Monday, June 30, 2014

June 30: Safety Last! (1923 -- Fred C. Newmeyer & Sam Taylor)

★★★★

Safety Last! is my first feature with Lloyd, and I see the appeal.  His Glasses Boy is as cute as a button and as animated as a Disney creation.  Lloyd seems to mine every moment of Safety Last! for its comic potential, whether he’s trying to get to work on time, waiting on ladies in the fabric department of a department store or climbing the façade of the Bolton Building.  His humor is sometimes more like that of the Three Stooges than of Chaplin or Keaton: Jackets get ripped up the back, people get kicked in the butt when they bend over, and witless police are continually outfoxed in pursuit of their suspect.  But despite the hooey that calls on us to suspend disbelief when Lloyd takes over his boss’ office and pushes buttons to call assistants, Lloyd’s screen presence has a charm that makes us willing to play along.

Part of the Boy’s charm here is his basic goodness.  He wants to bring his girlfriend to the city, so goes off in earnest to make money.  He wants to do well at work, help out his friend, and succeed, but he never tries to advance by stepping on others.  With his fresh face and sincerity of character, he’s a hard man not to like.

His comedy also has an engaging, agile physicality.  We watch him brushing aside pigeons while he clings to the side of a building, and we see him hook his foot through a looped rope and become a human pendulum when he falls.  He jumps from a bus and into a car.  And even less dramatic moments of his comedy rely on his supple dexterity.  At one point, he wraps himself up in a mannequin to get into De Vore’s unobserved, and he then folds himself into a human crab to walk to his post unobserved.

And Safety Last! builds itself into something close to an action thriller in its last, extended skit.  The Boy climbs the Bolton Building one story at a time, at each floor expecting his human fly pal, Bill, to replace him.  The friend, though, is unrelentingly pursued by the policeman and has to flee at each floor just as the Boy gets there.  And the Boy also encounters an obstacle at each floor, from an over-large large ledge to a volleyball net, pigeons, office workers and even a fussy grandmother.  And the famous clock.  Tension builds steadily as we watch the Boy’s danger increase and his hope of salvation retreat.

Safety Last! is a fun movie.  Some of the gags are forced – and even stupid – but that's to be expected in such an intense concentration of humor.  The film is nonetheless fun, energetic and far more inventive than many other comedies.


Sunday, June 22, 2014

June 22: To Be or Not to Be (1942 -- Ernst Lubitsch)

★★★★★

Controversial at the time, Ernst Lubitsch’s strategy of fighting fascism with wit and finesse led to one of his most effective works in To Be or Not to Be.  Lubitsch’s cinematic strength isn't drama, adventure or broad comedy, so when wanted to take aim at what was happening in Europe, he applied his Lubitsch Touch to deflate National Socialism rather than confront it.

The witty layers that are so important to the film are apparent from the opening, which is as bravura an opening as any Indiana Jones faced.  The film starts with Hitler window shopping on a street in Warsaw and then cuts to a scene in a Gestapo office.  Aside from the Nazi connection, little binds these two shots, but the Gestapo scene is interrupted by yet a third narrative line that tells us the Gestapo office interaction isn't real but is part of a play.  With this new layer of information, the audience reinterprets the office scene as a piece of performance rather than the story of the film.  Meanwhile, the director of the play becomes involved in a discussion of the scene, which reveals that the Hitler we originally saw on the Warsaw street was actually one of these actors dressed as Hitler.  So we add a new layer of meaning to that first scene, and To Be or Not to Be then returns to it as the actor tries to prove he’s a convincing Hitler.  This four-part opening is a skilled, zippy run through several frames of reference that reinterpret and add layers of meaning to what we have in front of us onscreen.

And this opening is a microcosm of how Lubitsch uses complex, multiple layers of reinterpretation and meaning throughout the movie, usually to humorous effect and often at the expense of the Nazis.  When Joseph is impersonating Col. Ehrhardt with Siletsky, for example, the Professor jokes that Maria Tura’s husband was being fooled, and “Col. Ehrhardt” immediately moves to correct the situation because he is, in fact, Joseph.  It’s the reaction of a husband in the role of a Gestapo official, and we follow the scene on two levels.  This same scene sets up another example of layering.  During their conversation, Siletsky tells “Ehrhart” that he’s known as Concentration Camp Erhart, and Joseph/Ehrhart, unsure how to respond, replies “Ah, is that so”?  Later, when Joseph is playing Siletsky with the real Ehrhardt and tells the Colonel about the nickname, Ehrhart replies exactly as Joseph had previously. This response is an obvious ironic nod to the previous encounter, but Joseph’s multi-layered follow-up is that he’d thought Ehrhart would react that way, an appropriate comment in the immediate situation but also one that harkens back to the previous scene.  And even in small gestures, Lubitsch provides multiple layers of meaning.  As Joseph walks sadly into Maria’s dressing room after the announcement of the invasion of Poland, we assume he is sad over the news; in fact, he’s sad because someone has walked out of his performance.  Added to the irony of the two interpretations of Joseph’s sadness is that Maria had set up the walk-out for her own purposes.  To Be or Not to Be spends much of its run time building multiple layers of meaning for scenes.

And if the opening of the film is a preview of Lubitsch’s use of multi-layered significance, it also points to how tightly To Be or Not to Be is constructed.  Detail after detail in the opening is picked up later in the film.  Joseph’s jealousy of Maria becomes clear in some of the dialog of the opening, and it is very important later when the jealous husband accidentally reveals his identity to Siletsky.  And Bronsky’s portrayal of Hitler, which we see in the opening, becomes important in the escape scene later; there is also humorous reference several times to the scene stealing of Rawich, starting in the opening.  It is also in the opening that we first hear Greenberg refer to Shylock’s if-you-prick-us monologue, a monologue that takes on great, multi-layered pathos when the Jewish Greenberg delivers it to Hitler’s guard at the theater.  Even the joke in the opening about Hitler being remembered as a type of cheese resurfaces several times in the rest of the film.

The tightness of the introduction is only a foretaste of a script that wastes no detail.  For example, a reference to Joseph’s losing his fake beard and having a spare one becomes important when the actor has to shave the dead Siletsky’s face and use the spare on it.  And in fact, as the group is making its escape, Joseph again loses his beard.  Likewise, Hamlet’s to-be-or-not-to-be soliloquy has multiple uses throughout the film.  Originally a signal for Stanislav to come to Maria’s dressing room, it becomes a code that Stanislav uses to send a message to Maria.  And there’s the unexpected humor at the end of film when Joseph begins his soliloquy with Stanislav in the audience and, instead of Stanislav using it as cue to leave the audience, yet another soldier stands and makes his way out, surprising both of the men.  Details have functions in this tight script.

To Be or Not to Be sparkles with wit and economy.  A basic decision like casting Jack Benny as a Shakespearean actor carries no small amount of ironic wit, and when Benny walks on the stage as an old, tights-wearing Hamlet, the image is comic in itself.  There’s wit everywhere in the dialog, too.  “Does the fact that I can drop two tons of dynamite in three minutes interest you?” asks the young, sincere, smitten Stanslav.  “It CERTAINLY DOES!” leers Maria, playing with a double entendre.  There’s hardly a moment of the film that isn’t showing its wit or setting up a clever moment for later in the film.

But To Be or Not to Be isn’t all frothy comedy; Lubitsch lets the brutality of National Socialism show through clearly at points.  The film opens by showing the store signs of businesses in Warsaw, but after the Nazi conquest, we see the same signs fallen, broken and burned.  There’s no clever wit in these images.  Nor is the delivery by Greenberg of Shylock’s if-you-prick-us monologue a witty joke.  As the Jew stands in front of Hitler’s guard, the camera zooms in on his face, and the movie pauses to hear the Shakespearean anti-racist plea.  In context, it’s a plea for Poles, but the actor’s Jewish identity makes it also a plea for that persecuted minority.  We also see the reality of death in the macabre scene when Joseph finds himself, impersonating Siletsky, in the same room with the real Siletsky’s body.  Although the film is justly praised for its light Lubitsch Touch, there’s more than a little of the reality of the horrors of Nazism in the film.

It’s not hard to see the influence of To Be or Not to Be on Wes Anderson’s recent Grand Budapest Hotel.  Both films are articulate and witty, and both use this elegance in a critique of Nazism.  Gustave H. with his elaborate schemes and witty repartee would not be out of place in the world of To Be or Not to Be.  And in both films, there is also a brutality that occasionally jags through the comic artifice to remind us we’re not watching a film that is simply an ornate confection.  The brutal murder of  Vilmos Kovacs in Grand Budapest keeps the real subject of the film before us.  Overall, the common inspiration of the two films is striking.


To Be or Not to Be is an elegant, clever set of parallels, wit and layered meanings, but all this is in service of a deep critique of the horror that was already gripping Europe.  It’s no small task to pull such disparate elements together; it takes comprehensive vision and the touch of a director like Ernst Lubitsch.

Wednesday, June 18, 2014

June 18: Grand Hotel (1932 -- Edmund Goulding)

★★★★★

Grand Hotel is a cinematic pleasure. A big part of the enjoyment here comes from the stylish art direction.  The film’s interiors draw the eye to their German modernist furnishings, and the camera celebrates this style with its panning and its overhead shots.  The fashion here, too, makes us want to oogle, especially the way the women are dressed.  The lithesome forms of Greta Garbo and Joan Crawford are clad in tight, slimming dresses that flair into shoulder pads or furs at the top.  The sleek lines of their hats complement the outfits.  And Goulding’s direction evokes inhumanly elegant postures from his women, both as they sit talking and as they walk.  Garbo and Crawford move like the languid women from contemporary cartoons in pages of the New Yorker.  The affected dialogue adds to the elegance of the hotel, too.  “I've never been so tired in my life,” laments Garbo’s world-weary Grusinskaya .  And when she talks about retiring from dance, she ponders,  “What would I do? Grow orchids? Keep white peacocks? Die!”  The affected elegance of Grand Hotel is a pleasure we don’t find in film today.

There’s also an unexpected darkness informing this film.  WW I is evident in the background as Baron von Gaigern refers to his wartime experience.  At one point, he bitterly observes that he learned how to pray and lie in school and to kill and hide in the war.  And Dr. Otternschlag, half his face covered with a black, war-caused scar, always has a pessimistic observation to make about the frothy life of the hotel.  “People coming, going.  Nothing ever happens” at the hotel, he observes. “And when you leave, someone occupies your room, lies in your bed, that's the end."  Death also follows the characters here.  The accountant Kringelein is mortally ill and may die at any moment, and the Baron is shot dead just as happiness is within his grasp.  The Grand Hotel may be elegant, but it’s shot through with a deep pessimism.

This mood of pessimistic darkness overlain with elegance is one of the most significant elements that Goulding’s Grand Hotel shares with the recent Wes Anderson Grand Budapest Hotel.  It’s not hard to feel this fundamental similarity.  And Anderson’s Grand Budapest picks up a few other details, too.  In Grand Budapest, we learn about horrors of war from Zero just as we hear about the war in Grand Hotel, and Zero’s bellboy training owes some debt to the end of Grand Hotel when a manager inspects the bellboys’ gloves for cleanliness and fit.  There’s even some reference to Dr. Otternschlag’s conspicuous facial deformation in the otherwise gratuitous scar on Clotilde’s face in Grand Budapest.  Such imperfection is what the world is made of despite all the gestures to style and civility.

Both films also show the era of the 30s as a time of transition.  The sporty American couple rolls up in their car at the end of Grand Hotel as a new economic power and set of social conventions arrives, and fascism blooms in the final part of Wes Anderson’s film.  Both movies show the period between the wars as a transition from an era of ineffective grace and style to something less elegant and less high-minded, though the hotel of the earlier film is clearly more impervious to history that that of the later movie.

Grand Hotel is wonderful cinema experience.  Really, they don't make 'em like this anymore.