Ebert's Greats #14: Seven (1995)

* * * *
Director: David Fincher
Starring: Brad Pitt, Morgan Freeman

Seven wasn't David Fincher's first feature film (that would be Alien 3), but it was the film that announced him as one of the defining directors of his generation. In lesser hands, Seven could have been just another gimicky thriller, a dark police procedural not unlike hundreds of other films of the genre. Instead, it's one of the greatest thrillers of the 90s, perhaps even of all time. Suffice it to say, going from Alien 3 to Seven is pretty much the exact opposite of a sophomore slump.

Ebert's Greats #13: Cries and Whispers (1972)

* * * *
Director: Ingmar Bergman
Starring: Liv Ullmann, Ingrid Thulin, Harriet Andersson, Kari Sylwan

In his opening of Anna Karenina, Tolstoy wrote that "all happy families are the same; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." It might be added that every member of an unhappy family is unhappy in his or her own way. Cries and Whispers, a celebrated film from noted humorist Ingmar Bergman, is about the unhappy members of an unhappy family forced to contend with mortality. Like many of his films it explores themes of faith and the female psyche and, let me tell you, it is a laugh riot.

Ebert's Greats #12: The Thin Man (1934)

* * * *
Director: W. S. Van Dyke
Starring: William Powell, Myrna Loy

The Thin Man is the kind of movie people mean when they say, "They don't make them like that anymore" (though that may not remain true, as a remake is in the works). A witty comedy/mystery, The Thin Man is one of the best films to come out of the 1930s (and that's no faint praise) and features one of the greatest film pairings of all time.

Ebert's Greats #11: Cool Hand Luke (1967)

* * * *
Director: Stuart Rosenberg
Starring: Paul Newman

“What we’ve got here is failure to communicate.” It’s the most famous line from Stuart Rosenberg’s Cool Hand Luke but does not encapsulate the film. After all, Cool Hand Luke has been effectively engaging and communicating with audiences for over 40 years. Featuring an iconic performance from the great Paul Newman (and an Oscar winning supporting performance from George Kennedy), this is a film that everyone should see sooner or later.

Ebert's Greats #10: Red River (1948)

* * * *
Director: Howard Hawks
Starring: John Wayne, Montgomery Clift

John Wayne is probably most closely associated with John Ford, for whom he starred in such classics as The Searchers, Stagecoach, and She Wore a Yellow Ribbon amongst others, but it was Howard Hawks who brought out one of Wayne’s best performances (Ford’s reaction upon seeing Red River? “I didn’t know the big son of a bitch could act!”). Red River is one of the great classic westerns, a grand entertainment (the stampede scene alone makes the film worth seeing) and a finely wrought character film.

Ebert's Greats #9: The Firemen's Ball (1967)

* * * *
Director: Milos Forman

Milos Forman won Oscars and international acclaim for One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest and Amadeus, but 1967’s The Firemen’s Ball is arguably the film that has had the greatest impact on his life and career. Made during a particularly politically fraught time, the film ended up being banned in what was then Czechoslovakia and Forman was forced to emigrate or face 10 years in prison. Nevertheless, the film managed to nab an Oscar nomination for Best Foreign Language Film and became a seminal film from the Czech New Wave, one of the richest and most interesting artistic movements of the 20th Century.

Ebert's Greats #8: A Christmas Story (1983)

* * * *
Director: Bob Clark
Starring: Peter Billingsley, Darren McGavin, Melina Dillon

The only thing worse than your mother refusing to get you the toy you want most because you'll take your eye out is getting that toy and proving her right. Actually, no, there is something worse: pink bunny pajamas. Nothing beats that... although, getting your tongue stuck to a flagpole doesn't seem that pleasant, either. A Christmas Story, adapted from short stories by Jean Shepherd, recounts all manner of childhood traumas with humor and heart, making it a perfect holiday movie.

A Christmas Story follows the trials and tribulations of nine-year-old Ralphie Parker (Peter Billingsley) who wants more than anything to get a Red Ryder BB gun for Christmas. His appeals frequently fall on deaf ears, however, as most everyone agrees that were he to get a BB gun, he'd end up losing an eye. But a boy can still hope! Fortunately for Ralphie, any man who would warmly embrace a lamp shaped like a woman's leg clad in a fishnet stocking is also a man who would buy a kid a weapon, and Ralphie's father is just such a man.

But, before the film gets to that point, there are many smaller adventures for Ralphie to tackle. There's his epic battle with school bully Scut Farkus, which ends with in Ralphie being caught by his mother beating Farkus up and swearing repeatedly, leading to him getting his mouth washed out with soap. Plus, there's the minor plot of Ralphie's Secret Society decoder ring in which he learns an important lesson about getting ripped off, Ralphie's pal Flick getting his tongue stuck to a flagpole, and pretty much everything involving Ralphie's brother Randy (Ian Petrella).

A Christmas Story unfolds at a nice, easy pace that works with the narration by Jean Shepherd to give the film an intimate, conversational feel, as if it's being recounted by a relative over Christmas dinner. The tone is obviously very light but there are a lot of moments that verge on the dramatic and give the story emotional resonance. For example, after Ralphie beats up Farkus, his mother pulls out the wait-until-your-father-gets-home chestnut. Ralphie waits in terror for the rest of the day but once his father gets home, his mother diffuses the situation by casually telling him about the fight and then immediately changing the subject. There are lots of little moments like that, ones which capture an authentic sense a familial give and take.

That family sense is aided immeasurably by the fact that the film is so perfectly cast. Billingsley makes for a great protagonist, giving a performance that is engaging without being overly precocious. Darren McGavin is pitch perfect as the family patriarch, swearing from one end of the film to the other, and as Ralphie's mother Melinda Dillon provides the film with a great deal of warmth. A Christmas Story is pretty much a perfect Christmas movie so if you haven't seen it yet, I highly recommend trying to catch it in the next couple of days - no doubt it will be playing endlessly over the Christmas weekend.

Ebert's Greats #7: Leaving Las Vegas (1995)

* * * *
Director: Mike Figgis
Starring: Nicolas Cage, Elisabeth Shue

If it isn't the most depressing movie ever (one of Ingmar Bergman's films may lay claim to that title), Leaving Las Vegas has got to be, at the very least, in the top 5. It's so unrelentingly grim that, as well-made as it is, you really only want to see it once because it's such a harrowing experience. Nicolas Cage's ratio of good films to mindless movies/weird, performance art-like crap is perhaps a bit disproportionate, but when he brings it, he really hits it out of the park.

Leaving Las Vegas is a story of alcoholism that begins at rock bottom and then just keeps burrowing further down. Cage stars as Ben Sanderson, a screenwriter whose drinking has cost him everything. With nothing left to lose, he embarks on a trip to Las Vegas, where he intends to finally drink himself into his grave. During his stay he begins a relationship with Sera (Elisabeth Shue), a prostitute whose own life is just as dark, but in different ways.

Ben and Sera make an agreement for how to live together - he agrees not to judge her for her work; she agrees not to try to stop his drinking - and for a time, they co-exist peacefully. However, Sera's inability to simply sit there and watch him die slowly overrides that agreement, which prompts Ben to lash out by bringing another prostitute home. Sera throws him out but, when Ben later calls her, she ultimately goes to him to bear witness to his sad final moments.

The success of the film depends on a couple of things. First and foremost it depends on Cage and his ability to play the character rather than the character's addiction. Ben is an alcoholic but that is neither the beginning nor the end of his character. He's a man filled with loneliness and almost incomprehensible self-loathing and there are glimmers throughout the film of the man he once was before his demons took over. There are many moments which I guess you might qualify as "showy," scenes in which Cage must highlight the effects of the ways that Ben has been punishing his body, but I don't think he ever overplays it or hits a false note. This is a brilliant performance of a man imploding from the inside out and it's easily one of the most compelling performances of the last twenty years.

But Cage is only half the story and the other half belongs to Shue, whose performance is just as a vital in terms of making Leaving Las Vegas work. The audience must believe that she would involve herself with this deeply troubled man, that she would sign up to sit by him while he kills himself. Sera is a woman with darkness of her own, which the film establishes early on through scenes with her pimp (Julian Sands), who abuses her but also saves her by letting her go so that the mobsters who are after him don't also go after her. In her relationship with Ben she experiences, perhaps for the first time, a degree of control and in acting as a caretaker to Ben, she is not just giving something but getting something as well. Shue's performance is perhaps quieter than Cage's, but it is nevertheless its equal. Unlike Cage, Shue did not win an Oscar for this performance (and it's hard to get too broken up about that since it went to Susan Sarandon for Dead Man Walking), but she brings just as much to the table as he does and deserves as much credit.

The stripped down look of the film is borne of budgetary necessity, but it also perfectly captures the spirit of the story. Leaving Las Vegas has a down to the bone kind of production that complements the characters and their milieu. It's gritty and occasionally ugly but it works. It's authentic and the result is just as effective and emotionally involving today as it was 15 years ago.

Ebert's Greats #6: Johnny Guitar (1954)

* * * 1/2
Director: Nicholas Ray
Starring: Joan Crawford, Mercedes McCambridge

There's no other film quite like Johnny Guitar, Nicholas Ray's dreamy, colorful western. It is the antithesis of a John Ford western, films that are marked by ultra-masculine men negotiating ultra-masculine worlds; this is a film that bends gender roles and subverts expectations. Naturally, it took a while for the critical assessment to catch up to the film's actual accomplishments, but now it's pretty solidly considered the classic that it truly is.

The film takes place in a small cattle town where two women battle for control. One is Vienna (Joan Crawford), a saloon owner who has always experienced hostility from the rest of the town; the other is Emma (Mercedes McCambridge), a cattle rancher who leads the charge against Vienna. The root of this rivalry is ostensibly The Dancin' Kid (Scott Brady), a stage robber that Emma loves but Vienna has; though the general consensus of critics and scholars is that the hatred between the women is just an expression of the sexual tension between them.

Into this volatile mix comes Johnny Guitar (Sterling Hayden), Vienna's ex-lover and a former gun for hire. With him back, Vienna breaks things off with The Dancin' Kid, a fact which doesn't keep the townspeople from suspecting her of being in league with him and his gang after they rob the bank. In the wake of the robbery, Emma rallies a posse and together they burn down Vienna's saloon. Vienna just barely escapes with Johnny, but the angry mob is on their tail, leading to a good old fashioned wild west shoot out.

Vienna is one of Crawford's great roles and she plays it to the hilt. Emma is the villain of the piece (and McCambridge delivers a performance that matches Crawford's strength for strength), but Vienna isn't exactly an innocent. She's a tough woman and not always likeable and between them she and Emma completely steamroll all of the male characters. Ray's depiction of gender politics and roles, in addition to the two marvelous performances at the film's core, is what makes Johnny Guitar particularly fascinating today. It breaks the unspoken rules of its era without even thinking twice about it and, like Ray's masterpiece Rebel Without A Cause, it wears its coding on its sleeve without necessarily commenting on that symbolism directly.

Johnny Guitar is the kind of film that ages well because it exists outside of temporal boundaries. It unfolds is such a dreamy, exaggerated way that it really isn't a period piece, as such, but something else entirely. It's a fantasy film, really (Francois Truffot once called it "the Beauty and the Beast of westerns"), and because of that it's ultimately timeless. It may not have been immediately embraced by critics or audiences, but it has held up better than a lot of movies and it is very watchable and enjoyable today.

Ebert's Greats #5: Victim (1961)

* * *
Director: Basil Dearden
Starring: Dirk Bogarde

Seen today, Basil Dearden's Victim seems almost quaint in its delicate treatment of sex and sexuality. It was, however, a groundbreaking film, the first (at least in the English language) ever to use the word "homosexual," which resulted in it being banned in the United States. Given that you couldn't even acknowledge the existence of homosexuality in a direct, uncoded way without causing an outrage 49 years ago, it's perhaps no wonder that the NOH8 Campaign is necessary today.

Dirk Bogarde stars as Melville Farr, a successful barrister with a bright future ahead of him and a seemingly happy family life with his wife, Laura (Sylvia Syms). But beneath the surface, Farr is keeping a secret: he's been carrying on a very intense (though unconsummated) relationship with a young man named Boy Barrett (Peter McEnery), who has become the victim of blackmailers who know about the relationship. In order to pay off the blackmailers, Barrett has stolen £2,000 from his employers and now the police are after him. Upon finding him, the police also find out why he stole the money, leading him to commit suicide in order to protect Farr.

Farr's guilt about what has happened to Barrett is great and he decides to go after the blackmailers and stop them from ruining any more lives. Farr discovers the identities of other victims and tries to get their help, but their preference is to pay off the blackmailers and go about their lives (understandable given that in 1961 homosexuality was still criminalized and reporting the blackmail may have in turn opened them up to prosecution). Farr's crusade, however, has not gone unnoticed and his relationship with Barrett is exposed, leading to the collapse of his marriage and his career. Tired of being a victim, Farr decides to see the fight through to the end and opts to testify against his tormentors in order to obtain justice for himself and others.

Victim is obviously a message movie, but it's a message movie in the best possible way as it dramatizes the situation rather than simply doing a lot speechifying about it. Its a story rooted first and very firmly in character and builds its political context from there, making it easy for us as an audience to feel sympathy for and anger on behalf of Farr. In spite of the strong reactions it inspired upon its release (it was originally rated X in the UK), it is not an explicit film. We never see the "incriminating" photo, nor does Farr ever share so much as a kiss with Barrett, but it is nevertheless very direct regarding its subject. To put it in the proper context, Victim is as bold for 1961 as Brokeback Mountain was for 2005.

Though the world is a different place now than it was in 1961, Victim does not play out like a relic of the recent past. It's an effective thriller about a man who is essentially being hunted and who fights through his inner torment in order to figure out a way to turn the tables. Bogarde's performance is not simply good, it's also very brave given both his status as a leading man on screen and his sexuality off screen. He carries this film and plays a large role in its ultimate success and durability. It is not a perfect film - the ending suggests that Farr and his wife will ultimately reconcile, for one thing - but it's an important one and certainly one worth watching.

Ebert's Greats #4: Five Easy Pieces (1970)

* * * *
Director: Bob Rafelson
Starring: Jack Nicholson

Like Al Pacino and Robert De Niro, Jack Nicholson is one of those actors who is both revered for his abilities and chastised for spending the past two or so decades coasting on former glory. It's easy to think of Nicholson as a parody of himself in movies like Anger Management or Something's Gotta Give, but when you see a movie like Five Easy Pieces, you realize that he's more than earned the right to coast.

In Five Easy Pieces Nicholson plays Robert Dupea, easily one of his best and most challenging characters. Born into a family of musicians, Dupea is a skilled classical pianist but works in an oil field. His complicated relationship with his family and what they represent, their legacy, colors many of his actions; to him, family is something that must be escaped. Unfortunately for him, his family is about to get bigger: his girlfriend, Rayette (Karen Black) is pregnant.

After finding out that his father has had a stroke, Dupea is talked into returning to the family home and even more reluctantly talked into taking Rayette along with him. Embarrased by how rough around the edges she is, Dupea leaves her in a motel while he returns to the family fold, where he meets his brother's fiancée, Catherine (Susan Anspach). Like him, Catherine is a pianist, and his attraction to her is immediate and reciprocated but their fling is cut short by Rayette's sudden arrival at the house. Dupea is irritated but only until Rayette becomes the subject of ridicule by other people in the house, at which point he becomes her fierce defender and protector. Eventually they leave together, but Dupea's continuing struggle between the intellectual world of his roots and the blue collar world where he's been residing makes it impossible from him to move forward.

Directed by Bob Rafelson and written by Rafelson and Carole Eastman, Five Easy Pieces is a film with a very secure place in pop culture thanks to Dupea's infamous lunch order, but it's so much more than that one scene or line of dialogue. It's a film that rings with authenticity, that draws its characters so solidly it's as if they stepped off the street and onto the screen. Dupea's struggle to belong (and his belief that he can never belong anywhere) is what makes him such a compelling character, a guy you root for even when he disappoints you. Nicholson's performance is masterful, ensuring that Dupea, who essentially adopts whatever persona best suits the company, nevertheless always seems consistent.

The screenplay is very strong, stacking memorable scene on top of memorable scene from beginning to end. The lunch scene is perhaps the best remembered, but the scene in which Dupea comes to Rayett'e defense in front of his family, and a monologue in which Dupea expresses his disappointment in himself to his father, who has been left unable to communicate by his stroke, are incredibly powerful. "I'm trying to imagine your half of this conversation," he tells his father, "My feeling is, if you could talk, we probably wouldn't be talking." His pain, his intensely negative view of himself, is beautifully expressed here and in the film's finale. The last scene (a "great last scene" if ever there was one) is remarkable both for its honesty and its daring and for confirming what we've come to know about Dupea. It's a strong ending to a strong film, one of the best from what is arguably the best decade for film.

Ebert's Greats #3: Wings of Desire (1987)

* * * *
Director: Wim Wenders
Starring: Bruno Ganz

Wim Wenders' Wings of Desire unfolds like a dream, emphasizing mood over story and flowing at a slow, easy pace. It's a film you'll likely hate if you dislike "art" movies, and you'll probably be left frustrated if you go into it with only City of Angels, the Nicolas Cage/Meg Ryan starring remake, as your point of reference. But this poetic masterpiece is a deeply rewarding film if you're in the right frame of mind for it.

Set in West Berlin, Wings of Desire follows two angels: Damiel (Bruno Ganz) and Cassiel (Otto Sander). The angels are there to observe people, to listen to their thoughts, to bear witness. They come together throughout the course of their travels to share what they've seen and heard and to reminisce about the history they've watched unfold. In one scene they recall watching the river find its bed, seeing the arrival of the first humans, watching as society took its shape. They have been content in their roles since the beginning of time, but Damiel starts to want more; he wants to experience life rather than simply observe it.

Damiel's revelation is brought about by two people. The first is Marion (Solveig Dommartin), a trapeeze artist whose loneliness (and loveliness) touches Damiel. The second is Peter Falk, playing himself - or, rather "himself." In Wenders' vision Falk is still the man who played Columbo, but he's also a former angel who can sense the presence of Damiel and Cassiel though, like other humans, cannot see them. He speaks to them, encouraging them to attain physicality so that he can see them and once Damiel does so, he gives him a couple of tips about existing in the human world.

The narrative threads involving Falk and Marion provide the film with shape, giving the story a destination (though its ending is "to be continued" and the story picks up in 1993's Faraway, So Close!), but it really isn't the kind of movie that's about what "happens." Yes, we want Damiel to find Marion and live happily ever after, but we'd also be happy to float along as we have been, following Damiel and Cassiel from subject to subject. Wenders submerges us into this world, taking us from vignette to vignette, showing us bits and pieces of the lives of people in West Berlin, and creates a viewing experience that is truly entrancing.

Not everything in Wings of Desire works - there's a scene between Falk and Dommartin that is strangely stilted and sticks out amongst the other scenes in the film which are so carefully and beautifully crafted and executed. I also think that in general Falk's presence is a bit distracting and somewhat tempers the film's spell. In spite of that, however, Wings of Desire is still a magical film experience that I most highly recommend.

Ebert's Greats #2: Dracula (1931)

* * *
Director: Tod Browning
Starring: Bela Lugosi

The first time I saw Tod Browning's Dracula, I wasn't very impressed. I attribute this less to the film itself and more to the fact that I saw it as part of a university class that was all about depictions of vampires in film and literature (yes, seriously) and thus saw four versions of the Dracula story in a row, this one being the 4th. I was kind of Dracula-ed out at that point. Seeing it again recently, though, I can appreciate it a more for the classic that it is.

This version of Dracula begins with Renfield (Dwight Frye) venturing out to the Castle Dracula to discuss the terms of a real estate deal with Count Dracula (Bela Lugosi). During his stay Renfield has an encounter with Dracula and his brides which drives him over the edge and turns him into an insect eating lunatic. Renfield returns to England a very changed man (with Dracula in tow) and is taken away to a sanatorium and placed in the care of Dr. Seward (Herbert Bunston).

While Renfield is locked up, Dracula makes the acquaitance of Dr. Seward, his daughter Mina (Helen Chandler), her fiancé John Harker (David Manners), and her best friend Lucy (Frances Dade). Lucy becomes Dracula's first victim - dying mysteriously and then rising from the grave and becoming "the woman in white," stalking through the streets at night and targetting children - but Mina is the one he really wants. For a time it looks as if he might succeed in his plan, but Harker and Professor Van Helsing (Edward Van Sloan) work together to rescue Mina and destroy Dracula for good.

Dracula departs quite a bit from Bram Stoker's novel but it retains the most important aspects of the story. At 75 minutes, it's lean and efficient and though it's obviously not the most state of the art film in terms of special effects, it is nevertheless an effective horror thriller. The only real problem with the film is that Dracula is the only character who leaves any kind of lasting impression. This is partly because the other characters are sort of watered down, but also because Lugosi's performance is just so magnetic that everyone else's pales in comparison.

Lugosi, whose performance as the Count is now iconic, was not the first choice for the role. Lon Chaney was the first choice but his death (amongst other things, including budget issues) allowed Lugosi to take the part, which he had previously played in the stage version on Broadway. Given his propensity for making his characters look as deformed as possible, it's interesting to imagine what Chaney's Dracula would have been like and what sort of impact that would have had on vampire films in general. Chaney's Dracula would likely have been in line with the creature as depicted in Nosferatu - scary and sinister and lacking in that seductive quality that Lugosi brings to the role. Lugosi's vampire is still evil and scary, but there's an undercurrent of eroticism to his portrayal that's in keeping with the more recent depictions of vampires as tragic/romantic figures. He's sort of like the link between the old school's monsters and new school's more complicated and all too human otherworldly beings. If you've never seen Dracula, I would highly recommend it on the strength of Lugosi's performance. It's been parodied a lot over the years, but it truly is memorable and distinct.

Ebert's Greats #1: The Night of the Hunter (1955)

* * * *
Director: Charles Laughton
Starring: Robert Mitchum, Lillian Gish

I've long been a fan of Roger Ebert's Great Films list and since there are a ton of films on that list that I haven't seen yet, I've decided to take it on as an ongoing personal project and work my way through, sort of like a directed viewing guide. There are a number of films from the list that I have seen and, in fact, already reviewed but that still leaves a couple hundred films for me to experience and/or write about for the first time. I'll be starting with The Night of the Hunter, Charles Laughton's moody, atmospheric and altogether excellent thriller.

On the face of it, the story of The Night of the Hunter is pretty simple. It involves two children - John (Billy Chapin) and Pearl (Sally Jane Bruce) - who know the location of $10k that their father stole and hid before being apprehended by the police and hanged for the crime. Their father's former cellmate, "Reverend" Harry Powell (Robert Mitchum), shows up, sweet talks their newly widowed mother (Shelley Winters) into marriage, murders her, and then terrorizes the children as he tries to get at the money. The kids eventually find refuge with Rachel Cooper (Lillian Gish), a force of good just as powerful as the evil represented by the relentless Powell.

The story is told in very simple and direct terms. The children are innocents, blank slates who live moment to moment, for whom events (with one notable exception) have no permanent meaning. Shortly after their father dies, John and Pearl are subjected to taunting by other children. When Pearl begins to repeat the chant, John tells her not to - not because it's disrespectful to the memory of their father but because she's "not old enough." Later when Pearl asks if he thinks their mother is dead, John simply says that yes, he believes she is. They see the world in black and white and the film itself seems to see things that way as well, unfolding in a dreamy, fairytale way with little ambiguity in terms of "good" and "evil."

If the world of children is one of innocence, the world of adults is one of corruption. The adult world is one of vice, hypocrisy, greed and violence - with the exception of Rachel. Powell famously has the words "love" and "hate" tattooed on his hands and delivers a speech in which he explains the history of the battle between the two, a speech which ultimately foreshadows his scenes with Rachel towards the end of the film. Two of the best things about this film are the characters of Powell and Rachel (especially as they are played by Mitchum and Gish). Powell is a memorable and truly terrifying villain, but Rachel is just as powerful, a strong, principled woman who refuses to back down and be intimidated. There isn't a lot of "action" in their confrontation, but it's epic because they're such distinctly and intensely drawn characters.

The Night of the Hunter was the only film that Charles Laughton would direct, a real shame since he proves to be an incredibly effective presence behind the camera. The story is told in an efficient way that keeps the tension at an incredible high from beginning to end (the score by Walter Schumann and cinematography by Stanley Cortez certainly help) and the acting is strong throughout (Mitchum gets some credit for that since Laughton's dislike of children made it necessary for Mitchum to take the reigns in many of the scenes involving Chapin and Bruce). Laughton is a strong visual stylist and throughout the film he composes some really great shots - it makes you wonder what else he would have done had this film been better received by critics and audiences when it was released. But history has been the true judge of this one, now considered a classic, and it is definitely deserving of that status.