Milk (2008)

I've seen the movie Milk, nominated for Best Picture of 2008, twice now, and each time has been an emotional experience for me. Coming so soon after the defeat that gay people in California suffered at the ballot box in November, this movie reminds us of a time when it was even more difficult to be gay, and yet there were people like Harvey Milk who just kept pushing for more recognition of our dignity as human beings. It's a biopic on the surface, but it's also bracing political commentary that couldn't be more timely.

The film begins with archival footage of men being arrested in gay bars, a reminder of the context out of which Harvey Milk emerged as a political figure. The present-day narrative begins with Sean Penn as Harvey dictating a message to be played in the event of his death by assassination. Of course, Milk was assassinated along with San Francisco Mayor George Moscone, and the film wastes no time in letting viewers (some of whom are apparently unaware) of this outcome. Knowing the ending of the story in no way diminishes its impact, though, because what really matters is how Milk came to live his life openly and proudly once he moved from New York to San Francisco in the early 1970s.

I love the fact that the filmmakers begin Harvey's historical odyssey with his meeting of a younger man on the New York subway on the eve of his 40th birthday. The two men go back to Harvey's place and have sex, which is depicted in shadow but nonetheless depicted, before talking about what the future holds for them. In fact, what is really admirable about this approach is that it does not desexualize Milk. Harvey was a believer in sexual freedom, and the references to bathhouses and open relationships and such only serve to reinforce that. Thankfully, no one tried to "tone down" the story of this man who was emblematic of his time and place.

I admired all of the performances in this movie. James Franco as Milk's great love Scott Smith gives us a sense of the frustration that his real-life counterpart must have felt to see how powerfully politics engulfed Harvey; he's such a sweet person, but ultimately, he just can't help feeling abandoned due to Harvey's political ambitions. Emile Hirsch is fantastic as a young Cleve Jones, happy to be in a place like San Francisco where he can be openly gay. Josh Brolin adds to an already impressive body of work here with his portrayal of Dan White, the man who assassinated Harvey Milk and Mayor George Moscone. (Again, I'm not giving away any secret by stating that. If you're unfamiliar with the story, the film also catches you up to speed at the beginning by showing archival footage of Dianne Feinstein, then the president of the Board of Supervisors, making the announcement.) I think this is perhaps the best ensemble cast of any movie this past year. Everyone seems to have taken to heart the spirit of the project and the legacy that Harvey Milk represents.

If I have any criticisms of the casting at all, it would be with Diego Luna as Jack Lira, who became Harvey's lover after Scott's departure. Well, it isn't really with Luna's performance, I guess, since he is apparently portraying Jack the way that people remembered him. He's just an annoying presence, one of those people who never seems to be happy and is always taking up so much of other people's energy. I know there are people like that, and the filmmakers have been careful not to make everyone gay into a saintly figure in this film, thankfully.

Of course, the greatest performance--and one of the best of the year--is by Sean Penn as Harvey himself. I've never been as fond of Penn's performances as everyone else. I thought he was actually overrated in Mystic River, which brought him an Oscar for Best Actor. I can acknowledge that he has range, but there's always been some sense of a person who's "Acting" (yes, capital letter and all) that's too present in most of his roles. Here, though, he manages to make me forget that it's Sean Penn. Physically, he's a bit too buff to look just like Harvey, but otherwise, the resemblance is pretty close. He even manages to get the mannerisms associated with Harvey down right. I was able to become caught up in Milk's story rather than Penn's performance, and for me, that's a sign of a good acting job.

The most intriguing part of the film's narrative has to do with the campaign against Proposition 6, which would have banned gay people from teaching in the schools in California. Harvey became that proposition's leading opponent, and the film does a respectful job of demonstrating just how much effort and time he and his colleagues put into that fight. Of course, you can't watch Milk now without thinking of the campaign against Proposition 8, which outlawed gay marriage in California via constitutional amendment. This film challenges you to ask if we did enough, if we were as willing to take chances and to go as far as we could to change the minds of the voters of this state. How remarkable was the timing of this film's release? I only wish it could have opened a month or two earlier so that we could have used its generosity of spirit to inspire us.

Much of what I know about Harvey Milk is from the award-winning documentary The Times of Harvey Milk. Milk itself even uses some of the same footage from the earlier film. There's a twenty-year gap between the films, but both of them are valuable reminders to us of the difference that one person can make. Harvey always claimed that the movement was more important than he was, but without him, there might not have been a gay civil rights movement, certainly not in California. Milk is a potent film that deals with issues that we still face, and I hope more people have a chance to see it and learn from the example that Harvey Milk gave us.

Oscar Wins: Actor (Penn) and Original Screenplay

Other Oscar Nominations: Picture, Director, Supporting Actor (Brolin), Costume Design, Film Editing, and Original Score

Witness for the Prosecution (1957)

Witness for the Prosecution, a Best Picture of 1957 nominee, surprised me in a couple of ways. First, it's a very entertaining film, an interesting mix of humor and suspense, and the Academy is not always prone to rewarding such films. Entertaining and complex? Not typically their favorite mix, judging from what I've seen so far. Second, it features some great performances from an interesting range of actors: Charles Laughton, Tyrone Power, Marlene Dietrich, Elsa Lanchester, and a raft of British character actors. Next, it's very much a courtroom drama; almost all of the action takes place inside a British court, so it's rather close to its stage roots in its use of one primary set for much of the film. Finally, it's directed by Billy Wilder. I guess I just wasn't familiar with Wilder's full range of movies, but it did catch me off guard when his name appeared during the credits. As good a film as this is, it didn't initially strike me as being a particularly Wilder-esque movie. By the end of it, however, I was fully convinced.

Power plays Leonard Vole, who has been arrested for the murder of a wealthy widow he has befriended. Laughton plays the criminal trial lawyer Sir Wilfrid Robarts, who has been hired to represent Vole even though he (the lawyer) is supposed to be recovering from a heart attack by taking things easy and giving up smoking and drinking and taking his pills and only eating a bland diet. His nurse, played by Laughton's real-life spouse Lanchester, is there to ensure that he sticks to the rules (and to allow her to provide comic relief from time to time). Vole's alibi for the evening of the widow's murder depends upon his wife, a German refugee named Christine, played by Dietrich. She is particularly cagey, choosing her answers carefully and rarely showing emotion when one would expect a wife to do so.

The trial is beset by one surprise after another, not the least of which is Christine's decision to serve as the title "witness for the prosecution" rather than for the defense. On the stand, she contradicts the story she told earlier to police and to the attorneys, thereby implicating her husband directly in the murder. Needless to say, Laughton and company do everything they can to impeach her testimony, including the retrieval of some damning letters Christine allegedly wrote to a male accomplice. The ending of the trial is not the ending of the movie, though, as there are still a couple of surprise twists left for the audience.

I really enjoyed watching Witness for the Prosecution. Dietrich is a marvel here, and yet she wasn't even nominated for an Oscar for her performance. She's remarkably cold at times, but she is quite capable of unleashing a torrent of fury when confronted on the witness stand with her contradictory testimony. Power is also good; you just won't realize how effective he is until the very end of the movie. Laughton is almost playing a parody of himself here, replete with all of the usual gestures and tics that he had perfected over the years. I still liked his performance, but if anyone wants to develop a Laughton impersonation, here's a good film to watch first.

Knowing that he directed this film makes me admire Billy Wilder even more. Look at a partial list of films he helmed: Double Indemnity, The Lost Weekend, Sunset Boulevard, Sabrina, Some Like It Hot, The Apartment, and on and on. And then you can add all of the ones that he wrote or co-wrote, such as Witness for the Prosecution, which started life as an Agatha Christie play. (Confession time: I'm a huge Christie fan. I own a lot of novels she wrote, and realizing that this movie is based upon one of her works just made it all the more exciting.) Perhaps the Academy, which honored Wilder six times during his career, recognized in this film his usual skillful direction. Despite being somewhat different in tone from his other movies, it still bears the stamp of a Wilder film. And that's certainly a reason to watch it on its own.

West Side Story (1961)

West Side Story won the Oscar for Best Picture of 1961, and it is one of the most honored movie musicals ever made--and rightfully so. It has it all: great songs, remarkable dance sequences, interesting characters, and (even in the make-believe world of movie musicals) a realistic storyline that draws you in. Everyone knows that this film, based upon the successful Broadway musical, is derived from Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, but everything about it still feels fresh.

The plot is relatively simple. Two rival gangs in New York, the Jets and the Sharks, plan a rumble. At a dance before the details of the fight can be worked out, Tony (a former Jet and good friend of the current leader of the Jets) meets and falls in love with Maria, sister of the leader of the Sharks, Bernardo. While the two gangs plot their big fight, Tony and Maria begin devising ways to see each other without being caught. They are aided at times by Maria's friend Anita, who is also dating Bernardo. You've no doubt seen Romeo and Juliet, so you know this isn't going to end well, but there is a surprise or two since the film (like the theatrical production) doesn't exactly follow that play's ending.

I must admit here that I have always found the Sharks more interesting than the Jets. I'm not entirely sure why, but they seem to have more vitality and energy (and I don't mean that in some stupid, stereotypical way). Perhaps it's that they get some of the better songs and dance sequences, such as the one for "America" that has always been a favorite of mine. Bernardo, their leader, is played by Oscar winner George Chakiris, and he's a stronger dancer than I remembered. In fact, all of the members of the Sharks are better dancers than I remembered from earlier viewings. And, of course, the Sharks have another point in their favor with Anita, played by Oscar winner Rita Moreno. Moreno is great, as she always is, and her scenes with Natalie Wood's Maria are clear evidence for why she continues to have a career in the entertainment industry.

The Jets do have Russ Tamblyn as their leader, Riff, and he's as athletic here as he was in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers seven years earlier. The songs the Jets get to perform aren't as spectacular perhaps. I mean, "Gee, Officer Krupke" isn't exactly going to be anyone's favorite from this movie, but the staging of it (by famed choreographer Jerome Robbins) is certainly entertaining. And the Jets do have an interesting twist in the fact that one of the gang members is actually female, a girl named Anybodys who wants to be one of the boys.

I suppose I could join the chorus of people who have criticized the casting of Natalie Wood as a Puerto Rican. She doesn't really seem to be the best choice for the role, especially since her singing is dubbed by the always reliable Marni Nixon. And Richard Beymer as Tony is somewhat of an odd fit as well. He actually looks like he might be better suited to portraying a member of the Sharks. He too had his songs dubbed by someone else, Jimmy Bryant. Still, the two leads have a nice chemistry together, and when you have songs like "Somewhere" and "Tonight" and "Something's Coming" to demonstrate the depth of their love for each other, who can really complain?

Certainly, this film is a product of its time period. Gangs today are a bit grittier than this, of course, and I suspect they were grittier than this back then as well. Yet what makes West Side Story retain its status as one of the greatest movie musicals is the way in which it depicts our ability at times to overcome our fears and dislikes of others, our ability to connect to others who are (on the surface) different from us. And it gives us this lesson with some of the most glorious music ever recorded on film. Listen again to Tony and Maria's version of "One Hand, One Heart" if you don't believe me, and you'll be instantly transported back to the first time you watched this film and fell in love with it.

On Golden Pond (1981)

On Golden Pond, nominated for Best Picture of 1981, is a film that comes about as close to perfection as you could hope for. It has an exceptional script with great dialogue and rich characters. The cinematography is gorgeous, and the setting is well chosen. And then there's the acting. All of the major parts in this film are handled by performers at the top of their game: Henry Fonda, Katharine Hepburn, Jane Fonda, Dabney Coleman, and Doug McKeon.

Henry Fonda plays Norman Thayer, a retired professor who has come to Golden Pond for the summer. Hepburn plays his patient wife, Ethel, who has been trying to reconcile Norman with his daughter Chelsea (Jane Fonda) for years. Chelsea shows up at the Thayer cabin on Norman's birthday with her fiance and his son in tow, leaving the boy to spend the summer with Norman and Ethel while she and Bill Ray (Coleman) travel in Europe. As the summer progress, Norman bonds with Billy (McKeon), taking him in as a surrogate grandson. Chelsea returns after marrying Bill and tries to become friends with Norman.

In his last feature film role, Henry Fonda is great as a man facing the prospect of his mortality. He has, apparently, long been obsessed with death, but now that he has reached an advanced age, he seems even more preoccupied with it. Hepburn is a marvel. She manages to walk a fine line between the kind of wife who always tries to put a sunny face on and one who worries about the impending loss of her husband. Her scene with Jane Fonda where she basically tells the younger woman to grow up is one of the best in the movie. Then again, she also has some of the best funny lines too, particularly those where she calls Norman an "old poop." (My family, especially my grandparents, loved that.)

It's hardly surprising that this film can also be examined as a study of the relationship between the Fondas; it was their only movie together. Jane's Chelsea struggles to live up to Norman's expectations of her, and you can just imagine Jane herself had similar difficulties living in the shadow of her famous father. The scene where she tries to talk to him after returning from Europe is heartbreaking. Jane has talked about that moment since the death of her father, saying that it was one of those times when the film and real life intersected, and you can see where even Henry is overcome by emotion and has to hide his face after she touches his arm. The reality of the sentiments there are more than about Norman and Chelsea Thayer.

I loved watching this movie again. I'd forgotten how rich this film is. It has moments of great comedy, such as when Norman and Bill Ray have the "illicit sleeping together" talk. It has moments of pure joy, such as Billy's solo ride on the boat. It's filled with moments of intense sadness, as when Ethel realizes that Norman's memory is starting to fade after he is unable to find the Old Town Road. And there are moments of great fear as well, such as when Norman thinks he may have suffered a heart attack and Ethel imagines what his funeral will be like. These are characters you begin to care about, people you even start to love.

I expect the somewhat slow pace of this film might put some people off, but this is a film about the twilight years of life. It's meant to be slow, and I think the interludes with scenes of the lake and the loons are beautiful transitional moments. Sometimes you get a chance to reconnect with a favorite film from your past, and On Golden Pond is one of those. I might not have even thought of watching it again had it not been for this project, but I'm so grateful for a chance to see all of these talented performers and this beautiful movie again.

Lady for a Day (1932-33)

Lady for a Day, an early Frank Capra film, was nominated for Best Picture of 1932-33 (the last year the Academy had a "split" year for eligibility). It has all the hallmarks of a Capra film, with its sentimental depictions of the lower classes and the struggles that they face. Some will perhaps think that I'm criticizing sentimentality here; nothing could be farther from the truth. Capra was one of the few and one of the best at showing the plight of those people who were not often the subject of movies. And, with its story of how a group of gangsters and thugs and the like try to help a poor apple seller pretend to be rich in order to impress her daughter's fiance, Lady for a Day is a movie that rightfully earns its emotional impact.

May Robson plays Apple Annie, who has come to America to make money but has wound up instead trying to eke out an existence by selling apples in Times Square. However, she has been writing letters to her daughter back in Europe making it appear that she is wealthy and attending lots of parties and balls with the rich society of New York. Dave the Dude, played by Warren William, is a gangster who considers buying an apple from Annie to be a good luck charm. Once he learns of her plight, he decides to help her pretend to be the society matron she has told her daughter that she is. What starts out as a simple "con" turns into a series of increasingly more difficult--and, therefore, more amusing--attempts to keep up the masquerade.

Dave's odd behavior can't help but attract the attention of the police, who suspect that he must be up to something big. He has, after all, gotten the assistance of almost every criminal under his control in New York to carry out this plan. Thanks to Dave's new activities, the police chief, the mayor, even the governor begin to question what his next action will be. In truth, he's just trying to help out a friend, and the movie's depiction of his gentleness with Annie is one of its most touching attributes. In fact, almost everyone tries to do her or his best to help Annie, making this one of the best films ever about the nature of true friendship.

One of my favorite scenes involves Dave trying to teach the thugs and molls in his gang how to behave like the upper class. Needless to say, they don't respond well to instruction. Several times during the movie, in fact, it appears that the entire scheme is going to implode. Yet each time it gets close to that moment of collapse, something happens to keep the fairy tale alive for just a bit longer. I won't spoil how they pull off the ending of the movie, but it's a marvel that will make you smile. Capra seems to be making a point here about the inherent goodness of people, and that's a message we could certainly do with hearing more often.

Robson is so charming as Apple Annie. She was already late in her acting career when she took on this role, and she manages to make viewers sympathetic to her plight with her portrayal. While another, less talented actress might have made you question why Annie keeps up this charade for so long, Robson instead makes you hopeful that she can continue to manage it. William makes for a very suave Dave the Dude (don't you just love the names that Damon Runyon came up with?), and he is surrounded by a first-rate cast of supporting players in his gang of criminals with hearts of gold.

I can't imagine how different this film might be if someone remade it today. (It was remade in 1961 as A Pocketful of Miracles with Bette Davis as Apple Annie, but I don't think the later version is quite as good.) It would be doubtful that anyone could capture the enormous warmth of the story that Capra's film depicts, and the rest of the vagabonds who share Annie's plight would likely be saddled with far more depressing characterizations. Thankfully, we still have the original available to us to remind us of our common ability to be good to each other, to help each other out, no matter how absurd or ridiculous the "project" might be.

Johnny Belinda (1948)

The heart of Johnny Belinda, nominated for Best Picture of 1948, is the performance of Jane Wyman. If you're only familiar with her work on TV's Falcon Crest, you will be astonished at the grace with which she portrays a deaf/mute girl who is raped and then tried for murder. Wyman, whom I've already discussed in the posting about The Yearling, was a contract player at the time and had already been in dozens of films playing small parts. Here she takes a leading role without dialogue, yet she manages to make the audience completely sympathetic to her character. That's no small feat to accomplish without uttering a word.

Belinda McDonald, Wyman's character, works for her father Blackie (Charles Bickford) on a farm just outside a fishing village in Nova Scotia. Having lost her hearing as a baby to scarlet fever, she has learned how to communicate through a series of facial expressions and marks on the pages of a ledger book, but both her father and her aunt (the great Agnes Moorehead) seem to think that her deafness means that she is also mentally deficient. A new doctor, played by Lew Ayres, moves into town and becomes interested in Belinda's almost immediately. He begins teaching her sign language, and she begins to fall in love with him. He, however, seems oblivious to her feelings. That's particularly odd given how expressive her face is whenever she's around him, but no matter. The plot must go on.

One day, while almost everyone else is gone, one of the town's bad boys, Locky McCormick (Stephen McNalley), shows up at the grist mill on the farm where Belinda is working alone and assaults her. Belinda, not fully comprehending his actions, becomes very sullen and uncommunicative, even with Dr. Richardson. The good doctor, hoping that perhaps Belinda's hearing loss is reversible, takes her to a specialist, only to have that doctor reveal that Belinda is pregnant. The townspeople eventually learn of the pregnancy and, in true small-town fashion, begin blaming the doctor. He has, after all, been spending a great deal of time with Belinda. They shun Belinda and the doctor and even Belinda's family. When Locky shows up to take custody of his child, thanks to a town meeting rife with false accusations and misunderstandings, Belinda tries to defend her child and kills Locky in the process. Her trial ends the film, and as you might expect from a Hollywood movie at the time, there is a happy ending.

The rest of the cast is strong as well. How could you go wrong, really, with Bickford and Ayres and (especially) Moorehead? But the true joy of watching this film is in Wyman's performance. She was already 31 when she made this film, yet she portrays Belinda with the naivete and joy that a teenage girl has. I can't imagine a better performance that year, male or female, and it's one of my favorites that I have watched since starting this project. She manages to express love and confusion and anger and intense happiness without ever saying a word, and for that, she richly deserved her Oscar for Best Actress.

My Left Foot (1989)

How can anyone really talk about the achievement of My Left Foot without concentrating upon the performance of Daniel Day-Lewis? Although the film was nominated for Best Picture of 1989, the primary reason it got noticed was his lead performance as the artist Christy Brown. Without the work of Day-Lewis, this film might not have gotten as much attention.

Brown was born with cerebral palsy and only slowly learned the ability to draw and write and speak. The film shows the struggles that Brown faced, and the actor who plays him at a young age, Hugh O'Conor, is quite marvelous. He plays Brown before the artist learned to speak clearly enough to be understood, so this is mostly a silent performance. O'Conor's face is so expressive, though, that you're always able to understand his emotions.

However, when Day-Lewis begins his performance, that's when the real fireworks begin. Unlike Dustin Hoffman's performance in Rain Man, which I have always found to be rather one-note, Day-Lewis is totally committed to the full portrayal of a man with cerebral palsy. He distorts his body and his face. He demonstrates the struggle that Brown faced just to form words. He uses his left foot to draw and write, and Day-Lewis shows remarkable dexterity in these scenes. He also allows us to note his slow progress over time. It's the kind of acting that makes you forget that you're watching a performance. You do feel as though you're watching the person himself.

I also admired the performance of Brenda Fricker as his mom, and the supporting actors who play his siblings are good too. Fiona Shaw as the doctor who works with Christy to learn how to speak is luminous. You can see why Christy would fall in love with her. One of the most heartbreaking scenes is at the restaurant when he finds out that she is engaged to another man; his rage is uncomfortable to watch, yet it shows you the depth of Day-Lewis' commitment to the role.

I do have one major criticism of the film, and that's with the way that it was edited, with the flashbacks throughout the film. The "frame" for the movie is a presentation of Christy Brown at an event at a country estate and his flirtation with the nurse who looks after him while awaiting his moment on the stage. I do think My Left Foot would have worked just as well as a more straightforward narrative. Then it could have perhaps maintained a bit more of the intensity of feeling that certain scenes create. Still, overall, it is competently made and interesting to watch, but it's only Day-Lewis that elevates it to a film that could be considered Best Picture material.

Raging Bull (1980)

I think I finally understand why Raging Bull, nominated for Best Picture of 1980, lost the award to Ordinary People. As remarkable an achievement as it is, Raging Bull is almost too clinical in its depiction of the way that violence permeates one man's life. Ordinary People, on the other hand, is a very emotional film that strikes at the heart of the family. I think, given those choices in 1980, the Academy went with the one that had the most emotional resonance for them.

That's not to say that Raging Bull doesn't have quite a powerful impact on a viewer. This is a brilliantly filmed movie, one that uses its black-and-white cinematography to full effect. It allows Robert DeNiro, then at his acting peak, to burrow into the character of real-life boxer Jake La Motta. And the screenplay is a marvel of construction, allowing us to see the progression over time of La Motta's inability to restrain his violent urges.

This is certainly one of the greatest films ever made by Martin Scorsese, and it's widely considered his best. (I still think Taxi Driver might deserve that designation, but no matter.) As in others of his pictures, Scorsese is here examining the culture of violence and how it has permeated America. La Motta is but one example of a man whose life spirals out of control because of his inability to contain the brutal urges he feels. He cannot merely "keep it in the ring." He beats up his wife and his brother, and he seems incapable of stopping himself from always making the wrong decisions about his career and his future.

To me, one of the real strengths of the film is the series of boxing matches that are depicted. There's almost a poetic beauty to the beating that two men inflict upon each other in the ring. It's pretty tough to watch at times, certainly, but the use of slow motion and the sound effects editing provide a different context for viewing the pummeling. Maybe it's that dissection of the art of boxing (a metaphor for the violence of everyday life?) that proved too much for Academy members. As much as they admired the overall achievement of the film, they just didn't "feel" the depth of pain that a man like La Motta suffered. Perhaps he just seemed like a brute to them, and they chose instead to honor a movie that tugged at their hearts more directly and softly.

Mississippi Burning (1988)

Mississippi Burning, nominated for Best Picture of 1988, was filmed in part in Mississippi and fictionalizes a key historical moment in my home state's recent past. Ostensibly, it's about the investigations surrounding the disappearance of three civil rights workers in 1964. However, the filmmakers are not (apparently) attempting to represent what happened with historical accuracy. Instead, this film examines the culture of Mississippi that led to the three men being killed during Freedom Summer.

Can I admit to having never particularly liked this film? Of course, I can admire some aspects of it. The performances by Gene Hackman and Willem Defoe and Frances McDormand and even Brad Dourif are all strong. The visuals are pretty spectacular as well; it is a beautifully shot film, even when it depicts some of the uglier aspects of people's behavior at the time. Yet I still cannot watch the film without feeling as if the filmmakers are trying to ridicule all of the people of Mississippi, trying to depict everyone in the state (with one notable exception) as being racist and/or violent.

All you have to do is watch Defoe's character, a Northern FBI agent, tell Hackman's character about what is wrong with the people of the state to get a sense of what I mean. Hackman's Rupert Anderson is a native of the state, so he understands its people differently than Defoe's Alan Ward. This is a source of constant conflict between the two men, resulting at one point in Ward pointing a gun at Anderson's head in order to get him to submit to his more Northern way of thinking. (Apparently, there are no racists in the North or anywhere else but the South.) I suppose I could applaud the filmmakers for having these two men present a complex and varied understanding of what needs to be done in the state, but frankly, the story is too lopsided to support that sense of complexity.

The exception I mentioned above is, of course, McDormand's housewife. Married to the deputy sheriff who is involved in the murders of the three civil rights workers, her Mrs. Pell gets to deliver a speech about hatred of other races being a learned behavior rather than one that is genetic. She delivers it well, certainly, because McDormand is an enormously talented actor, but it is a rather condescending speech overall. And then she gets beaten up when it becomes clear that she has been helping the investigation. So in the state of Mississippi, any good white person, anyone who reaches out to support or help the black community, is going to be punished?

I particularly disliked the "interviews" with "real" residents that are used to simulate news broadcasts of the time. Almost everyone of the people who appears on camera during these moments says appalling things about blacks. And the director, Alan Parker, was rather infamous for having said that he wanted people who looked like "real Mississippians" for these moments. The fact that they all look like rednecks must have pleased him a great deal. And the words the screenplay puts in their mouths? Repulsive. (He did also say, upon leaving the state after filming, that he felt things hadn't really changed all that much in the intervening 24 years. Apparently, he left thinking that white Mississippi has not progressed much, and that attitude is rather evident in the final film.)

Look, I'm not defending white people or Mississippians. They don't need it and they don't really deserve it. This film covers an awful period in the state's past, and it's certainly accurate in many ways about the racism that was so widespread at the time. Evil things were done at the time, and those who committed these kinds of crimes deserved more severe punishment than they usually received. It just makes me cringe when the only good white people in the film seem to be from the North, except for one woman in an entire town and she has to be brutalized to show just how deep the racism is. Only the outsiders seem to know how to behave properly. Isn't that a bit heavy-handed? I know some will point to the portrayal of Hackman's Anderson as proof that someone from the state has a better understanding of the situation and is, therefore, more effective, but he only seems to be successful when he too uses brutality to achieve his goals. That's hardly a ringing endorsement for his approach.

I could also fault the film for its cowardice in not being more historically accurate. The true story of what happened to Chaney, Goodman, and Schwerner, the three young men whose bodies were found in an earthen dam, is still worthy of being told. However, this film does an injustice to them and their colleagues in the struggle for civil rights by exaggerating events surrounding the investigation and concentrating much of the time on the struggles between various white characters. As another blogger, also from Mississippi, put it, the real story is both far worse and far better than this movie attempts to show. I've actually never quite understood the admiration that people hold for this film, and after watching it again recently, my previous assessment of it was only reinforced. Someday, perhaps, these three young men will have the movie about them that both they and we deserve.

Network (1976)

Nominated for Best Picture of 1976, Network is perhaps most famous now for Howard Beale's cry, "I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take it anymore." But this film is better described as a pretty scathing indictment of the mentality of network television executives, particularly those with some influence over the news departments. There's sharp dialogue in the screenplay by Paddy Chayevsky (who was always known for his dialogue) and exceptional performances from all of the cast. I hadn't seen this film in at least two decades, but it seems just as fresh and insightful now as it did then. Actually, it's perhaps even more insightful now. Then, with only three major television networks, Network would have been seen as a satire on how television news might change. Now it's pretty accurate as to how the news has changed.

The great Peter Finch plays Howard Beale, the anchor for the UBS network, which is stuck in fourth place. He has what amounts to a nervous breakdown and announces on air that he will commit suicide in two weeks. Naturally, given the nature of the viewing public, that only increases his ratings. Suddenly, his show becomes the most talked-about newscast, and the network executives try their best to capitalize on his newfound popularity. They even change the name of the newscast to The Howard Beale Show and hire co-stars, including a psychic, to up the entertainment value. Faye Dunaway and William Holden, heads of the entertainment and news divisions, respectively, simultaneously begin an affair and an argument over the direction of the news programming. Their decisions have some severe repercussions for Howard, now tagged the "mad prophet of the airwaves," complete with blackouts after he delivers his prophecies each night. (Oddly enough, his most famous line doesn't even appear until almost halfway through the film, but it's the one everyone remembers.)

Finch and Dunaway both won Oscars for their performances, and it is Finch's Beale that you remember the most from the movie. He's amazing in the role, able to demonstrate quite the range of emotions for a man who has been a success for many years as a "serious journalist" but is now forced to become an object of public interest and/or ridicule. Holden is also stellar in his role as Max Schumacher, who tries valiantly to maintain some integrity in the news division and then decides to let go and allow whatever happens to occur. The opening scene with the two of them having a drunken conversation is hilarious. Dunaway is also fantastic here, all repressed emotions and obvious ambition; she fairly shakes with the prospect of her success at boosting ratings. In fact, she only seems to be able to achieve an orgasm when she is simultaneously talking about the amount of money that the network could make from her ideas. In a smaller role, Robert Duvall is mighty slick as the "new guy" at the network who has the weight of the company's success on his shoulders.

I'd like to mention two other performances, those by Beatrice Straight and Ned Beatty. Straight won the Oscar for Best Supporting Actress, even though she's only in the movie for two scenes, mere minutes really. The second scene is her showpiece. She gets to demonstrate the fury of the jilted wife to Holden's Max, and the depth of her anger is on full display here. She's really quite spectacular. Beatty was also nominated, and his part is, if you can believe it, even briefer than Straight's. He only speaks a few lines in the film, but they are certainly memorable. I only mention these performances because they do seem truly to demonstrate "supporting" parts, not key or main roles in the film which have been relegated to supporting status in order to win an award.

What is most remarkable about this film now is how much foresight the creators had. As just one example, I'd give Dunaway's staff meetings, where she wants shows created around the subject of terrorism or other "hot button" issues. She even has meetings with the Ecumenical Liberation Army, a proto-communist rebel organization, with the hopes of creating a weekly series around their exploits. (The scenes where the members of the Army and the network representatives and the attorneys for both sides try to iron out a contract are hilarious, by the way.) Is it really that much of a stretch to imagine someone at the networks making a similar pitch today? Look at the proliferation of so-called reality shows, and you'll have the answer.

Two moments in this film will always stand out for me. One is, of course, the scene of all of those people opening their windows and walking out onto their fire escapes in New York City to yell along with Beale: "I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore." The sequence of images is breathtaking as the camera continues to pile on more and more people joining in the chorus. It makes a powerful statement on the influence of the media. The other is the beginning of the film (which is echoed at the end) of the four network news anchors side-by-side giving the evening's events. I used to watch John Chancellor on NBC, and no one was perhaps more famous that Walter Cronkite on CBS. I believe the ABC anchor at the time was Harry Reasoner. Beale joins them onscreen, and you are (or should be) quite astonished at how a few people (all men, all white) were the sole conduits for information on television then. It was, after all, B.C. (before cable) for most of us. How far we've come, indeed, and yet one must wonder if we've made all that much progress.

The Silence of the Lambs (1991)

Winner of the Oscar for Best Picture of 1991, The Silence of the Lambs is one of the few movies to sweep the major awards. It also won that year for Best Director, Actress, Actor, and Adapted Screenplay, and it arguably deserved them all. I can't say that I particularly enjoyed watching this film again because it always gives me the creeps. However, I do admire the skill with which it is made.

Jodie Foster plays Clarice Starling, an FBI agent-in-training, who is recruited to talk to convicted killer Hannibal Lecter, played by Anthony Hopkins. Lecter, infamous for cannibalizing his victims, may be able to provide assistance in the case of a serial killer who has been kidnapping women and removing their skin. Starling and Lector have a series of encounters, culminating in her deducing the location of Buffalo Bill, who (it turns out) has been attempting to make himself over as a woman by creating a "body suit" out of the skins of the women he has kidnapped.

I realize that some will think that I have just revealed a key plot point. However, knowing the motive behind what Bill is doing in no ways lessens the suspense of the film. And I need to talk about the way that Bill is represented in the film. To do that, you have to address whether or not the film is homophobic (or, perhaps, more accurately, transphobic) in its depictions of him. There were many protests at the time of this film's release about that very issue. It isn't difficult to see where such ideas arise. Bill is certainly meant to be "diseased" or "ill" or "dangerous." Yet I think the film's story is a bit more complex than that. Bill is obviously unhappy with himself, unable to accept himself as he is. His actions, gruesome as they are, reveal some sort of mental illness, certainly. Whether or not it is a result of repressed homosexuality, as some felt the film suggests, I cannot definitively say.

Speaking of repressed homosexuality... is there a more gay-identified character than Hannibal Lecter? What with his fastidiousness and his love of gossip and his affection for classical music and art, Hannibal seems almost as repressed as Bill. And then there's the whole cannibal thing, which I will try not to make into too much of a metaphor. I would only point out that most of his victims seem to be men; at least, the ones shown in the movie are all men. He even quotes show tunes to Clarice upon one of her arrivals: "People will say we're in love." And notice that he keeps a copy of Bon Appetit magazine in one of his cells--that's a rather perverse touch. Perhaps it's this equation of homosexuality or gay-identified behavior with serial killers that set off the protests?

Hopkins gets the flashier role here, and he certainly seems to relish playing it. He's quite the object of fascination for a moviegoer. Foster is almost his equal, what with her tightly coiled personality and flashes of emotion. Her eyes reveal a great deal of what's going on inside Clarice's head. It's a remarkably mature performance from Foster, a clear sign that she had the talent to make the transition from child star to adult actress and sure evidence that The Accused, which had won her an Oscar only a few years earlier, was no fluke.

The suspenseful nature of the film is enhanced not only by the performances but by the use of close-ups throughout the story. I remember watching The Silence of the Lambs for the first time and feeling very uneasy. It later dawned on me that it was, at least in part, because of the intensity of Hopkins' stare during the interrogation scenes. Both he and Foster are often shown in close-up during those scenes, and Hopkins continues to be seen in close-up all the way through his portions of the film. It's a pretty intense way to keep an audience riveted, and it is used quite effectively here.

Best Picture of 2007

The Winner: No Country for Old Men.

The Other Nominees: Atonement, Juno, Michael Clayton, and There Will Be Blood.

My Choice: For me, this race comes down to two movies: Atonement and No Country for Old Men. I'm inclined to agree with the Academy on this one. The Coen Brothers have made a brilliant film on the nature of violence, and I enjoyed (if that's the right word) watching it even more a second time. This is a very rich film. However, if there is a movie that I expect to keep returning to time after time, it will probably be Atonement. I don't know that it is a greater achievement in filmmaking, but Atonement had much more emotional resonance for me.

Michael Clayton (2007)

George Clooney plays the title character of Michael Clayton, a nominee for Best Picture of 2007. However, despite the amount of screen time that Clooney gets and despite the fact that his character is obviously central to the plot, the strength of this film is in the ensemble cast. Some of the best actors working these days make Michael Clayton an interesting movie to watch. Think of the names Tom Wilkinson, Tilda Swinton, and the late Sydney Pollack (and Clooney too), and you'll know what I mean.

The plot is a bit too labyrinthine for most people's tastes, I'd imagine. Clooney plays the "fixer" of a prestigious law firm; he's the one you call in when you have a mess that needs to be cleaned up or taken care of quietly. He's asked to help with a case that has led to a nervous breakdown by one of the firm's partners, Arthur Edens (Wilkinson). Arthur has spent years representing a major agribusiness corporation that is charged with knowingly poisoning people with one of its weedkillers. The multi-billion-dollar case is handled from the company's side by Karen Crowder (Swinton), a very deliberate and calculating attorney who is still relatively new to the job and does not want to lose so much money for her firm. She does seem, after all, to have ambitions.

Soon after Clooney starts working on the case, though, his car is blown up and he begins to realize that Arthur is also in danger. He has to begin piecing together what Arthur has been doing since the older attorney has gone missing and refuses to answer his phone. Karen, meanwhile, is planning for a way to ensure that the truth behind the case (as outlined in a memo that admits the agribusiness company's complicity) never gets revealed.

I may have made that sound relatively simple to follow, but the movie doesn't follow the plot quite that directly. It actually starts with a sequence of events before Clayton's car explodes and then goes back in time to show us earlier events. There are some other flashbacks within flashbacks, which might account for why this film never seemed to catch on with the public. I have to admit that watching it a second time recently helped me to clarity the sequence of events a great deal more than I expected.

The plot, however, is not the best part of the movie. It's the acting. Clooney has taken on a series of challenging roles in recent years, and I think this is one of his best. He's excellent in the part, a truly complex man who has so many dreams that just keep failing to materialize. Wilkinson has a rather showy role, particularly in a couple of scenes where he gets to "demonstrate" the depths of his nervous breakdown. Swinton won the Oscar for Best Supporting Actress this year, and I think many people watching this film for the first time might not understand why. But if you watch it more than once, you'll begin to see just how controlling and controlled her Karen Crowder is. She's quiet, certainly, but there's a great deal of malice beneath the surface here. She makes for a tremendous villain.

I have to mention Sydney Pollack briefly, at least. He's the head of the law firm that employs Clayton and Edens, and he's great as always. This was one of Pollack's last acting roles, and it will remind you just how good an actor he was. No doubt his understanding of the skill of acting made him a better director. It's a very bittersweet feeling I have watching this movie now.

I'm not certain that I would have picked Michael Clayton as one of the five best movies of last year. (No, I don't have an alternative list for you.) In many ways, it's a very old fashioned suspense thriller. The only difference between it and a similar movie made in, say, the 1970s is the jumbling of the sequence of events in the plot. It works better, it seems to me, as a showcase for some fine acting by several talented performers instead.

The Apartment (1960)

The Apartment, winner of the Oscar for Best Picture of 1960, is a funny movie not because of the jokes (although there are some) but because of its situations. It's one of the few "comedies" to have been chosen for the Academy's top honor, but it isn't a traditional comedy. Thanks to a brilliant and insightful script by Billy Wilder (who also directed) and I.A.L. Diamond, The Apartment is a pretty dark examination of the soul of the business world and the male-female dynamics of the late 1950s and early 1960s.

C.C. Baxter (Jack Lemmon, in one of his greatest performances) literally holds the key to the happiness of several of the executives at the insurance company where he works. He allows them to use his bachelor apartment for trysts with their girlfriends, and he keeps getting "attention" from these same executives when it comes time for promotion. In fact, he is sent to meet with Jeff Sheldrake (played with malicious glee by Fred MacMurray) to discuss his future, only to find that his success depends upon his willingness to give Sheldrake a key as well. He, of course, submits and has to spend more than a few nights outside of his apartment thanks to the last-minute dates that his superiors make to avoid going home to their wives.

One night, though, he comes home to find that the elevator operator with whom he has been flirting, Fran Kubelik (Shirley MacLaine), has attempted suicide because of her increasingly frustrating relationship with Sheldrake. He tries to get her to wake up and even enlists the help of the doctor next door, who has been under the impression that Baxter must be some kind of sex maniac given all of the women who have been in and out of the apartment. They manage to save Fran, but rather than allow Sheldrake to rekindle a relationship with her, Baxter chooses to walk away from his job. That may sound like I'm spoiling the outcome of the movie, but the last scene is really one of the best ever made, and it doesn't diminish its power to know what I've told you so far.

How could you go wrong with a cast like Lemmon and MacMurray and MacLaine? There's also able support from such great character actors as Ray Walston and Jack Kruschen and David Lewis and Edie Adams. The script is sharp and tells us a great deal about the corporate mentality of the time. It's a pretty humdrum life, from the looks of things, and the early scenes with Baxter at his desk with the typewriter and phone are a marvel of production design. Lemmon always specialized in this kind of character, the sort who was always put out by others but never seems to have minded; it's as if he's accepted his lot in life and plans to make the most of it. This was one of MacLaine's best early performances; you can see just how conflicted her character is. Should she stay with a man she loves but has no chance of keeping, or should she move on with her life and find someone else? That's a difficult dilemma, and MacLaine helps us to understand the pain that Fran feels.

MacMurray is perhaps better known nowadays as the dad on My Three Sons or maybe as the scientist in The Absent-Minded Professor or for his roles in other Disney movies. However, he had a long and distinguished career in the movies, and this performance demonstrates just how much range he had as an actor. He's almost as good here as he was in Double Indemnity (my favorite of his performances). Watching his manipulations of Baxter and of Fran, you get a sense of just how he managed to work his way to his level in the company.

I've seen The Apartment many times over the years. It's always an enjoyable experience. There are chuckles to be had from time to time, certainly, but this is not a happy-go-lucky romantic comedy. Wilder and his various writing partners over the years never seemed to be content with the easy laugh, and that's what makes his movies all the more worthy of the attention (and awards) they received at the time and the praise they continue to receive from moviegoers now.

The Racket (1927-28)

The Racket is a story of the police and political corruption in Chicago, a symbolic struggle between good and evil (with evil being rather dominant and predominant throughout the film). It’s a significant predecessor to such classic gangster films as Little Caesar and Scarface, but it was considered a lost film for much of the 20^th Century until a single print was found among the film collection of its producer, eccentric billionaire Howard Hughes, after his death. Tracking down the film for viewing can be difficult; it’s really only available every year or so on Turner Classic Movies.

The movie primarily focuses upon the interaction between two men representing opposite sides of the law: mobster Nick Scarsi (played by Louis Wolheim, who certainly looks the part of a gangster with his broken nose) and good cop Capt. James McQuigg (a solid if uninspiring Thomas Meighan). Scarsi wants to take control of the city by eliminating his rival gang bosses and attempting to influence upcoming city elections. He already has a measure of control over the district attorney, who manages to get him released from custody numerous times. It even appears that he also has some clout, perhaps through the D.A. and judges, over the police force.

There is at least one good cop, of course, and he sets out to clear the town of its mob influence. McQuigg has a difficult time of it, though, particularly after he gets transferred to a new smaller precinct thanks to some behind-the-scenes politics. Scarsi repeatedly tries to influence McQuigg, but he’s always unsuccessful. McQuigg cannot, apparently, be corrupted. He also can’t seem to keep Scarsi in custody even though he knows the mobster has personally killed several people. It's only after the brother of the mob boss hits a pedestrian while trying to woo a nightclub singer named Helen Hayes (but not played by the actress of the same name) that he gets his best chance. Capt. McQuigg jails the brother, the nightclub singer, almost anyone he can put behind bars in order to draw out the mob and Scarsi.

Even the newspaper reporters who cover the crime beat seem to be corrupt in their own way. They make up most of the details for their stories; it takes very, very little information to send them to the phone to call the news desk with a story. One of them is drunk and sleepy all the time, and another tells a source not to give him too much after the shooting of a mobster in the police captain’s office. Only John Darrow’s naïve cub reporter Dave Ames appears to be professional until, that is, he starts to fall for the nightclub singer. The press here seems far more interested in stirring up trouble than in reporting it. Their depiction here is not a glowing testament to the fourth estate, but hardly any profession, including law enforcement, escapes the film without some measure of criticism.

This film lost to Wings the first year of the Academy Awards, and it's not really that tough to see why. The story is rather pedestrian and may have been a bit clichéd even in the late 1920s. The acting is good, but most of the cast doesn’t stand out as being particularly adept at screen acting. The exception is Marie Prevost as the quintessential tough dame. She’s quite energetic as Helen Hayes, flirting shamelessly with Scarsi’s younger brother in front of the mob boss and later with the baby-faced Ames, who seems to be unaware that she’s quite the gold-digger (and is rather upfront about it, too). The rest of the cast does a good job overall, but they aren’t asked to stretch their talents much beyond rather mannered portrayals.

Two scenes do stand out as being especially noteworthy. One is set at the nightclub (well, speakeasy might be a more accurate descriptor) during a birthday party for Scarsi’s kid brother Joe (George Stone). It's a nicely choreographed sequence involving rival gangsters and cops and the attentions of Miss Hayes. She even rides a piano to the Scarsis’ table at one point in order to get everyone’s focus to be on her. There’s a shootout at the party, too, following a series of rival gangsters slowly surrounding Scarsi’s mob by scaring away other patrons, only to have plainclothes officers then slowly surround them. The sequence occurs early in the film and nicely sets up some of the key tensions for the remainder of the plot.

The other highlight is at a funeral for Spike Corcoran, the rival mob boss who's been killed during the party at the speakeasy. You get to see (through some clever visual effects) just how likely gunfire might be during the service, as handguns become visible underneath the bowler hats sitting in the laps of the gangsters in attendance. Otherwise, the film does not feature much innovation in terms of its camerawork, so the effect here is quite charming given how unusual it is in the context of the rest of the film. A calliope later interrupts the service, interjecting another note of humor into rather somber proceedings.

The Racket is a fast-paced movie, clocking in at just a bit more than 80 minutes long, and the action sometimes happens very quickly. The first five minutes of the film involve attempts by a couple of gangsters to shoot Capt. McQuigg in order to scare him away from his goal of stopping Scarsi’s mob, and there’s even a big shootout between rival gangs within the first fifteen minutes of the movie. There are rumors that the original version of the film was longer, but what remains is quite enjoyable. Thankfully, it has been saved and restored through the efforts of Turner Classic Movies and the University of Nevada at Las Vegas. It's good to know that there are still people trying to preserve silent films.

Oscar Nomination: Outstanding Picture 

Gandhi (1982)

Gandhi was the somewhat controversial winner of the Oscar for Best Picture of 1982. It beat out the public favorite, E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial, and has been often cited as an example of how the Academy gets it wrong sometimes. I agree with the public that E.T. would have been a better choice for Best Picture, but watching Gandhi again here, I do think that second place or first alternate or runner-up is certainly appropriate. This is one of the best film biographies ever made, and once you allow yourself to adjust to its pacing, it's also one of the most powerful films in terms of its political agenda.

The story is, of course, the life of Mohandas Gandhi, a lawyer who devoted much of his life to ridding his country of British rule. The film begins and ends with Gandhi's assassination, so the rest of the film is a flashback to a sequence of major events that formed his political consciousness. That portion of the movie begins in South Africa, where Gandhi attempts to secure the rights of Indian nationals who were brought or came to Africa to work. He faces resistance there, just as he would time and time again in his home country. Through a series of episodes, we see how Gandhi and other leaders of various segments of the Indian population tried to hammer away at the British and their attempts to silence opposition.

I admired the performance of Ben Kingsley in the title role immensely. He does capture a sense of the patience and generosity of spirit that Gandhi had, yet he also allows us to see some of the leader's blind spots, particularly the way that his ego could sometimes interfere with the good work that he was doing. Kingsley gets some of the greatest dialogue, of course, because he gets to speak Gandhi's own words here.

The cast is enormous. Thousands of people are used in various scenes here, particularly for the large public demonstrations that often accompanied Gandhi's speeches. You have to admire director Richard Attenborough's gift for working with such crowds. And it seems that almost every actor working in the movies makes a cameo appearance here, from some great British actors like John Gielgud and John Mills to Americans like Martin Sheen and even Candice Bergen as Margaret Bourke-White. The real standouts, though, are the actors who portray the other Indian resistance leaders: Saeed Jeffrey, Alyque Padamsee, and Roshan Seth (my favorite) as Nehru. There are others, of course, but those three provide able support to Kingsley's performance. They represent different political perspectives in their characters, and each of these men is complex and fascinating and "real."

I know that E.T. is more of a crowd pleaser and that Gandhi takes much more patience. You're also going to learn a bit more about civil disobedience that you may remember from your history and social studies and political science classes. Still, this is a great movie, much better than you remember if you've seen it before, and worthy of the critical attention that it received. Even I grumbled about its multiple wins that year, but having had the chance to watch it a couple of times in the intervening twenty-six years, I have come to appreciate just how great a movie it really is. Give it another chance.

In the Name of the Father (1993)

In the Name of the Father, a nominee for Best Picture of 1993, is a gripping story of a man falsely accused of the bombing of a London pub in the 1970s. It's based upon the true story of Gerry Conlon, who spent fifteen years in prison after he was tortured and coerced into signing a false confession to the crime. Three other people also go to prison for the crime, and Gerry's father and several more are also imprisoned for their alleged complicity in carrying it out. The movie is set during a time when there was great tension between the English, particularly those in London, and the Irish, especially anyone suspected of being a member of the Irish Republican Army (IRA). What In the Name of the Father does expertly is capture those mutual feelings of distrust.

As Gerry Conlon, Daniel Day-Lewis gives another of his intense performances; he does love to burrow into his characters, and the more complex and complicated they are, the better he seems to like them. As his father, Guiseppe, Pete Postlethwait is a study in quiet dignity. The scenes in prison, where father and son share a cell, are particularly illuminating of the differences between these men. And Emma Thompson provides a couple of sharp moments as the attorney who has taken up the Conlons' case, especially in the courtroom scenes that end the movie.

This is a well-made film filled with a great deal of politically charged dialogue. You certainly get the Irish perspective on the events here, and with the exception of Thompson's lawyer, you get a strong sense that the English people are too filled with their hatred of the Irish and the IRA (and an inability to distinguish between the two) to provide justice. I had a powerful feeling of being manipulated throughout this film to take the side of the Conlons without question. Undoubtedly, they were innocent of the crimes with which they were charged, but the movie is a bit heavy-handed in its depictions of the English. Surely, there must have been some honest members of the British police, for example, or someone who would have taken up this cause before Thompson's attorney appears many years after they have begun their prison terms.

Still, such an approach is understandable, given the predominance of the English perspective in films on this issue. The English have always had a strained relationship with the Irish, particularly those in Northern Ireland, where the early scenes of this film are set. What In the Name of the Father captures, perhaps even more accurately than the events surrounding the Conlons, is the way that the Irish and the English coexisted, frequently with violence and almost always with distrust. It offers us a window into a time that we in the United States probably know too little about.

Rain Man (1988)

May I admit to having never been that impressed with Rain Man, which won the Oscar for Best Picture of 1988? It has always seemed far too slick a film, too certain of itself, too smug, to make me feel any true emotions about its characters and their situations. Even the much-lauded lead performance by Dustin Hoffman as an institutionalized autistic person who is taken out into the real world by his brother leaves me cold. I do understand that it's all well-made ("slickly produced," I'd suggest), but to me, it just doesn't have that much of a heart.

Charlie Babbitt (Tom Cruise) is an importer of cars who's having some difficulty getting his latest purchases into the country when he hears of the death of his estranged father. He's left only two things in the will, the automobile he was never allowed to drive and the family rose bushes. The rest of his father's estate goes into a trust, a fact which infuriates Charlie, sending him in search of the lucky recipient of all of this wealth. By a series of rather unbelievable circumstances, he meets Raymond (Hoffman), his brother who has lived most of his adult life in an institution. Charlie decides to take Raymond to California with him, contest the trust, and use the money (or, at least, half of it) to solve his own financial problems.

What follows is a road movie that makes very little sense, frankly. If Charlie would listen even briefly to any one of the numerous health professionals who try to counsel him about Raymond, he would know better than to assume control of his brother's caretaking with so little preparation and understanding of autism. The reason they drive across America is even more astonishing; Raymond won't fly any airline that has ever crashed, leaving them only with Qantas, hardly a feasible option for getting from Ohio to California, at least directly. Time and again, Raymond's familiar patterns get interrupted, causing him to have some very violent and loud outbursts. You'd think Charlie would develop a sense that he isn't doing right by Raymond, but that never seems to happen.

I know what you're thinking. I've misunderstand. You see, this film is about the development of Charlie's conscience. He does indeed become a better man because of his contact with his long-lost brother. And they do build a relationship with each other. They just had to have the time to do it slowly so that Raymond could learn to adjust. Yeah, I got all of that. I'm still not buying it.

Perhaps the problem lies in Hoffman's performance most of all. I know he's considered one of the greatest actors of his generation, and he has certainly turned in any number of performances that I do like, but this isn't one of them. I just found it gimmicky. It's as if he learned one trait that is associated with autism and sticks with it for more than two hours of film time. There's no real sense that this is a person; it's a cardboard figure of someone with autism. And even the moments that are played for laughs--like the one about the airlines--are, to me, rather condescending to the struggles that real people with autism must endure.

Cruise, on the other hand, does what I consider to be some of his strongest early work. He seems to be at his best when he has to play shallow, self-centered characters, men who need to have something taken away from them so that they can begin to appreciate and understand life better. In Rain Man, he demonstrates a pretty remarkable range of emotions, and his performance rings truer for me than Hoffman's does.

I know my reaction to the film might strike some as odd. It's just that this film is a good example of the kind of movies that Hollywood started making around the middle of the 1980s. Actually, "making" might be the wrong word; "packaging" might be more accurate. Major stars? Check. Plot line sure to tug heart strings? Check. Serious topic being addressed with gravity? Check. Beautiful cinematography of the parts of the country that don't usually appear in movies? Check. A funny line every few minutes to break the monotony of seriousness with which we must handle the subject matter? Check. It's movie-making by committee, and it dominates too much of the product coming out of the studios these days. Rain Man just happens to be one of the first major examples of this trend, and I'm not a fan. Sorry about that.

Sergeant York (1941)

Sergeant York, nominated for Best Picture of 1941, probably earned its spot on the list thanks to the lead performance of Gary Cooper. Cooper was always best at roles that required some measure of restraint and quiet, and he found no better part than that of World War I hero Alvin York. The film itself is pretty standard for a biopic, with its attention to the major events of York's life, especially the difficulty that the poor face in trying to make a living or even perhaps get a chance at a better life.

York was a simple farmer from Tennessee who was drafted into military service. Having recently become a Christian after quite a few years of what my grandmother would have called "carousing," he holds fast to the principles that he has learned in church and from talks with his minister, Rosier Pile, played by Walter Brennan. After several attempts to get out of military service as a conscientious objector, York becomes a war hero by almost single-handedly capturing a troop of German soldiers. He uses the trick of gobbling like a turkey to pick off soldiers one by one, a trick he had demonstrated earlier in the movie in attempting to win the prize money at a turkey shoot.

Cooper plays York as an innocent, someone who is naive to the ways of the world. He seems to find almost everything new to be awe-inspiring and even miraculous. He also has incredible luck throughout the years he was in the military. Unlike back home in the hills, where he has been cheated out of some land by someone jealous over York's relationship with a pretty unmarried girl (Joan Leslie, affecting an unbelievably bad accent), in the Army and in Europe and even in New York after his service has ended, York is never taken advantage of and no one ever encourages him to do the wrong thing. I'm not sure that the real Alvin York was so lucky and/or--dare I suggest it--simple-minded as he is played here, but Cooper manages to show us that strength of character is the virtue most likely to keep you alive and successful.

This film is more overtly Christian in its tone than you might expect from a Hollywood film of its time, but it isn't "preachy." In fact, the conflict between York's patriotism and his religious faith is handled with intense seriousness. It's a further testament to Cooper's acting ability that he can show the difficulty that York faced in making the decision of which was to be more important to him: service to his country or the principles he learned in his church. Never during the course of the film did I feel manipulated, and that's probably a trait that has been lost in the art of moviemaking since Sergeant York was first released.

Romeo and Juliet (1936)

Almost everyone in this version of Romeo and Juliet, nominated for Best Picture of 1936, is miscast. Norma Shearer, who plays Juliet, was already 34 years old. Leslie Howard, playing Romeo, was 47. And John Barrymore, trying gamely to have some fun as Mercutio, was already 54 years old! Add to the mix Edna May Oliver, who is usually pretty good for comic relief, as the Nurse and Andy Devine (yes, that Andy Devine, of Westerns fame) as Peter, the Nurse's servant, and you've got a pretty surefire guarantee for disaster. Poor Oliver delivers her lines as if she must single-handedly save the cast from boredom, and Devine retains that distinctive and distracting twang/drawl of his.

I'm sure this version of Shakespeare's classic has its fans, but this is meant to be a story of young lovers, people in the throes of the first real passions of their lives. It's not meant to be a mid-life crisis for Romeo (Howard has wrinkles, for heaven's sake!), and it certainly isn't meant to make Juliet seem to be a desperate spinster whose family has been unable to marry her off until she's in her mid-30s. And I don't even want to start in on poor Barrymore and his attempts to wield a sword in the heat of battle.

I'm willing to accept the beauty of the set design and the costumes as evidence of the quality of this production. And, to be fair, Shearer and Howard do the best they can with the roles despite their obvious unsuitability. Both are talented actors; they just aren't able to make anyone believe they're young enough to behave in this way. I even enjoyed watching Basil Rathbone as Tybalt, but he was almost as old as Howard when this film was made. I suppose there's some comfort in knowing that all of the performers were at least of the same age.

There is, of course, another version of this play that was also nominated for Best Picture. That's the one from 1968 featuring two actual teenagers, Leonard Whiting and Olivia Hussey, in the lead roles. I can't wait to watch that one again. Maybe it will help me to erase the memory of this earlier, feebler attempt.

Best Picture of 1999

The Winner: American Beauty.

The Other Nominees: The Cider House Rules, The Green Mile, The Insider, and The Sixth Sense.

My Choice: American Beauty. Three of the other nominees are worthy contenders; the exception is, of course, The Cider House Rules. I'd give a close second to The Sixth Sense, which is expertly crafted, but American Beauty is the greatest overall achievement in filmmaking among this group.

American Beauty (1999)

I don't know why I have waited so long to watch American Beauty, winner of the Oscar for Best Picture of 1999, again. I saw it in movie theaters when it was released and admired it. I purchased the DVD version not long after its release, yet it has collected dust on the shelf until now. Perhaps I thought it was the kind of film that doesn't grow richer upon repeated viewings. There was something precious about seeing it for the first time in a theater, a sense of surprise and admiration for what the filmmakers accomplished. Upon repeated viewing, however, I think I have a more mature response to the movie, and I've come to admire the performance of Kevin Spacey far more than I did the first time I saw it.

Spacey plays Lester Burnham, a middle-aged man who is unhappy with both his job and his family life. His wife Carolyn, played expertly by Annette Benning, has attempted to achieve perfection in all aspects of her life, but early in the film, you begin to realize that she is only able to maintain the appearance of perfection. Underneath, she and Lester both realize how much of a mess their suburban, upper-middle-class existence is. They are, in their own ways, very unhappy despite having all of the trappings that you would expect to make someone happy.

Lester loses his job (intentionally), begins buying pot from the kid next door, gets a job at the local burger joint, starts working out with the hopes of attracting the sexual attention of his daughter's friend (Mena Suvari)--quite a change from the depressing and depressed man he was before. He seems to want to relive his teenage years over again. Carolyn responds by having an affair with a fellow real estate agent, Buddy Kane (Peter Gallagher), the "Real Estate King." (Just as an aside, I can't help laughing when she calls him "your majesty" in the middle of their first time together--hilarious.)

Simultaneously, the Burnhams' daughter Jane (Thora Birch) begins a relationship with the pot-selling kid next door, Ricky, who has been released recently from an institution and now spends a great deal of his time videotaping random people. He also films other moments of life, as well, including the famous plastic-bag-in-the-wind scene. Ricky's family life is pretty complicated too. His mother (Allison Janney, quite tamped down here) has apparently suffered a nervous breakdown, and his ex-military father (Chris Cooper, stunningly good as always) is something of a gun nut and quite a homophobe. His greatest fear, other than the possibility that his son is using drugs again, is that Ricky will turn out to be gay. His misinterpretation of what he sees through his window one night leads to some pretty shattering consequences at film's end.

This isn't the first film to delve into the underside of suburban existence and expose it for the falseness. However, American Beauty is expertly made and one of the best exposes of that life. There's a sense of tension throughout the story; you can never tell, for example, when Lester's hair trigger might go off. There are also moments of great humor as well, but it's the anger that Lester feels--and which Spacey conveys perfectly--that stands out for me. When he says, "You don't get to tell me what to do ever again," there's such malice and glee mixed together, I got a chill. His accidental discovery of his wife's affair while working the drive-through of a burger joint is one of the funniest scenes of the film, yet you get a very clear sense of just how much he's going to punish (silently) Carolyn for her indiscretion. Spacey's performance truly pulls the movie together for me, and I guess the rest of the cast seemed to overshadow him the first time that I saw it. Kudos to the Academy for paying closer attention than I did and giving him the prize for Best Actor. (I suppose that's ironic considering the tagline for the movie, "look closer.")

I suppose I could talk about the underlying theme in this film of how we respond to homosexuality. Two of the neighbors are a gay male couple, Jim and Jim (I know, but not that funny), who are accepted by most of the people in the area, but they spark an intense response from Col. Fitts (Cooper) when they show up on the doorstep to welcome him and his family to the neighborhood. There are several times that Spacey's Lester Burnham is "accidentally" thought to be gay. I suppose one could make a case that Cooper's reaction to the friendship that develops between Lester and his son Ricky prepares the viewers for what happens toward the end of the film--and I'd imagine several academics have done so, actually--but it remains shocking to me. I know that the film is trying to juggle numerous issues here, and perhaps I am paying too much attention to just one of the threads of the narrative, but certainly it seems that the ways that we see the world are directly revealed by the ways that we treats others who are different from us (or, oddly enough, just like us). And maybe that's what the film is trying to tell us with its repeated references to homosexuality. It's a mature film in its handling of this subject matter, and that's a testament to the talented writer, Alan Ball, who went on to more fame for writing and producing Six Feet Under on television.

An American in Paris (1951)

An American in Paris won the Oscar for Best Picture of 1951, beating such other classic films as A Place in the Sun and A Streetcar Named Desire. Despite its somewhat surprising victory, this musical about an American veteran of World War II who has decided to stay in Paris and become a painter is one of the best of the MGM song-and-dance fests. If it had been nominated in almost any other year, it would be seen as a very worthy choice as Best Picture. Too many people probably think it was chosen when the other “more serious” films split the vote, but to me, it represents a remarkable achievement in filmmaking on its own. It remains as charming and beautiful today as it was in the early 1950s when some were rejecting the gritty realism of post-war films for the lighter touch of romantic comedy and musicals. Thankfully, An American in Paris is one such masterpiece.

Gene Kelly plays the painter, Jerry Mulligan, and he's usually strapped for cash because he's not really very successful at his chosen profession. Like many aspiring artists, he copies more famous works or paints scenes that are the subject of countless paintings by amateurs. However, he does, apparently, demonstrate a level of skill at his art. He's “discovered” by a wealthy American woman who likes him perhaps a bit more than she likes his art, but she nevertheless begins work on helping him to establish a professional reputation. His patron (or would that more properly be “matron”?) is Milo Roberts, played by the elegant Nina Foch, who was almost always cast as this kind of patrician woman. She expects that if she pays attention to Jerry's career, he will pay attention to her.

Unfortunately for Milo, Mulligan meets by chance a beautiful young French girl, Lise, played by Leslie Caron in her first starring role. She, however, is engaged to Henri Baurel (Georges Guetary), a cabaret performer. To add even more complications to the mix, Henri and Jerry are friends, but neither knows about the other's attraction to Lise, so their conversations about the girls they love take on an added sense of the absurd. Only their mutual friend Adam, played by the deliciously wicked-tongued Oscar Levant, knows their secret. At least, he's the only one who knows for a while. Eventually, all must be revealed, and Lise must make a choice.

The plot is relatively simple. Boy (Jerry) meets girl (Lise). Boy loses girl (to her fiancé). Boy gets girl back. It's the stuff of countless movies. What makes An American in Paris stand out is the music, of course. It's all songs by George and Ira Gershwin, some of the greatest songs ever written, and each one blends seamlessly into the plot. My favorite may be the performance of "I Got Rhythm," in which Kelly and a dozen or so French children sing in English and French while Kelly jokes and dances. It's a charming number, sure to bring a smile. Another highlight is Guertary's performance of "I'll Build a Stairway to Paradise,” which spectacularly uses a lighted staircase to full effect.

Most stunning, though, is the 17-minute ballet near the end of the film. All of the principals are attending a ball thrown by the art students of Paris. After a series of revelations and tentative decisions, Kelly's Mulligan begins to imagine himself in various settings around the city and as a part of various famous works of art as the score swells with the glorious “Rhapsody in Blue.” It's an astonishing set piece, one that momentarily makes you forget that you're watching a “realistic” film about a love quadrangle. Interestingly, as authentically French as the sequence seems to be, it was all filmed on the MGM backlot; they had real talent for production design in those days, conjuring up any place, real or imagined. The dancing by Kelly in this sequence is among the best he ever did, and given just how remarkable a dancer he was, that's saying something. There’s such a sense of masculinity to his movements. He and Caron are both at the top of their game here, making for quite a sultry pair during the moments when some of the more-familiar strains of “Rhapsody in Blue” emerge.

(As a side note, Kelly was not nominated for his acting or his choreography for An American in Paris. Instead, the Academy’s Board of Governors gave him an Honorary Oscar “in appreciation of his versatility as an actor, singer, director and dancer, and specifically for his brilliant achievements in the art of choreography on film.” I suppose you could count this award as part of the total number of Academy Awards that the film received.)

It would be tough to describe all that happens during the magnificent ballet; it's just that inspired and inspiring. You can't quite believe your eyes at times. The film does end, of course, back in the “realistic” setting of the ball, allowing Jerry and Lise to be reunited and leave everyone happy. I keep putting the word “realistic” in quotation marks because none of the great MGM musicals are truly realistic. That's one of the reasons that they are so spectacular. You're able to lose yourself for a couple of hours in one of these movies. Arthur Freed, who produced most of the best of them, and Vincente Minnelli, who directed this one, were always committed to quality, and An American in Paris certainly has all of the hallmarks of what they were capable of doing.

Years ago, I showed this film in a class I was teaching, and it was the ballet that most confounded students. As much as they (reluctantly) admitted that it was visually spectacular and that the dancing was intriguing, they couldn't fathom why it took up so much time near the end of the film when you know or, at least, expect that the two leads will come together. Once I pointed out that it lasts about the appropriate amount of time for a brief but important cab ride (you understand if you've seen the film yourself), they started to appreciate it a bit more. I'm not sure I converted anyone to become a lover of MGM musicals, but I like to think that I might have moved them ever-so-slightly in that direction.

Two other points I'd like to make: Levant, who plays a pianist and composer here, was never really a movie star. However, no one could toss off a line better than he could. In the voice-over that introduces him, he says that he's a concert pianist: “That's a pretentious way of saying I'm unemployed at the moment.” He's like that throughout the movie. There's an undercurrent of bitterness and acidity to Levant's Adam that is well suited to this bright, sunny film. His comments keep it pretty well grounded. Levant is just one of those performers you always enjoy seeing in a film even if the part is relatively small.

The other point: An American in Paris came out a year before Singin' in the Rain, universally considered the greatest movie musical of all time. I wouldn't challenge that designation at all, but if you're looking for the second greatest, you might consider An American in Paris. Great music by arguably America's greatest composers, strong performances from some of the best actors at MGM, remarkable dancing by two of the best in the business, a lively sense of romance throughout—in the words of one of the Gershwin songs here, “who could ask for anything more?”

Oscar Wins: Best Picture, Best Story and Screenplay, Best Color Cinematography, Best Color Art Direction-Set Decoration, Best Color Costume Design, and Best Scoring of a Musical Picture

Other Oscar Nominations: Best Director and Best Film Editing