LOVE IS NEWS (1937)

The usual screwball mix (half THE FRONT PAGE/’31; half IT HAPPENED ONE NIGHT/’34) doesn’t help this by-the-numbers effort. Tyrone Power is the slick, young reporter; Don Ameche is his hard-driving/fast-talking editor; and Loretta Young is a spoiled heiress with a chip on her shoulder & a foreign-born fiancé. The sole twist in the formula has Loretta claiming Tyrone as her latest beau; cue the hordes of unwanted press attention! There’s nothing inherently wrong with the set-up*, but the pic never recovers from it’s painfully unfunny opening, an extended bit of forced laughter between Ameche & Power. Everything that follows feels too loud and/or over-baked, especially Ameche who tries to make up for his third-wheel part by hoarsely screaming all his lines. Tay Garnett helmed and his sheer professionalism sparks a few solid laughs. He’s great at keeping the supporting players in line while helping them land their comic bits and he even manages to wrap things up with a jaw-dropping tracking shot thru most of the Fox New York studio set (with help from lensman Ernest Palmer). But there’s only so much he can do on this one.

*Darryl Zanuck trotted it out two more times @ Fox; as a musical for Betty Grable (SWEET ROSIE O‘GRADY/’43) and as another Power vehicle (THAT WONDERFUL URGE/’48).

THE KILLERS (1964)

It's still got that Ernest Hemingway title, but there’s not a bit of Hemingway left in this loose adaptation of Robert Siodmak’s noir classic from 1946. So, naturally, the official title on this one is ERNEST HEMINGWAY’S THE KILLERS. It does follow the general outline of the non-Hemingway parts of Siodmak's film with John Cassavetes’ car jockey taking over for Burt Lancaster’s doomed boxer and Angie Dickinson trying out a blonde variation on Ava Gardner’s smoldering brunette femme fatale. The comparison does them no favors. At least, Lee Marvin has a bit of fun in a role that merges elements of Edmund O’Brien’s investigator and William Conrad’s hitman. A ridiculous combo, but it’s the only way for the largely retained plot structure to function with the reconfigured cast line-up. Ronald Reagan, in his last big screen appearance, gets the old Albert Dekker role as the head villain & gang leader and . . . he’s great! Amazingly convincing, especially when he socks Angie. Pow! Ron, we hardly knew ye. Physically, the film is imposingly hideous with wall-to-wall fluorescent lighting (it was shot for tv release, but turned down for excessive violence) and that cheap looking Universal ‘house style’ imposed by Lew Wasserman, Hollywood über-agent turned penny-pinching studio chief. Four years on, MADIGAN/’68 would finally get helmer Don Siegel the assignments he had so long deserved and start up his amazing late career run. Be sure to listen to the excerpt from his auto-bio included on the Criterion DVD. Very entertaining inside stuff.

TWO ENGLISH GIRLS (1972)

Henri-Pierre Roché wrote only two novels, this and JULES ET JIM/’61, and François Truffaut filmed them both. It’s a similar story, with a gender reversal, as the two titular English sisters play a lovers’ roundelay with a passionate young Frenchman. But the tone has been altered, damp rather than celebratory, and the casting hasn’t the magical ‘rightness’ of the earlier Truffaut classic. The director narrates (at a record clip), with his usual alter-ego, Jean-Pierre Léaud, on screen as the emerging young writer who stumbles between friendship with the sensible older girl and love with her neurasthenic kid sister. Physically, the film projects a pleasing spontaneity in its handling of the turn-of-the-last-century period details (sort of an anti-Kubrick/BARRY LYNDON æsthetic), but the characters never quite measure up to all the angst and swooning romantic fatalism. Léaud, in particular, has barely enough mass for one love affair, let alone multiple trysts. Philippe Léotard, who stands out in a nice supporting role as Léaud’s romantic rival, might have been better suited. The film ends with the publication of a novel that might well be JULES ET JIM, but this seems an inadequate payoff for a life of missed opportunities.

THE KILLERS (1946)

Ernest Hemingway’s short story about a marked man who won’t run away from his fate supplied only enough material for the opening reel of this classic film noir. The rest is a nicey handled Hollywood embellishment as an insurance investigator tracks down the backstory (in a series of flashbacks) and then wraps everything up in a classic police sting operation. It sounds pretty standard, but the film was something of a game-changer in the post-WWII Hollywood landscape. Moving from house producer @ Warners to an indie deal @ Universal, gave Mark Hellinger the leeway to make something darker & grittier*, plus the casting freedom that created new stars out of Burt Lancaster (in a stunning debut) and Ava Gardner in her first legit role. Helmer Robert Siodmak took full advantage of the opportunity to lift himself out of the ranks of low-budget over-achievers, while the great Miklos Rozsa discovered a whole new genre to put his musical stamp on. And if the wraparound story involving Edmund O’Brien’s investigator, Sam Levene’s detective and Albert Dekker’s gang of crooks doesn’t hold up nearly as well as that succinct, eye-popping opening reel, it’s strong enough to maintain our rooting interest. Be sure to check out the student short Andrei Tarkovsky made of the Hemingway story included on the Criterion edition. The pace is very measured, but the talent is already obvious. Plus, Hemingway sounds great in Russian.

*And, like Hal Wallis now over @ Paramount, to get away from the loathsome Jack Warner.

THE WRESTLER (2008)

The title tells you all you need to know in this Mickey Rourke comeback vehicle from chastened helmer Darren Aronofsky, who’s traded in his flashy technique for Super-16mm none-too-steady cams. Rourke, that real-life faded movie star, plays a fast fading pro-wrestler whose damaged heart is forcing him to retire. A friendly stripper (Marisa Tomei) and an estranged daughter (Evan Rachel Wood) offer glances at a new life, as does a memorably brief stint at a deli counter*, but he winds up back in the ring for one last match. Fortunately, in the midst of this tour de force of bludgeoning masochism, Rourke gets a few shots at summoning his old, oddly charming mix of delicacy & brutishness. (It’s what Sylvester Stallone thinks he’s doing in those endless ROCKY sequels.) But gosh, this is awfully tired dramatic territory. And not just in antiques like THE CHAMP/’31. Jeff Bridges, who played the Kid to Stacy Keach’s fading boxer in John Huston’s FAT CITY/’72, is now in a musical variant on the theme in CRAZY HEART/’09. And no doubt, dozens more are in the pipeline to join the hundreds that have gone before.

*If only the filmmakers had let his surprise success at the job continue instead of opting for the expected blow-up.

IN BRUGES (2008)

The feature debut of acclaimed British playwright Martin McDonagh is just the sort of film to raise cheers @ Sundance and indifference in the general public. It’s a buddy-buddy story about Mutt & Jeff hitmen (Colin Farrell & Brendan Gleeson) forced to hide out in the Grimm-like fairy-tale town of Bruges, Brussels after a job goes terribly wrong. The dialogue-heavy script is spiked with bouts of nihilistic violence & mordant, black comedy riffs not so far removed from Quentin Tarantino Land. But McDonagh’s voice has its own alarmingly funny cadence, keyed more to the theatrical sound of Beckett, Pinter & Mamet than to ‘B’ movie fare. When the boys’ new job also goes awry, their apoplectic boss (Ralph Fiennes) shows up to fix things, and Fiennes & Gleeson make such a great tag-team that Farrell simply looks out-classed. His face ‘reads’ so loudly, he could be playing a Dick Tracy villain. (Flattop?) Equally troublesome is the confused staging (the editor must have had fits) and McDonagh’s inability to get much dramatic energy out of this fascinating city. A fine piece of dialogue between Gleeson & Fiennes is cut into your standard medium close-up reverse angles with the background out of focus. Then, for a moment, a brief two-shot includes the town, the tower, the men, all clearly in focus; suddenly, its not just good dialogue, but a real movie scene, fully alive to all the variables. McDonagh’s smart, he’ll note the difference.

THE LIVES OF A BENGAL LANCER (1935)

Irresistible adventure yarn for anyone with a taste for the glory days of the British Empire, Kipling and all that; THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING sans irony. Politically correct, it ain’t; although in today’s unsettled political climate, perhaps a bit of ideological slack is in order. Under Henry Hathaway’s vigorous helming, Gary Cooper moved smoothly into the straight action genre as a seasoned officer plying the Paki/Indian border. His routine is upset when two junior officers are assigned to him; a scamp from a rival unit (Franchot Tone) and a young pup who’s the commander’s estranged son (Richard Cromwell). The male bonding is as spectacular as the desert vistas & the hordes of battling extras. Honor, loyalty, torture, cowardice & sacrifice are all taken in stride; the Raj’s standard shall ever fly. Well, until that Gandhi fellow comes along. Till then, Akim Tamiroff gets to play an Emir and Douglas Dumbrille a Khan while C. Aubrey Smith does his usual bit to help Hollywood show those true British colors. But then, the whole cast seems to be having a whale of a time, particularly Tone who more than holds his own against Coop. He had a lot of practice in ‘35, co-starring in films with Bette Davis, Robert Montgomery, Joan Crawford, Jean Harlow, Clark Gable, Charles Laughton & Una Merkel! She’s the only one who bests him.

SCREWY THOUGHT OF THE DAY: Now in his mid-60s, Tom Selleck seems to be morphing into C. Aubrey Smith. Sounds goofy, but check out C. Aubrey in profile. Yikes!

APPLAUSE (1929)

Helmer Rouben Mamoulian was determined that his debut movie would really move. No small thing for an early Talkie made at Paramount’s East Coast studios. Helen Morgan, SHOW BOAT’s original Julie*, stars as a fading burlesque performer whose unsavory new partner forces her almost grown kid to leave convent school and join the act . . . and God knows what else. Mother-love wins out in the end, but at a tragic price. You can still feel the excitement from some of Mamoulian’s visual daring, especially in a few precious scenes shot on real NYC locations, and the tawdry backstage atmosphere is both fascinating & repellent. But the story and perfs are all too one-note all thru the story, it’s wearisome even at a bare 80 minutes. Only Henry Wadsworth, as a charmingly romantic sailor-boy, seems willing to moderate his delivery for the new medium. Technically snazzy as this was for its time, it hardly has the dramatic pull of something like THE LETTER made the same year at the same studio. An unusually fine stage transfer for its time, it's cinematically inert, but dramatically compelling with an eye-popping, unforgettable perf from the tragic Jeanne Eagles. It still has real theatrical power and it holds you. Mamoulian would get things into better balance soon enough.

*Morgan filmed the part in James Whale’s priceless 1936 production which was largely cast with original or touring cast members.

HOBSON’S CHOICE (1954)

Before David Lean left the cozy comforts (and relatively limited budgets) of the British film world, he made this unlikely, still underappreciated masterpiece; a quirky capitalist comedy that plays like a determinist burlesque of KING LEAR.  Charles Laughton is Hobson, a widowed shopkeeper with three grown daughters he uses as free labor to run his house & store. The younger two are now engaged, but surely his eldest (a spinster-in-waiting) will stay on to run things. Not if she can help it. The attention to detail in William Shingleton’s art design as captured in Jack Hildyard’s lensing brings Lean’s British house-style to a sumptuous climax. And the whole cast is a marvel. Brenda de Banzie, in triumphant form, makes the sharp, ambitious eldest daughter a paragon of no-nonsense womanhood. When she takes her situation in hand and establishes her own bootery with Papa’s best cobbler (John Mills in a matchless turn), the entrepreneurial instinct acquires a becoming proto-feminist slant. The expectations of class privilege are no match for the rise of small business meritocracy. And Lean doesn’t back off from showing the incipient dangers in the new order. Laughton’s drunken ‘moon walk’ is often excerpted as a comic highlight, while an unwanted slice of wedding cake is just as exceptional, but this perf is too rich for a highlights reels. The entire production is a highlight.