This week's film is William Wyler's 1949 masterpiece, The Heiress, starring Olivia de Havilland, Montgomery Clift, Ralph Richardson, and Miriam Hopkins.
Based on the 1881 novel Washington Square by Henry James, The Heiress was adapted into a stage play before becoming a film. Olivia de Havilland was actually encouraged to see the play and told that it would be a perfect vehicle for her; after she saw it, she immediately contacted William Wyler, who upon seeing the play remarked, "Let's do it." James was inspired to write Washington Square by an incident he heard about involving a manipulative but handsome young man who courted an introverted, "dull" young woman simply for her money. Rather than craft a predictable, melodramatic tale of an unsuitable suitor, however, James instead created a far more complex story, mostly due to his cultivating a less obvious but more cunning, malicious, and grotesque villain: the father. The film of The Heiress follows the novel's themes and story closely, and it is this unexpected characterization that fuels the drama and emotions of the film. The story, set in the 1840's, is deceivingly simple: Catherine Sloper (de Havilland) is a young, awkward woman whose deceased mother has left her $10,000 a year; her father, Dr. Austin Sloper, played to perfection by the late-great Ralph Richardson, promises to leave her an additional $30,000 per year on the prerequisite that she marry someone he approves of. Enter Morris Townsend (Montgomery Clift), a man we the audience are never completely sure we can trust. Morris and Catherine's courtship comes to a devastating and heart-wrenching end in one of the most memorable scenes in the film. Olivia de Havilland's performance in The Heiress is perhaps her most popular, rivaling only her role as Melanie Hamilton in Gone with the Wind. Celebrating her 100th birthday this year, de Havilland is the last surviving cast member of Gone with the Wind and enjoys a carefree life in Paris. In this film, the way she uses her voice is one of the most enduring aspects of her performance. In the beginning, she is exceedingly awkward and shy, but also exudes the desperation Catherine feels simply to be loved. Her reactions to her father's increasingly direct cruelty are realistic and at times painful to watch. Similarly, the rapture in her face and especially her eyes when Morris courts her is both moving and painful - painful when one knows the outcome awaiting Catherine. In the most moving sequence of the film, when Morris has abandoned her after promising to return in a few hours for their elopement, Catherine's cauldron of emotions - hurt, humiliation, shame, anger, and despair - culminate in the growing tension in de Havilland's face and the explosion of emotions as the clock strikes. The look on her face as she lurches up the stairs the next day, the sight of the morning sunrise visible from the upper window, is cutting to watch. After that scene, the sweet lilt to her voice is gone along with her innocence; by the end of the film, Catherine is a woman one can hardly recognize. It is a terrific performance and definitely my favorite de Havilland role. The themes of the movie are complex and definitely do not align with expected Hollywood stories, neither from the 1940's, nor today. Frankly, it's even less likely for a movie in today's market to have the daring and aggressively anti-Hollywood ending that The Heiress handles so deftly.
For one, the question of materialism and class is central to the film's actions and emotional content. Is Morris simply a fortune hunter, or is there genuine feeling on his part? To what extent would it matter? Thanks mostly to Montgomery Clift's acting, we can never completely trust or distrust Morris. His affection seems genuine, but his actions are at best dubious. Does he abandon Catherine because she tells him she has disinherited herself, or is he panicked about his role in disinheriting her, or does he want to try to make his own fortune? We never really know. The film suggests the answer is complicated and involves a bit of each of these suspicions. William Wyler, who was a master at the deceivingly simple, places the camera in the first two acts so that we only see Catherine's face when she speaks to Morris. In her last conversation with Morris, the camera and the actors' positions finally shift so that we see Morris's reaction. This simple but provocative shift is so subtle that one might miss it on the first viewing, but it sends a strong message to the audience, almost subconsciously. Likewise, Catherine's treatment of Morris in the end is both disturbing and satisfactory, the final scene never ceasing to give me chills. This again speaks to the dual story lines in Henry James: the surface, and beneath the surface. On the surface, Morris is a fortune hunter and a rake, but beneath that is a far more sinister plot involving a far more sinister villain: the father. Ralph Richardson plays Austin Sloper with arrogance and cruelty. His malignant grin and cold sneer are but a few of the elements that makes one despise this character. He purposely interjects himself into Catherine's relationship with Morris, supposedly because he is concerned about her future. Yet, Austin constantly compares Catherine to her dead mother, complaining that she will never compare to her mother's beauty, grace, intelligence, or charm, which leads to deeper questions of his motivations: why does he care so deeply about Catherine marrying Morris? Does he truly worry about his fortune going into Morris's hands, or is there something darker behind his motivations? It is worth noting that both Morris and Austin are materialistic characters; in fact, Austin may be even worse because the one thing he cares about above all else is his money: more than his estate, his patients, his family, and even more than his own daughter. In one of the most chilling scenes of the film, Austin announces to Catherine that her one and only virtue is her money. In his words, "there are a thousand girls who are prettier, a thousand more clever." Think about: Austin has told his own flesh and blood that she has absolutely no redeeming qualities beyond the money, which he controls. Considering Morris is at least kind to her and does make her feel good about herself, it is little wonder that she falls for Morris. This revelation drives a permanent stake in Catherine's relationship with her father and is difficult to watch. When one takes a moment to think about the story taking place beneath the surface, The Heiress is actually quite a creepy tale of a father and a suitor each trying to "own" Catherine as a possession, a symbol of their respective statuses and wealth, a token to be won. This conflict between Catherine and Austin is tinged with a sexual undercurrent in that Austin wishes to recreate his deceased wife, but is angered by his daughter's inability to fill this role. It should be noted that Aaron Copeland composed the magnificent score, which adds even more depth and emotion to an already deep and emotional film. Although Wyler was never a director known for obvious "camera tricks," his directing is exacting and calculated. Each shot, each image, each actor is placed deliberately, as if each shot were a painting. Truly, The Heiress is a film in which everything came together perfectly: acting, production design, story, music, directing. Olivia de Havilland won her second Academy Award for this film (the first was for To Each His Own from 1946). Montgomery Clift, who had almost immediate success with two films in 1948 (Red River and The Search), cemented his status as a leading man with his subtle and intelligent performance here. Clift was a brilliant actor and was also the first American Method actor on film, not Marlon Brando, who had his breakout role in 1950 with A Streetcar Named Desire. Inconceivably, Clift was also yet another incredible talent who never won an Oscar. In short, The Heiress is a masterpiece and a film that begs to be watched over and over, its power and complexities never dulling over time. Grade: A+
The latest film from director Denis Villeneuve is eerily timely - eerily in the sense that there is no way the producers could have predicted how desperately their film's messages would be needed on the cusp of the Trump administration. Based on Ted Chiang's short story "The Story of Your Life," Arrival tells the story of linguistics professor Louise Banks (Amy Adams) and her role in decoding the language of an alien species that has arrived on Earth. The creatures have arrived and set up massive structures that resemble sky-scraper versions of monoliths in 2001: A Space Odyssey. These creatures live inside of these structures, and Louise works slowly to understand their language. I hesitate to remark any further about the film's story, for it is a slow burner full of twists. Indeed, any attempt to summarize the film's major plot points will destroy its mystery and beauty. For the sake of discussion, though, I will say the film takes some unexpected turns, and they are executed in the kind of slow, mounting manner in which I prefer my science fiction. This film has almost no "action," but that is its strength, actually. Rather than relying on worn-out plot points we have come to associate with science fiction lately, Villeneuve builds suspense purely through character and imagery. It is a riveting story, and I watched much of it with my mouth open. It is at once about love, interpretation, war, culture, and language - with language perhaps playing the biggest role. The film asks what exactly is language, what does it mean to "speak," what is communication, what does it mean to understand? There was a sentence diagramming scene that I adored, to say nothing of the building suspense as the language themes expanded. Language is connected with every other facet of human existence in this film; it is a film about what unites people, what commonality we areable to share due to both language and, more importantly, communication. The film is about how delicate human relations are due to this very simple and basic need: to communicate. I was moved to tears in a few places by the end. Amy Adams's acting was in top-form, although she has a rather quiet part. This film is a slow burn, certainly, but that slowly creeping pace rendered the climax that much more powerful. Her facial expressions and even the way she moved and carried her body revealed what Louise was thinking or experiencing, which was imperative as there is not much dialogue in the film. There is already some Oscar buzz about her performance for good reason. Villeneuve is one of my favorite "new" directors, and to me he's four-for-four: Prisoners, Enemy, Sicario, and now Arrival are all exceptional productions, although each of them is very, very different - even down to the cinematic style. For Arrival, the color palette is mostly blue, but not in that saturated style like most of Clint Eastwood's films. The blue in Arrival has a light, dreamy look to it that becomes more important as the film progresses. Villeneuve is also not afraid of silence, something that I think a lot of directors today do not understand. He takes his time in showing a sequence, and the film is all the better for this patience. There is much to say about this film, but it would be impossible to do so without spoilers. I will simply say that this film and its explorations of war, compassion, and language may prove the most prescient and poignant of the year. I can think of no other film I have seen this year that visually expresses such a meaningful message with such skill and power. Grade: A
The Last of the Mohicans has been adapted several times, including as a play, a silent film, a 70s television miniseries, and a film in 1936. None, however, have been as successful nor as well made as Michael Mann's 1992 film.
Starring Daniel Day-Lewis as Hawkeye, Madeline Stowe as Cora, and Wes Studi as Magua, Mann's Last of the Mohicans is a complex, moving, and historically rich film, albeit one that is only loosely based on Cooper's novel. There are deviations, certainly, but the changes made are undoubtedly improvements on both the themes and characterizations, most of which in the source material are at best "quaint" by today's standards. As a period drama and an action movie, Last of the Mohicans proves action films don't have to be mindless morasses of explosions. There is surprising depth to this film, and in spite of my having watched this movie more times than I can count, I was still able to detect the many layers in this richly American movie. And I stress "American" because the very essence of this film is about the myriad clashes that took place with the germination of this country. The colonials' rising resentment of British rule; the collision of white settlers, Native Americans, and the British and French governments; the clashes between European and guerrilla warfare; the erosion of Native American culture: all of these themes intersect in the most moving and exciting ways in the hands of Michael Mann. Mann is often a hit or miss when it comes to directing. He has the skills, certainly, but his movies do not often reflect his talent. Last of the Mohicans and Heat, however, represent Mann at his best--although, Mann has done much to sabotage this. The theatrical cut of Mohicans was released on video tape in the early nineties, and it is the best version. However, Mann refuses to put this version on DVD or Bluray. In the early 2000s, Mann released what he called the "Director's Expanded Edition," which could not have been a more dishonest title; the so-called "Expanded Edition" cut nearly all of the best one-liners from the film, some of the music, and even some scenes, resulting in a clunky dud of a movie. I still remember watching this version when I (foolishly) purchased it as a teen. I yelled "No!" the entire time and truly considered writing Michael Mann a letter. Evidently Mann saw the error of his ways (not one human being preferred that edition) and then released his "Director's Definitive Cut" on Bluray. This version does restore many (but not all) of the lines from the theatrical version, and it brings back the beautiful Clannad song ("I Will Find You"), but like its predecessor has a few places that feel clunky due to Mann's using different takes in a few scenes or editing the dialogue in a way that simply does not make sense. As I watched it tonight, I felt annoyed by the changes. Nevertheless, the "Definitive Cut" is the closest you can get to the theatrical cut. I have no idea why Mann refuses to put out the true version of his best movie, but there you go. The production value of this film is astounding. The score itself is magnificent and one of my favorites; the scenery could not be more lush and beautiful; and the acting is excellent. I would like it to be known that I consider Wes Studi's performance as Magua one of the best movie villains of all time. The fact that he was not even nominated for an Oscar must rank as one of the most colossal Oscar-snubs in history. He plays Magua as a complex man driven by anger and hatred that he has allowed to poison his very soul. Without a doubt, Magua is a victim of colonization, which is made clear when he recounts his suffering at the hands of "the Grey Hair" to French General Montcalm. Yet, he has allowed his anger to define him completely, and in the end he is completely consumed by it--all to his own detriment. It is a fantastic performance and one of my favorites. In some slick and imaginative casting, Mann cast Indian rights activist Russell Means as Chingachgook. As one of the many improvements on the novel, Chingachgook here is a father figure to Hawkeye. In the books he's more of a "gentle savage" who is always subordinate to Hawkeye/La Longue Carabine/The Deerslayer/and all of the other nicknames he has in the books. I read The Pathfinder a few years ago and was struck by the massive difference in characterization. Means plays him with dignity and depth, which again enriches the film's themes. The battle sequences are probably one of the best things about this movie. When it comes to building tension before an action sequence, few surpass Mann. The two massacres are still enthralling to watch, and the violence is realistic (especially the scalpings). The final 15 minutes or so of this film should be required viewing for anyone interested in film making. Without dialogue, Mann employs pure cinematics to tell the story's conclusion. The placement of the shots in this scene is still moving to watch (despite how many times I've seen it). This scene is among the finest in terms of pure visual storytelling as it captures visually the emotions, action, and themes that simultaneously climax in this sequence. In short, Last of the Mohicans is a stirring, exciting film. Michael Mann has never surpassed it in the 24 years since it came out, and he will not cease to suppress the true version. For the time being, the "Director's Definitive Cut" must suffice. Grade: A
The blog is back! So sorry for the long interim, but my blu ray player stopped working on Halloween only to come back to life miraculously just a few days ago. Given I was in the middle of purchasing a new player, my relief at my current one resurrecting itself is almost inexpressible. In celebration of my player's return, I watched a film I have not seen in at least five years, but one that never ceases to stir me: Martin Scorsese's The Age of Innocence. Based on Edith Wharton's novel, this adaptation is superb and easily my second favorite of all time (only Ken Russell's Women in Love surpasses it, but that is for another post).
I must confess that I am a Whartonion, to coin a new phrase: she has easily been my favorite author since I was in high school, and this adaptation of her work is actually a most personal film for me. The memory of viewing it religiously in high school, absorbing its vivid sensuality and lush symbolism with determined focus, is still fresh; I remember how deeply this film affected me, especially as a teenager with health problems, because of its unflinching plunge into a world of aching rigidity and cruel gossip. Having been the target of such exploitation myself (as recently as this summer) for issues beyond my control, I can truly say this film - and the book to an even greater extent - encapsulates the emotional turmoil of codes and rumors and ignorance and cruelty, above all, better than any other work of art I can think of. This film left such an impact on me in high school that I soon read the novel for the first time as a teen and have treasured it ever since. In fact, I wrote my MA thesis on Wharton, with one chapter discussing The Age of Innocence. Not only shaping my world views and emotional experiences, this film also germinated my studies and career, for which I am indebted to Scorsese for creating such a faithful and impactful adaptation. For those who are unfamiliar, The Age of Innocence, set in the 1870s, tells the story of Newland Archer, an aristocrat who is not quite part of the leisure class because he has do something as vulgar as "work," who is engaged to May Welland, only be to swept off his feet by her exotic, older cousin Ellen Olenska, who is trying to divorce her philandering husband, a Polish count whom we never see. The title is ironic, and Newland and Ellen's love is never consummated; truly, the torture of this film comes from seeing these two people who share such an intense connection never allowed to realize it fully. It is actually difficult for me to put into words precisely how raw and agonizing the emotions of this film are. Scorsese himself has actually called this one his "most violent film," and it is not difficult to see why. Does the film have people getting shot in the head or being beaten to death and buried alive in the desert? No, but to associate only physicality with violence is ignorant at best and is a complete misunderstanding of the very nature of violence. Violence is raw, cutting, and scarring; it can be physical, certainly, but emotional violence leaves scars far deeper than a punch or bullet can. Newland's internal violence, which the audience experiences through him, is so suffocating that one can actually find breathing difficult while watching this film. Although most people may assume Goodfellas or Casino is Scorsese's most violent, neither of those films reaches the depths of distress or melancholy that is realized so beautifully and hauntingly in The Age of Innocence. How is The Age of Innocence more disturbing than Goodfellas, you ask? The fact is that despite the world in Age belonging to a very specific time and era, the truth beneath its setting is applicable to any time. The film is all about how it feels to succumb to others' expectations for you and to disregard - or even suppress - your own desires for your own life. It's about learning everyone around you has gossiped about you behind your back. It's about giving in to habit and normalcy at the expense of sacrificing your own self merely to maintain propriety. These experiences apply to anyone in any time, and they certainly resonate with me. Newland's world is lush and gorgeous; indeed, the film itself is a visual feast. Like a strong perfume, though, his world is too beautiful, suffocatingly beautiful. The novel is full of death imagery, and Scorsese leaves much of this dialog in the film. The contrast between the extravagant wealth and "polite" conversation and the actual meaning behind these words is startling, especially when compacted with Elmer Bernstein's magnificent score. Truly, this is a film that demands re-viewings; it is impossible to absorb all of the details of this film in only one viewing. Tonight, after watching this film countless times for more than 15 years, I still caught new things. That is how much skill went into this film. The production design is peerless in both its beauty and its authenticity; the music is gorgeous; and the acting is perfect. If you ever want to measure Daniel Day-Lewis's talent, simply watch both of his Scorsese films. The gulf between Newland Archer and Bill the Butcher (Gangs of New York) is so vast that it is difficult to believe they're played by the same actor. In The Age of Innocence, Daniel has increasing difficulty speaking, becoming more tight-jawed as the film progresses. Michelle Pfeiffer is in one of her best roles as Ellen, and Winona Ryder complements as the seemingly oblivious May. Sadly, The Age of Innocence may be both Scorsese's best film, yet also his most underrated and overlooked film. Criminally ignored by film critics and even dismissed by so-called Scorsese aficionados (the ones who only think of Scorsese as a master of blood and guts; those folks are also called "idiots"), The Age of Innocence receives little attention, which has led to some unfortunate consequences. One cannot even purchase a 35 mm print of the film - not even the editor Thelma Schoonmaker. Yet, if one looks closely, one can see the similarities between Goodfellas and The Age of Innocence: both films deal with entities that have specific codes of conduct - and thinking - that must be followed in order to survive in their respective worlds; when someone challenges this order, he or she must be axed, which is what happens to Ellen Olenska. I cannot say enough good things about this movie, and it has been difficult for me not to write about the book in this post. My only suggestion is that you watch this film, then watch it again, then watch it again until you finally grasp the enormity of its messages and veracity. Grade: A+
