Movie Reviews

“Art is excitement which if we can't create ourselves, we can at least, through love of it, make available to others.” - Vincent Price 

The Power of Optimism: Hope and Love in 7th Heaven

I am a complex individual. I have a lot of faith in the power of goodness, yet, at the same time I'm incredibly negative; I love the world, in spite of my fatalistic belief that it's falling apart. So, in my movie-watching ventures, I tend to veer back and forth between depressing sagas and good-time comedies.  

Feeling unwell, I took today off of work and settled down in bed to watch a movie. 7th Heaven (1927) is a silent film I've been meaning to watch for ages, and the plot description perfectly suited my ill-bearing, stress-sick mood. Poverty, abuse, war, - perfect! I guess I'm just a movie-masochist that way. However, my hope for two thoroughly miserable hours in bed was thwarted.

Chico, played by Charles Farrell (who is almost too beautiful for me to bear), is a cleaner of the sewers of Paris. He aspires to be a street cleaner, to work above, among the people. Nearby, Diane, played by Janet Gaynor, is being whipped by her elder sister. Forced by her sister into prostitution and theft, Diane is full of fear and misery, and is ashamed of her sins.  

One day, Diane's sister drives her out into the street, whipping and strangling her as they fall in the gutter near Chico's work area. Chico drives Diane's sister away, but is filled with disdain for Diane's lack of courage, saying a creature like her doesn't deserve to have her life saved. He questions God's will in placing people on earth, declaring himself an atheist. 

Suddenly, Chico's first chance arrives. A local priest approaches and offers him a commission as a city street cleaner. Chico is about to go off to celebrate when a policeman approaches; Diane's sister is in custody, and they are taking Diane with her. Chico, surprised by his own words, declares - "She's my wife!"  

Ladies and gentlemen, this without a doubt is one of my favorite plot lines. Man rescues woman by pretending to be her husband! In a day and age where men run from the mere idea of marriage is distasteful, a man protecting a woman by calling her wife is always heart-melting. I watched, with veritable hearts in my eyes, as Chico and Diane lived together in shy intimacy, continuing their charade until a police detective should come and see if Chico's claim was true. As their time together became more pleasant, and as their love grew deeper, Diane gained more and more courage. She began living by Chico's mantra, and was always looking up.  

Just as Chico asks Diane to marry him, they are hit with the ultimate trial: - War has broken out! As a final test of his faith, Chico asks God to observe their vows to each other in his home, making them truly married before he is carried away with his regiment.  For months and years, Chico and Diane remain faithful. At the same time each day, they hold the religious medals they wear around their necks, and they think of their love. They believe that they will be together again! 

… I refuse to tell you exactly what happens in the end. To do that would spoil the beautiful emotions of this story's conclusion, but I will say this: - Hope and courage prevail. If faith can carry two troubled beings through outward trials, trials even as devastating as war, it can surely guide people like me through inner turmoil.  

In accordance with my unshakable values, I exercise a great amount of humility. I recoiled from the conceited Chico, who found himself so self-reliable. "I'm never afraid! That's what makes me a very remarkable fellow!"  Then the war changed his point of view; God was the source of Chico's courage, his ability to continue looking up while in the grapple of adversity. 

That's when I understood: Self-belief is a virtue. When courage and humility combine to form hope, it is a grace and a treasure. I spend so much of my life in fear. Anxiety over what I've done, what others might do, holds me an iron grip in every moment of every day, preventing me from finding the inner peace I display outwardly. But humility is good, I told myself.  I might be afraid, but my life means little, and I'm generous to others. For years this has been my recipe for a fruitful life, a huge helping of humility.  

I missed an ingredient: - COURAGE. How can I have faith in the goodness of people if I spend my life hiding behind corners? How can I ever hope to reach above my dissatisfaction, if I don't bother to try, to fight for my happiness? You, reader, don't know how I let other people walk over me. They do the talking, they do the judging, they do the choosing and the criticizing. And, I? I'm not there; or, at least, I pretend not to be. It frightens me, to be alive.  

No one should be afraid to exist. No one should purposefully be unhappy. That, in a nutshell, is what I learned from 7th Heaven. Oh, I could argue that the reason I have no courage is because I haven't found love; Janet Gaynor had Charles Farrell to inspire her, but I'm single and battling life on my own. But that's another part of being brave: continuing without the promise of love, without knowing when the war will end or who will fall. You have to look up.  

If you're reading this... You're strong. You're capable of things that surpass the puny powers of the ones who put you down. You can be humble and kind. You can be mighty and brave. You will be okay. You need to believe that. You need to look up.  

That kind of rich optimism... It's the closest thing to Heaven. It must be close to Heaven.  

I'll try it, and let you all know.  

Alain: The Art of Camouflage

Alain Delon (born November 8th, 1935) is famous in French cinema for his brilliant acting and exquisite appearance. Every now and then, I type the name “Alain Delon” into Google images and sit back in awe. I click through pictures and I stare. I stare at the unbelievable amount of beauty before me. And that beauty is only increased when you watch Alain Delon move and speak in one of his films. The combination of talent and physical beauty is mighty powerful; and girls like me, who have an unhealthy obsession with handsome European men, don’t stand a chance against Delon. But are we who find Alain dangerously attractive the only ones susceptible to his charms? Not so. I propose that men like Alain Delon, rather than being mere eye candy, are actually the driving force behind the captivation of entire audiences.  

Some credit, of course, goes to the directors for encouraging actors like Alain, getting great shots with all-important focus on the eyes, the lips, et cetera. However, Alain is a man of many talents, one of those being the natural virility that emanates from him in every role. 

In Plein Soleil - or Purple Noon - (1960), Delon plays Tom, a young man who has travelled to Italy under mysterious circumstances. Tom has, supposedly, been sent to Rome to by a Mr. Greenleaf, in order to bring his son Philippe Greenleaf home to San Francisco. However, Tom’s true intentions are gradually revealed as he commits crime after clever crime, starting with murdering Philippe and stealing his identity. Being a passionate devotee to gorgeous young men, I find myself covering Tom’s crimes with my Alain-obsessed commentary…  

  

“Damn, Alain looks good in that guy’s clothes.” 

  

“Hurry, Alain, pretend he’s drunk instead of dead!”  

  

“I know you’re lying to her, Alain, and that you’re a creepy murderer, but I want you and Marge together anyway.” 

  

You readers who haven’t seen Plein Soleil are probably laughing at or frowning on my foolishness, but my desperation as a single young woman is not the only element at play here. Sometimes, while watching a movie, I will purposely sit back and pretend I’m someone else, - a retired old man, or a middle-aged policewoman, et cetera. And no matter who I am as I watch Plein Soleil, my desire as an audience member stays the same.  

  

I want Alain to win.  

  

What is it about Alain Delon’s depiction of Tom that makes me root for him? Is it his dialogue? Not likely. There isn’t very much significant dialogue in Plein Soleil, and I can’t understand the original French anyway. Cinematography? Music? Both were exceptional, but neither made a lasting impression.  

  

It’s Alain. Alain and the pure magnetism of his acting. I cannot think of a single actor who could take on this role and achieve an identical audience response. Who but Alain, with his lean body and luscious hair, could sit down with the woman he plans to steal from his murder victim, share a conversation full of lies, then walk around Naples as if he were the dragging the city around by the tip of his finger? In this scene from Plein Soleil, the purposefulness of Alain’s every movement creates an impression of importance, so much so that it’s difficult to focus on any part of the setting around him. Alain Delon doesn’t just cooperate with a written scene, he commands his scenery.  

We can all see that Alain Delon isn’t simply attractive, he’s compelling. He captures the eye with his presence, overpowering our senses with a captivation that’s almost primal. Is his inherent sensuality of movement the cause of this manly possession of pre-historic power? Or is there more to Alain Delon than the naughty look in those blue eyes?

To answer our question, let’s talk L’Eclisse (1962). I have to admit, my first viewing of this Michelangelo Antonioni film was not met with a standing ovation. I was tired and a little impatient with the artistic vision behind the film, driven mostly by extensive shots of buildings and trees, and those frustratingly satirical scenes where society forces people to converse in cryptic half-speak, if they ever speak at all. Not only that, but Alain Delon is absent from the first fifteen minutes  of the film (which is far too long for me to wait to see him), and throughout the film Alain’s beautiful voice is dubbed by an Italian actor. Watching L’Eclisse, I was struggling to maintain my normal powers of resigned concentration, and, quite frankly, I just wanted to see Alain make out with someone. However, once I smothered the flames of my Alain Delon attraction and looked at his performance objectively, I was held by that same animalistic captivation, in spite of this character’s being so different from that of Plein Soleil.  

While being slightly more romantic in overall intention than Plein Soleil, L’Eclisse is very intentionally subdued, so much so it’s almost dull. Alain’s character Piero is a stockbroker, who first appears on screen making phone calls and shouting to stockholders in a sea of insane modernist money bags. Even in this Bedlam of ambition, the collectively volatile behavior of the men and women is idle, meaningless, something for which we can credit Antonioni’s direction, as well as his calculating eye for truth. One can easily confuse Piero as a distraction from the tediousness, since he’s definitely easy on the eyes in his suit and tie. But, in spite of his beauty, Alain Delon doesn’t detract from the scene. In fact, he enhances it by being emotionally unavailable to Vittoria (played by Monica Vitti). Even in this monumental scene where, at last, there’s some great, great physical contact happening between Piero and Vittoria, the intention of the picture requires a frustrating amount of restraint. So, how is Alain still so captivating? 

In spite of my initial distaste after finishing L’Eclisse, I found myself thinking about it for days. I sat at work reading internet critics' opinions on the film, remembering Alain Delon’s hand almost, but not quite, twining with Monica Vitti’s in an awkward, suspenseful dance. Everyone seems to agree on the message of L’Eclisse - namely, that intimacy with another human is difficult, perhaps impossible, in our modern world (a message with which I can completely relate). In reviewing sections of the film, this meaning came upon me very intensely, particularly in scenes like the one above; and, if I’m forced to picture those scenes with another actor, that message simply does not deliver. I don’t think any other man, in this deliberately bland part, could kiss an equally bland woman and convey that complex combination of passion and reticence. Alain Delon doesn’t just kiss a woman, as some actors (many of them American) tend to do. He consumes them, he is responsive to them, he's calculating, mindless, vulnerable, powerful, - all these things at once. And that is what carries the moral past the screen and into the psyche. He is the struggle of modern romance, the social confusion L’Eclisse seeks to discuss, personified. He makes the film what it, at its best, should be.  

  

‘Wait, Ashley,” I hear some of you saying. ‘Are you saying movie wouldn’t be good without Alain Delon?” 

  

Well… Yeah, I am saying that.  

  

Alain Delon isn’t just a moving dummy you stand up in front of a cardboard backdrop, he’s a household name of French cinema. He’s so dynamic that he, not the scenery or the dialogue, creates the desired mood of the picture. Films like Plein Soleil and L’Eclisse, which are already fortunate enough to have been created by some highly intelligent people, is enhanced exponentially by Alain’s presence, causing the film to adjust in order to match his exuberance and natural talent. By being the man that he is, Alain Delon inspires a chameleon effect to take place on the screen, changing the emotional response of the picture in the same way a camouflaging animal changes colors. What might have been a straightforward crime film, or a bleak existential satire, becomes a jungle of human experience as bright and lively as Alain Delon’s eyes.  

  

So, when you watch a film starring Alain Delon, don’t just swoon and choke on your hormones. Well, okay, you can still die a little inside. But get it all out of the way early:  

His hair.  

His eyes. 

His style. 

His abs.

His everything. 

 Still alive?… Okay. Now, - watch this man act.  

Pick out a movie, sit back, and observe a master human being at work. Look inside yourself as you observe Monsieur Delon captaining ships of cinematic mastery, leading them into sparkling waters of audience enthrallment. Mark my words, you will never forget a journey led by Alain Delon. Not in a million years. 

Movie Night with Grandpa: My Viewing of Three Classic Films 

Coming from a family of five girls, I often find it difficult to get the sole attention of my family members… I need to share a bond with them, a specific common interest in order to get my time, and this bond usually comes about through movies. So, a couple of nights ago, when I was home alone, I brought dinner to my grandpa’s house and snuggled up on his couch, ready to be enlightened by his eclectic taste in movies. My grandpa (Mike), - handsome, charming, and allowed access to Turner Classic Movies by his cable company, - showed me three great movies that night. It was five o’clock when I arrived and the sun wasn’t quite down, but Grandpa stopped scrolling through his DVR and turned to me with a grin: “Do you like scary movies?” I answered with an emphatic YES and we watched Wait Until Dark (1967). Oh-ho-ho, ladies and gentlemen, I have a new favorite.

I love the 60s, I love Audrey Hepburn, and I love psychological thrillers. So, needless to say, this film is right on the money for me. Suzy Hendrix, played by Audrey, is a young woman made blind in an accident, who is unwittingly mixed up with criminals in search of a heroin-filled doll. And before you ask, yes, the doll is creepy as all get out. The overall ambience of the film is absolutely spine-tingling. Henry Mancini’s opening theme has simultaneously become my favorite song and the creepy tune that haunts my thoughts while I’m trying to sleep. And hats off to Frederick Knott, whose work I plan to look into. The way he packed such a complex story into relatively one apartment is inspired. I would love to be able to write like that.

All the references to childishness throughout the script, plus Audrey’s vulnerable performance (sobbing and moaning and crouching over, almost to the point of audience discomfort), left me thinking about the movie’s message. Watching this movie, is anyone else bugged by Suzy’s husband Sam, played by Efrem Zimbalist Jr? He wants his wife to be self-reliant, self-sufficient, but to leave her at home alone with no one but a little girl to help her??? Some of the things he did were just plain ungentlemanly, like refusing to pick up things Suzy has dropped or to even help her find them. At the same time, I sensed a connection between Suzy and hired criminal Mike, played by Richard Crenna. While pretending to be her ally, Mike was helpful but not belittling, and in the end had a great amount of respect for this incredibly clever woman. His response to Suzy’s industriousness is nothing like the detached pride in her husband Sam’s expression, as if she were a wonder of his own creation. Is Wait Until Dark working to praise the innocent, to associate handicapped people with purity and victory? Or are we, the audience, supposed to focus on hating the way Suzy is treated? I couldn’t help but do a bit of both. Beneath all the analytical questions scrambling around in my brain, there is a deep satisfaction with the movie as a whole. Wait Until Dark knew exactly how to play my nerve endings. If you’re looking for a movie that will envelope you in chills and intrigue, look no further.

After nervously giggling through the credits of Wait Until Dark, Grandpa selected an entirely different but equally delightful movie, Lilies of the Field (1963). Handsome, dynamic Sidney Poitier plays Homer Smith, a carefree wanderer who is dragged off the beaten path by a handful of nuns in need of a chapel. Some of the most delightful scenes consist of Smith teaching the sweet German nuns English phrases. And I cannot write about this film without mentioning the legendary gospel singing, led by Sidney Poitier. I know now why my Grandpa sings “Amen” at the end of every pre-dinner prayer -  Because of Lilies of the Field!

In our thoroughly modern age, it’s hard, really hard, to find a simple, wholesome movie. I can see now why Lilies of the Field was so popular with audiences everywhere. Its story is so simple, so human, that it can be appreciated by everyone. The character of Homer Smith shows the nature of humans through his gluttony and occasional selfishness. But after living and working for the sisters, he learns the grace of humility, and the reverence that comes from remaining still. Today humans are engrossed in the desire for constant action. We have to set our goals, and work for pay, and get to the top, or else we don’t deserve a share of the joys in life. But it is that really true? Lilies of the Field teaches many lessons, but I think the most important is this: - There is a higher power than yourself. You’re human, flawed, and you only have so much energy. Use it to help the people around you, and save yourself for last. Live that way, and ample blessings will be right around the corner.

Grandpa and I finished the night with a truly rare and beautiful film. A film about young love and the faith that it will last. A Little Romance (1979) is about Lauren, a young American girl played by Diane Lane, and equally young, equally precocious film buff Daniel, played by Thelonious Bernard. Lauren is living with her actress mother in Paris, and is sitting idly on the set when Daniel approaches and says, “Call me Bogey.” And when Lauren asks why: “Because they belong together.” If that doesn’t have you smiling, I honestly don’t know what will.

After her parents inform her they’re moving to Dallas, Lauren runs away with Daniel, hoping to live out a legend about true love in Venice. Charismatic pickpocket Julius, played by the fabulous Laurence Olivier, takes the children on their journey through the border of France and Italy. After watching the film, I’m convinced that I will be Julius in a few years - incapable of exercising without running out of oxygen, reduced to stealing because I am poor, and forced to create an imaginary dead husband because I need “a little romance in my life”.

Why are we all cynics when it comes to love? Lauren and Daniel are well aware of the state of the world, that marriages are expendable and young love is doomed. With their parents and everyone around them calling them foolish, Lauren and Daniel believe in the purity and truth of their feelings for each other. One of my personal favorite moments is after Daniel hesitantly takes Lauren to an 'adult movie'. After Lauren runs out of the theater in tears, Daniel follows and admits he’d never seen an adult movie either, saying, “That's something else. It isn't love.” The fact that two kids, just fourteen years old (approximately), understand elements of love that evades adults of the twenty-first century… It is a truly beautiful and inspiring thing to see. Watching this movie gave me a little hope, not only for the world but for myself. It is possible to have a soulmate, there is more to love than momentary indulgence. So, maybe the love of my life is waiting out there somewhere. Or maybe I’ll be like Julius, and have the privilege of observing a miracle in the lives of two others.

Film is far more than just idle entertainment. Watching a movie is a spiritual experience, one I shared three times over with my grandfather that night. It’s incredible, isn’t it? You can watch a movie with someone you love, and without sharing more than a few words you become inexplicably closer. That’s how I felt sitting beside my grandpa, receiving the gift of his time and the knowledge of movies he’s loved. We shared three unforgettable worlds, and now I’ve shared them with you. It’s simple connections like that that make life meaningful, and bring us one step closer to changing the way we think and live. Thanks, Grandpa, for showing me that.