bill freely tossing out candy to a crowd of children. The song ends and the camera cuts to this face:

Seriously? Charlie; he was literally throwing candy to all the children. You could have walked in and joined the party, but no. That would be Un-Bucket-like of him. The film’s first shot of Charlie shows him as he will appear throughout the entire film; with his trademarked sulky ‘my dog just died’ face.
-Grandpa Joe trying to give Charlie supposedly false hope feels needlessly cruel as opposed to well-meaning.
- Why does Charlie choose Grandpa Joe as his guest to the factory? I realize he is the clear favorite of the bunch…but surely Charlie’s long-suffering and hard-working mother deserves it by default.
- Grandpa Joe’s seemingly throwaway line during “I’ve Got a Golden Ticket” in which he exclaims, “It’s ours Charlie” is maddening. Way to steal the thunder Joe. Last time I checked, it was Charlie’s ticket. You’re just along for the ride.
- When Willy Wonka walks out with his slow limp, everyone seems disappointed, including Charlie and Grandpa Joe. Really? He is limping people. Are Charlie and Grandpa Joe really that shallow? Of course they are.
The climactic verbal throwdown that takes place is what takes the cake for me. It is separate from the rest, which I have mostly turned into a mock-fest across time. To this day, the end of the film never fails to piss me off. Charlie and Grandpa Joe are incapable of taking the blame for what they have done. They knowingly broke the rules with the Fizzy-Lifting Drinks and at no point do they apologize for their sorry excuse for a mishap. Wonka understandably yells at them, letting them know that yes, their random absence from the group did not go unnoticed and uninvestigated. That gaping silence where Grandpa Joe’s incessant quips usually are was probably the tip-off.
Grandpa Joe then unleashes an undeservedly moralistic speech about crushing a boy’s dreams and smashing them to pieces. He is really overcompensating for his own fault in the entire situation, but somehow this is supposed to be seen as an old man heroically taking a stand for his grandson. Charlie in the meantime, crushed and oozing ‘my dog just died’ face seems disappointed in Wonka the man. Really? Think this through Charlie. I know you have no brain cells and that all your energy is spent moping, but surely you are capable of seeing the situation for what it is? Grandpa Joe is the one that goaded you into taking a sip. If something had happened, Wonka would be held responsible and his life’s work would be down the drain in an instant. They signed a contract! But no; Charlie only has enough energy to mope on over to return the damn Everlasting Gobstopper, a cheap reverse psychology ploy that Wonka falls for.
My hatred for Charlie, Grandpa Joe and the rest of the Buckets has become a major factor in what I get out of this film. I love hating them. I have seen Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory so many times that an evolution has taken place over two decades. A comforting familiarity has surrounded the film, and that includes my loathing for half the cast. Making fun of these characters has become almost a pastime over the years. Time and time again watching it with various family members has turned into a collective mocking of line deliveries, gawking at how unbearable these fucking characters really are.
The irrational hatred I have for these characters does not ruin Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory; far from it. In fact the opposite is true; it has become entirely essential to my viewing experience.
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05 Apr 2012
by Catherine
in 2012, List, Uncategorized
Tags: 1940, 1940's, 1946, 1950's, 1955, 1960's, 1961, 1962, 1964, 1967, Alfred Hitchcock, Animated Film, Animation, Based on a Play, Bonnie and Clyde, Carnival of Souls, Comedy, Disney, Estelle Parsons, Film, Horror, It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World, It's a Wonderful Life, Judith O'Dea, List, movies, Musical, Night of the Living Dead, Pinocchio, Shadow of a Doubt, Sidney Berger, Teresa Wright, The Seven Year Itch, Thomas Mitchell, Tom Ewell, Walt Disney, West Side Story, zombies
Have you ever watched a film and found yourself thinking “My God, but that character is getting on my nerves”, when said character is not necessarily meant to? There are plenty of onscreen characters throughout the years who are meant to be vexing or obnoxious. But at what point does that frustration transform into something a little more intense?
What do I mean by intense? Here are two possible definitions. First is that the hatred extends far past what is meant to be felt, becoming a somewhat preposterous fixation. The second is that the ‘irrational hatred’ for the character overflows to the point where you begin feeling adverse effects to the entire film itself.
Of course, these are more extreme side effects of the topic in question. For one thing, there are plenty of characters on this list that get on my nerves, but have never jeopardized my willingness to rewatch the film they are part of. For another thing, some of the characters on this list are supposed to get on your nerves; to a point. When you cannot move past it, when it grates on you beyond normalized reason, then it counts for this list, whether one is supposed to be annoyed by the character or not.
Something else to note; it does not have to be the character. In fact, many of the lists inclusions irritate me because of the performances attached to the character.
This is not the type of list I see around too much and so I thought it would be a fun and harmless road down which to venture. I like these kinds of lists that really have nothing to do with being the end-all be-all of anything, and focus more on ones personalized relationship with a variety of films. And anyone that reads this blog with any regularity knows I favor embracing the subjectivity of lists and somewhat resent (at least for myself) any attempts for a list to speak for anyone but myself.
The idea for this list came about from reminiscing about Apollo 13. In a management class for my graduate school classes for Library Science, we watched a few clips from the film. We had to discuss the various methods of group collaboration taking place and insert all the terminology we had been discussing about teams and groups into examples from the scenes (most featuring Ed Harris). I had been thinking about how much I truly like Apollo 13, and was lamenting about how long it had been since I watched it.
I then started to think about the one glaring downside to that film; Kathleen Quinlan. I flat-out do not like Kathleen Quinlan in this film. I realize that she was stuck with the obligatory ‘wife’ role and that it’s a pretty thankless part (although not thankless enough; she was nominated for an Oscar). There are a lot of similar thankless roles that actresses get saddled with, but none really got on my nerves the way she did. My memory recalls one worried facial expression throughout, and distractingly garish late 60’s/early 70’s wardrobe and makeup. At a certain point the negative feelings I have become inexplicable.
And thus the idea for this list was born.
There are some questionable choices here; I realize this. Some of the irrationality can be argued. I have a few characters on here where my reactions could be argued as being completely rational.
There were many that came to my head and I decided not to put them on. I felt either that my feelings were entirely too justified or that too many people hate the character for it to really feel ‘irrational’. How can it feel ‘irrational’ if so many others hate them as well? So no Jar-Jar Binks will be found here.
I hope everyone enjoyed the first installment of “Film Characters I Have an Irrational Hatred Towards”. It is now time for installment to, which will be covering three decades; the 1940’s, 1950’s and 1960’s. I wish I were able to come up with more for this 30 year span but alas.
Someone I decided not to put here is Mickey Rooney in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. The reason for this is, though I physically am unable to watch his scenes, I feel entirely justified in my hating him. I don’t find it to be irrational. I think we can all agree that performance is as bad and offensive as it gets.
What would you have put for these decades? Hopefully you can come with more than I was able to.

Pinocchio – voiced by Dickie Jones - Pinocchio (1940)
This installment kicks off with another major Disney character. I have a stronger fondness for this film than I do for Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. It attains a majestic quality at points and its certainly one of Disney’s most beautiful pieces of animation. Pinocchio is a naive wooden being; he does not have any life experience to guide him. He is a child, a selfish and foolish wooden child, who gets himself into a host of perilous situations.
Overcoming this selfishness and naiveté is embedded in the parable of this story. The journey is about him overcoming this near-fatal flaw. Still though; it is difficult to get past just how idiotic Pinocchio can be. His shockingly devil-may-care attitude is pretty staggering for someone who has only been in existence for a mere day.
The reasonable part of my brain keeps saying “but Pinocchio has no idea how the world works”. And the sillier, far too heavily involved part of my brain says “with the equally bothersome Jiminy Cricket at his side he has no excuse. Screw him; I hope he ends up a donkey slave”. It’s a bad sign when you want a cherubic character like Pinocchio to get his comeuppance.

Charlie – Teresa Wright – Shadow of a Doubt (1943)
Over the years I never had a problem with Teresa Wright as Charlie. I thought her character was relatable and refreshing; a bored small-town girl who is just waiting for something exciting to happen.
The last time I watched it her incessant enthusiasm and refusal to see a situation for what it is got on my nerves. She is far too happy in the beginning and far too stubborn in the end. She plays these two emotions in every single scene and uses restlessness as a go-between throughout. And I realize how unreasonable it is to expect Charlie to see the situation for what it is. We as the audience have the advantage of omniscience.
I don’t hate Charlie; but as I get older, I just don’t like her very much. She strikes a high-pitched note that gets a little too under the skin. Every time she says “Uncle Charlie” all I hear are nails on a chalkboard.

Uncle Billy – Thomas Mitchell – It’s a Wonderful Life (1946)
Is there a bigger snafu than Uncle Billy’s misplacement of $8,000 in It’s a Wonderful Life?
It was an honest mistake. The guilt Billy feels as a result turns him into a far more tragic figure than George Bailey at his worst. In the end, it all turns out all right. We can forgive Uncle Billy right? Wrong.
Why anyone would ever trust Uncle Billy with that much money is beyond me. In a sense this whole thing is George’s fault too. Yet Uncle Billy will always remain an irrational source of aggravation for me. His nonexistent ability to keep track of large sums of money effects how I see him from the get-go. Uncle Billy and his stupid goddamn crows are the pits.
I don’t know how many times I have seen It’s a Wonderful Life; lots. One would think my fury would die down, but no. It doesn’t. Not even close. The tradition of watching Capra’s masterpiece every Christmas season is coupled with yearly shouting matches I have with myself. Without fail I always end up hurling insults at a lit-up box that projects Uncle Billy’s dimwittedness. Without fail I always end up shaking my head in shame, smacking my hand to my forehead mumbling “He’s so fucking stupid. Why is he so fucking stupid?”
It is safe to say my feelings got out of hand long ago.
Uncle Billy is cinema’s biggest hooplehead.

Richard Sherman – Tom Ewell – The Seven Year Itch (1955)
Tom Ewell gets the distinction of playing the only character from the 1950′s to appear on this list. Sad isn’t it? But just look at that face. Ew. Ew. Ew.
Part of it is that I rather superficially don’t like his face. He has that vibe that suggests he belongs on a 1960’s sitcom destined to forever be accompanied by a laugh track. His performance, which is admittedly good, is shadowed by his experiences performing the role on stage. He plays the part as if for a live audience, hence the laugh track vibe. The incessant ongoing monologue isn’t exactly endearing either.
He belongs to a class of bumbling overzealous male characters. His character and Ewell’s performance are exactly what they are meant to be; but that does not mean I have to like him.

The Jets – played by various - West Side Story (1961)
It was a long time ago when I realized I side with the Sharks in West Side Story. There is a sympathetic quality there as well as a laid-back ‘cool’ factor that The Jets lack. The Jets may have the song ‘Cool’ (the film’s best scene and the most exhilarating musical number I have ever seen onscreen), but that song is about harnessing rage and anger and not about actually being cool. Because they aren’t cool; they are lame.
By ‘The Jets’, I mean everyone excluding Riff and ex-Jet Tony. Tony is a massive sap but at least he possesses a modicum of common sense. And Riff is Russ Tamblyn and there will be no hating on Russ Tamblyn.
The ‘Daddio’ speak allows staginess to emerge in their dialogue scenes where every Jet takes turns shouting random words. It is painful.
The gang is really all The Jets have; their downtrodden lives suggest they have little to look forward to in life. I get it. I’m supposed to care. But I don’t. I care about the Sharks.
Action is by far my least favorite Jet or as I like to call him, Matt LeBlanc’s doppelganger.

Did I mention the part where they humiliate and assault Anita? Unforgiveable.

John Linden – Sidney Berger – Carnival of Souls (1962)
Sidney Berger knocks Carnival of Souls down a couple of notches with his insufferably lecherous skeeveball character. He detracts with his presence, taking away from what is otherwise a fabulously unsettling film. It feels like a glaring waste of time to use a subplot to showcase him. Berger is gross, slimy and the definition of obnoxious. I could not figure out the point of him when I first saw it and looking back, I am still perplexed by his presence.

Emeline Marcus-Finch – Dorothy Provine – It’s a Mad Mad Mad Mad World (1964)
There are few films I have seen more than It’s a Mad Mad Mad Mad World, which is odd because it does not represent the kind of comedy I like at all. By all accounts the film’s humor should annoy me but it doesn’t. It is one of my favorite comedies and I can quote it back to front. But Emeline will always be a major thorn in my side.
Emeline is supposed to be the innocent character. She is the poor soul who is dragged on a wild goose chase while everyone around her becomes increasingly obsessive over massive wads of cash. We are supposed to see her as the one uncontaminated character in the ensemble cast.
When you play Ethel Merman’s daughter and you are the more insufferable of the two, you know it’s bad.
Where the film sees unselfishness, I see an unendurable superiority complex. The ensemble cast’s desire for the money is not the problem. The problem is their inability to be reasonable people and come up with a method of equally distributing the money to everyone’s satisfaction. That is their downfall.
Call me unethical, but even though the money belongs with authorities and they have no right to it, I completely sympathize with their initial cause to get the money. Emeline’s haughty disapproval with the whole endeavor shows her as a stick-in-the-mud to the extreme; a nagging, prudish, bitch of a woman who is supposedly the film’s only moral character. If that is what moral looks like, then hand me a shovel so I can go look for the big W.

Blanche – Estelle Parsons – Bonnie and Clyde (1967)
What is unfortunate about this is that I cannot get past her shrillness to appreciate Parsons’ work as a performance. I have no idea if her work here is extraordinary or painfully overdone. Is every beat her acting hits purposeful? Am I supposed to find any redeeming qualities in this person? Should I feel remorse or compassion? I honestly can’t tell. If I am supposed to feel these things I am sorry to say I didn’t.
Parsons falls into the headache-inducing category here. It has been years since watching Bonnie and Clyde, but I remember wanting to jump out the nearest window in regards to Blanche. My hatred for her extends to the point where when I first saw it as a teenager; she became my most hated character in any film I had seen up to that point.

Barbara – Judith O’Dea – Night of the Living Dead (1968)
Showing a more realistic depiction of what would likely happen after a traumatic experience, such as the one Barbara has at the beginning of Night of the Living Dead, may not always be a good call. In the case of Judith O’Dea, she represents the archaic idea that women are useless shrieking creatures who are incapable of action in the face of danger. She bogs down the picture with her frenzied pouting recollections. When Ben slaps her across the face, hitting a woman actually comes a triumphant moment as a viewer, which as a woman is a really depressing confession to make.
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02 Apr 2012
by Catherine
in 2011, CriterionCast, Film Review
Tags: Film, film review, King of Devil's Island, Kongen av Bastøy, Marius Holst, movies, Norway, Prison film, Review, Stellan Skarsgård, Uprising

Originally posted on Criterion Cast April 1st, 2012
There are a considerable number of films featuring adolescents driven to the far reaches of suffering in reform schools, correctional facilities, institutional homes or rigid private schools. At this point, many stock characters have been established; the newcomer who shakes things up, the stern and unwavering headmaster, the martyr and of course the ultra-evil authority figure. All of these and more can be found in King of Devil’s Island, director Marius Holst’s bleak as bleak can be tale of what happens when power goes awry.
Like several others in a similar vein (such as The Magdalene Sisters to name a more recent one), King of Devil’s Island is based on a true story. It depicts Bastøy Island in 1915 Norway, a reformatory secluded from the rest of the world where it housed wayward boys from the ages of eleven to eighteen. The environment is hopelessly desolate and frigid. One can feel the sharp stinging chill of the air while watching. There is no escape. It is frighteningly simple to get shipped to Bastøy; one character is sent for stealing out of a church donation box. Once there, it is exceedingly difficult to obtain release, taking many years. The workload is dire and labor-intensive and they are underfed. The punishment and abuse are dealt out at a moment’s notice and retain the status quo of cruelty expected in films of its kind.
In short, you would not want to find yourself here. But inmate newcomers Erling (Benjamin Helstad) and Ivar (Magnus Langlete) sadly do. Erling, a harpooner who is rumored to have killed, immediately starts plotting an escape plan. Ivar, who is much younger, experiences the worst possible form of welcome by unwittingly attracting the attention of house father Bråthen (Kristoffer Joner). The admission procedures strip them of their clothes and name. They emerge naked in front of their fellow students, part of the nomenclature with their new identities C-16 and C-5.
Bestyreren (Stellen Skarsgard), the school’s governor, is far too resolute in his misguided sense of reform to consider how damaging his methods are. Finally, there is student leader Olav (Trond Nilssen), who emerges as the heart of the film. He is inches away from being released after six arduous years. But as tensions rise, he must question whether or not securing his release is more important than standing up for the injustice he witnesses.
Stories of justified adolescent uprisings are always going to be engaging, to me at least. Marius Holst’s paint-by-numbers film is entirely predictable yet still manages to be a justly moving experience. Holst moves beyond the empathy implicit in the basic storyline, emphasizing the stark environment and the human elements buried deep within the struggle. Almost every frame is entrenched in hollow blues and grays. This may seem an obvious aesthetic choice but, again, Holst moves beyond the obvious with his execution. It is a rich film to look at, but the environment is never glamorized. This is a truly miserable place, and the visuals all support this.
Unfortunately, there is not much room for the actors to wiggle around in their archetypes. Unsurprisingly, Skarsgard manages quite a bit with a character that is so deeply mired in stern self-denial, that the film does not allow him even an honest moment with himself.
It is the child actors though who come through strongest. The governor says early on that at Bastøy “the past and future don’t exist. There is only present”. The film follows this proclamation relatively closely, focusing on the youths roles in the here and now of their predicament. Even without learning much about him, Helstad always makes sure we see Erling’s motivations come from immediate and tacitly sensed injustice.
Trond Nilssen’s Olav lends the film its most humanistic element. He has spent six years adapting to life at Bastøy. He has obeyed and proven a faithful inmate. There is a sort of reliance he has on the way things work at the school. Sure it is brutal and harsh, but if something were truly aghast, appropriate action would be taken; right? Surely he can expect his word, after six loyal years, to be worth something. From the moment we set our sights on Olav, we know where his arc is headed. Nilssen cancels out any negative effects of our awareness; the arc is all in his eyes and he is heartbreaking in the film’s successful through-line.
The strength of Helstad and Nilssen also force the friendship between Olav and Erling into the forefront of the film’s memorable aspects. The final ten minutes are inescapably emotional.
Filled with somber strings and heavy-handed and repetitious symbolism to drive home this grim tale of rebellion, King of Devil’s Island never feels substantial but is never less than entirely involving. When the uprising arrives it is shown as desperate and humanized rage. These kids do not turn into monsters and Holst smartly never allows that to come across. Holst is less interested in what happens when the breaking point is reached and more interested in the journey to that moment. The King of Devil’s Island is about unmonitored hierarchies of power and the disturbing results that can yield from a sharp schism between those in control and the unlucky defenseless.
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31 Mar 2012
by Catherine
in 2012, List
Tags: 1930's Film, 1931, 1932, 1933, 1935, 1936, 1938, A Midsummer Night's Dream, adaptation, Animated Film, Animated Films, Animation, Based on a Novel, Based on a Play, Bringing Up Baby, Characters, Charles Ruggles, City Lights, Disney, Dodsworth, Film, Fredric March, Katharine Hepburn, List, Little Women, Margaret Dumont, Mickey Rooney, movies, Murders in the Zoo, Pre-Code, Ruth Chatterton, Shakespeare, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, The Marx Brothers, The Sign of the Cross, Virginia Cherrill
Have you ever watched a film and found yourself thinking “My God, but that character is getting on my nerves”, when said character is not necessarily meant to? There are plenty of onscreen characters throughout the years who are meant to be vexing or obnoxious. But at what point does that frustration transform into something a little more intense?
What do I mean by intense? Here are two possible definitions. First is that the hatred extends far past what is meant to be felt, becoming a somewhat preposterous fixation. The second is that the ‘irrational hatred’ for the character overflows to the point where you begin feeling adverse effects to the entire film itself.
Of course, these are more extreme side effects of the topic in question. For one thing, there are plenty of characters on this list that get on my nerves, but have never jeopardized my willingness to rewatch the film they are part of. For another thing, some of the characters on this list are supposed to get on your nerves; to a point. When you cannot move past it, when it grates on you beyond normalized reason, then it counts for this list, whether one is supposed to be annoyed by the character or not.
Something else to note; it does not have to be the character. In fact, many of the lists inclusions irritate me because of the performances attached to the character.
This is not the type of list I see around too much and so I thought it would be a fun and harmless road down which to venture. I like these kinds of lists that really have nothing to do with being the end-all be-all of anything, and focus more on ones personalized relationship with a variety of films. And anyone that reads this blog with any regularity knows I favor embracing the subjectivity of lists and somewhat resent (at least for myself) any attempts for a list to speak for anyone but myself.
The idea for this list came about from reminiscing about Apollo 13. In a management class for my graduate school classes for Library Science, we watched a few clips from the film. We had to discuss the various methods of group collaboration taking place and insert all the terminology we had been discussing about teams and groups into examples from the scenes (most featuring Ed Harris). I had been thinking about how much I truly like Apollo 13, and was lamenting about how long it had been since I watched it.
I then started to think about the one glaring downside to that film; Kathleen Quinlan. I flat-out do not like Kathleen Quinlan in this film. I realize that she was stuck with the obligatory ‘wife’ role and that it’s a pretty thankless part (although not thankless enough; she was nominated for an Oscar). There are a lot of similar thankless roles that actresses get saddled with, but none really got on my nerves the way she did. My memory recalls one worried facial expression throughout, and distractingly garish late 60’s/early 70’s wardrobe and makeup. At a certain point the negative feelings I have become inexplicable.
And thus the idea for this list was born.
There are some questionable choices here; I realize this. Some of the irrationality can be argued. I have a few characters on here where my reactions could be argued as being completely rational.
There were many that came to my head and I decided not to put them on. I felt either that my feelings were entirely too justified or that too many people hate the character for it to really feel ‘irrational’. How can it feel ‘irrational’ if so many others hate them as well? So no Jar-Jar Binks will be found here.
I am breaking them up into unordered chronological installments. I happened to have a lot from the 1930’s, but the next installment will cover at least two decades.
Examples of characters that did not make this first portion are Vivien Leigh as Scarlett O’Hara in Gone with the Wind, Margaret Lockwood as Jenny in The Stars Look Down, Walter Huston as ‘Deadlegs’ Flint in Kongo and Norma Shearer as Mary Haines in The Women.
What characters do you have an irrational hatred towards from this or any decade?

Virginia Cherrill – A Blind Girl – City Lights (1931)
A sweet innocent blind girl just trying to make ends meet; what’s not to like? It should be the easiest grab for audience sympathy ever. The Tramp is head over heels for her, and if he is, we must be; right?
City Lights is one of my absolute favorite films. It is near perfect. The only thing that has never worked for me was Cherrill as ‘A Blind Girl’. My investment stems from my emotional stake in The Tramp’s happiness. I care because he cares. I never care for her predicament at face value. Does this make me a heartless bitch? I think not.
To be unashamedly shallow, she looks like a snot; am I wrong? Her supposed innocence feels transparent. It looks like she constantly smells some indistinguishable stink in the air. I would not have been surprised if the film had ended with the shocking twist that she had been playing him for a fool the entire time. When it comes down to it, I just never bought the act she was selling.

Frederic March – Marcus Superbus – The Sign of the Cross (1932)
Is there a more salacious Pre-Code film than the giant hypocrisy that is Cecil B. Demille’s The Sign of the Cross? A film that wants to have its torture orgy-ridden cake and eat it too; this is a must-watch train-wreck oddity of its time. The sheer unabashed indulgence of splendor (it’s well worth seeing if only for the spectacle and the luscious performances of Charles Laughton and Claudette Colbert) and the gall it has to drown itself in false piety is unbelievable.
This false piety is embodied by the Marcuc Superbus character. Fredric March is sorely miscast and forced into tight curls and a constant display of upper thigh. He is also weighted down with unbearably corny dialogue. But it is his ‘arc’ that is intolerable. He immediately falls for Elissa Landi’s Mercia (a devout Christian in the age of Nero) and becomes insistent on seducing her. He pretends to give a shit about the Christian cause, but really thinks it is all a joke. He unsuccessfully humiliates her as he attempts to subject her to an orgy as everyone laughs at her purity. Then in the final minutes, he joins her in death because he loves her? Huh?
I repeat; huh? It is unbelievably soapy, unearned and outright dull. But somehow through it all, March’s character frustrated me more than the bad writing, dry religious goings-on and hypocrisy. Never for one second does it make sense that he would fall for Mercia when he had Claudette Colbert (and her milk-bath soaked breasts) lusting after him. He is a douchebag cad throughout and March’s performance is just plain bad; as in, one of the worst I have ever seen.

Charles Ruggles – Peter Yates – Murders in the Zoo (1933)
Does anybody really like Charles Ruggles? Has anyone ever uttered the words “I am a Charles Ruggles fan?” I can guarantee you will never hear those words from my lips. Ruggles was a go-to character actor of the time. His general persona was that of a befuddled stuttering man who would often get tangled-up in his own words while transparently putting on airs. He happens to have a supporting role in my favorite film Bringing Up Baby. I can usually tolerate him. Not in Murders in the Zoo, which I watched last year while covering all my bases for my Pre-Code Horror list.
From my write-up on “Pre-Code Horror: The 9 Films that Didn’t Make the Cut”: “Murders in the Zoo is brought down by none other than…Charles Ruggles….lots of Charles Ruggles. Ruggles gets the confounding honor of top-billing instead of Lionel Atwill. He plays a public relations type who gets to do his stuttering imbecilic fool act for what feels like eternity and what is actually a significant chunk of a film with a runtime of just over an hour.”
That pretty much sums it up. It is a performance that an active chore to sit through. While a lot of these performances and characters grate on me in ways far beyond what they should, there are few that reach this level of aggravation.

Katharine Hepburn – Jo March – Little Women (1933)
Don’t get me wrong; I love Katharine Hepburn. Part of me can admit that most of this entry is personal bias. I was born in 1987. In 1994, Gillian Armstrong’s Little Women was released and I distinctly remember seeing it in theaters at age seven. It had a deep and indescribable effect on me and continues to today; it would rank in my top five favorite films of all time. You see, to me, Winona Ryder is Jo March. Her portrayal remains one of my most cherished performances and characters. So to see Hepburn in this role was something that put me immediately on the defensive.
Clearly I realize this is unreasonable behavior. Normally I have no problem accepting the basic fact of life that beloved novels will have multiple adaptations. Different character depictions and interpretations deserve to be taken as separate entities even if (and when) comparisons inevitably come into play. Normally I can realize basic rationalities such as this; but not with Jo March. Winona Ryder is Jo March. I become a petulant child when it comes to my feelings on this.
Katharine Hepburn as Jo March can be a tad grating at times to say the least. It feels too easy, despite being a great idea in theory. They share spunk and drive and an everlasting search for the deeper meanings of life. In practice though, Katharine Hepburn as Jo March feels a bit like Katharine Hepburn as Katharine Hepburn. I said it twice and I will say it one last time; Winona Ryder is and will always be my Jo March.

Margaret Dumont – Various Characters – Any and all Marx Brothers films
Blasphemy you say? Well, I cannot help it. But she is like the fifth Marx Brother! Essential to the ensemble! She had an undervalued and difficult job! All true.
The simple truth of it is that I cannot stand her. Yet my eyes always helplessly drift towards her as the jokes land. Not because I am in Dumont-loving denial; it is merely the masochist in me. Her reactions never fail to have the same effect; I take a deep breath so as to not lose my cool over performances given over 70 years ago.
I realize that there is only so much variety to be had when your job is to be the butt of jokes across several films and to be the reacting party over and over and over again. Here is my problem with Dumont; not only are her reactions all exactly the same, but I have never and will never be able to get past the antiquated theatricality to her. Her acting is unbearably stagey and try though I might, I cannot get past it.
I realize all of the ‘buts’ that could be thrown in here. Though, this is an ‘irrational hatred’ list after all. And that is exactly what I have for Mrs. Margaret Dumont.

Mickey Rooney – Puck – A Midsummer Night’s Dream (1935)
I first saw the 1935 film version of Shakespeare’s play (my favorite of his besides Hamlet) about eight years ago on Turner Classic Movies. Generally, I enjoyed it. In particular, James Cagney as Bottom was inspired and unforgettable. But I am unsure whether I could sit through this again. Why? Two words: Mickey Rooney.
That he is playing Puck, marvelous mischievous Puck, only makes his performance all the more depressing to think about. As far as purely obnoxious performances go, this one takes the cake. I mean really. I do not know if there is a more obnoxious performance in the whole of cinema. In his earlier decades, Mickey Rooney had an energy level one could equate with pure adrenaline. As a young teenager here, this is raised to a maximum.
Just thinking about him is giving me a headache. It is all a blur. All I remember are these horrible guffawing noises he would make. A barrage of screeches, snorts, squeals, bulging eyes and manic energy. Is this an accurate description of his performance? I have no idea; it has been eight years and I sure as hell never intend to watch his performance again to confirm or deny my fuzzy remembrances.

Ruth Chatteron – Fran Dodsworth – Dodsworth (1936)
This is a tricky one; a really truly tricky one. Technically Chatterton should not even count. Her repulsive unappreciative character is an entirely purposeful creation (adapted from the play). Everything I felt towards her is meant. Nobody who has seen the film would ever question why I might feel this way. I can still recall what I felt while watching it in a heartbeat. There was a strong urge, rarely matched, to reach in and shake her, slap her and even shove her off a tall building. I recall heaving and puffing, even yelling at the television set despite being all by me while watching. My frustration with her nearly brought me to tears. It has been too long for me to remember whether we were supposed to feel any sympathy for her at any point, but I never did.
Her placement on this list is due to my uncertainty whether or not I ever want to see Dodsworth again despite liking it very much. I think of all of the heavy and/or disturbing films I have seen multiple times (or films I’ve seen once but would see again eventually) and compare it with my possible unwillingness to sit through Chatterton’s despicable character. I am positive that at some point in my life I will rewatch Inside with no qualms whatsoever. But Dodsworth? I do not know. Because of this, her placement here felt necessary. Even if I would never in a million years call my hatred for her irrational.

Adriana Caselotti (voice) Snow White – Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937)
There was a time in my life where I had an obsession with Disney films. My love for them has not lessened, but there was a particular time of concentrated obsession. I constantly had all of my Disney DVD’s in rotation, keeping them on while I did homework after school every day all through high school. I made tons of ambitious Disney lists. I got to know all of these films very well through sheer repetition.
When is the last time you sat and watched Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs? Maybe you have forgotten or never noticed, but Snow White is the worst. The film is generally a joy, unarguably important and fantastically creative in its animation. Our first Disney princess however, leaves much to be desired.
She is a concoction of uselessness. This goes beyond the expected levels of non-agency that the Disney princesses (at least in earlier decades), tended not to possess. Snow White is just plain stupid. She really is quite the moron. Sadly, this and helplessness are her only characteristics. Oh, and a natural inclination towards domesticity. None of this is even remotely surprising and it is only part of the reason why I have allowed an animated character to wring my hands up in impatience.
When it comes down to it, the clincher is Adriana Caselotti’s voice work. It sounds like someone took the affected iconic voice of Marilyn Monroe, distilled it to its purest form and turned the dial to eleven. Let us ignore the fact that Monroe was eleven when this was released. The voice is unbearable. It has the potential to evoke involuntary eye twitching.

Virginia Walker – Alice Swallow – Bringing Up Baby (1938)
The anger I carry towards this character does not compare to the other entries in this first set. Yet Alice Swallow still bothers me beyond what is meant. This is a character whom we immediately recognize as being the wrong match for Cary Grant’s David Huxley. She is stuffy, prim and curt. She is a party pooper of the first degree. We are not supposed to like her.
If we are not supposed to like her then why put her on? Because she is a caricature who barely gets any screen time. Alice is not for one moment in danger of keeping David away from what he wants. She is a physical representation of what needs to change in his life. She never feels like a real human being. And she appears in the very beginning and end of the film.
She is on this list because I spend far too much time hating a character that not even the film itself takes with a modicum of seriousness.
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18 Mar 2012
by Catherine
in 2012, Film Review
Tags: 2012, 2012 film, 21 Jump Street, action, action-comedy, Adapted from a TV Series, Channing Tatum, Comedy, Film, film review, Jonah Hill, movies, Phil Lord & Chris Miller, Reboot, Review

IMDB Summary: A pair of underachieving cops are sent back to a local high school to blend in and bring down a synthetic drug ring.
“21 Jump Street” is a gaping hole in my pop-culture knowledge. I knew of its existence and that it had something to do with cops. I knew it launched Johnny Depp’s career and that it featured Richard Grieco who remained a stagnant fixture in the 80’s. But that is it. I have never seen an episode and was unfamiliar of even its basic concept. When the news of its reboot came about, my reaction was likely that of many: yet another shrug-and-eyeroll combo with a reiteration of the oh-so-original thought that Hollywood has run out of ideas. From my limited understanding, not even the basic genre, tone or characters are kept here. It is a reboot mostly in name only.
Yet, lo and behold; 21 Jump Street is a mostly fantastic film. Save for a third act that comparatively falls apart at the seams, this is an engagingly uproarious and surprisingly sincere comedy that is taken to the next level by the pairing of Jonah Hill and Channing Tatum.
The first half is almost shockingly good. The pacing is razor-sharp and it clicks along with an at-times remarkable speed. Take the first five minutes which manage to accomplish what some films fail to do in their entire runtime. It establishes Jenko (Tatum) and Schmidt (Hill) in their respective high-school personas. Schmidt was a 2005 unpopular Eminem wannabe whereas Jenko was your typical douchebag jock. This sets up a really refreshing role-reversal that will take place later on when they return to high school as undercover cops. Years later, they encounter each other when they train at the academy. Jenko is dim and needs help with the exams while Schmidt cannot power through the physical training. They begin to help each other out; through montage we see the roots of a clearly meaningful friendship which has a genuine immediacy that carries throughout. All of this resonates within the first five minutes, making everything that comes after all the more absorbing.
21 Jump Street contains a manic energy akin to Scott Pilgrim vs. the World (screenwriter Michael Bacall had a hand in both screenplays) without the kinetic comic-book visuals. Directors Phil Lord and Chris Miller of the perplexingly well-received Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs, quickly establish a gleeful fluid mania that permeates through everything. Early on they show how they will use the camera and music to present something in a more subjective fashion, only to pull back and show the amusing reality. It works every time.
Two sequences that do this perfectly are arguably the films two funniest sequences. The first is the pair’s first attempted arrest. The second is the pair’s drug-addled excursion during school hours. The latter switches back and forth from a first-person perspective, showing how they experience the various effects of the drug (whose supplier they have been assigned to track down), to a third-person perspective which displays just how ridiculous they really look. I can honestly say I do not know the last time I laughed this hard as this played out.
There is something about the experience of high school that is captured here, inducting it into the pantheon of memorable high school films. It helps that Jenko and Schmidt graduated high school in 2005, the same year as me, giving it an added dose of personal resonance. It presents high school as a toxic environment where peer approval not only reigns above all, but legitimately defines you as a person. Going back to high school terrifies Schmidt whereas Jenko is thrilled with the assignment. But the tables have turned. The high school experience has changed enough in seven years allowing Jenko to be unpopular and allowing Schmidt a place in the school’s top clique.
High school is its own universe and 21 Jump Street gets this. It capitalizes on the idea that going back after a number of years would be somewhat surreal. It is surprising just how much we feel when Schmidt, in his newly acquired popularity, distances himself from Jenko, who is looked down on by the popular crowd for his low intelligence level. This role-reversal allows for both the story and performances to go in some nicely unexpected directions.
As far as the two lead performances go, the brilliance of the Jonah Hill/Channing Tatum, pairing cannot be overstated. In the end, they make this film the success it is. They raise the bar for onscreen comedic pairings in our modern times. These are no exaggerations. Together that not only possess perfect comedic timing, but their ‘bromance’ (hate the term, but if it applies anywhere, it applies here) feels completely authentic and is respectfully played straight. When Tatum says he would take a bullet for Hill, it isn’t played for laughs.
To think of Hill in Moneyball and then in 21 Jump Street is a bit jarring. It is evident at this point that he can filter himself into a variety of different characters. Here, his character is equal parts insecure and misguided; but he’s also very intelligent. He isn’t really playing a ‘type’ here; Schmidt is a well-rounded character navigating through the confusing times of high school for the second time. It is very easy to overlook Hill’s considerable talents, but we shouldn’t. And here is hoping we do not start taking him for granted any time soon. He
As far as Channing Tatum goes, his work here has single-handedly made me a fan. Saying he is revelatory may be an overstatement, and yet to simply say he shines would be an understatement. There is no straight man between the Hill/Tatum pairing. Not only does Tatum go for broke with the comedy, but the majority of the humanistic elements fall on him. The vulnerability on display is flat-out moving and he sells the hell out of all the facets of his character. This role represents a turning point in his career.
The last third of the film does not destroy everything that came before, but it certainly threatens to. There are still laughs and earnest storytelling to be had, but an unskillfully apparent chaos comes into play. The controlled tightness unravels and an unappealing messiness takes over.
The action scenes are somewhat incoherent. In concept there is a lot of potential, but the execution fails to translate what could have been exciting and vibrant set pieces. It does not help that distractingly subpar post-production work both in effects and sound somewhat take away from the experience. And while the crisp editing works in non-action scenes, it weakens the majority of the chase and fight scenes. This is a great comedy that also happens to be a weak action film.
21 Jump Street remains self-aware throughout, acknowledging its own lack of originality. But it never allows that one-joke gimmick to define the film; far from it. This is a mostly great comedy (and how few comedies can even be defined as ‘mostly great’ these days?) that thrives on being hilarious and sincere in equal measure. The rocky road the central friendship takes is clearly just as important to the filmmakers and actors as the laughs. Only time will tell, but I predict that Jonah Hill and Channing Tatum will go down as one of the best onscreen pairings of our time. Yep. I said it.
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02 Mar 2012
by Catherine
in Film Review
Tags: 2005, Documentary, Film, Grizzly Man, movies, Werner Herzog

There is such a wide array of ruminations that course through me as I watch Grizzly Man for the second time. I first saw it about five years ago during a Documentary Fest I had with my aunt. It was my first Herzog documentary. I am now realizing it took far too long for me to revisit this film. I considered it one of my favorites, and to be sure, one of my very favorite documentaries. But I have always been a cinephile stuck somewhere between endless first viewings and endless repeat viewings of comfort films from my past. I have been trying to get better with revisiting films that mean a lot to me and getting to know them better. I have always resented my own preference to discover the new rather than the length of time I take in cherishing the ones that make an impact. And what brought about watching this for the second time was the event of showing it to my boyfriend who had not seen it. But I am veering off topic. Suffice it to say that Grizzly Man is a film that leaves an indelible mark for many reasons, not least in how Herzog recognizes the good, the bad and the ugly of Timothy Treadwell.
Herzog performs a balancing act of relaying his observations without guiding the viewer’s thoughts, even as he skillfully highlights to enhance a point he wants to make. Grizzly Man is somewhat judgmental yet somehow remains nonjudgmental. One does not have to look far to see why Herzog was drawn to this story. The harsh realities of nature and the unstable man who defies the line between the wild and himself. The obsessiveness of the experience and connection with what is sought out.
Herzog holds an admiration and a sadness for Treadwell. He smartly stays away from denigration or hero worship. Because the truth is, even though subjects in the film tend to take one extreme or the other, he deserves neither. An urge to proclaim feelings of pity come to mind. But that is not entirely the case either. How can I pity someone who was able to live life how he chose to for over a decade? This desperate satisfaction, this essential component to his life was something he was able to accomplish, have and cherish for an uncommon length of time.
The structure of Grizzly Man is not to be undervalued. The death of Treadwell and girlfriend Amie Huguenard is covered immediately, and is periodically revisited throughout, leaving its unforgettable stain on everything that follows. As we continue forward, Herzog slowly pulls the curtain further and further back. His perception and understandings are as complex as he can make them by the end, given the runtime and the invisible wall that prohibits us from truly knowing all the facts and psychology of a life.
Many watching are likely to know a bit about Timothy Treadwell. Still, Herzog begins with an unfettered allowance of Treadwell’s purer emotions, letting them exist for that they are. The enthusiasm, love, devotion and well-meaning gentleness of his exploits are introduced with their sincerity. By the end, that sincerity remains, but additionally so do the many troubled elements of Treadwell’s being.
The film’s subject inspires a wide variety of opinions, ranging from fierce admiration to a total lack of empathy. I guess I would fall somewhere in between.
On the one hand, I do admire and almost envy his ability to look at nature through rose-colored glasses. He was an outsider who carved out a life for himself at the Katmai National Park. I certainly empathize with his blatantly apparent mental instability. We are who we are, and his troubles remained persistent throughout his life, however willing or unwilling he was to admit that at various intervals.
I admire his devotion and his love for the animals, as corny as it sounds. Was it sentimentalized, extremely anthropomorphic and misguided? Yes. But it was ultimately pure and well-meaning. His freelance work in schools all over inspired children, making them enthusiastic about preserving wildlife. Plus, his relationship with the foxes I found to be actual and legitimate, not to mention adorable. And ultimately, his relationship with the bears was legitimate as well, if only because they were so for him and him alone.
Herzog commends and gives due to what he is able to capture with his camera. There is undeniably an intimate quality to some of the animal footage that differs from the distance felt in other footage of its kind.
Yet Treadwell tends to frustrates me to no end. I admit to outright resenting him for a number of reasons (all of which are addressed in some way, if not explored), harsh as it may sound. His self-denial resulted in an unsubstantiated mission statement to ‘protect the bears’. But he wasn’t protecting any bears. Far from it; he actually did more harm than good. His and Amie’s death perpetuated the killing of two bears as well as a posthumous increase of poaching in the National Park. He acclimated bears and foxes to the presence of humans, possibly rising a bear’s willingness to approach and cause harm in the future.
He conveniently chose to ‘protect’ bears in a National Park, a protected land, where the bears were already safe. Poaching was not an issue and ‘intruders’ were usually harmless and/or people from the National Park Service whose jobs Treadwell constantly undermined.
None of this is a revelation, and has been covered before in the film and in other media. I say all this in an effort to lay out how I feel about Treadwell.
The bears did not need Treadwell; he needed them. He needed them so desperately, that he whole-heartedly convinced himself that these wild animals were in danger. The scene where he all but attributes the land’s much-needed rain to his desire for it so be so is a perfect example. He created an artificial purpose that surrounded his very being, becoming his meaningless mantra. I guess what frustrates me is that his methods perpetuate the stereotype of the uninformed and misguided activist. I feel that his concerns and passion are so genuine but also so valid and applicable to countless, and I mean countless, other animal activist causes. I wish be had been able to fuel his fervor into something more useful and less selfish.
But he was just coming off a near-fatal addiction, which he was never cured from. It is clear he simply substituted one addiction for another. And this addiction is the one that ended up being fatal.
It is also tough not to see the subconscious vanity in his actions. His videos and shot set-ups are so deliberate and driven by a fascination with himself. It is fitting that his only (for the most part) companion out in the wilderness was his camera. That acting ambition never left completely. Again, I do not think he ever meant this, but his self-destructive narcissism is hard to miss.
I sound insensitive but I do not mean to be. In the end, I strongly sympathize with Treadwell. I sympathize with his inability to function in the real world. I sympathize with his feelings of isolation and loneliness. I sympathize with his feigned connection with the bears. I sympathize with the overwhelming sense of belonging he felt while in the wild.
All of this reeks of condescension, but it is not meant to. Herzog does not look up to him or down on him and we should not either. It does Treadwell much less credit by doing this.
The filmmaker largely focuses on what Treadwell shot over the years of his expeditions. Herzog showcases the bear enthusiast’s stunning animal footage. More importantly, the majority of what is shown focuses on Treadwell himself and his ability to indulge in his extremes in the place he called home. The camera allows him a voice to another; we get an intimate insight into him because in these moments he is entirely himself. He constantly proclaims his love for the animals. Just as constantly, he proclaims his willingness to die for them. His insistence on this shows that he not only means it, but fully expects this to happen some day. I would not categorize this as a death wish as many others do. It is clear he wanted his experiences to last as long as he could. But he knew he would die this way, and accepted it, almost waiting for it.
The footage chosen shows Treadwell’s penchant for working himself up into a frenzy. Close friend and former girlfriend Jewel Palovak says at one point that he had extreme highs and lows. He went on an anti-depressant at one point, but stopped because he felt those aspects of him were integral to his personality. We can see some of this extremity in his videos.
In editing, Herzog and Joe Bini have captured the innate awkwardness of documentary interviews without allowing it to distract. He lingers for a few extra seconds, keeping with the subject on the screen slightly beyond their purpose. This is most evident with the coroner, who seems an oddly self-conscious and rabid fellow. He always sounds like he is reading off cue cards. The scene where he gives Jewel Timothy’s still-ticking wristwatch has a hypnotic artificiality to it, almost like something out of a David Lynch film. At one point as the coroner spills all the grimy details and he is right up in the camera’s face. When he is done, the camera slowly pulls away, showing him from a distance looking awkward next to his autopsy table, not knowing at all what to do with himself.
Herzog’s voiceover narration is always welcome even if it, at this point, comes loaded with memories of its parodies. He is able to make his own observations personal, and thus, not factual. He allows for his observations without ever deeming they must be ours. In a medium so subject to manipulation, this remains a distinct quality of his I highly appreciate.
We see footage of a particularly intense tirade of Treadwell’s, which randomly springs from what is supposed to be a simple outro. It consists of him telling off the National Park Service to the camera. As he continues in a string of curses and periodically obscene gestures, Herzog narrates over the footage, marking this distinction:
“Now Treadwell crosses a line with the Park Service which we will not cross. He attacks the individuals with whom he has worked for 13 years. It is clear to me that the Park Service is not Treadwell’s real enemy. There’s a larger and more implacable adversary out there, the people’s world and civilization. He only has mockery and contempt for it. His rage is almost incandescent, artistic. The actor in his film has taken over from the filmmaker.”
Herzog intersperses the narration throughout Treadwell’s rant; the result is that at times we are left with the visual evidence of his rage filtered through the forced perspective of how Herzog sees the incident. His spacing keeps Herzog from taking over by giving us his observances in deliberate doses. It is one of the few times Herzog forces us to take something in as he sees it because he narrates as it happens. He chooses his moments very wisely and is part of what makes this an astonishing film.
I must make a note about Amie Huegenard. I tread on this only because I feel the comments made in regards to her completely undermine that women, believe it or not, actually have minds of their own and are capable of making their own decisions. I feel truly awful and am full of remorse about what happened to both Treadwell and his girlfriend. But to suggest that Treadwell brought Amie down with him disregards her individuality as a person. Uncomfortable as she may have been, she alone made the choice to go. Journal entries suggest that she was worried about his fanaticism and wanted to leave. It seemed likely that she would have left him had they returned and it is truly horrible that she was never able to act on this.
Grizzly Man stirs up a lot of feelings in a lot of people. It is about one man and his decision to continually risk his life for the animals and landscape that were quite literally his life support. It is also about man and nature, questioning where the line now lies between the two. Timothy Treadwell made a choice, and he died for that choice.
I do not find Treadwell’s death to be tragic. He got a lot out of what he did. The fact that it was a conscious choice he knew would lead to his death makes it impossible for me to tack that label onto it. It gives him more credit to deny him the word.
If anything is tragic, it is that this was the only way he could feel alive. That it came to this extremity of habitat and ‘mission’ for him to want to live. To say Timothy Treadwell is a fascinating subject is an understatement. His footage gives not only beautiful visuals of Alaskan wildlife, but intimate insight into the man at the center of it all. Werner Herzog skillfully works through the footage to create a sobering portrait of a man who made a choice to live with the creatures he loved.
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01 Mar 2012
by Catherine
in 2012, Blu-Ray Review
Tags: 1940, adaptation, Alfred Hitchcock, Based on a Novel, Blu-Ray, Daphne du Maurier, David O. Selznick, Film, Gothic, Joan Fontaine, Judith Anderson, Laurence Olivier, movies, Rebecca

Originally posted on Criterion Cast March 1st, 2012
Rebecca represents a major turning point in Alfred Hitchcock’s career. It was his first American-made film, allowing him to capitalize on the hopes and dreams of working with a bigger budget and more equipment, furthering the masterful technical control so central to his style.
Looming large over the entire picture is the involvement of that sleepless memo maniac David O. Selznick. With Gone with the Wind inching towards release, he moved forward on an adaptation, or as he put it ‘picturization’, of Daphne du Maurier’s much-loved classic Rebecca. Selznick was as intrusive as a producer gets, managing to stay on top of the production even through the Gone with the Wind preparation which took up almost all of his time. It is easy to under-appreciate what Selznick contributed to Rebecca, even though Hitchcock purists may see the final product as damaged goods. This new Blu-Ray reminds us of the singular combination of Selznick’s prestige, Hitchcock’s recurring themes and embedded psychology and du Maurier’s sumptuously enticing exploration of the Gothic.
Revisiting the film, in more pristine shape than ever before, allows us to take in Rebecca in all its glory, and even its limitations. Selznick had an unrelenting sense of grandeur and a lavishness with which he strove to do justice to a book he near-worshiped. This comes to serve Rebecca well, most prominently with Manderlay. The mansion is so imposing in its physical representation of the suffocating spirit of the deceased Rebecca that it becomes a central character. The first Mrs. De Winter and Selznick are united in their paralleled enduring influence that seeps into every scene.
As contradictory as Hitchcock and Selznick’s agendas seem, they inadvertently coalesce to create something mostly harmonious. As far as Hitchcock goes, he also had a strong connection to the book, wanting to buy the rights earlier but not having the money to do so. Here, he gets to astonish with his lusciously multi-layered compositions. The lighting in particular is something to behold, alone begging repeat viewings with its majesty.
The mogul’s insistence on a conventionally faithful adaptation provides a basis for Hitchcock to wield his inquiring camera into what is going on underneath it all. Selznick’s top-of-the-line template doesn’t hurt either. He pokes and pries, peeling back the layers as Joan Fontaine treks into the nightmare world of Manderlay. Again, Rebecca solidifies Hitchcock’s unmatched control, all the more impressive for working on a production as big as this.
The performances remain a varied bunch, from Laurence Olivier’s constantly brooding and callous Maxim to the ever-reliable character actors Nigel Bruce, Reginald Denny and Florence Bates. Joan Fontaine is aware of herself every moment in her first starring role and Hitchcock uses that to showcase the character’s vulnerability and at times frustrating naiveté. She is a fragile stranger in a strange land, both on and off screen, and it appropriately looks like she could crumble any minute. All apprehensive eyebrows and second-guessing, Fontaine shines because she natural exudes a quality that she herself seems unaware of.
It is of course Judith Anderson whose performance has more than held up over the decades. Her Mrs. Danvers is one of mostly passive and increasingly apparent insanity. She exists entirely in her own world, a heightened past broken up with patches of lucid denial and resentment. Anderson’s spacy passion makes for a justifiably iconic villain. There is the moment when Rebecca realizes that Mrs. Danvers is not completely sane. The camera stays with the horrified unnamed protagonist as she moves away to deal with said realization, leaving Mrs. Danvers in the background, carrying on in her own world.That scene and moment express all, remaining as creepy as ever.
The final twenty minutes is largely where Rebecca falters. We see the baggage lifted between Maxim and our The Second Mrs. De Winter, and they are allowed to connect freely, banding together against Rebecca’s hold on posthumous hold on them. This is all well and fine, but at this point the story itself becomes laborious. Hitchcock can only do so much to alleviate the shortcomings found here. Thankfully, George Sanders’ slimy presence is always a welcome treat.
The extras on Rebecca carry over from a previous DVD edition and are more than satisfying in their abundant quantity, largely supporting a contextual view of the film via the Hitchcock and Selznick collaboration. Richard Schickel’s commentary is pretty basic and his views of the film appear to be largely lukewarm. ‘The Making of Rebecca’ and ‘The Gothic World of Daphne du Maurier’ further expand on adding contextualization. Also included are radio plays of the story, an isolated music and effects track, interviews with Hitchcock and, my personal favorite, original screen tests with Margaret Sullavan and Vivien Leigh.
Rebecca may not be a ‘pure’ Hitchcock film, lacking in his trademark acidic humor, and balancing out the expectations of another formidable force. Yet it remains one of my favorite Hitchcock films (indeed I far prefer it over Notorious) for its Gothic psychological thriller that seamlessly weaves in and out of an amalgam of other genres; the woman’s picture, melodrama, romance, mystery and horror, to name some. The Blu-Ray offers a stellar picture with very little grain and minimal kinks; it is a more than worthy purchase to make for one of the master’s largely exemplary works.
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01 Mar 2012
by Catherine
in 2012, Weekly Screening Log
Tags: 1927, 1928, 1930, 1939, 2012, adaptation, Animal Crackers, Animation, Anime, Argentina, Brazil, Crime, Doggie Woggiez! Poochie Woochiez!, Film, Found Memories, France, Hiromasa Yonebayashi, Jean Gabin, Josef von Sternberg, Julia Murat, Le Jour se Leve, Marcel Carne, movies, Musical, Rene Clair, Screeningn Log, Silent, Studio Ghibli, The Docks of New York, The Marx Brothers, The Secret World of Arietty, Under the Roofs of Paris, Underworld

35. Doggie Woggiez! Poochie Woochiez! (2012, Ghoul Skool and Commodore Gilgamesh): B+

36. Under the Roofs of Paris (1930, Clair): C

37. Le Jour Se Leve (1939, Carne): A-

38. The Secret World of Arrietty (2012, Yonebayashi): A-

39. Found Memories (2012, Murat): B/B-

40. Animal Crackers (1930, Heerman): C+

41. Underworld (1927, von Sternberg): A-

42. The Docks of New York (1928, von Sternberg): B/B-
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