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Let’s be real: I zoned out for the first 25 minutes about Victoria’s ascension to the throne blah blah blah. Because I was waiting for Anton Walbrook’s moody Prince Albert, complete with silly side curls, to grace the screen. How happy was I to be introduced to him and his bro Prince Ernest (also kind of hot Walter Rilla) in their Coburg home exchanging foxy banter about England and the prospect of Prince Albert being betrothed to Queen “I got some bees in my bonnet about marriage” Victoria (Anna Neagle).

Albert and Ernest (looking like wet Prince kittens mind you) grumble and moan their way across to Dover. Upon arrival, they’re bumbling about in the cutest little Victorian shirts and undergarments (nice bathrobes boys), failing to get dressed to see Victoria. However, the latter changes her mind about Albert once she sees him fully decked out in formal military garb. Yah, he’s a looker, girl (also your cousin but that’s royalty, babe!)

The ball thrown in his name starts churning out period drama romance vibes though I’d be more than content with Albert stuffing his face at the buffet table. After one dance, Victoria decides to basically propose. As for Albert, I’m not sure when he changed his mind but then we get a steam train honeymoon getaway and Victorian flirting (which consists of dorky singing, hand kissing and lying on a lady’s lap).

The portrayal of young Queen Victoria comes across shallow and overbearing at first (monarchistic power has gone to her head as she gleefully orders everyone or everything as she likes). I do think her persistence in keeping Albert out of state affairs and confined to domestic is probably historically accurate until she caves in and he becomes actively involved.

Interspersed throughout their relationship is the backdrop of events taking place like the Hungry forties, almost being assassinated, repeal of the Corn Laws, Parliament hoohah…and some seriously dated colonial intertitles referring to the “Indian Mutiny” and “most glorious period in the history of the British Empire.” The Trent Affair also makes an appearance but then I got distracted by Walbrook in full Scottish attire (yes a kilt) at Balmoral. 

This film was released in 1937 before WWII though there were already regional conflicts popping up, and a hundred years after Victoria’s ascension henceforth the on-the-nose pro-empire nationalistic stance (that ending speech guys…) It also makes one think if it was additional commentary in regard to the relationship between the UK and … (don’t know much about director Herbert Wilcox). For the audience of that time, I suppose it was all relevant as some would have been alive for her Diamond Jubilee!

On a shallow note, I love the intermittent focus on Albert’s musical prowess (historically true). I did enjoy how Albert intentionally made Victoria jelly by performing “their duet” with another lady at the soirée.*

*Walbrook and Neagle are not professionals so it took me a good 30 minutes to suss out that they’re singing/playing Mendelssohn’s Auf Flugeln des Gesanges!!

Other random music trivia:

Real life Albert himself composed and dedicated his pieces to Victoria and for their wedding service he wrote a duet, Liebe hat uns nun vereint (‘Love has now brought us together’).

Mendelssohn arranged Lied ohne Worte for piano four-hands for Victoria and Albert to play together. They were all buds. Using my skills of deduction, I knew all the lieder in the film could not be Schubert’s. V+A were massive Mendelssohn fans.
  
⏩️ Monarch Malarkey

A Korda production that had its tumultuous turns and multiple director changeovers but even so, it is a technicolour feast for the eyes and mostly consistent throughout. The matte painted backgrounds and meticulous set designs immediately stood out in their artistry and then it was Sabu’s Abu. Light on his feet, a quick thinker, unwaveringly loyal and feisty without losing sight of who he is, the titular Abu carries the film’s energy. Is he chewing the scenery? Yes (but so is everyone). 

Conrad Veidt’s Jaffar—iconic, manipulative villain as we know—rocks up to the show and brown facing aside, is unmatched re: acting prowess. Thank god for Veidt and Sabu because while John Justin’s Ahmad and June Duprez’ Princess are pretty (pretty vapid lol), they are also the whitest white bland people to convince me that they are not at a costume party in England.

Miklós Rózsa (whom I know from his overblown, theremin-quavering soundtrack for Spellbound) delivers a tonally appropriate theme here at least. There are also sporadic musical numbers, of which I shockingly have no opinion. 

Despite the story sort of flitting from here to everywhere, there is an ethereal yet bizarre beauty to The Thief of Baghdad I can appreciate. It reminds me of the magical elusiveness in Pandora and the Flying Dutchman eleven years later (I always thought the latter looked like a Powell!) in the sense both surrender to art’s homage to illusion. Also note, Orientalism is indeed conspicuous here (but the flying rug is pretty fantastic even so). Simultaneously, the “automatons” and “giant spiders”give me the heebie jeebies… Same sentiments towards the Genie… why is he cackling so much and why is his giant red nappy so distracting?

Dear lord, there are like four Thief of Baghdad’s?! Five if you include Aladdin?!

Rewatched with the kids and husband this week and boy does the musical number Circle of Life interposed with the opening sequence gives me goosebumps. STILL. The Lion King terrified me as a child, watching Mufasa die and Simba deal with his grief and self-inflicted blame as he grows into adulthood. The once-lush and verdant pride rock exhausted of its vitality when Simba returns—apocalyptic but with the promise of life renewing again. Nature is never fully defeated—give it time and space, it will return. 

Strip The Lion King to its bare bones and it’s the basic plot of Hamlet. Hugely effective storytelling, timeless comedy/slapstick, some of Disney’s best animation, masterclass cast of voice actors and actresses, tied together by a sumptuous score by Hans Zimmer. If only 5 year old me appreciated all the above. 

RIP James Earl Jones. What. A. Voice.

⏩️ Soundtracks that get me in the feels

Why need dialogue when the acting is so good and the humour doesn’t miss a single beat? The hijinks!

Directed by Charlie Chaplin. Written by Charlie Chaplin. Produced by Charlie Chaplin. Starring Charlie Chaplin.* Who is an oaf of a tramp. Falls in love with gorgeous blind flower girl (sublime Virginia Cherrill). Ends up being dragged about town in an homoerotically charged-hot mess of a time with the man he saves one night—a drunk and suicidal wealthy millionaire (Harry Myers). Somewhere in the plot he dedicates himself to helping blind flower girl—the infamous boxing scene occupying a majority of his attempt to earn some cash. Of course in true Chaplin tramp fashion, sheer bad luck is around every corner. 

The backstory to this film is that it took an outrageously long time to make during a time when the industry was moving to talkies and silent films were becoming obsolete. But it was Chaplin’s perseverance, insistence, endless perfection** and even stubbornness that brought City Lights to fruition. And boy did it prove to be a success!

Tropes from this film have continue to influence films to come but the one I want to know is: are the calendar sheets blowing away to signal time ing originate from this film? 

Even if I don’t watch any other film in Chaplin’s repertoire but this, I am happy to part with the sublime, heartbreaking ending. Throughout the entire film, Chaplin is bursting with energy, constantly moving, constantly reacting. But in the finale, it’s simple and straightforward; yet also full of emotional complexity. Chaplin, later is quoted to say he “felt a beautiful sensation of not acting, of standing outside [himself].” The stillness, the clasping of hands, the “dialogue”, the exchange of each other’s smiles…it hits right in the feels. 

*The only other guy I can think of with that much aplomb in the movie making business is Jackie Chan (who once sang the ending theme to his own movie!) but do correct me if I’m wrong. 

**according to the TCM book, the first scene between Chaplin and Cherrill took two weeks to get right and when she offers him a flower required 342 takes! Three hundred flipping forty two!!

⏩️ TCM Essentials: 52 Must-see Movies

I’m a sucker for trains so the fact there is a film about Marlene Dietrich AND Anna May Wong ON a train…it’s a wonder I haven’t watched Shanghai Express sooner. 

This is a film of aesthetics, full of gorgeous framing and black and white chiaroscuro—especially the shadows cast against the sliding doors, cigarette smoke upon soft gauze, the steam travelling across the screen like misty fog. At all times, the click clack of the train wheels is present and more than occasionally the clanging bells—which adds to the unsettling, hypnotic dream-like atmosphere. Sure, the backdrop is the Chinese civil war but it’s just a stand in for psychological conditions; Shanghai is less a destination than a state of mind—as it feels like the characters are sleepwalking through another existence. 

I was primarily preoccupied with how entrancing Dietrich and Wong are—not just in their stylish appearance and elegant demeanour but also their voices. While the men speak in abrasive, wooden ways, both ladies are soft toned and quietly assured, but not so quiet you can’t hear them. Due to this, I paid very little attention to the men or what they said, especially Clive Brook’s Doc, who has the charisma of a plank. ("It took more than one man to change my name to Shanghai Lily,” demurred Dietrich and rightly so!)

Besides major dialect mix ups (Cantonese and what I think is Teochew) and Warner Oland’s yellow face, it is a gorgeous thing to watch. There is quite a bit here that makes me think Wong Kar-Wai must have been emulating in his films, not just the visual style but also the concept of two souls who are unable to express their love to each other. 

The ultimate saving grace is that Sternberg dropped Dietrich and Wong, playing “women of ill repute” into the flimsy plot. They’re both bold, independent, fiery individuals and funnily in denial of why they do certain things. (Yes there might just be a bit of a sisterly and erotic undertone to their relationship which makes things more intriguing.) And perhaps that is why Doc is so dull as dishwater—to prove the point that there really is no man matched for Dietrich. 

“I found out enough to realize that she's worth a dozen of you!”

In the vein of The Lion of Winter, A Man for All Seasons is another historical play adaptation that has been translated for screen. While the 1968 film presents unhinged, dysfunctional royalty, Fred Zinnemann’s production centres on Thomas More (Paul Scofield) as a steadfast bulwark against arbitrariness and abuse—a familiar variation of man versus system.

While a film about Thomas More refusing to bow down to Henry VIII’s (Robert Shaw MY MAN) fancy to divorce Catherine of Aragon (and more importantly, as head of the Church of England so he can divorce Catherine) sounds like the stodgiest porridge to grace the screen, Scofield yields magnetic cool throughout. He is aided by a superior script, which builds and maintains intrigue even as he navigates through upholding his integrity and moral principles. 

First, More is briefly up against Cardinal Wolsey (a most unfortunately bloated Orson Welles) but dies of disgrace of not getting Henry the annulment (actually, gout got the better of him). 

Second, it’s Henry VIII himself. I don’t even know where to start with Shaw’s Henry: he is a loud presence of temperament, bold abrasiveness and brash charm. Decked out in the infamous gold brocade of a robe, complete with the biggest, puffiest sleeves (Anne of Green Gables would be aghast with jealousy), he bellows and barks about his “duty.”* It’s a superb dichotomy to More’s grounded, genteel demeanour. 

Thirdly, later on during the whole debacle of Henry declaring himself head of Church of England, Leo McKern's Thomas Cromwell—infuriatingly villainous—has recruited More’s friend turned traitor, Richard (a young John Hurt rocking a medieval Beatles look). He even tries to bring down More through his bestie, the Duke of Norfolk (sweaty Nigel Davenport). Cromwell is relentless in cornering More to accept Henry’s oath and of course, More stands his ground to the bitter end. 

Stacked cast also includes fab ladies Susannah York and Wendy Hiller playing daughter and formidable wife to Thomas More (“why it’s a lion I married!” More says of her).

The Duke of Norfolk: Your life lies in your own hands, Thomas, as it always has.
Sir Thomas More: Is that so, My Lord? Then I'll keep a good grip on it.

Till the bitter end, he has his wit and humour. Without it, I am not sure I could have survived the final court scene.  

*Shaw also sings to his new wife Anne Boleyn (silent Vanessa Redgrave!) and looks disarmingly handsome!? The way he seeks out More at their wedding, calling out “Thomas! Thomas!” is tender as well; it kind of breaks my heart. Then I he’s Henry the VIII…and subsequently feel queasy. 

Janis and Ana are two sides to the same coin of being single mothers by accident.* Janis (Penelope Cruz with amazing hair) is a professional photographer and in love with the idea of having a child and raising her like all the mother figures in her family, without a male figure. Ana (Milena Smit with a kind of Ellen Degeneres look at one point), on the other hand, is a teen mum, and starts out regretting the whole ordeal but changes her outlook. There is also Ana’s mother, Teresa, who has been given a part in a play but the theatre is touring elsewhere and she is torn between career and her child. 

Meanwhile, Janis’ old flame, Arturo (Israel Elejalde the forensic anthropologist) pulls a soap opera move, stating that Janis’ baby girl isn’t his and it’s quite obvious she doesn’t look him or Janis. Well, his suspicions are correct because the title of the film isn’t called Parallel Mothers for just one reason. (Yes, a baby swap happens.) The soapiness carries on with time ing and history; separation and reunion; tragedy and romance. 

On the nose details like Janis’ We Should All Be Feminists T-shirt or that she’s named after Janis Joplin because of her hippie mum makes me laugh because Almodóvar’s depiction of these modern women is so privileged with their gorgeously decked out homes, trendy wardrobes and clearly enough money to dish out on a housemaid, a live-in babysitter and a childminder. But with some sort of magic, he somehow wrangles sympathy for these characters. I always like to attribute him as 21st century Spanish Sirk.**

In true fashion to his style, a play sits within the film: a conscious effort commenting on his own thematic material via a different lens. Teresa’s monologue may be overwrought but it ties in his desire to explore the past within the present and how it affects the future. Here, it’s “Spain's ‘pact of forgetting’ crimes that took place during [and after] the Civil War [which] has been slowly unravelling to the point where it is now being forced to reckon with its past.” The idea of collective memories formed from not our own but of our elders—moving forward with the over-arching story plot of exhuming a mass grave in Janis’ home village. Almodóvar ties it directly to his commitment in exploring generational history, see Janis’ wall of family photos. As a professional writer emotes: “our struggles, as mothers of children and children of mothers, have been shared by our forebears, and we should listen to the lessons they have for us.”

Mothers second, women first—even if she is eating strawberry ice cream with sprinkles, changing her phone number and not telling anyone—it’s familiar Almodóvar terrain. Don’t judge her; don’t judge us. The finale of the excavation and the townspeople coming to see the mass grave exhumed however—what a statement about facing one’s past, though if anything tonally jarring with the rest of the film. 

⏩️ Almodóvar ranked

*I’m sure someone else probably moaned about this but can I just say that as a mother of two: lying on your back to give birth is the absolute WORST way to give birth. It’s an antiquated, god awful position popularised by one of the jerkface French kings (Louis XIV I want to say) who converted the act of giving birth into a voyeuristic ritual. Also don’t get me started on the baby carrier or the baby’s pierced ears herp derp. 

**Almodóvar himself talks about how he’s been influenced by Sirk, not just stylistically but also thematically, like exploring complex female characters.

Back again with tilted caps and upturned collars, Renate Müller and Anton Walbrook are reunited in Die Englische Heirat (The English Marriage), a bizarre post-Weimar romantic comedy which I didn’t find particularly funny probably because I’m not a German in the 1930s. 

The story follows Müller’s Gerte Winter, a rich lady mechanic, whose customised vehicle is outrageously huge (waggles eyebrows). She abruptly marries Georg Alexander’s pushover Douglas Mavis. However, Douglas finds it difficult to tell his stuffy, staunch matron of the family Lady Mavis (Adele Sanbrock) about the marriage and trouble ensues. Especially when Walbrook enters the scene as his hotshot lawyer friend of the family, with the most pretentiously made up name of Warwick Brent. I believe the German screenwriter must have had a little giggle over that. 

Speaking of giggles, the film was trying very hard to poke fun at its depiction of an antiquated, rigid English aristocracy and establish German superiority around its central romance. But in its attempts to do so, draws away from what could have made the film more enjoyable (as the only thing that I could possibly even laugh at was Warwick Brent’s silly name….)

Silly name aside, romance is simmering away between our two leads in one pinnacle moment. As Hilde Hildebrand croons away, Gerte is on the receiving end of a super intense and elongated stare from Warwick; a stare you can feel through the screen. The dance itself has enough electricity to charge my laptop and just enough to keep this film from tanking into oblivion. It is that sexy. 

(Walbrook in his horse riding gear with those knee high boots is also pretty sexy…)

From that point onwards the story lost me. Saying that, the ending in which Gerte tries to drive her massive car through another giant haystack, knocking Warwick into her car along with all the bales? That’s not too shabby either. 

*Watched with autogenerated captions translating from German…so lots was lost in translation. 

Storytelling is an interesting thing. At the heart of The Sting is about conning an ultimate bossman to play out the little man’s con so that the little guys can get their revenge and maybe some Benjamins (has Hooker and Gondorff heard of Icarus flying too close to the sun?). But what makes this story of power play compelling is the attention to detail and its execution, to a name a few:

* Luther and Erie hitting up the mahjong when Hooker (Robert Redford and his naive baby blues) rolls into the apartment. Mahjong!

* Redford’s Jackie Chan-lite getaway stunt on a little delivery truck.

* Gondorff’s (a sauve Paul Newman) carousel front*, the juxtaposition of a suspenseful chase with a lighthearted ragtime gives a jocular tone, alleviating the high stakes of the con. 

* The way “Les Harmon” takes over that one guy’s office with the painting front. So sly, so smooth. 

* The sets, interior and exterior, are impeccable. Down to the rubbish in the dingy streets to every single paraphernalia in a fully decked out pharmacy…every shot and scene paints a 1930s you can drown yourself in. Even the fake horse betting room is just as real as every other set. 

* Along with the sets come wardrobe and everyone (literally everyone) has an outfit or two tailored to a tee. Like my in laws always have said, people used to care about what they wore when they went out. 

* Another bonus is the obvious acting trifecta of Redford, Newman and Shaw simmering away with effortless charisma and intense eyes. Shaw as Lonnegan stands out as the most non-Irish Irishman in town, using his body to also depict his character: cold, rigid, alone, dragging a limp leg almost like a slightly broken automaton. Gondorff and Hooker share glances where they might as well go find a tree to carve their initials and draw a heart around them. 

As a result, The Sting successfully latches onto the American audience of 1973 and their nostalgia for a “simpler time” with a tale of escapism and entertainment. Because sometimes, that’s just what we want from cinema: a little bit of an escape. 

A big shout out and thanks to sakana for telling me about this one back when I got on the Robert Shaw fan boat.

EDIT: *sakana notes it’s Billie’s carousel and not Gondorff’s carousel—which in turn casts a very different light on her.

Continuing the trend of watching old men have crises. 

Medieval 12th century Europe is sure a barrel of laughs. Peter O’Toole’s randy, boisterous 50 year old Henry II is at contention with Katherine Hepburn’s claws unsheathed under her robes, Eleanor of Aquitaine, who he has imprisoned in England. Henry brings all his family together for a happy reunion on Christmas Eve in for a fun family game to see who can get under each other’s skin the best. Some families like to sit down to a nice meal for Christmas; this family is addicted to having a showdown of power struggles and tearing each other down. 

Present are the three sons—1) Anthony Hopkins’ not-as-dull-as-you-think, Richard (the Richard  that becomes Richard the Lionheart!); 2) John Castle’s forgotten middle child, Geoffrey and 3) Nigel Terry’s pimpled, derpy teen, Johnny. Also present is Timothy Dalton’s sexy but nasty Philip, king of , whose father was Eleanor’s first husband, and whose half sister, Alais, is Henry’s mistress slash unfortunate piece of bartering… Royals just love revolving around in an incestuous circle of misery. 

“Did you ever love me?”
“No.”
“Good. It will make this pleasanter.”

Eleanor is all smiling daggers—she takes every jibe and jeer with self-depreciating humour and then lashes back with just as much verbal venom. It’s her coping mechanism for every despair, every defeat handed to her in this brutal world run by men (and their dicks). She veers from being vulnerable and hurt back to being quietly and aggressively determined to stick as many knives into those around her.

“I never wrote because I thought you’d never answer.”
“You got married.”
“Does that make a difference?”
“Doesn’t it?”
“I spent two years on every street in hell.”
“That’s odd. I never saw you there.”
- Richard and Philip, a brief melancholic and romantic segment 

I’m not going to lie: I actually felt for Richard as he gets betrayed by Philip. As exciting all this backstabbing is, I half wanted to know what exactly happened between them all those years ago… bad haircuts and all. 

While historical accuracy and old English isn’t really a concern here, this film isn’t stagey despite being an adaptation. What also carries the story is O’Toole and Hepburn, impeccable foils for each other all the way through, sniping and snapping in dripping sarcasm at each other. As better put by someone who writes professionally: “[Henry] can imprison [Eleanor], but there are no locks or bars that can be put on her tongue.” It will never end, as they laugh and wave goodbye at each other…forever circling in a mad entanglement of lost love, bitter anger and what could have been.

⏩️ Monarch Malarkey

What appears to be a love triangle between three people is actually not the case in Ray’s earlier film. Maureen O’Hara’s Marian Washburn, once an accomplished vocalist and Melvyn Douglas’ Luke Jordan, adopt a promising but kind of vapid protege in Gloria Grahame’s Susan Caldwell. In an early days Persona-esque fashion, the story explores the entanglement between the three: obviously more invested in Marian’s desire to cultivate her dreams in someone else and how moulding someone after what you aspire to but no longer can, is envy-inducing and ultimately unhealthy for those involved. 

The mystery of did-Marian-really-shoot-Susan is really a coverup to delve into the women’s relationship with each other (plus third wheel Luke) how intense and semi co-dependent it is. It stems from Marian’s obsessive control over Susan and Susan feeling like she owes her success to Marian (and Luke) but simultaneously bitter about it and unable to break her ties until the moment of desperation. 

What I kind of didn’t get was the weird Crenshaw* romance subplot but that’s probably due to me spacing out as it didn’t interest me as much as:

1. Mrs Fowler, Lieutenant Fowler’s amateur sleuthing wife who basically figures out the whole silly plot. She is such a delight. 

2. Marian and Susan’s final conversation and fight over the revolver. Wow ladies, they really gave it all. 

3. The wardrobe for both Marian and Susan, particularly in that one ballroom scene where their outfits are telling of their personalities. Marian in a fully up-to-the-neck asymmetrical trimmed getup (how uptight and crazy—see ending—she can be) versus Susan in her daring off shoulder dress with the collar necklace/necktie (simple but also bold and daring). 

4. Marian basically pulling the move on Luke Jordan at the end. The man isn’t chasing; she is and why not?

It has been said A Woman’s Secret is one of Ray’s nonessential films due to its tonal inconsistency, how the story revolves basically a black hole of a mystery and a whole lot of fast paced talking being thrown around. But in my opinion, despite the misdirected drama and distracted energy and emotions, it shows even from early on, Ray’s devotion to telling a woman’s story. Here, it’s a double whammy that there are two women front and centre stage, even if it is an undefined pursuit of their thoughts, desires and ambitions. 

*Can someone tell me what’s going on with Lee Crenshaw’s (Bill Williams) crazy eyes?!

⏩️ Nicholas Ray ranked

Edith Hardy (Fannie Ward) is all shifty, guilty eyes, corny fainting, crazy hands and up to no good being a spoiled brat. She spends her husband’s money that doesn’t exist and steals money from the Red Cross… It all paints the female character in a damning light and offers the audience little ground to sympathise with her until…

Sessue Hayawaka’s Hara Arakau (originally Japanese Hishuru Tori*), the deviously undermining, brooding villain and sexy heartthrob of the era, comes to the screen. When he literally brands her after a particularly heated fight, gee whiz, what literal objectification of a sexual predator are we dealing with here…?

Who is “the cheat” in this story? On the surface level, it’s Edith Hardy stealing money from the Red Cross. But is she also cheating by not upholding her verbal contract? Later in the film, she begs Arakau to drop the charges against her husband. In response, he tells her: “You cannot cheat me twice.” Whatever efforts to make Arakau more sympathetic doesn’t make the racism less nor does it make the sexism less either (but it is telling of the time period).

By the time the court scene rolls around, everyone lies on the stand, which is all a bit silly. The finale is even more nuts as Edith and her husband (also husband in real life Jack Dean) get their happy ending. Just throw in an ending I suppose!

Two things do salvage the overall picture and its toxicity: 1) Melville’s cinematographic touch playing with light and shadows (e.g. paper walls) and some of his framing was innovative and 2) Sessue’s more subtle “modern-esque” acting. Let’s be real; I was really here for him. 

*Was re-released and his character became the Burmese Arakau because it’s racially a lot better said some men who apparently knew a lot about the Asian demographic in the US. 

Sean Connery’s Robin Hood is 40 (more like 50 given Connery’s balding head peppered with grey), weary of the Crusades and doing Richard the Lionheart’s dirty work. Upon escaping execution, he and Little John finally return home to England after 20 years where the fields are lush and green, Sherwood Forest is a verdant expanse and John Barry’s uplifting score soars over the landscape.

A mini reunion with Will Scarlet and Friar Tuck reveals that he is still kind of a legend (despite him not doing any of those things). Meanwhile, the Sheriff of Nottingham (Robert Shaw doing what he does best) has become massively powerful and is going to arrest Marian (Audrey Hepburn sublime as ever), who is now an abbess. Marian’s reunion with Robin though is fraught as she is furious with him for intervening. Robin however, might have just found a new purpose to his return: salvaging his relationship with Marian and having one more showdown against the Sheriff. 

A whole gaggle of Robin’s relationships is explored here:

1. Robin and Richard Lionheart - he’s served his king for 20 years, finds him a complete bastard yet is absolutely loyal till the latter’s dying breath. 

2. Robin and Little John - loyalty born out of brotherhood. Little John will follow Robin to the ends of the world without question. He’s had Robin for all these years and will continue to watch over him (the most tender of arm grabs) until his dying breath. 

3. Robin and the Sheriff - a lifelong cat and mouse rivalry born out of a bit of jealousy, a bit of iration and the shared enjoyment of finally finding an equal in physical prowess and wit. The Sheriff knows Robin can’t resist coming to him for a fight, so unshakable his belief that he is the one to defeat him. Shaw depicts the Sheriff’s pride, his quiet smugness and even weariness just right.

4. Robin and Marian - the titular relationship as explored across the age of time. Connery’s Robin and Hepburn’s Marian capture both the nostalgic, bittersweet and tragic as they try to build something new out of the ashes of the past. But it’s Marian, who knows that their relationship is doomed as Robin would never leave his life of fighting behind or resist facing his old foe. “Go fight your sheriff,” she says, insisting she won’t stay to mourn him but her actions say otherwise. She realises there is nothing she could do to stop him but to self inflict a bit of a Romeo and Juliet solution on themselves. 

These tired old men, some more bastardly than others, are having their middle age existential crises. They’re not in their prime of their youth anymore but they act and behave as if they are—to the dismay of one Marian, who in contrast is more than aware of how much she is no longer her youthful self and is self assured in who she is now.

I honestly don’t think I would have enjoyed this without Barry’s score because I’m a huge fan of his hammy, melodramatic style. However, there is something in this melancholic tale of people grown old, of male-female miscommunication, of emotions meshing yet missing, of values failing to coincide and of priorities leading to a fatal end—that kind of just hits.

Hitchcock meets psychoanalysis meets his favourite man-falsely-accused thriller. Ingrid Bergman’s Dr Constance Peterson is the sole female psychiatrist amongst a male dominated profession. She’s portrayed to be strong, assertive and skilled in her field (we know this because she rocks a pair of awesome specs) and so, is despised by the jealous men around her for those very traits. One of those is even romantic interest, Gregory Peck’s Dr Edwardes…

Due to her profession and mentorship from old fart Dr Alex Brukov (Michael Chekhov), Dr Constance Peterson’s views of love are on the basis that emotionally, it’s irrational, yet she also can’t help but succumb to being swept away by feels for Dr Edwardes immediately. I’d like to believe it’s because she is a great irer of him (when she sneaks out of bed to nab one of his books from the library and “lovingly” strokes the first page) and not because of roguish good looks (doesn’t hurt though!). What a sequence it is when he first kisses her, her eyes close and we see a hallway of doors open as if her mind is opened to a sea of possibilities.

But wait, he isn’t the new head of the institution—he’s some other chap with the initials of JB (“John Brown” is his alias). The real Dr Edwardes is missing and ‘Brown’ is actually an amnesiac who thinks he has done some naughty murder. Roles are reversed and Constance becomes his “doctor” and ‘Brown’, her “patient”, someone she is invested in “saving” (doctor-patient relationships aren’t healthy, girl!) Constance has a bit of a saviour complex, insistent that she can “cure” him while ‘Brown’ concurrently ires and loathes her for it. 

The Dali dream sequence is the visual highlight and while I’m no fan of Dali, I’m a fan of this kooky segment though tragically short lived. Following that, Constance’s continual psychoanalytic prodding breaks down a blockage in Brown’s subconscious and he re a few memories which clears up his name (it’s actually John Ballantine) but doesn’t clear him of murder oops.

The intent of Spellbound is: a woman, even in turmoil, can use her emotions to solve a case, using science. Not sure about the outcome (the science is a bit silly) but at least Constance is successful.

Hitchcock had problems with the psychoanalyst Selznick hired to be an advisor and he found Miklós Rózsa’s score overblown, which I do agree with at times (and I love a smidge of overblown melodrama). Though the story does get contrite and overrun by long sets of dialogue, there are exceptional cinematography (the milk glass! the gun) and a bit of poetic transference of objects into the subliminal which manage to hold my attention enough to not space out on cheekbones or roll my eyes at what is unfortunately, some serious misogynistic drivel. Bergman, kudos to you for not clocking them all in the heads. 

⏩️ Hitchcock ranked

Lucille Ball is a tour de force in Sirk’s earlier work, a London city-whodunnit which has the look of a film noir with its shadowy misc-en-scene. Her Sabrina Carpenter is an American dancer who gets roped into being hot girl bait for Scotland Yard to hunt down a serial killer who targets young, unattached women through personal ads. She bounces from one ad to another as means to winnow out the culprit, looking very smart and put together for someone who doesn’t have much coin on her. Tonally, it’s got an edge of humour—whether that’s Ball’s snarky demeanour (which actually livens up the presence of many dour men) or the writing by Gantillon and Neville—and spry action (see Boris Karloff’s psycho fashion show).

There is some token Sirk framing and usage of space and mirrors (e.g. characters penned in by stair railings, characters leaving frame and characters entering frame) which is a feast for the eyes. Ball’s opposite, George Sanders’ Fleming is a vapid, ladykiller cad which he even its in a very on-the-nose meta manner but it’s very easy to denote his cough innocence cough. Cedric Hardwicke’s Julian Wilde on the other hand… if the name Wilde wasn’t enough to insinuate that men of a certain ilk, not chasing the skirts of girls, are insane psychopaths. 

I’m also of the opinion that the last 30-40 minutes is a drag with poor police interrogation after interrogation. It also unfortunately undoes the character development of Carpenter and reverts her to a screeching damsel in distress. It’s a shame because I enjoyed the first act loads, only for the end to be a buzzkill…

(An extra little half star for Carpenter wanting to stay to listen to Schubert’s Symphony no.8 because she gets to sit down instead of dance with some rando. yes girl!)

⏩️ Watching Douglas Sirk

A while back, I read a book called The Islands of Abandonment, in which a chapter focussed on a Scottish isle called Swona where humans once roamed and cultivated but all now that is left are abandoned buildings, nature taking back what is hers and wild cattle. The story of Hirth (or in reality, St Kilda but filmed on the far flung Foula) is another one of depopulation and obsolescence that Powell wanted to explore and what a gorgeous job he did in capturing the raw beauty and natural splendour of one of many remote Scottish islands. What was meant to be a documentary ended up being an elegiac ballad of fate v free will, star crossed lovers and humans suffering. 

The story is a flashback of Andrew Gray, once upon a time resident of Hirth, who reminisces on the events that lead to the island’s decline. A staunch “stay on the island” advocate, Gray is in direct opposition to Robbie Manson, his beau Ruth’s twin brother, who wishes to leave for a living elsewhere. To come to a decision, they choose, out of their free will, to scale a cliff side with no ropes. Is it fate that Robbie falls to his death and Andrew survives? Or is that predestined by choice? Is it again fate that drives Andrew, one of the very few young men left, to depart because he can’t face the fact Robbie died due to their chosen way to solve a problem? It appears that no matter the outcome from poor, imioned decision making, the fate of Hirth is headed towards one direction. 

There is a momentary brief glimpse of hope in the child of Ruth and Andrew—despite him leaving the island. The murmuring ballad tinged with sorrow abruptly changes momentum and becomes a jaunty folk song to celebrate the coming of a new generation. It’s short lived as Ruth’s baby soon becomes severely ill amidst a furious storm and the residents of Hirth desperately attempt to get a boat to the mainland. Miraculously, Andrew somehow makes it and off they go to brave the elements—this story has a happy ending even if bittersweet. 

When I watched A Canterbury Tale which was made 6/7 years later, I didn’t think there was another director who held the English countryside with such tenderness and reverence. In fact, it all began in the Hebrides for Powell, “the first real indication of the love of nature and his mystical use of landscape to shape and comment upon human stories.” 

Very little is more profound in The Edge of the World than the funeral scene being filmed in the downpour rain. Wild grass blowing in the landscape, jagged hills in the distance, turf-roof stone cottages with vaporous light scattering on the waves. Then there are the relentless, crashing waves and the otherworldly, craggy cliffs superimposed with the inhabitants’ faces and ghostly memories of a life no longer sustainable.

(Personally, it feels a film ahead of its time but then again, I love Scotland.)

Another instalment of Walbrook in a tilted cap and hot uniform as Jules Verne’s Michael Strogoff for the third time for English speaking audiences and boy, the boredom sort of shows.* He’s trying to sneak a secret message across Russia but there’s a concurrent Tartar uprising so that makes things challenging. Stock footage is clearly from another version (the French or German one) and while Akim Tamiroff and Margot Grahame are trying their best to pose as villainous counterpart/atttactive undercover agent, Eric Blore’s and Edward Brophy’s dumb and dumber comedic relief and funny editing makes it tonally a shambolic affair. You got to laugh to move along with it. 

There’s a bunch of baloney going on: Elizabeth Allan’s Nadia and Strogoff pretending to be siblings (makes every interaction between them a smidge incestuous), bear fighting, Nadia inappropriately laughing at a horse cart chase from Tamiroff’s Ivan Ogareff, reciprocal face whipping, almost drowning and sleeping for 5 days with his boots on, somehow running into his mother and pretending not to know her… If nothing else, it is action packed.

The hot uniform disintegrates and it’s the least of his problems when Strogoff feels bad that his mother is now trying to protect him so ends up getting captured. For some reason during his nighttime captivity, there are half naked, super toned, sweaty torturers and a performance of Borodin’s Polovtsian Dances from "Prince Igor"?!**

The climactic fight between Strogoff versus Ogareff isn’t half bad though the set might as well be made out of cardboard! It’s all a bit of a train wreck which makes me wish I just found the German or even French version instead.

*when he’s not chewing up the scenery with his eyes…foreshadowing much?

**love the music, not loving it being crowbarred here.

“There’s no sacrifice too great for a chance at immortality.”
“Yes sir.” (Eye roll)

From the start, Humphrey Bogart’s screenwriter Dix Steele is tempestuous and prone to physically aggressive outbursts; this is bound to be revisited and bite him in the backside. He endorses the help of a gal (Martha Stewart bubbly and cute) to summarise a trashy romance murder mystery he is not the least enthused about but she is (because it’s a gal book). Her enthusiasm bounces off the screen whereas Steele rather just go to bed and hopes no one mentions that story again. However, his sweet sleep is interrupted very shortly by the fact he’s accused of murdering her whoops. 

Hot neighbour Laurel Gray (glorious Gloria Grahame) shows up and provides an alibi for him but the police are fixated on Dix, probably because he has a history being an angry, violent SOB. Not to mention, his vivid imagination to remorselessly reenact the murder which makes other peeps suspect that he’s one big weirdo. 

Dix may be a big, angry weirdo but he’s also a vulnerable weirdo who is capable of love, which Bogart is able to humanistically portray alongside his character’s temperament. Also, “virtually synonymous and key to the development of the noir outsider protagonist, Bogart emanates both rebellion and aberration.” Dix is deeply unhappy and frustrated with his career (shattering of Hollywood dreams anyone), estranged from society but also ironically full of fragile ego. He spirals into a hot mess, one in which others view him as insane and it is difficult to believe he doesn’t want others to do so. 

Laurel and Dix’s relationship is fraught from the beginning and only descends, to the point that there is no return from the doubt and emotional outbursts. There is an enormous amount of sorrow in both Bogart’s and Grahame’s eyes—his hooded and dark, hers clear and glistening with tears. It’s interesting how these two sad souls have their stories begin in their own lonely, little apartments, only to return to their individual place of solitude again at the film’s finale, a bit worse for wear, if not possibly a lesson learnt. 

Solt’s screenplay (based on an adaptation of Dorothy Hughes’ novel) is pretty water tight with snappy dialogue and plenty of subtext (“best straight man I ever had”). Any brevity is punctuated with sharp, intense turns of violence, encased in gorgeous film noir cinematography. Ray was quoted to say that his films only represent 50% of what he wanted to do, which makes one think… what more did he want to do with the story of “In a Lonely Place”?

*that scene in the car! That’s why one should wear a seatbelt instead of trying to light a cigarette. 

Also in honour of VE 80th. 

Like Life and Death of Colonel Blimp, A Canterbury Tale begins startlingly slow to grab my attention and is unforgivably English (not British—there is a noticeable lack of the Scottish and Welsh here). But the lighting at the train station is gorgeous and I prayed beautiful cinematography would hold me over for the following two hours. (It does; the misc-en-scene and chiaroscuro film noir framing is indeed spectacular and enough for me to just add a whole another star.)*

Story wise, an American cornball of a GI (John Sweet as Sgt Bob Johnson!) a British Tommy (Dennis Price’s Sgt Gibbs) and London city gal (Sheila Sim’s Allison Smith) are the vague Chaucer-esque pilgrims who leave a train station together and end up trying to solve the mystery of some “glue guy” in the idyllic English countryside. Anglo-Americans unite once again with some cross cultural shenanigans (giggling at an American being an American; it’s nothing new ya’ll) and of course, idealising the “untouched” quaintness of the Kent countryside (this is the England we’re fighting for!). They meet the magistrate Colpeper (introduced via a track up the stairs—early days camera work later refined in A Matter of Life and Death) played by Eric Portman doing what he does best: appear slightly menacing and ever so unhinged. 

John Sweet is charming in that naive, hammy American way where he’s constantly bewildered but also quietly amused by both English vernacular and mannerisms. I could see why Powell roped him into the film despite never have acted before. Sheila Sim is spunky, has her own mind and is generally unbothered by old white men. Dennis Price cuts a damn good figure in the uniform and… together they make a cute trio. 

After some amateurish sleuthing, the three of them do end up in Canterbury on some sort of “pilgrimage”, “looking for a miracle or looking for penance” as Colpeper so puts it, each now on their separate path. From what is initially a run of the mill, vapid rural mystery turns into a sort of existential, quasi-religious journey, bolstered by the ominous yet powerful Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D minor (youngster me used to gag whenever she heard this but old woman me now wants all the organ vibes!)

The overall tone of the film is generally quiet and unobtrusive, tender yet profound, meditative and mystical, nostalgic and reflective of a time long gone. Someone better with words describes it as “an allegory about impermanence, full of symbols that make us aware of the fading past in order to confront us to changes.” Ironically, it plays directly opposite to P&P’s earlier wartime protagonist, 1943’s Clive Wynne-Candy who struggles to adapt to the rapidly changing world around him. 

A bit of an oddball but a beautiful oddball where our little trio can ultimately meet a sort of reconciliatory medium between a love letter to a place and its history while also looking forward to what the future brings to a world that is not at war. 

⏩️ P&P ranked

*wiki says British realism (Powell’s natural slice of life propaganda) + German Expressionism (cinematographer Hillier) somehow equals English neo-romanticism.

In honour of VE 80th and finally watching the film behind Ralph Vaughan Williams’s amazing theme…

There were plenty of WWII propaganda trying to get “why do we need to bother about them Poles” US of A into the war effort but no other than P&P chose to follow a German Nazi u-boat crew as its main characters as they basically traverse across the expanse of Canada. 

1: Six of the British accented German crew crash the house of clueless trapper “ma foi!” Johnnie (Laurence Olivier with a crazy accent) as they are eager to find some transportation. As expected, they’re depicted as cold blooded and brutal in acquiring a sea plane… They didn’t check the fuel tanks though and the remaining 4 crash their way into a Hutterite community led by sexy religious leader in dungos Peter (Anton Walbrook). 

2: Hirth (cold and calculating Eric Portman) leads a naked knees chat that they must stand firm and disciplined and he ends up giving a fanatical Nazi speech that Peter refutes with his own imioned monologue. Vogel (I was a baker! Niall MacGinnis) would rather the community and become besties with Peter (“this is your home”) but unfortunately for him, Hirth makes sure Vogel meets a fatal demise for trying to desert ouch. 

3: The remaining 3 German dudes make their way to Vancouver. We are treated to amazing Banff National Park scenery and also a Banff Native American parade…. which gets paused by a Canadian Mountie addressing the crowd to winnow out them Germans. One of them panics and now it’s down to 2.

4: It’s Hirsch and Lohrmann left and they wander into some writer dude named Philip Armstrong Scott (Leslie Howard) who thinks they’re lost tourists. However, they’re very rude towards his Picasso and Matisse and writing manuscripts (all housed in a TEEPEE) so Scott hunts them down. Lohrmann finally rebels but doesn’t get far…

5: Which leads to a one man show with Hirsch and Andy Brock, a Canadian soldier on leave (Raymond Massey) at the U.S. border. A bit anticlimactic but saved by Williams’ theme for the film. 

With antagonists as protagonists, there’s only so much this story can go. On a thematic level, it elevates the ideals of “freedom and diversity” of Canada in ideological contrast to the evil brutality of Nazism but it is a little drab overall. 

⏩ P&P ranked

Dean Thomas Lawrence: “I’m not a witch finder!”

(Immediately continues to investigate and expose some shadier Cardinals ok buddy)

Utilising the high mystique and centuries old tradition of electing the next pope, Conclave asks some big questions about morality, about ambition, about lack of certainty that destabilises our times in the 21st century. While I’m not sure the Catholic Church would be overly fond of how the film perceives the Curia as political warfare, it was still intriguing to see how Berger captured this secretive ritual: through the long corridors, the frescoes, the endless marble stairs, the orderly tables…

(The twist at the very end, not going to lie, was a bit needless and silly though and the other twist was transparently easy to guess. Herp derp. However, I do believe Ralph Fiennes is that good.)

I haven’t been back to the Vatican or Rome for that matter since 2010 but it captured an atmosphere and made me want to go back! Ah, memories!

⏩ J & R Movie Dates

The saga of Walbrook wearing tilted caps continues. This time he’s a grumpy leather tro-wearing chauffeur, “Fred” Sponer, who goes absolutely off the rails when he discovers some dude in his backseat gets offed. Said dude is the titular Jack Mortimer, who is the beau of a W. Montemayor, wife to a very jealous, crazy brows conductor P. Montemayor. 

I wasn’t sure how the Monte Carlo subplot first fit in the storyline but it surprised me over 2/3 of the way in. It also plays its part in Sponer’s complete spiralling as his mind conjures up the most insane scenarios. The juxtaposition of his paranoid delusions, the nighttime city scapes and the orchestra performance heightens the action and does wonders to depict his unravelling. Then comes his insane decision to do some supremely unwise impersonation… Dude!

I wish I had something more substantive to say but I just really enjoyed looking at Walbrook act his little heart out in this one and look great in his outfits. Good times.

La-la-la-lava ch-ch-ch-chicken 
Steve's Lava Chicken, yeah, it's tasty as hell 
Ooh, mamacita, now you're ringin' the bell 
Crispy and juicy, now you're havin' a snack 
Ooh, super spicy, it's a lava attack!

I’d like to imagine Jack Black and Jason Mimosa I mean Momoa get married and become an arcade/oldschool video game/rock duo in the middle of nowhere, US of A.

Rating as a child’s film
My husband ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
My daughter ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
Me: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⁉️ (what, I fell asleep? Noooo, I didn’t….)

I really didn’t want to add this film to my diary because it completely messes up my vibe and aesthetic but here we are. 

A terrific panning opening shot capturing the urban banalities and heat, Rear Window sets up in a way that foreshadows that heat, boredom and living in a concrete jungle will leave to nothing but trouble. The close proximity to neighbours prompts one to consider in actuality the aloneness and the alienness. 

James Stewart’s L.B. Jefferies is a peeping Tom and unabashed voyeur because he has nothing else to do in his 6-7 weeks of sitting in a full leg cast of course. His insurance nurse Stella (banter queen!Thelma Ritter) puts up with him but it’s Grace Kelly’s Lisa Fremont—waltzing onto the screen in a soft haze of elegance wearing the $1,100 Parisian dress that Jefferies balks at and promptly reheats a ‘21 lobster meal—who is the real star in putting up with his emotional constipation. She, a feisty rich lady with a mind of her own, is a startling contrast to Jefferies, who is so wrapped up in crime fantasy that he can’t focus on making out with her. 

So, Lisa inserts herself into Jefferies’ murder conspiracy about a neighbour across the concrete jungle he suspects has cut up his wife and put her in a trunk. Jefferies calls in his strait laced detective pal, Wendall Corey’s Doyle, who follows up on the lead but insists nothing of the malicious kind. Saying that, nothing is more malicious than a lit cigarette in a completely dark room and a strangled little dog on the pavement. Was there really a crime? Or was it boredom and imagination that manifested into a crime? (Also, Lisa and Stella teamwork in the penultimate scene was THE highlight.)

“I’m not much on rear-window ethics.”

For all the action taking place from Jefferies’ confined apartment lounge looking out at depressing NY apartment buildings, Hitchcock builds up banging suspense and it is aided by the superb writing by John Michael Hayes (the banter is on another level). A simple story is unobtrusively elevated as a meta-critical diatribe on the politics of seeing.

⏩ Hitchcock ranked

Johnny Guitar is undeniably a Western but like a Western waltz: it dances to its own tune, swapping partners and spinning its own melodramatic yet touching tone. 

From the very start of the film, Joan Crawford’s formidable businesswoman, Vienna, is seen at the top floor of her on-the-edge, swanky establishment. By placing her above everyone else visually, Ray sets Vienna up as a woman of power and authority, of guts and chutzpah. Of course, this is a fantastic set up when introducing her (lesbian rival) Mercedes McCambridge’s Emma. “Look at her, standing up there, staring down on us, like a somebody. Drag her down,” Emma viciously spits out.

Immediately, the story launches into the opposing forces playing tug of rope: over the territory, over Sterling Hayden’s Johnny Guitar (that gay subtext from Scott Brandy’s Dancin’ Kid), over Vienna, over who’s wearing the big boy pants…

Nicholas Ray paints Vienna and Emma in the wild country beautifully nuanced: vibrantly ambitious, vividly independent but also still naively vulnerable and it is terrifically refreshing. Vienna is a woman of contradictions but it makes her three dimensional. She says she won’t leave the success of her business up to luck but she likes the sound of the roulette wheel spinning. She doesn’t like her premise being dirtied but allows Turkey (baby face Ben Cooper) to show how good he’s with his gun. She wants to stay to fight but she doesn’t want to take anyone’s life. Vienna herself once sought after Johnny, hoping he would be on equal footing with her. In the present day, it is clear that despite their relationship being “reduced to ashes”, the sparks are still there to be rekindled. 

Emma on the other hand is simmering away with desperation to prove her authority. She despises the Dancin’ Kid because “he makes her feel like a woman and that frightens her” and she despises Vienna not just because she’s jealous but also because she feels her prowess being threatened. She is undeniably a powerful villain in her own right. 

In town, more drama unfolds as Kid and his gang feel slighted so they’re going to show the town who has the big boy pants by robbing the bank—the same time Vienna’s there to withdraw some bucks. It would of course only lead to a collusion of power play. The town mob all in black (another funeral will be on the horizon!), Emma wielding sensationalism as her sword of truth and justice to make her feel like she’s wearing the big boy pants, to scapegoat Vienna for her insecurities and to incite fire underneath the men’s backsides by stoking some wild xenophobia.*

Vienna’s white dress in contrast to the mob in black is more than just visual contrast but symbolic of her innocence and their “vulture” mob “eager for another corpse.” I also like to interpret her white dress as foreshadowing for a death sentence.** And how about that allusion to witch trials with the torching of Vienna’s saloon? Gosh that hit me in the gut, watching what would be all her hard work, sweat and grit be destroyed in matter of minutes. The finale of course would be what is the core of the conflict: Vienna versus Emma and the shoot out is indeed as we expect, fatal. 

Johnny Guitar is superb to me because it is Sirkian in nature; Nicholas Ray imagines the western as a lurid melodrama. From Peggy Lee’s titular theme song to the saturated colours, the tight script (every line is impeccable—Crawford is a powerhouse and larger than life delivering them), the duets/duels, the scathing social commentary that’s right in one’s face, it goes straight from the senses into the heart. 

*Ray’s blatant dig at McCarthyism in all caps, which was at its height in the mid-1950s. 

**White is the colour worn for funerals in Asian cultures which I highly doubt the costume department or the art production considered. To me, it again alienates Vienna from the townsfolk so colour theory it babe!

“[Alan] Bridges was a brilliant poet and cinematic satirist – in tones both mordant and melancholy – of the English class system of the early 20th century, and a director with a flair for psychology and interior crisis.” Peter Bradshaw.

The Hireling is a slow moving, austere study of obscure English manners, class antagonism and the failures of love. Robert Shaw’s Ledbetter is the working class, war vet “hireling” to Sarah Miles’ aristocratic, fragile Lady Franklin as his direct yet kindly nature inspires her to reconnect with the world around her. Both lonely souls struggling with trauma from the war and internal and external crises, they bond and she heals. However, as Ledbetter falls for said lady, she outgrows his intimacy and chooses to sustain the status quo and sticks with Peter Egan’s politician and supreme cad Cantrip. Cue eruptions. 

I think it’s intriguing how the film first convinces the audience to sympathise with Ledbetter with the introduction of Cantrip as both rude and ridiculous (this doesn’t change). Then at the moment where Ledbetter challenges his and Lady Franklin’s relationship and professes his love… it suddenly takes a turn for the pitiable. Who better to encapsulate the gruff Ledbetter who can’t escape hierarchy in war or in reality…to swing wildly from stiff, awkward and oddly touching to violent eruption jealousy in the throes of a broken heart?

The first thing that popped out to me was the morbid, sombre soundtrack which I felt encapsulates the post-WWI mood  (It temporarily lifts for the first time when Ledbetter fixes the electric in Lady Franklin’s house and the light floods in for once and the tone turns just a smidge brighter. Except it only lasts less than a minute.) That ominous soundtrack alone is enough to foreshadow there is no happy ending for these two sad sops.

Random thing to note:
Shaw was a skilled boxer in his time and it shows!

Thanks to sakana’s review for putting this on my radar!

The beginning of Regine (titular character played by doe eyes Luise Ullrich) has some sort of Cinderella vibe where the prince equivalent, rich engineer boy “Frank Reynold” (Anton Walbrook-Adolf Wohlbrück) whisks away the poor girl equivalent, his uncle’s maid—Regine—from her villainous father and brother. For all the charm that would normally be exuded by Walbrook, there is barely any lead up to the main romance. In fact it’s a “falls in love on sight and tries to hit her up by teaching her English then immediately kissing her” kind of ordeal, which makes it seem predatory and weird rather than romantic. I don’t know Regine; red flags! (He later calls her “my little stupid woman”, which is the most patronising… that’s the sound of my palm hitting my face.)

Anywho, Regine falls for Frank maybe because 1) he’s frustratingly handsome and 2) he’s rolling in dough. She returns a much more intimate gesture of holding his hand while he drives off to their very sudden nuptials. Then, a not quite old flame, Floris (Olga Tschechowa) from the old cruise boat shows up and decides to stir up some trouble because it is much too tame. Regine’s villainous brother, who looks nothing like her, shows up randomly demanding for more money and a coat, while Regine is looking at a picture of Frank as if she’s going to say her nighttime prayers to it. Unfortunate for Regine, her asshole bro is mistaken by Frau Sendig (Regine’s matron?) to be the unscrupulous suitor from earlier shenanigans. Frank is told; more drama ensues. In capital letters. 

The story is not too vapid but the melodrama is tiresome, even for someone like myself who is normally all guns blazing for the soap and suds. It makes me think I was too harsh in reviewing Allotria. Half a star for Walbrook’s forearms (which were sadly short lived and never seen again for the rest of the film).

I think this film would have made more sense if David (tiny cream puff of a man—Heinz Rühmann) and Philipp (tall, saucy, broody Anton Walbrook-Adolf Wohlbrück) were boyfriends. 

Exhibit A: Some excitable bouncing on armchairs
Exhibit B: Philipp straightening David’s lapels. Intimately. 
Exhibit C: Goes to bed together, arm in arm (should have just jumped into the same bed while they were at it). 

In actuality, there’s a comedic entanglement of best buds David and Philipp with best gals Viola (the alluring Renate Müller) and Gaby (cutesy Jenny Jugo but on the vapid side) as well as the sneaky Aimée (smoky Hilda Hildebrand) who David and Philipp happened to date at the same time at some point in the past. There’s some stuff that leaves a bad aftertaste (plantation owner?! talk about savages, etc.) along with the fact it was basically a Third Reich screwball, which I couldn’t really look past while viewing. 

Not quite my cup of tea but you bet if I was on that cruise, I’d be making eyes at Walbrook sauntering into the dining area because what an entrance that was!

“Mirror, mirror on the wall. Who’s the greatest star of them all?”

Reflections upon reflections, shattered and full, George Cukor’s A Star is Born is full of mirror imagery from the start, making it my kind of film. Add in the gorgeous 50s CinemaScope, James Mason’s Norman Maines being a full fledged drunk, fading actor and Judy Garland’s Esther Blodgett/Vicky Lester playing opposite as an aspiring singer turns actress, I buckled my seatbelt ready for this soapy ride.

Part 1

“I feel most alive when I’m singing.”

A Star is Born isn’t so much a birth as much as a resurgence for Garland and underneath the veneer of technicolour gorgeousness is a beating, broken heart. It’s intriguing listening to her sing “The Man that Got Away” because for those moments, it’s as if Garland is breaking character. Layers of pain from the lives of previous younger Judy’s are culminating in the darker tinged, powerhouse vocals. Interestingly enough, it is also where Esther is most innocent, before Norman gets his literal paws on her, his own desires foisted upon her as she’s only ever wanted to be a singer.  

As Esther is thrown into the fray, it’s clear from the scene of men “redoing her face” to Libby declaring that she’d have to change her name that the big screen is all about appearances. Even then, in her first little role, it was repeatedly demanded that she can’t show her face. Hypocrisy is rife in Hollywood but that’s Hollywood baby! (as Esther so arches her eyebrow and laughs it off, becoming Vicky Lester).

What about that musical number when Vicky lands it big, “Born in a Trunk“, which feels oddly autobiographical about a child star’s beginnings? The abstract Piet Modrian-esque set really stood out to me. That whole sequence was big, bold and brash (research informed me that Cukor wasn’t present for this?!) and the despair of too much given to the game that is showbiz.  

Part 2

While the real life Garland was dealing with her inner demons, on screen Mason has his hands full of some very literal demons. It’s what makes their relationship on screen so culpable, this reverse trajectory of state of beings meets “stardom.” Vicky’s career goes up and becomes mega popular while Norman becomes unemployed and a house husband, making ill sized sandwiches. 

Norman’s unhappiness explodes onto the stage of the Academy Awards when Vicky wins an Oscar and Norman crashes her speech in a drunken stupor, basically begging for a job and accidentally smacking Vicky right in the gob. Real class. 

“What makes him want to destroy himself?…You don’t know what it’s like to watch somebody you love crumble away, bit by bit , day by day in front of your eyes…”

In front of the camera, Garland is all smiles, performing and dancing yet once the camera goes off, she breaks down and that question is a question we’re well aware is being levelled by Garland at herself. It’s a twitchy hysteria and intensity as if she can’t contain the tempestuousness inside of her. Her face drops, exhausted, emotional turmoil still raging. 

Bookmarking the film with the parasitical obsession with celebrities is particularly scathing and effective. By the film’s finale, 
the stardom of Vicki Lester is “cemented once and for all by a paradoxical self-effacement: ‘Mrs. Norman Maine,’ she calls herself, to an audience’s rapturous applause.” Even at the end, Esther/Vicki still doesn’t claim ownership over her own accomplishments despite the fact it was her hard work, her integrity, her talent that earned her success.

*I watched the restoration cut which had some bizarre audio clips with images sliced and slapped on top…

50% of The Gypsy Baron is Wohlbrück’s/Walbrook’s Sandor Barinkay, who is a saucy minx with a dizzying amount of charm and the other 50% is his hot sauce hair. Which I must concur with all other reviewers: it dominates the film. That hair IS its own character as it bounces, sways, curls in any which way. Sure, there is treasure hunting, Barinkay trying to reclaim his home and fortune, a whole bunch of loyal gypsies, two love interests, a pig merchant who is the villain…. but all I could focus on was how I wanted to desperately tuck that stray bit of hair behind an ear or something. 

For a story based on Strauss II’s opera, it oddly lacks the catchy musical numbers one would attribute it as a “musical.” However, Wohlbrück’s/Walbrook's Barinkay himself smoulders, glowers, smirks, frolicks, dances, leaps and bounds around in such a fashion that I can gloss over the sort of lame singing. Surprised those tros never ripped with the amount of jumping around…!

There is one scene that strangely stands out to me: Barinkay comes across Saffi (a feisty Hansi Knoteck) cleaning inside his “home” and I don’t know how it escalates to this point but before you know it, Barinkay is sitting on a desk and Saffi is penning him in which is quite the sexy role reversal. I may or may not have stopped breathing.

When I was growing up, I spent a lot of car journeys listening to waltzes by Strauss and his more famous son Strauss II, daydreaming about elegant dancing. I’m not sure I’d call the “Waltz War” between Joseph Lanner (a most grumpy Paul Hörbringer) and Johann Strauss (a most crazed, hair curling Anton Walbrook/Adolf Wohlbrück) elegant, but much more zany and unhinged (and also fictionalised). When Renate Müller’s Katti begins spraying water all over the audience to sabotage Strauss and his little band of orchestra deserters to help her pa Lanner…? She fails but gee is there sheer madness. 

The chaos travels to London where young Queen Victoria (a most glamorous and eccentric Hanna Waag) attempts to woo a young Prince Albert through the new “wild and scandalous waltz fad”. Katti brings her all female orchestra gang to London too as revenge for her dad and charm the Queen? (yes girls!) Katti’s amour, Pauker Gustl (a most vapid, clueless Willy Fritsch), gets pushed into teaching the Queen about the waltz by Strauss who doesn’t know he’s teaching the Queen? Strauss gets kidnapped by Katti’s gang pretending to be rabid fangirls? Gustl continues to impersonate Strauss and is successful? Hot shenanigans!

I love Gustl and Strauss randomly sharing a room together (“I can’t do this to Jean” totes just bros) and Gustl’s physical impersonation of Strauss’ look (it’s cute?). Also, Gustl wanting to take the blame for Strauss? And that last scene with Lanner and Strauss being chums again? It’s just enough for me to forgive some of the wacky conducting and violin/piano playing from Walbrook and Hörbringer bless. In addition I love that the ladies of the British court learn to dance the waltz by stepping on their partner’s foot first. Of course Renate Müller is always a sweetheart in my eyes. 

At times I thought it was a satire… played up as a kooky, silly tale about musicians and their music. But I just can’t hate on it. March on lads to that ridiculously catchy Radetzky March.

In this fast paced, exciting yet convoluted Humphrey Bogart show, there are a lot of guns, a fair share of murders, missing people, blackmail and it all started with sorting out a girl’s gambling debts for an old general. Said girl is Martha Vicker’s wildcard/femme fatale number one Carmen who had an annoying fix of biting her thumb and is the sister of femme fatale number two Lauren Bacall’s Vivian, who Bogart gets into a tangle with. Bacall is already in a tangle with other peeps though and in her attempts to protect Bogart makes things worse. Bogart in turn ends up falling through a series of trap doors into a labyrinth of more people, more bodies and more hot mess shenanigans. 

Bogart plays the detached detective trying to piece together all the jigsaw puzzles that entices him because of Bacall. Due to so many jigsaw pieces, his perseverance and smart thinking fails to undo the tangles and he snaps in confrontation as he desperately tries to force a solution. But even then as he scrabbles to pull the strings together, the fog and smoke of obfuscation, the same fog and smoke that permeate this film, close back in. 

Despite major issues with the plot, the super sharp dialogue was made for Bogart and boy did he wield those words. Some of the scenes have excellent tension and suspense like a coil being suddenly released (that scene in Brody’s apartment when he goes to the door without his gun made me literally jump!) which definitely helped with all the layers of characters and motives being piled on. Research tells me that a lot of the original story has been left out due to the Hays code, which could have resulted in a lot darker, steamier whodunnit. However, we did get a simmering Bogart-Bacall romance, which isn’t half bad.

(Had a bizarre desire to eat salted peanuts throughout the entire film…don’t ask me why.)

Part 1

The opening of The Red Shoes parallels going to a Taylor Swift concert today: students rushing to their nosebleed seats and being complete snobs about ballet and classical music. That little snotty gang are my kind of people! And how fitting is Boris Lermontov’s (Walbrook at his absolute finest, most intense and most brutal) entrance—to establish his enigmatic allure when he immediately ducks behind his box curtain as the audience points and squeals in delight. While in contrast, Marius Goring’s Julian Craster of a budding composer is introduced struggling and upset that his compositions are plagiarised by his professor in the newest Heart of Desire ballet. A great title bringing forth the foreshadowing.

Moira Shearer’s Vicky Page appears clearly enchanted with ballet and just as eager to get onto the big stage. Her first exchange with Lermantov feels like she may just be able to gain some leverage and have a chance to prove herself. We step back stage at the same time she does, witnessing egos jostling for recognition and ambition on the big stage (ballet coach Lbujov vs prima Boronskaja anyone)?* Because ultimately, that’s what Lermontov demands: who is the most driven, who is utterly immersed, who holds absolute devotion to art like him?

Henceforth, the desire to put on a production of the Red Shoes, a Hans Anderson take concerning a pair of relentless red ballet shoes that drives its wearer to ultimate peril for its never wavering vigour to keep dancing. Of course it’s introduced by Lermontov stroking a white phallic-esque marble statue of a foot encased in a ballet shoe… Craster is brought on to compose, Page is brought on as principal dancer—after Lermontov makes it clear that no ballerina of his company be involved in human relationships (ugh so pesky so basic). The product is the 17 minute ballet sequence—the pinnacle of the film. It is where the story’s narrative and the lyrical aspect of the ballet converge; where Vicky’s personal life and her dance life blurs; the overlays of fantastical special effects depict the change in her emotional state of being.

Part 2

With that sequence, we segue into the latter half of the film which directly deals with Lermontov’s decision to “create something big out of something small”, the “love triangle” and where the story of the Red Shoes ballet manifests physically into the narrative.

While it’s easy to jump to the conclusion that Lermontov is jealous of Vicky and Craster’s relationship, I’d like to follow the line of logic that his desires are “driven by an idealistic obsession with art rather than possessive lust.” His “cruelty” pertains to seeing himself above human emotions which “lesser mortals” are concerned with and that the art he seeks is imbued with an unearthly, otherworldly quality that can’t be bested (even if he is wrong). If I am to view him in such a manner along with every eye twitch, sliver of a sneer or eyebrow raise, then it truly marks Lermontov as the culmination of Walbrook’s career.**

“Because you’re jealous of her!” “Yes, but in a way you would never understand.”

The manipulation taking place at the finale is on another level and it’s written so well because while Craster and Lermontov are arguing about the same things, they are also talking about completely different things too. Escalation takes us straight to the doomed end, the red shoes come to life. Running, running, running Vicky literally to the ground until they are finally removed. By then, it is too late as she has been torn between two binaries—art or love—as tragedy overcomes.

On paper the names of Powell, Pressburger and Cardiff are synonymous with technicolour brilliance but one must not discount Hein Heckroth who was in charge of art production and what art production it was! It’s interesting to note that The Red Shoes has also been criticised to be too fantastical, too impressionistic like early German cinema. However, how effective are those very elements as a tour de force of storytelling! Add the unique score by Brian Easdale and the dizzying choreography by Robert Helpmann—it’s undeniably a feast for all the senses.

Other thoughts:
- Could we just talk Lermontov’s interior decor and his wardrobe down to his sunglasses?! You know which ones!

- Could we also draw attention to Shearer’s freckles? The amount of detail that the restoration has been able to show—marvellous stuff.

- Goring’s conducting/piano playing was quite convincing. I haven’t done my research to see if he was a pianist in his own time or he was just really well coached. Enlighten me please.

- Powell himself said that no one but Walbrook could play Lermontov with such ion, integrity and also, homosexuality. I want to add and by god I hope I’m using this term correctly that all three are not mutually exclusive. But that Walbrook could shape the character of Lermontov with even an ounce of gay sub/context, adds another dimension. I also just can’t hate him so kudos 100%.

*Shearer initially refused to be on board as she said the film’s depiction of a ballet company is nothing like what it is in reality.

**Quoting someone on the interwebs: “a sophisticated performer of ambiguous elegance, oscillating between aristocratic emptiness and secret melancholy.” In my words: channelling wet cat, manipulative and repressed energy to a tee. 

⏩️ P&P ranked

Iris Henderson (Margaret Lockwood) is loud, demanding but also stands true to her convictions that an elderly Ms Froy (Dame May Whitty) got disappeared on the train despite getting concussed. She is assisted by the attractive but also a complete rascal Gilbert (Michael Redgrave we are finally acquainted!), who is the only person to believe her. However, she doesn’t really like his guts because earlier when they were holed up in a hotel, he stormed into her room and relentlessly played her like a fiddle. Through their t escapades to figure out where Miss Froy “vanished” to, their chemistry gradually comes aflame. 

At the same time as the main plot is chugging along, we are introduced to cricket obsessives, Charters and Caldicott, who are so obviously partners, it couldn’t be more obvious (good Lord they share pyjamas AND a bed—not to mention appear frenetically allergic to women). By the time the climax hits the ceiling, there’s a ragtag team of English holidaymakers trying to save their own hides in a transcontinental shootout. The villain(s) themselves are hinted at with a pinch of foreshadowing (that magician Signor Doppo has the most menacing, creepster smile) but for the most part, also played me like a fiddle. 

I love myself a good train drama and mystery (see Christie’s Murder on the Orient Express and Strangers on a Train) mainly because I like how the setting is confined and it is interesting to see how dynamics play out between all the characters. It’s a fun ride throughout, especially with the dry British humour and snappy dialogue. Hitchcock really captures the British identity in this one, which despite the slow start, I can’t help but be charmed by. A great spin off of a whodunnit into a whereyouat—as another reviewer cleverly quipped—where personal identity and how reliable one’s memory is, are inexorably tested. 

⏩️ Hitchcock ranked 

Top Gun is a very visceral invasion of the five senses. My eye sockets bombarded by all its glossy, golden saturated splendour. My eardrums relentlessly invaded by the hammering of Danger Zone and Take my Breath Away*. My nostrils can smell the sweat beads rolling off the faces and pits, the jet fuel, the leather jackets… Ice cold Budweiser on the tip of my tongue. I can practically feel the thrum and shake of the engines reverberating. Similar to the summer blockbuster success of Jaws in ‘75, watching it in a cinema must have been one heck of an experience. 

While the story is kind of basic—reckless but charming asshat of a pilot, a literal maverick, strives to be top of his class and is humbled by death by his RIO / soul bud, learning to work as a teammate—I love that this iconic 80s American military propaganda/commercial fever dream has been critiqued and analysed by countless number of people. Undoubtedly, it’s pushing a specific image of masculinity: look, aren’t these young, very fit and handsome, driven, patriotic bunch of aviator-wearing, leather-donning American men what you want to aspire to be? They’re cool with the ladies, they’re popular with the men (don’t take it homo but we all know we did anyways with that kind of script!). 

By now we all know Tom Cruise’s aggressively discomfort with being called out for any semblance of homosexual tendencies. However, as much of a complete nut job he is, he can do his job: chew the scenery up with those weirdly intense eyes of his. Sure, he looks at Kelly McGillis’ Charlie (embracing the fact she has a unisexual name and has her own agenda in life—barring romance reunion which undercuts her individual ambition) that way but he also looks at Goose, Iceman, etc that way too.** With a bunch of phallic planes twisting and turning in the air around each other, half naked volleyball with Kenny Loggins’ Playing with the Boys in the background, how else am I supposed to take it? 

RIP Van Kilmer. At least you knew Tom Cruise would always be your wingman. 

*having severe Deja vu because Sandy Lam’s Cantonese cover of Take my Breath Away is also iconic in Wong Kar-Wai’s 1988 As Tears Go By… I know it’s a completely different movie inspired by Mean Streets but Andy Lau channeling some Tom Cruise angst, gorgeous 80s saturation—the vibes are similar!

**countless jaw ticks. Some might find it alluring; I found it very distracting. In a bad way.

When I described Viktor und Viktoria to my hip (and cooler) cousin in law as a 1930s German gender bending screwball musical comedy, she laughed and said it sounds like a fever dream! I’ll have to take my words back on the musical though because it’s more like utilising rhyme and sing-talk to move dialogue and henceforth story forward though the main theme is undeniably catchy. Still, surprisingly easy on the ears and also very easy on the eyes. 

It probably felt like a fever dream to Renate Müller’s Susanne who is an aspiring but not very successful actress that somehow comes under the wing of experienced but also not very successful Hermann Thimig’s Viktor. Viktor convinces her to play a man playing a woman on stage, which is ta-da a huge success! Women are into him-her, he-she’s known as the “pretty boy” amongst the theatre-goers. In all the reverie, she captures the attention of once Adolf Wohlbrũck’s (A Walbrook) Robert, who is having some sort of fever dream as well.*

Robert is boldly flirtatious. He plays along with her impersonation in public and teases her pretty relentlessly: “takes him/her out”, subjects him/her to “masculine rituals” and is generally quite handsy with “his new buddy.” I mean he literally carries her/him away from the brawl fight in front of a bunch of rowdy granted superbly drunk men. Then holds her/his chin and forking strokes her face on the streets! Are my eyebrows raised? They’re raised alright!

Once I manage to get past the long setup, I found the film handled cheesy tropes in such a charming fashion I can’t complain too much.** Pining after someone in a hallway while peeking around from a corner? Getting flowers for the person you’re interested in right in front of them? The interested party being super clueless but still really adorable? Impersonator goes to who she thinks is the female interest to spite her romantic interest and kisses her hand? me a fan!

The misunderstandings and mishaps do keep the film progressing at a much better pace in the second half. Enough for me to tolerate the ending as it is.

*the fact he was gay and playing a straight man who initially falls for a man without having the knowledge that said man is actually a woman is absolutely top tier drama to me!

**though I’m not sure I’m a big fan of dogs being dressed up to the nines for show even if it was a metaphor for Viktor’s advances to a woman called Lillian.

Girls upon girls going down endless stairs in a dizzying array of different outfits: sheer outfits, sparkly outfits, bulbous outfits, all complete with equally ostentatious headsets. I’m guessing the Ziegfeld girls are the precedent to the Victoria Secret angels? But what I want to know is how those endless stairs fit on a stage. 

We have fiery elevator girl Lana Turner, vaudeville cutie pie Judy Garland and absolute goddess Hedy Lamarr all try to fulfil their lives as Ziegfeld girls. However, this film isn’t exactly fleshing out the depth of their characters as they attempt to gain autonomy over their lives but realise that the dream job isn’t quite the dream. Lamarr ends up quitting to return to her husband, Garland gets her dad hired in the show and Turner’s story really takes a deep dive into the depressive. 

I wish the ladies all had more of a chance to bond together. We get fleeting glimpses when Garland auditions and Turner tries to help and when Lamarr realises Turner has collapsed on the stairs at the end. All three are acting their hearts out but unfortunately, the story vehicle just flaps about in such a flat, vapid manner. I think my biggest beef with this entire film is that it not only perpetuates the male gaze but that it is also a man who defines the notion and parameters of female beauty. Right. 

Best part of the movie though is the flamenco, which has nothing to do with the actual story, and second best is Garland’s Minnie Goes back to Trinidad number when she gets raised with literal sticks. Physics!

(Watched for Hedy Lamarr after reading about her in Women in Science: 50 Fearless Pioneers Who Changed the World with my daughter!) 

Balduin is a sentimental dreamer but he’s also a poor student and that’s a problem because he suddenly becomes infatuated with opera diva Julia Stella and wants to win her hand. The poor sod meets one of Julia’s “irers”, an old, sad sack of a hypnotist/manipulative type, Dr Carpis, who somehow convinces Balduin to give up his “sentimental dreamer” identity, his “conscious” for endless “luck”.* Anyhow, endless luck at the gambling tables brings him wealth but it also causes him to go absolutely bonkers as he begins to see his “sentimental dreamer” self everywhere but in the reflection of a mirror. 

I already had to suspend quite a lot of disbelief (Walbrook, I love you but mid 30’s is pushing it for a university student even if you’re gorg) so I wish this production pushed harder into supernatural and horror territory because I felt its overall atmosphere could have benefited it. While I haven’t seen the two earlier silent versions, most of the film is carried by Walbrook/Wohlbrück’s moody, troubled soul performance and fencing times two—when one dueled for their honour upon getting slapped in the face. 

The pinnacle of this film is the ending, which is just fab. I love the Picture of Dorian Gray narcissistic vibes that it exudes as Balduin caresses his shattered mirrored self. Top notch stuff—an entire extra star from my generous self. 

* Balduin could have probably resisted the creepy weirdo in his bedroom if he actually got proper sleep in a proper bed in pyjamas, instead of sleeping in a chair bowled over a table in his day clothes. Poor student life indeed. At least he looked cute with his little tilted cap and floppy bow tie and super cinched waistcoat!

Joseph Losey in 1970 made a doozy of a film called Figures in a Landscape where two British men are chained together and on the run from some ambiguous authoritarian entity. It has nothing to do with Stanley Kramer’s The Defiant Ones 12 years earlier, even with its similar trope. However, the American production is far more superior. 

Tony Curtis’ “Joker” and Sidney Poitier “Boy” are two angry convicts cuffed together, on the run, sweating and wearing the tightest tros known to mankind. The suspense is on point, the script is tight and the racial / class tension* so thick you couldn’t cut it with the rock Curtis and Poitier try to use in the first 15 minutes to break their chain. Cobble the elements together with its choice of b&w cinematography, some of the wettest, grimiest setting and Curtis and Poitier chewing up the scenery together in the best way possible, it makes for an engaging watch. If not one that made me want to go have a bath immediately after. 

It can be argued that the trope of putting together two individuals as different as the sun and the moon, and forcing them to put their prejudices aside to work together, is wrung out. But given the context of when The Defiant Ones was made (before Civil Rights movement, restrictions within production code), I personally find the dramatisation and exploration of the social issues it wants to address within its main characters’ relationship, a palpable effort. Especially given how much Curtis cared for the entire film (he apparently raised $1 mil!?) and his and Poitier’s chemistry. See ending. 

(I also found Theodore Bikel’s nuanced performance as Sheriff Max commendable.)

*homoerotic tension as well…I think the subtext is there and Curtis apparently commented on this?

As Maskerade opens with its shower of streamers and an over extravagant ball, I couldn’t help but wonder if I was going to be subjected to 90 minutes of superfluous, vain aristocrats in Vienna moaning about their ostentatious muffs and Strauss. But that’s not what this film is about; if anything, Forst quite promptly introduces us to Poldy (Paula Wessely) and her contrast in character to the rich, vapid snobs is ever apparent (her voice!) She’s not of the same class but she quickly proves that she IS class.

I love the scene when Heideneck (Walbrook who is top tier levels of exquisite) leaves the ball. The camera only follows his feet walking on the snow and then it tracks to his shadow on a wall as he engages with someone on the street. It’s such an artful depiction of how shadows of rumours, of past history and like Poldy says, his paintings, have built his reputation of being a “completely depraved person.” The shadow motif is repeated twice more: 1) when Heiderneck doesn’t want to be seen, another instance of upholding reputation, but the rumour mill has already begun; and 2) at a critical point towards the end, where no one must know what transpired. 

I also love the development of Poldy and Heiderneck’s relationship because it isn’t like a linear graph, which kept me on my toes. 

1. The way Poldy doesn’t let on she’s into Heiderneck in front of him although she’s completely open about her feelings, her insecurities and ultimately her affirmations, behind closed doors (yes, why shouldn’t it be you?!) 

2. The way Heiderneck meets her once and already deems her too good to be wrapped up in the upper class frivolities and nonsense. But then invites Poldy over to his studio which sends her fuming about the “impertinence” of it all. She shows up and his studio is the antithesis to what she was assuming. Reality meets rumours. 

3. The way the studio scene is written and acted out. Heiderneck is all serious face and voice, cold and commanding, keeping his emotions under wraps. While Poldy, who has never modelled in her life, is just herself… accidentally sits on his sweets, tosses them into the bin, licks her fingers because she got them sticky and ends up in tears about the whole experience. Before the most explosive exchange of emotive shouting results in sweet romance.

4. The way the sweet, sweet romance is on tenterhooks. Heiderneck’s ex and other society ladies who are jealous and/or have too much time on their hands so are gossiping vultures indulging in the scandal (which Poldy knows nothing about). Poor Poldy, you can only feel for her as she falls back into the insecurities and her personal indecisions that the rumour mill is churning about Heiderneck. 

The melodrama and tension is thick towards the end and I can’t say anymore without spoiling. Let’s just conclude that Forst has been very effective in spinning together romance, drama, suspense and the interweaving of the characters and their varying levels of morality and repute. It’s glamorous but delightful, lighthearted and serious and I just couldn’t help but root for Poldy and Heiderneck all the way through.

(Thank you sakana for recommending… deeper into the rabbit hole I go.)

With a name like Jean Boucheron (or Pierre in the original play by Ivor Novello), the jewel thief could only be a Parisian womaniser—pretty much the definition of a male pin-up—and who else would be the guy to play him but Walbrook? Things happen like Boucheron acquiring a young and guileless ward who he may have kissed (René Ray), intense crotch grabbing fights, getting involved with socialite Zelia de Chaumomt (Ruth Chatterton), falling through floorboards, murder, the dooziest courtroom trial…

I suppose we’re in Paris as we’re given a location shot of Sacre Couer but seeing we’re mostly underground in a seedy bar, Boucheron’s equally seedy apartment or generic rich person’s interior, it could have been in London for all I cared. I was mostly just channeling Chatterton’s face in this promotional card. Who cares if Walbrook can’t do a French accent when he’s looking like such a surly heartthrob in a T-shirt and then looking like this in a fight? Oh, was he being an asshat? Didn’t notice as he winked at some point and I melted into the settee. 

To pretend this was anything more than a thirst watch is a complete lie.

A moody, melodramatic piece of British propaganda to coax the US to get their backsides into WWII during WWII… Richard Addinsell’s Warsaw Concerto soars in place of Rachmaninov* as Anton Walbrook’s dreamboat of a Polish pianist prodigy turned RAF, Stefan Radetzky has a 90 minute long flashback of falling in love with Sally Gray’s wobbly American accented New Yorker journalist, Carol Peters, performing and flying. At the helm was Brian Desmond Hurst; on costume, Cecil Beaton and the story churned out by one young Terence Young pre-James Bond.**

I may be of a very small minority that found the meet-cute tolerable and Stefan and Carol’s next exchange in New York City, charming. Stefan has a buddy bro, Derrick De Marney’s Irish Mike Carroll (Young thought he was being clever with wordplay haha) and they have a fun little dynamic. Marriage happens awful fast—we could use war as an excuse—or to just drown the viewer in the saccharine. At least the chemistry between Grey and Walbrook is mostly culpable or else it’d be painful. 

The honeymoon period is cut short as Mike reveals that he’s signed up himself and Stefan as badly needed volunteer pilots for the RAF (historically accurate). As war makes a turn for the worst for continental Europe and Mike has left for England already, Carol desperately tries to protect Stefan from returning to the war front but Stefan is adamant. The climax ends up fatally in the air for Stefan but I can’t comment on how accurate the battle sequences are as I spaced out when watching Battle of Britain…. The ending is well, anti-climatic to say the least…

Honest to god, I only watched this for two reasons: 1) the Warsaw Concerto and 2) Walbrook. The Warsaw Concerto pre-empts the vibes of David Lean’s Brief Encounter (which manages to use Rachmaninov’s Piano Concerto no.2 extensively) with constant schmaltzy serenading—something I enjoy. Walbrook is as debonair and angsty as ever—another thing I enjoy. 

When watching Gaslight, which was released a year before, I thought Walbrook was capable of playing the piano. Wiki confirmed it but I’m not sure he quite captured the essence of performing a larger body of work like a concerto here. I personally felt we should have seen slightly bigger physical movements in the body not just hands, more facial emoting—granted, some performers of that time tended to be more cold and conservative—but I reading that US audiences tended to be more favourable of seeing dynamic expression in their virtuosos. 

Wiki states Walbrook thought his performance here was not his A game, which is still better than a lot of other actors’ D game. It also stated this was his least favourite film but then again, the story isn’t the most lively! I, on the other hand, while acknowledging its subpar nature, still enjoyed it. Welp. I got it bad. 

*Rachmaninov—insanely popular in the US—was asked to score the film but he refused. The copycat Warsaw Concerto though has stood its own ground and gained much more fame and lasting legacy than the film itself. 

**kudos to all the gay artists working on this film!

Bella Mallen (Diana Wynward) is a seemingly naive, weak-minded woman from Exmouth, Devonshire—a detail I picked up on because the film focuses on her current, unhappy time in London with her sly, treacherous husband Paul (Anton Walbrook) who’s constantly trying to undermine her for real reasons like the fact he may very well be a conniving, murderous gem addict cough. There appears to be a subtle implication that Bella is simple, that she doesn’t know better about city life because she’s from the country. Concurrently, I felt an underlying presumption through Detective Rough (Frank Pettigell) that the city is corrupt vs the countryside is pure as mirroring metaphors for good vs evil. 

There was a lot to love in this little gem that is resurfacing after Hollywood tried to suppress its existence by producing the same thing but American 4 years later. The pacing and fluidity is pretty swell, the acting is pretty swell (even though campness hits the fan at times—“Beellllaaa~”), the story especially its climax is peak goodness. There was even some gorgeous framing within the apartment with the three main characters boxed in by the ferns of a plant. Visuals to indulge in! Walbrook is a powerhouse here and owning the villainy but I also feel Wynward kind of holds her own. I’m surprised I liked it this much actually…!*

*possibly helped by the fact one of my cats came to cuddle and watch with me! Experience made 10x better!

An unapologetically 60s time capsule of the Americas, where Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn’s daughter (Katharine Houghton—her real life niece) brings home to San Francisco,* Sidney Poitier, 13 days after they meet in Hawaii. Guess what?! They’re madly in love and they’re to get married. Also, he’s black and she’s white. She’s willing to go all the way regardless of what her parents say; his ultimatum is that her parents have the final say.

William Rose who penned the screenplay, delves into relationships of all sorts—parent and child, mother and daughter, father and daughter, mother and son, father and son and at the top of the icing—interracial, prejudice and bigotry (on both sides)—with mostly a light touch. Saying that, Cecil Kellaway as Monsignor Ryan has a fantastic line that even liberal newspaper man Tracy has an inner bigot that is itching to come out. I like that it calls out the concept of a liberal white person struggles to face their inward prejudices when race enters the personal sphere.  

Another super scene is between Poitier and his on screen dad which is brilliantly charged and his monologue just hits me right in the feels—the breadth and power of his acting wow. Poitier, my man, I feel you so hard. The other notable monologue is undoubtedly Tracy’s if not for the fact it is his final act on screen, which shows a man with such fantastic talent, then for Hepburn. Hepburn shows such class here, from the way she fires her assistant to the way she stands as Tracy’s other half. Is it acting? Or is it just her? It doesn’t matter really because her tears have a transcendent element to them.**

Tilly is an interesting case here—less of a character more of a depiction of how entrenched prejudices against one’s kind can be. If it’s meant to be uncomfortable, then the film achieved that. 

There are arguments that the interracial aspect, the white vs “coloured” issue is dated which undoubtedly comes down to personal experience. For myself, as a Chinese American who married a white British, not all of these issues have gone away and that is partly generational. Perhaps as time moves forward enough and I quote Poitier, “not until your whole generation has lain down and died will the dead weight of you be off our backs…” Just perhaps. 

*wish that Mel’s diner still existed like that. I wonder if it’s the same Mel’s dinner on Van Ness street? Is there still a Mel’s diner on Van Ness?

**the poignancy stems from the reality that Tracy was on death’s doorstep and that you could see their decades long on screen and off screen relationship culminate in those final moments.

Sirk + Remarque = an interesting artistic marriage of two Germans who left their homeland to pursue their craft and had something to say about war and fascism 14 years from when this story is set. 

A Time to Love and A Time to Die* is a harrowing drama of WWII via a German soldier. From the opening shot of the delicate pink cherry blossoms floating down to the ground, contrasted against the grey, barren wasteland foreshadows the entire film: a budding romance amidst the hostile environment of war. Ernst Graeber (confusingly played by a very American John Gavin) is a part of the German infantry unit retreating from the Russian front in 1944. He goes home on furlough only to find his home bombed, his parents missing and his family doctor’s spunky daughter, Elisabeth (sprightly played by Liselotte Pulver) who he falls in love with because the story needs to make a move on. 

Ernst has a pompous Gestapo friend called Oscar who is promoted enough to dwell in a giant house with all his trophies of dead animals and use a whole bottle of lilac bath salts on Ernst. Thought taxidermy was a one time thing in P&P’s Life and Death of Colonel Blimp but it really does appear to be a “hobby” of men of a certain caliber engaged with wartime fighting from that time. Here though, the taxidermy is over the top, cramped and lacking all charm or aesthetic design. In fact, it is possibly one of the ugliest rooms I’ve ever laid my eyes on. 

Sirk hasn’t forgotten about the flora. Cherry blossoms make their scant appearance when Ernst and Elisabeth are bonding together: at the duck pond, at the secret restaurant (before it’s bombed to smithereens)…then I was left on tenterhooks whether I’d see them again. I think they are the perfect floral metaphor for them: beautifully fragile and short lived. 

To me, the film has a slow start (I fell asleep countless of times in the first 30 minutes…) but it picks up its pace (if you could get past the fact Gavin is just painfully American**). When the bombs are dropped during daylight, I think the action and tension is at its best. Other notables: the production design is pretty spectacular particularly sleeping out in the art museum ruins of sculptures, Remarque’s cameo as Professor Pohlmann, Elisabeth watching Ernst’s train pull away through a broken window pane… For a director who so loved framing his subjects within windows and mirrors, the broken window pane is the antithesis, that any illusions there may be about war and this regime, are shattered. It is only fitting that following right after is the grim, dark ending, the location fatally mirrored literally by the water. 

*I honestly thought it was called A Time to Live, A Time to Die…which wraps up my viewing this month for Movies with Life and/or Death in their titles. 

**thinking really hard who else could have played his role. Was there a 1950s Daniel Brühl? Anton Walbrook was too old by then… Suggestions super welcome.

⏩️ Watching Douglas Sirk

While Sirk was busy picking away the shiny veneer of American society—finding trouble in paradise—Ray deep dives into the picture perfect image of the 1950s American nuclear family and specifically the American man, buckling under conservative societal pressures. Mason plays an overworked school teacher/cab dispatcher in secret, who ends up addicted to cortisone (the 21st century viewer might just guffaw but okay). Taking the drug breaks the surface, exposing the ugliness underneath: the complacency of the period and how conservative family values of masculinity and patriarchy can breed abuse, misogyny and megalomania. If the idea of darkness behind suburban naivety sounds familiar, it’s because directors like Haynes and Lynch have been inspired by this subversive film. 

There is plenty of menace in this film: the image of the despot gradually becomes fleshed out in front of our eyes—the close ups, the punctuated music, the dominance of male over female (Barbara Rush on the floor crying, looking up at Mason, when she suggests he stops taking cortisone), the football, the abuse! It’s all done to preserve the family unit, their image and their future! Because preserving and upholding those disillusioned ideals and values is of course bigger than life itself right? 

In fact, there are great foreshadowing moments in the house (stairs, study), where it looks like Mason’s shadow is going to leap off the walls and transform into the very monster that he has been all this time… just hiding underneath. And what about that sinister shot of Mason’s face suddenly appearing in the vanity mirror when Ritchie the son finds his cortisone?! Melodrama becomes horror! Then it becomes a joke. Because that music. Wow. (In fact, I’m starting to think Bigger than Life’s classical metaphor would be Saint Saëns’ Danse Macabre…)

A little bonus moment for Barbara Rush when the doctor says that Mason just needs to face the music and all will be alright… that slight eyebrow arch as to say “are you flipping kidding me…”

1956 was one hell of a year for movies. That’s what I got to say!

⏩️ Part of my Movies with Life and/or Death in the Title list 

A post-WWII inter-dimensional fantasy,
inverted love story* between a British RAF and an American radio operator at the centre and circling it is some sort of discourse on wartime unity and improving Anglo-American relationships. Concurrently, the film gives a sense of hope and lightness to all those who have lost someone close to their hearts in the war. 

Suspend the disbelief and plausibility of simultaneous organised hallucinations and a legal trial between life and death in the afterlife—it’s a kooky premise but weren’t there loads of melodramas all formulaic of crazy plot devices? 

Unpopular opinion but I don’t have much to say on this one as many people smarter than me have written much more substantiate reviews. I can only quote James Healy:

“A most peculiar and potent cocktail of romance, theology, global bridge-building and national tub-thumping, this thoughtful drama about one pilot’s deferred mortality remains, if nothing else, a definitive monument to the power of Technicolor. The vivid imagery and the cineliterate style(s) deployed by a creative team at the top of their game express the film’s intricate worldview. It searingly conveys a world grappling with uncharted new places, trying to pick up the pieces after unimaginable calamity.”

Also, Marius Goring staying, “one is starved for technicolour up there.” Everybody’s quoting it because indeed! Life is being represented by the vitality and potential of colours while heaven is black and white, stark and decisive. Even though I'm not crazy about the story, it was a visual masterpiece for my eyes to feast upon and it was full of scriptwriting witticisms that I could enjoy. 

*It is an inverted take on how American soldiers in the UK charmed the socks off British women during WW2, briefly acknowledged during the trial.

(Side note: the best part of watching this movie was that one of my kitten girls slept in my lap and it was so comforting…. The first time!)

🎦 Part of my Movies with Life and/or Death in their Titles list.

⏩️ P&P ranked

Strong willed Joan Webster (Wendy Hill) is adamant she knows where she’s going which is marrying some old rich guy named Bellinger until she gets stuck on the Isle of Mull en route (gotta love the Hebrides) and meets charming Royal Navy officer Torquil MacNeil (Roger Livessey). The two hang out and despite their obvious differences, they end up falling for each other herp derp. 

P&P made this in lieu of A Matter of Life and Death because they were waiting for technicolour cameras from Hollywood. So it ends up being a bit of a little, unobtrusive film with an okay-ish story. 

What elevates it are three things: 1) the underlying scathing commentary on materialism (Ophüls also has something to say about this in 1949’s Caught), 2) the remote Hebrides being a character itself: the high gales, sea and form, the ruins of Castle Moy, the steep terrain with all its jagged edges and 3) the acting duo of Hill and Livessey.*

Livessey casually smoking a pipe while Hill gets a face full of sea water in her persistence to brave the crossing. What a mood. That Corryvreckan whirlpool is no joke as portrayed by P&P. It really shows nature doing what it does best: being relentless. 

*wikipedia states that Debs K and James Mason were originally billed as the leads…that would have been a different film…

⏩️ P&P ranked

The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp is best summarised as the saga of a seemingly silly and ridiculous British army man but is actually more nuanced through a-3 part exploration of his identity and what shapes him through his career. Complete with taxidermy repeatedly invading my eye sockets as interludes (my 21st century soul was unnerved by the elephant and polar bear!) Spoilers are ahead. 

1: at the turn of the century, Clive Wynne-Candy (fantastically mustached Roger Livessey) blunders into a diplomatic faux-pas in Berlin due to a letter written by spunky Edith (young gorg Debs K) hinting at potential negative German propaganda. He ends up duelling future best bud Theo Kretschmar-Schuldorff (broody but handsome Anton Walbrook um I love him). They are embroiled in a little English-German relationship triangle which ends up with Edith and Theo marrying while Clive belatedly realises he is also in love with Edith. Whoops. 

2: it’s the end of WWI. Clive finds a nurse called Barbara (also Debs K) and ends up marrying her because she does not look like Edith. He hears that Theo is a POW in Derbyshire* within the wondrous Peak District lucky chap. I love that Mendelssohn’s Hebrides Overture punctuates their reunion as Mendelssohn was German and the overture was inspired by one of his trips to the British isles specifically a Scottish isle. I also love Theo and Clive’s less tumultuous reunion in the car where Clive attaches himself to Theo’s side like a limpet. Cute. However, then comes a very awkward dinner party with a bunch of stiff upper lip white British dudes which makes for not very enjoyable times. 

3: the year 1939 sees Theo fleeing , belatedly after Edith’s death and his children becoming villainous Nazis. Luckily, the aging hair and makeup did not detract from Theo’s outstanding monologue. Clive, now is a much aged general, whose stance on not “resorting to Nazi war tactics” following the retreat in Dunkirk, results in a forced retirement into the home guard. His driver is “Johnny” (Debs K slaying it here) who provides an excellent contrast of generational divide. His house is bombed in the Blitz and replaced is a water cistern… There, Johnny and Theo find Clive as he nostalgically laments but also quite sentimentally considers the future. 

Piggy backing off the brilliant sakana’s review, if the backbone of the story of Clive and Theo are Edith-Barbara-Johnny, then it makes complete sense that all three women are played by one actress. As sakana comments, these three women’s identities and their memories directly shape Clive and Theo’s own identities, of how much they change or not change. 

The German-English friendship, which I found very endearing, was deeply frowned upon and Churchill himself didn’t want the movie released which all led to poor box office numbers. Interestingly, over the course of time, this film has proven to be historically and culturally significant to what constituted (constitutes?) the British identity: principled yet stuck in time, loyal but unable to adapt, noble yet the very traits of such gentlemanly conduct is anachronistic to wider threats such as Hitler. It is a clever film**…generational indeed…and ironically enough now in the 21st century, it’s a reflective mirror to view and consider ourselves. Are any of us still like Clive—unchanged despite the fact a lake has swallowed his home?

*been practising saying Darbyshur instead of derby-shire lol. 
**considering it took me a week to watch its entirety… and I had to rewind and watch parts due to the fact that I didn’t realise I could view it in 1080 hd rather than 360 sd…

(A complete sidenote: how charming were the old WH Smith newsstands?!)

🎦 Part of my Movies with Life and/or Death in their Titles list. 

⏩️ P&P ranked

Robert Shaw and Malcolm McDowell are running away from a nihilistic looking, black helicopter that flies way too low in the gorgeous yet barren Sierra Nevadas with a jarring, post-modernist soundtrack accompanying them all the way. They lash out verbally, call each other “boy” and “pig”, knock back condensed milk like it’s espresso and mostly can’t stand each other’s presence (McDowell says he sticks by Shaw because he’s “lonely”; alright buddy.) 

I find Shaw fascinating as an actor but can’t abide by his filmography all the time. I couldn’t finish Custer of the West or A Town Called Bastard and was starting to teeter on whether or not I had enough in me to finish this one. Minimalistic postcolonial thriller with existential themes: it’s simultaneously reminiscent of the Vietnam war but not because hello Spain and a vague western feel but not because weirdly futuristic soldiers. Personally, I don’t think Losey manages to hold onto the tension and to build up the suspense to keep me on my toes. Not sure how Shaw’s screenplay holds up either; it’s all rather bleak and semi-repetitive in one way or another. The acting? Ergh. 

Someone smarter than me probably already commented on how Shaw and McDowell’s respective characters (who do have names!) are allegorical representations of aggression vs pacifism, generational (youth of the dayvs the more mature), contrasting with wisdom vs “street smarts”, working class v middle class…. However, pitted against nature where they’re fighting for survival, how do they stand up? What inherent value do they have? Questions are posed but rather than answering them, Losey and co chooses to “marinate in the ambiguity.” 

It’s not flipping bananas like The Royal Hunt of the Sun which came a year before this but damn, did it have the worst helicopter sfx ever. The best part of this movie is when you get these wide sweeping shots of the mountains and with Shaw and McDowell making their way across the snow. That’s the only redeeming grace for me. Because I love mountains.

Them monarchs am I right.

A very loose ranking system on most unhinged and dysfunctional to least.

• Ran
• Queen Margot
• The Royal Hunt of the Sun
• The Lion in Winter
• Gladiator
• The Fall of the Roman Empire
• Ludwig
• Curse of the Golden Flower
• King Lear
• Hamlet at Elsinore

...plus 15 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

Give me all the schmaltz.  

Not all films I’ve watched but have heard on the radio, etc.

• Victor and Victoria
• Gone with the Wind
• 49th Parallel
• Dangerous Moonlight
• Brief Encounter
• All That Heaven Allows
• The Sound of Music
• American Graffiti
• Robin and Marian
• Hanover Street

...plus 17 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

What it says on the tin—book was gifted to me from husband. 

Watched so far: 20/52

• City Lights
• Mr. Smith Goes to Washington
• Gone with the Wind
• Citizen Kane
• Now, Voyager
• Casablanca
• The Red Shoes
• Bicycle Thieves
• The Third Man
• Roman Holiday

...plus 10 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

Few years ago, I ed mubi to watch as much Almodóvar as possible. WIP.

1. Pain and Glory
2. All About My Mother
3. Volver
4. The Human Voice
5. Bad Education
6. Parallel Mothers
7. Talk to Her
8. Law of Desire
9. Broken Embraces
10. The Skin I Live In

...plus 2 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

He’s insane but I love his craft.

Need to rewatch Rebel Without a Cause because I watched it during the days of renting DVDs from the local video store.

• Johnny Guitar
• In a Lonely Place
• Bigger Than Life
• Rebel Without a Cause
• A Woman's Secret
• Wind Across the Everglades

Based on what I thought of his performance and not the overall film product though sometimes that can be convoluted…. Who am I kidding: gayness levels totally play a factor.

1. The Sound of Music

   If this isn’t at number 1! The seeds were sown in childhood and later emerged as a hyper-fixation on said mid century actor. I rest my case. 

2. Beginners

   Will need a rewatch as I watched it in 2011 or something during my Ewan McGregor days. I do recall him being very endearing and cute. He did win an Oscar for ing actor in this role so there is something to it.

   Amendment: I rewatched it. he is endearing and cute. 

3. Hamlet at Elsinore

   What a multi faceted Hamlet we have here: melancholic, melodramatic, loony, verbose, eloquent, ridiculous, horrible, tragic. It took me a while to get into it but yes, I did enjoy Plummer’s Hamlet at the end (bolstered by Michael Caine’s “ive” Horatio).

4. Wind Across the Everglades

   I can’t fault him in this dysfunctional, crazy movie! It could have been so good. 

5. A Doll's House

   A solid Torvald with a sinister looking goatee (which is actually perfect for the role). Bonus points for playing the piano live. 

6. Knives Out

   He’s the patriarch of a bonkers family. The bonkers-ness has to come somewhere though right?  

7. Hanover Street

   A very pleasant secret agent Brit who keeps saying he’s boring as dishwasher but really isn’t. Speaks French and German convincingly. Endearingly ditzy. 

   Sidenote: what the hell, I’ll just it it—I do think about this stupid movie a lot. Plummer should have hooked up with Ford! The haystack, the car rides, the motorcycle ride, dying on a bridge… 

8. The Scarlet and the Black

   I really didn’t know where to put this one. He’s playing a Nazi commanding officer! … But somehow makes the antagonist to Gregory Peck’s Irish priest three-dimensional?! Or are my judgment lens too blurred by my bias? … 

9. The Shadow Box

   The first time Plummer plays a terminally ill gay man—a reasonable first trial but could have used a bit more if you know what I mean. 

10. Murder by Decree

    It’s Sherlock Holmes!Plummer. Has a delightful rapport with James Mason’s Watson. He’s alright. A bit emotional, a bit touchy. The movie just gave me the absolute willies. 

...plus 21 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

Can you believe I still haven’t seen Psycho?!

Some I watched much more recently, others I haven’t seen since university…

1. Rebecca
2. Rear Window
3. Rope
4. Vertigo
5. The Lady Vanishes
6. North by Northwest
7. Strangers on a Train
8. Notorious
9. Dial M for Murder
10. Spellbound

...plus 5 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

In the same way of me saying, “I need to watch more Nicholas Ray! Or I should probably try to watch some more Pedro Almodóvar…”

Ranking as I go.

1. Imitation of Life
2. All That Heaven Allows
3. Written on the Wind
4. Magnificent Obsession
5. Sleep, My Love
6. There's Always Tomorrow
7. The Tarnished Angels
8. Lured
9. A Time to Love and a Time to Die
10. Shockproof

...plus 1 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

I love that technicolour…!

• The Red Shoes
• The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp
• Black Narcissus
• A Canterbury Tale
• A Matter of Life and Death
• I Know Where I'm Going!
• 49th Parallel

When you put two tired but also silly adults together to watch something.

• Dune: Part Two
• Alien
• The Karate Kid
• From Russia with Love
• The Boy and the Heron
• The Holiday
• Deadpool & Wolverine
• Conclave

Incomplete filmography dive which began with Le Samouraï long long time ago.

1. Le Samouraï
2. Rocco and His Brothers
3. L'Eclisse
4. Purple Noon
5. The Leopard
6. Le Cercle Rouge
7. The Sicilian Clan
8. Borsalino
9. Mr. Klein
10. A Cop

...plus 2 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

I’ve started compiling this list since 2007 so some
do need to be revisited…

Criteria:
1. Watched it on repeat
2. Had a lasting impact on me in a good movie way
3. Made me cry

• Now, Voyager
• The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp
• Brief Encounter
• Black Narcissus
• The Red Shoes
• All That Heaven Allows
• Imitation of Life
• Hamlet at Elsinore
• The Sound of Music
• Le Samouraï

...plus 16 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

Of a time long gone. Adding as I .

• Drunken Master
• Project A
• Behind the Yellow Line
• Police Story
• Yes, Madam!
• Armour of God
• A Better Tomorrow
• Royal Warriors
• Lady in Black
• Rouge

...plus 43 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

Double whammy if the title has both Life and Death.

• The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp
• A Matter of Life and Death
• Bigger Than Life
• A Time to Love and a Time to Die
• Imitation of Life
• Vivre Sa Vie
• Death in Venice
• The Time to Live and the Time to Die
• To Live
• Life Is Beautiful

...plus 2 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

It’s been so long since I saw many of these. Recently rewatched: Happy Together as a double feature with Moonlight and In the Mood for Love.

1. Happy Together
2. In the Mood for Love
3. Chungking Express
4. The Grandmaster
5. Ashes of Time
6. Days of Being Wild
7. As Tears Go By
8. Fallen Angels
9. 2046
10. My Blueberry Nights

^ what it says on the tin circa 2004-2007.

• Troy
• Romeo and Juliet
• The Merchant of Venice
• Life Is Beautiful
• Queen Margot
• Othello
• Hamlet
• Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead
• Great Expectations

Born at the butt end of the 80s, collecting Beanie Babies, following the Michael Jordan mania, pondering over the end of the millennia and making mixtapes on actual casette tapes.

• Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs
• The Wizard of Oz
• Pinocchio
• Fantasia
• Dumbo
• Bambi
• Cinderella
• Peter Pan
• Lady and the Tramp
• The King and I

...plus 50 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

Edward Yang and Hou Hsiao-Hsien mostly.

• The Boys from Fengkuei
• The Time to Live and the Time to Die
• Dust in the Wind
• Terrorizers
• A City of Sadness
• A Brighter Summer Day
• The Puppetmaster
• The Wedding Banquet
• Eat Drink Man Woman
• Goodbye South, Goodbye

...plus 8 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

It was a super long time ago and this course caused such anxiety but also taught me to write about film and to analyse film. Not every film I watched I ed because I fell asleep. Here are the “memorable ones.”

• Citizen Kane
• Blue Velvet
• Vertigo
• Swimming Pool
• In the Valley of Elah
• Dancer in the Dark
• Far from Heaven
• In the Mood for Love
• Ballet Mécanique
• The Gleaners and I

...plus 7 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

2010 studied abroad in Rome. The course was possibly called Italian film cinema via Vittorio De Sica?!

• What Scoundrels Men Are!
• The Children Are Watching Us
• Shoeshine
• Bicycle Thieves
• Miracle in Milan
• Umberto D.
• Bread, Love and Dreams
• A Farewell to Arms
• General Della Rovere
• Two Women

...plus 6 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

My last film seminars at USF with the brilliant Professor T Moore who instilled a bit of confidence in the silly 21 year old self that was me. What I was there were 12 undergrads in a room and no one could hide so make sure you do your reading and be ready to talk. 

(It was years after I graduated that I learnt my reputation in media studies and film was one of intelligence, a bit of cool and intimidation. Why did I spend four plus years thinking I came across as a complete crazy dork?!)

• His Girl Friday
• Woman of the Year
• Meet John Doe
• Gentleman's Agreement
• A Face in the Crowd
• Ace in the Hole
• Sweet Smell of Success
• Medium Cool
• The Killing Fields
• Absence of Malice

...plus 7 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

Imported from mubi days of late 2000s/early 2010s when I watched as much French new wave cinema as I could….

1. Pierrot le Fou
2. Breathless
3. A Woman Is a Woman
4. Vivre Sa Vie
5. Contempt
6. Le Petit Soldat
7. Band of Outsiders
8. Masculin Féminin

Sketchily ranked. Didn’t take any of this seriously.

1. Brother to Brother

   Ngl, I loved this and I loved him in it. 

2. Sucker Free City

   He was such a dick. I enjoyed the confrontations between all three assholes and wish it was given a chance to be something. San Francisco represent!

3. The Hurt Locker

   It says on the tin. 

4. Captain America: The Winter Soldier

   I rewatched this because…of cheekbones and his totally heterosexual relationship with Captain America. Yes. 

5. Half Nelson

   It’s the Ryan Gosling show so I can’t really say what Mackie was doing in this. Good film though. 

6. Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter

   Hahahaha, you know, he wasn’t half bad in this (also so young!)

7. Captain America: Civil War

   The daddies are having a divorce and everyone has to pick a side. Is this the movie with the car scene with Sebastian Stan/Barnes? If so, that’s iconic. 

8. Ant-Man

   He gets bested by a tiny, tiny Paul Rudd. 

9. Avengers: Endgame

   I believe that at Tony Stark’s funeral, Sam puts a hand on Barnes’ shoulder and I think it spirals off into another very heterosexual relationship. Hah. 

10. Avengers: Infinity War

    Dunno. Can’t number three. 

...plus 12 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.