Film moments #25: My Favorite Wife (1940)

8 October 2017


The film moments idea was started in honour of the citic Manny Farber, who once said that, 

A lot of the movies I went for were very much like the way we see and remember films – as fragments, gestures. We don’t retain whole shapes, but a sight gag from one, the cliffhanger from another, someone’s trousers from a third.

That was in mind when I watched My Favorite Wife, effectively a remake of The Awful Truth, which I wrote about here recently. Leo McCarey reunited Cary Grant and Irene Dunne, and had intended to direct the film, until he was injured in a car crash. Like The Awful Truth, the story is also propelled by the wife-who-isn’t-married, in this case one (Irene Dunne) is declared legally dead seven years after a boat she was on sank in the Pacific. Grant re-marries, and Dunne turns up again, having been rescued from an island by a passing freighter. 

The film is less than the sum of its parts, and the ending is a bit disjointed, perhaps because Leo McCarey, as producer, re-shot part of it when he concluded that the first cut of the film did not work, adding a second courtroom scene to add some comic energy. The judge was played by Granville Bates. All the same, it did well enough at the box office, being the second-highest grossing film in the US in 1940.

The moment: Having got herself home, Dunne re-appears at the hotel just before Grant arrives with his new wife for his honeymoon. It happens to be the same hotel where he went for is honeymoon with her. This moment–a sight gag–was copied pretty much shot for shot in the remake of The Parent Trap.

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‘See ancient beauty revived’

1 October 2017

Creative Commons: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/

One of my 2017 calendars consists of vintage travel posters, and the image for October is this: a ‘Visit Palestine’ poster. Some light digital digging discovers that it probably dates from 1947; ‘Loeb’ (bottom right) was Mitchell Loeb, a New York based artist who designed posters in support of the idea (and later the fact) of a Jewish homeland over a period of more than 40 years.

Loeb did two “Visit Palestine” posters for the Tourist Office of the Jewish Agency for Palestine, and the other one is sub-titled “The Land of the Bible”. 1947 might not have been the best time to visit. 91 people had died in the bombing of the King David Hotel by the Zionist paramilitary group Irgun in 1946, and more than a hundred Palestinians were killed in the Deir Yassin massacre two years later, carried out by Irgun and Lehi (“The Stern Gang”), another paramilitary group. Without delving too far into that history, let’s say that as holidays go, it might have been tense.

The Palestine Poster Project has around 20 of Loeb’s images. The first, from 1916, in a classic recruiting style, is headed, “For the freedom of Palestine; Jews of America organize”. The last one, in 1960, is for the New York-based Jewish National Fund: “Progress despite crisis“. Ironies abound in these images, with hindsight. “Progress despite crisis” features a man driving a bulldozer.

Oranges, villages, green fields, the mountains, the sea. Of course this image has been adapted and remixed for our times. David Tartakower‘s version, from 2004, seen below, is subtle. The image is all but identical, but bleached out. The caption, in Hebrew, says “Another Country”.

eretz_acheret_tartakover_PPPA

The image of Eretz Acheret is taken from the collection of the Palestine Poster Project, and is used with thanks. The photograph of the “Visit Palestine” poster was taken by Andrew Curry.

 


Inspector Barlach

23 September 2017

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Pushkin Press specialises in classily produced versions of translated fiction. Their Vertigo imprint which features translated crime, is a welcome extension. I saw the recently re-published Suspicion, one of Friedrich Durrenmatt’s Inspector Barlach crime novels, on the counter of the excellent Riverside Bookshop in London, and surprisingly good value, too, at £4.99.

Durrenmatt is a Swiss writer whom I mostly know for The Visit, an entertaining play that has at its heart questions about money, morality and corruption.

Suspicion looks as if it was first published in instalments in a Swiss newspaper in 1951–2, and then in book form a year later. It is set in late 1948 and early 1949, and like the Philip Kerr novel featured recently on Around the Edges, trades in that grey world of the post-war war criminal. Is the doctor running a prestigious Zurich clinic really a notorious doctor from a concentration camp?

I’m not going to try to convey the plot, since I’ll give something away, but it’s fair to say that it is equal parts noir and metaphysics. It also has that now-familar trope (small spoiler) of the detective who puts himself in danger to catch his quarry, only to realise that his quarry is two or three steps ahead of him. As tropes go, it would have been a lot less familiar in 1951.

It’s closer to novella length, at 150 pages or so, and I kept turning the pages. I hadn’t come across Barlach before, but there are several more to read.


Film moments #24: The Philadelphia Story

22 September 2017

The-Philadelphia-Story-(1940)

The Philadelphia Story is a classic film, a romantic comedy starring Katharine Hepburn, Cary Grant and James Stewart, who won an Oscar for it. The romantic comedy bit: Hepburn plays Tracy Lord, a member of one of Philadelphia’s swankiest families, is about to remarry, but her first husband, C.K. Dexter Haven, played by Cary Grant, smuggles into the house party a reporter (Stewart) and photographer (played by Ruth Hussey) from the gossip magazine Spy, to get his own back on his ex-wife. It’s a fine film and I’d be completely happy to watch it again tomorrow.

The film is adapted from a play by Philip Barry that Hepburn also starred in, and it relaunched her then becalmed Hollywood career. The reason she’s surrounded by bankable leading actors is that Warners was trying to insure the success of the film, as it were.

Much of the comedy comes from the contrast from Hepburn’s high life (the musical remake is called High Society) and the more mundane worlds of Stewart and Hussey, where people actually have to worry about details like money. This is New Deal humour, with Stewart a year on from his breakthrough movie, Mr Smith Goes to Washington, and arguably some of the earlier character washes through into Philadelphia Story. Either way, he and Hussey stand in for the audience in the face of the lavish wealth that’s on display in the story.

The script by Donald Ogden Stewart purrs along; the plot is tightly constructed; and the story is about climbing down off the pedestal and learning to live with human frailty.

A couple of moments. The first is in the office of Spy magazine, as reporter Macaulay Connor (Stewart) and photographer Liz Imbrie (Hussey) are summoned to the publisher’s office to be given the assignment and to meet Dexter Haven. Just because it says a lot about both character and the relationship of the two characters. Here’s the script; it doesn’t seem to be online as a clip.

Around The Edges-film moments-Philadelphia Story-James Stewart

The second, as Hepburn unfurls the wedding present that Cary Grant has left for her, a scale model of the boat he’s built that they’d sailed together when newly married. The scene tells you everything you need to know about the triangle between Hepburn and her past and future husbands.

The sequence that plays out between Cary Grant and Katherine Hepburn just before the wedding ceremony at the end of the film (spoiler, but the link is here) was clearly filed away by the screenwriter Richard Curtis at some point, since a version pops up in Four Weddings and a Funeral. If you’re going to steal, steal from the best.

The poster at the top of the post is via Wikimedia. 


Films and music

20 September 2017

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I found a note on film music in an old notebook on an interview with the Polish composer Zbigniew Preisner, perhaps still best known for his work with Krzystzof Kieslowski. Here are a couple of extracts.

The question is why should we use music at all. The connection between the film and the music is completely metaphysical because you never see the music; you only feel it, and in my opinion the best music for a film is total silence. Most American films use a composer like John Williams, when there is music all the time to tell you what to think and how to feel. A bit of danger: some scary horns. A love scene: romantic strings. But the French writer Baudelaire was right when he said that the matter for the artist is not to describe what he sees, but what he feels.

And this. It explains in part why, despite his reputation, he has only worked in European cinema. The other part of the explanation is about what Hollywood economics does to artistic endeavour.

When I see most American movies, I think they are providing instructions for terrorists. I was in Poland when I watched September 11 on television, and at first I thought it was a movie. Sure, Independence Day is fun, but films like this are wishing for something to happen, like a self-fulfilling prophecy.

And here, to troll the Brexiteers who are busy hating my recent Medium post on Brexit, is his ‘Song for the Unification of Europe’, from Kieslowski’s Three Colours: Blue.


Film moments #23: Sherlock Holmes and the Secret Weapon (1942) 

18 September 2017


I watched Sherlock Homes and the Secret Weapon because that series of films starring Basil Rathbone as Holmes were a bit of a mystery to me. They certainly banged them out: 14 were made between 1939 and 1946, and updated to the present, often with the lightest of nods to the Conan Doyle canon.  

Rathbone plays Holmes, Nigel Bruce plays Watson, Moriarty appears, and is killed off a couple of times. But, as in the original, of course, Moriarty never dies. 

In 1942, in Secret Weapon, Holmes has to spring a scientist from Switzerland under the eyes of watching Gestapo agents, and once in London spring him once again from the clutches of Moriarty. Of course, it is a propaganda film. The MacGuffin is a bombsight that the scientist has designed that is far more accurate (yes, I heard it as “bombsite” in the film until I saw it assembled).  

The Conan Doyle reference is to the Dancing Men code, used by the scientists for a critical plot point. Watson is bluff. Lestrade is a comic plodder.

The moment is certainly a spoiler: yes, Holmes foils the plot and saves the scientist and the RAF gets its bombsights. This is from the very end of the film, when Holmes and Watson are watching squadrons of bombers equipped with the sights heading for Germany. (The usefulness of that is for another post on another day). Shakespeare is invoked. But unlike Nolan’s Dunkirk, when audiences first saw this film, in 1942, they didn’t know how things were going to turn out. The TV version I saw had left an advertisement for war bonds on the print they screened, after the credits.


Film Moments #22: Love Affair (1939)

17 September 2017


Director Leo McCarey made Love Affair twice, with almost the same script. The first time, it starred Charles Boyer and Irene Dunne, a big ’30s star who has now slid from view. He remade it almost two decades later as An Affair to Remember with Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr to considerably more acclaim, but there’s lots to like about this first version.

Same script, same plot. A couple fall in love on a transatlantic liner, but are each engaged to someone else, so can’t be together; they agree to meet on the viewing tower of the Empire State Building in six months; tragedy strikes; but (spoiler) they are reunited right at the end of the film. Yes, it’s one of those stories that would be so much simpler now they’ve invented the mobile phone. It’s a while since I’ve seen An Affair to Remember, but memory says that it laid the melodrama on with a trowel, partly through its score, which is probably why it is so popular. Love Affair seemed to have a lighter touch.

Love Affair is out of copyright, so can be found on the internet. There’s an elegant bit of visual design. On the boat, both are in white or cream clothes, until close to the end of the voyage. Once in America, both are predominantly wearing black. Right at the end of the film, when they meet again, the two colours are reunited through a payoff that has been set up in the first part of the film.

The moment is a visual one that would only work in film. The two are on the boat as it docks in New York, scanning the crowd for their respective fiance(e)s. She is far left, he is far right of shot. As they see them, they indicate them, wordlessly, to the other. After that there’s some business on the gangway that’s also worth looking out for. And listen for the nod to Gershwin.


‘Eddie, they’ll arrest you’

16 September 2017


There is a fabulous snippet of cycling history in the latest edition of Rouleur, which has a Spanish theme. It profiles the former Basque rider Txomin Perurena, a Tour de France King of the Mountains winner in 1974 and twice Spanish road race champion. Perurena rode for the Basque team sponsored by drinks company Kas, and was a contemporary of the great Eddie Merckx.

The story is about a stage of the 1974 Tour that crossed the border into Spain. Perurena:

We’d taught him [Mercx] Euskera, which is even more difficult than Flemish. Well, not all of the Basque language, only one phrase: “Gora Euskadi Askatuta” (‘Long live the freedom of the Basque country’.) It was Santi Lazcano who had taught him, and all Mercx could think of doing was to start shouting it in the middle of the pack when the Tour got to Spain, a stage that ended in La Seu d’Urgell. 

“You’re crazy, Eddie”, we would tell him, “if the Guardia Civil hear you, they’ll arrest you.” … It was 1974 and Franco was still alive. Spain was still a dictatorship.

Perurena’s brother was a member of the Basque separatist group ETA and was shot on the street in 1984, a decade after Franco’s death by the Spanish mercenary paramilitaries GAL. They had been hired by Spanish police with the secret approval of the government to fight a so-called ‘dirty war’ against ETA.     

The Basques are passionate and committed cycling fans, and you see their flag on Pyreneean stages of the Tour, along with another black and white flag that supports a prisoners’ repatriation campaign. It wants those ETA members still in jail returned to the region from far-flung parts of Spain and France to serve the rest of their sentence in one of the region’s jails, so that friends and family can visit them. 

The former Basque cycling team Euskatel, with its striking orange tops, was part funded by local subscription in the region, and had a policy of hiring only riders who were born or brought up in the region. Elsewhere, in his wonderful book of stories about the Basque area, Obabakoak, Bernardo Atxaga has a story about a cyclist that stands in some ways for the loss of childhood.  

In the interview, by Carlos Arribas, Perurena tells the story of the day he lost the lead in the Tour of Spain in 1975. At the start of the decisive time trial, he was ahead by more than a minute. The time trial ended in the velodrome in San Sebastian/Donostia, in front of Basque fans. 

“On entering the velodrome and hearing the silence that greeted me from the fans, I knew I hadn’t succeeded. In the end I lost by 14 seconds, half a lap… I’ll never get that silence out of my head… That’s how I lost the Vuelta in front of the home fans.” 


Film moment #23: Dunkirk (2017)

14 September 2017


I might as well acknowledge from the start that I’m suspicious of Dunkirk, just as I’m suspicious of this year’s Churchill film and suspicious to the point of despair about the about-to-open Victoria & Abdul, no matter how well Judi Dench plays Victoria, again. I’m not sure that the world needs any more cultural objects right now that are basically rehashes of Britain as world power, even if, as Churchill said of Dunkirk at the time, “an evacuation is not a victory”, and, come to that, Christopher Nolan is a consistently interesting film-maker.

Having seen it quite reluctantly, I’m not with those critics who were gushing, or come to that the British writer who hated it

So, on the upside, it is technically interesting, in that Nolan refuses almost all of that tedious backstory stuff that usually clutters up films, especially films in which the characters have a risk of death, and which allows us to attach judgmental labels to them. The illusion he is creating for us is that he is putting us face-to-face in the moment with the characters (although unlike them, we know how it turned out.) This also means it must have one of the shortest scripts of a modern full length film. And Nolan refuses to use CGI, which is laudable, since CGI is clearly the drug that has destroyed Hollywood’s imagination. 

Except: that in telling a story that involved evacuating 50,000 people a day from a beach for a week he clearly hasn’t got enough extras to convey the scale of the operation, and one of the things that attracted Nolan to the story was the scale of the operation. (There are ways around such things. I’m thinking of the visual innovation Edward Dmytrk brought to Crossfire when the shooting schedule didn’t allow for proper lighting set-ups, but Nolan doesn’t opt for this.)

On the downside, I hate films where the music tells me blatantly what I’m supposed to feel. Hans Zimmer’s score plays with the chords of ‘Nimrod’ from the moment it looks like the evacuation plan is going to work, and by the time he’s got to the end he’s gone full Elgar (“Variation 15”). Like I said, enough of that age of empire stuff.

The moment. Nolan sees the film in an elemental way, as being earth, sea and air. The earth is the ‘mole’ or beach area of Dunkirk, protected by two long breakwaters, and as he introduces these elements (pun intended) he adds a caption with their ‘time’ attached to them. The mole is a week–which is how long they have before the Germans overrun the defences. The sea is a day–how long it takes the boats to go there and back. And the air is an hour: the flying time of a Spitfire across the Channel before they run out of a fuel. I’ve never seen a director share with the audience the way their film thinks about time in such a straightforward way. 

   


The Septembers 11th

11 September 2017

Lentes_Salvador_Allende
It’s been many times observed that the destruction of the World Trade Center in 2001 fell on the anniversary of the overthrow in 1973 of the Allende government in Chile, in which the CIA was deeply complicit.

The two events echo around each other. I found an old notebook in which I’d written about reading on the same day both Ariel Dorfman’s book, Exorcising Terror, on the detention of Pinochet in Britain, and articles in Le Monde Diplomatique on the American export of terror.

The engagement by the CIA in the Chilean coup, according to some of the accounts of the torture which followed it, sounds like a set of early rehearsals for the treatment of the detainees in Abu Ghraib prison. And probably in quite a lot of other places in between. The Agency, it would seem, does as much as it thinks its political masters will be willing to turn a blind eye to.

In the same notebook, I also found a quote which offered a different, if related, perspective from the Pakistani-born/British-resident writer Nadeem Aslam, in a short review of Ian McEwan’s novel Saturday:

A novelist votes every time he writes a sentence. Ian McEwan’s Saturday is a lovely and profoundly serious act of engagement with our age. The collapsing of the Twin Towers on 9/11 gave many people – including, I feel, Saturday’s protagonist Perowne – their first glimpse of another kind of world that had been existing alongside ours for some time. It is almost as though the Towers had been blocking a view.

The image at the top of the post is of Salvador Allende’s glasses, recovered from outside the Moneda Palace after his death. It was taken by Roger Espinosa and is published here under the GNU Free Documentation Licence.