Secrets & Lies (1996)

Nominated for Best Picture of 1995, Secrets & Lies is a film about the ways in which we try to keep from revealing our true selves to others. It involves the unmaking of a family of working class people in England, thanks to the titular "secrets and lies" they all have been keeping from each other. The main one around which much of the plot is built involves a successful young black woman who searches for her birth mother after the death of her adoptive mother. However, the birth mother, a very low class white woman, has led a wild past and has another daughter, this one also white, to whom she has never revealed that another baby was given up for adoption years earlier and with whom she has a very fragile relationship.

Such material requires a delicate touch from all of the actors involved. And no one is finer at achieving the right tone consistently than Brenda Blethyn as Cynthia Purley, the factory worker who has had two illegitimate children and a sad life overall. She's remarkable. You want to dislike her for being what the British would call "common," as her social-climbing sister-in-law obviously does, or even for some of the many stupid mistakes that she has made in her life, but Blethyn manages to evoke so much sympathy from the audience. She makes Cynthia's life seem so pathetic that you recognize just how trapped she has been. It's an astonishing job of acting.

As Hortense, the woman searching for her mother, Marianne Jean-Baptiste is a marvel of quiet dignity. She's done so much to make her life a success, yet she wants to know her past regardless of the consequences such knowledge might bring. How she manages to maintain her composure during some of the more volatile moments in the story is a testament to her strength. As her uncle Maurice, Timothy Spall has one of the most difficult roles in the film. He has to be the one listening to everyone's complaints. Near the end of the film, when he reveals just how difficult that burden has been for him, it's a moment of clarity for everyone. He seems to be such a reasonable, patient man, someone who has managed to stifle his own pain for the sake of everyone around him.

There are so many scenes in this film that are worth close attention. I hope I never have to attend a birthday party like the one that occurs near the end of the film. That's where so many of the secrets and lies are revealed, and it's a tense and emotionally raw half an hour or so. But my favorite scene has to be the one at almost exactly the halfway point of the movie, when Cynthia and Hortense first meet. Shocked to discover that Hortense is black, Cynthia first tries to deny that she could be Hortense's mother. The moment of realization that she has is just astounding. Both actresses, seated next to each other in a cafe booth, use their facial expressions to display the full range of emotions two such women might feel. In the wrong hands, it could be played just for laughs. While there are funny aspects to this particular conversation, certainly, Blethyn and Jean-Baptiste do not restrict themselves to merely comedy.

This is an intense movie, filled with many uncomfortable yet realistic moments. At times, you wish you could turn away from the action, so painful are the revelations, so powerful are the emotions, but it remains too enticing not to watch. You begin to feel as if you are a direct witness to the action, and you also begin to care about what happens to each of the members of this dysfunctional family. That's no small feat to achieve, given that all of the people are flawed individuals. But perhaps it's their very human qualities that make this such a great film.

To Kill a Mockingbird (1962)

To Kill a Mockingbird was nominated for Best Picture of 1962, one of the more noble choices the Academy has made over the years. So many people have read the miraculous book on which this film was based, and the movie version itself is frequently cited as one of the best ever made. It's almost as if watching this film has the power to ennoble a viewer through its message. This film should almost be required viewing, and the book should certainly be required reading.

You're probably already familiar with the story. Lawyer Atticus Finch, played by Gregory Peck (who was always good but never better than this), defends a wrongly accused black man against charges of raping a white woman. He and his family, a boy named Jem and a girl nicknamed Scout, then must face the consequences of Atticus' bravery. The courtroom scenes, in particular, are tense; you can feel the heat in that stuffy room as each witness seems to bring a new, heightened level of intensity to the story. Certainly, we as viewers know how the trial should turn out, yet we also know that this is Depression-era Southern justice at work, so we aren't surprised by the verdict or what happens after everyone leaves the courthouse.

This is a film about childhood, really, about the ways that we arrive at an awareness of the world while we are children. Much of the early part of the film is devoted to games and play and to the stories that kids tell, the legends and myths that they pass along; it's also about those seminal moments of childhood, like the first day of school. Scout, as the narrator of the movie, seems to understand some things well beyond what her age would suggest. She's played by Mary Badham, who brings out the tomboyish aspects of the character to full effect; whatever the boys do, she wants to join them. Badham has gotten much critical attention for her performance, and rightly so, particularly for the tenderness of the scenes between her and Peck.

However, I think Badham is matched if not exceeded by the acting of Phillip Alford as Jem. He portrays a young man just becoming conscious of the world in which he lives. His facial expressions as he watches his father shoot a mad dog or deliver a closing argument or even walk away after a man spits in his face: they're all revelatory. Alford is almost a blank slate emotionally at the beginning of the movie, but by the end, he has gotten so much wiser just through his observations. By the way, I also enjoyed John Megna's job as "Dill," the young boy visiting his aunt (my beloved Alice Ghostley) for a few weeks each summer; he's very funny, particularly when he's telling the stories (perhaps lies?) about his father.

In a way, we really watch all of the events of the movie through the children's eyes. I know that the grown-up Scout is the narrator, and all of the events are retrospective in nature. However, Scout and Jem are really the characters whose actions propel the story forward. It it through them that we learn about the trial and about "Boo" Radley (a young Robert Duvall), who plays a pivotal role in the outcome of the movie. The film itself reinforces this focus in the opening credits, as a child opens a cigar box with a watch, a medal, two carved soap figurines, and a few other items. That cigar box, we later learn, is Jem's, and it's where he keeps his most prized possessions, many of them left in the hollow of a tree by Boo. The film keeps returning to the two of them (and their summertime friend Dill) and how they react to the events they are watching unfold. In the hands of two less capable child actors, this film could have been less successful, but in their film debuts, both children (natives of Alabama) shine.

I also want to point out the quiet dignity that Brock Peters brings to his role of the accused Tom Robinson. Peters was always a reliable actor, good in every part. He's so effective in To Kill a Mockingbird because he lets you see a man who knows that the truth is unlikely to help him. The sweat that forms on his forehead during his testimony gets me every time. He struggles so to speak the words that he knows won't prevent him from being condemned to death. It's a small role, to be sure, but pivotal to the movie. Peck wouldn't be as powerful as Atticus if not for Peters' strength as Tom.

I need to discuss Peck's performance as Atticus Finch, certainly one of the most understated yet strong roles ever committed to film. Peck's Atticus is everyone's notion of the ideal father, and who wouldn't want him to be your lawyer if you had to go to trial? He's a widower forced to take care of his two children with only a housekeeper's help. Still, he manages to stay up late each night to read with his daughter, and he never leaves Jem's bedside when the boy's arm is broken. The summation he provides in court always makes me cry; it's a powerful statement of what justice should be. Even though, as I stated earlier, you know the outcome of the trial is predetermined, you still hope that the twelve white men on the jury will take heed. The other great male performance that year was given by Peter O'Toole in Lawrence of Arabia, and I only wish that the Academy could have given both men awards. I love O'Toole's T.E. Lawrence, and I still cannot believe he's never won a competitive Oscar, but how could anyone deny Peck the award for Best Actor after watching him in To Kill a Mockingbird?

I've never known anyone who's seen this movie who doesn't love or at least admire it. Even Charlene on Designing Women described it as her favorite movie. That's pretty high praise, even if it is from a fictional character. If you've never watched it, you should, just to see if you agree with the consensus. The college where I teach produced a theatrical version of To Kill a Mockingbird a few semesters ago, and you'd think that a live performance would bring a sense of immediacy to the proceedings. However, as good as the production was (and my college has a reputation for doing some fantastic work), it just couldn't compare to the book or to this film.

Oscar Wins: Actor (Peck), Adapted Screenplay, and Art Direction (Black and White)

Other Oscar Nominations: Picture, Director, Supporting Actress (Badham), Cinematography (Black and White), and Substantially Original Music Score

All This and Heaven Too (1940)

Nominated for Best Picture of 1940, All This and Heaven Too is, at its heart, a fairly standard melodrama disguising itself as an elaborate costume drama. Set mostly in Paris in the 1840s, it's the tale of an English governess who takes a position caring for the four children of a prominent French "Duc" and "Duchesse." The Duc and Duchesse are unhappily married, primarily because of the hysterical nature of the Duchesse, who seems to want all attention to be paid to her alone. Throughout much of the film, her behavior borders on the truly insane, and she seems to be a danger to herself and her family at times. The Duc strikes up a friendship with the governess, who is kind and gentle and sweet, all things his wife is not. Gossip about the Duc and the governess leads to allegations by the Duchesse, and the Duc winds up being accused of her murder after a particularly tumultuous night. The governess is jailed as well, but she gets set free after the Duc poisons himself rather than implicate her.

Did I mention that the governess is played by Bette Davis? Here she's not her usual fiery self; she's very much restrained and even conservative. The governess' behavior never seems improper, but that does not stop the members of Parisian society from making up tales to fit their own purposes. Davis interacts in a very loving way with the four children of the family, particularly the youngest, a boy who speaks with what sounds like a Southern accent at times (an odd inflection for Paris, which isn't even in the southern part of France). A very young June Lockhart plays the eldest daughter, and the best performance among the children is that of Virginia Weidler as Louise, the next oldest girl. She and Davis seem to relish their time together on screen, particularly when they get to attend the opera with Louise's father, Charles Boyer.

Yes, Charles Boyer, who was so good at playing roguish lovers around this time. Here he's the object of our pity. He seems to have married for prestige, only to be stuck with a wife who is unbearable. The Duchesse is played by Barbara O'Neil, and almost from her first moments on the screen, I didn't like her character or the actress' performance. O'Neil is probably best known for playing Scarlett O'Hara's mother in that Big Movie of 1939, but here she's just too much of a ham. No scenery is safe while she's around. Frankly, I even started to wonder if the children were safe.

Davis and Boyer are an interesting match. They're playing against type here, and it works, for the most part. I tend to prefer them more in the types of roles for which they are best known, but both are actors who can play a variety of parts well. The story seems designed to make the audience want them to be together, perhaps in keeping with the melodramatic structure. It's all perfectly harmless entertainment, an enjoyable way to spend a few hours, but I don't think there's much in the way of analytical fodder here (except perhaps in the possibility of diagnosing what's really wrong with the Duchesse).

I did have one problem with this film. It begins and ends in a school room in the United States. Davis' governess has now taken a position teaching French at a girl's school. Naturally, the gossip from Europe has followed her to her new life, much to her shame. However, after initially fleeing the classroom (never a good idea, especially on the first day), she returns and begins to tell the girls the "truth" about what they've heard or read about her past. For the next two hours, what we see on film is what she tells the girls. The ending is a bit preposterous, but I was astonished that anyone would expect students to sit still for that long listening to a story like this and then react the way that they do. Yes, I know it's filled with Very Dramatic Moments, but it is a very slow build to the "good stuff" in the governess' past. Aside from that, how appropriate is it for a teacher to abandon teaching French and proceed to tell a rather sordid personal story in a room filled with impressionable girls? Wouldn't parents be outraged by this behavior? Alas, it seems doubtful based upon the ending that the girls will ever tell their parents what happened in class that day, so I suppose we should just be grateful that we were allowed to overhear it ourselves.

Tender Mercies (1983)

A nominee for Best Picture of 1983, Tender Mercies follows the life of a country singer whose career has seen better days. After spending too many nights as a drunk, ruining his career in the process, Mac Sledge falls in love with a widow who owns a store and gas station in the middle of nowhere. She helps him to achieve sobriety, and he befriends her young son. They form a new family, and Mac slowly begins to rebuild his life. He even takes a few tentative steps toward returning to singing the country music that he loves.

This is a quiet, understated film. Not a great deal happens in it, just the day-to-day lives of people who struggle and sometimes fail but persevere nonetheless. It sounds almost like a cliche when I describe the movie in that way, but its simplicity is really the key to its success. Watching Mac slowly find his way again is like watching a small miracle take place. The lead performance of Robert Duvall, who deservedly won the Oscar for Best Actor, is a revelation. With the tiniest of gestures and with relatively little dialogue, Duvall manages to embody this singer's life in the most human and realistic way. You get the sense that you are watching an actual person's life being depicted on the screen.

The rest of the cast is good too. Tess Harper is a strong and stable force as Mac's new wife. She's the kind of person you'd want to stand beside you as you struggle to make things right again in your life. Betty Buckley plays Mac's ex-wife who has gone on to have a successful singing career of her own, and she's terrific at showing just how damaged she has been by Mac's behavior in the past. You can understand why she's not ready to trust him again. A very young Ellen Barkin appears briefly as Mac's grown daughter, and Wilford Brimly is his usual gruff but reliable self as Buckley's manager. And kudos to Allan Hubbard, who plays Sonny, Mac's stepson. His scenes with Duvall are very tender; there's a clear bond displayed between them. I love the scene where they're throwing a football around in the field across from the store; it's a moment of genuine emotion. Surprisingly, Hubbard apparently never acted again after this movie; it was his only role in film.

I must say that I also really enjoyed the scenes of the up-and-coming band that Mac starts to guide. When these young men first show up to meet the "great" Mac Sledge, Harper is reluctant to let them in, fearing that her husband will revert to his old ways too easily. However, they're so earnest and seemingly honest in their respect for him that she eventually relents. Through Mac's help and with his occasional lead vocals (Duvall is a passable singer too), the band starts to make a name for itself. You can see how enticing performing is when you watch these young men play music. What a nice contrast to have them at the start of their career matched with someone who's already had a career and knows some of what's in store.

Fanny (1961)

Nominated for Best Picture of 1961, Fanny is a film set on the waterfront of Marseilles. It's about two young lovers who separate thanks to (what else?) a misunderstanding. He's always wanted to escape the place of his birth, and she's always wanted just to see him happy. The morning after they reveal that they love each other and spend their first night together, Marius (played by Horst Buchholz) leaves Marseilles for five years on a scientific voyage, and Fanny (played by Leslie Caron) stays behind to marry the aging Panisse (played by Maurice Chevalier).

The cast is made up primarily of French actors, with the exception of Buchhoz, who is German born, and they all seem to be enjoying themselves tremendously. Chevalier always looked like he was having the time of his life in every movie, and even a deathbed scene raises a smile here. And Charles Boyer, as Marius' father, gets many laughs with the kind of bluster he was well known for in his later, more comedic roles. The scenes involving these two great film stars are highlights of the movie, especially the scene where they negotiate for the future of Fanny and Marius' not-yet-born child. Georgette Anys as Fanny's mother, Honorine, provides another layer of comedy as the woman who thinks she is marrying Panisse, only to discover that he prefers her daughter instead.

The heart of the movie is the relationship between Marius and Fanny. From the first scene these two have together, you can see that they are in love. Marius, in particular, shows the reluctance he feels in leaving Fanny behind, even though he has always dreamed of leaving his father's tiny cafe for the seas. Buchholz is good at demonstrating just how difficult such a choice can be, how tortured he feels emotionally. And Fanny must come to terms with the fact that she must marry a man who is not the father of her child but who promises to treat them both well. Caron must consistently reveal the regret she feels for having lost her lover while simultaneously feeling joy at the saving of her public virtue by a marriage of convenience. She was best known as a star of musicals, but here Caron demonstrates her skill at acting without singing and dancing. Both Buchholz and Caron, although somewhat old to be playing teenagers, are charming. There's a real sense of erotic tension between them, even when they have a very brief chance meeting later in the film; it only takes a few looks at each other to reveal that they still have the same feelings as when they were teens.

Much of the film is obviously shot inside a studio. However, the outdoor shots along the waterfront are spectacular. A sense of life, of energy, abounds there. I particularly enjoyed the opening sequence showing the city from above. The camera makes its way to the specific location of much of the action of the film, and by the time we arrive at the cafe, we viewers certainly feel as if we are in France. We acclimate almost immediately to the environment.

I'd never even heard of this film before I saw it recently. It was nominated the same year that West Side Story took the Oscar for Best Picture, and that film has been so widely loved and praised, perhaps a movie like Fanny is ultimately just too light and enjoyable to have gotten the same sort of reaction. (The other nominees were all very serious in tone: The Guns of Navarone, The Hustler, and Judgment at Nuremberg. Not many smiles or laughs to be had in that grouping.) Watch Fanny knowing that despite some of its more somber subject matter (illegitimacy, loveless marriages of convenience, deception), you'll still feel uplifted by it.

Seven Brides for Seven Brothers (1954)

How bittersweet to watch Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, a nominee for Best Picture of 1954, so soon after choreographer Michael Kidd's death. His work here is certainly the highlight of this musical. The scene involving the barn raising, with its competition between the mountain men and the city men for the affections of the unmarried girls, is just dazzling, one of the best dance sequences every put on film. What a loss his death was, but what a contribution he made to the art of film choreography. If only one film could stand as a testament to his talent, it would have to be this one.

The story involves Howard Keel as Adam, a headstrong backwoodsman , who comes to town to get supplies for the winter and to find a wife. He is determined not to leave town until he has found the right woman to marry. He meets Jane Powell's Milly, and by the end of the day, they are wed and on their way to his rustic home. Milly discovers that Adam has six brothers, all of them lacking manners, and she sets about to cure them of their ways in order to get them married off as well. However, as soon as they learn how to behave from her, Adam contradicts her lessons, suggesting that she is making them weak (perhaps even effeminate). He goads his younger brothers into kidnapping potential wives from town, and they all wind up trapped in the mountains due to the snowfall. As the winter very slowly becomes spring, the brothers and their "chosen" brides begin to fall more in love with each other. This is an MGM musical so if you can't guess how it's likely to end, I don't think I'm going to help you.

One of the more intriguing themes underlying this film is the notion of what constitutes masculinity. Certainly, the brothers all engage in some very demanding physical labor (but then Milly is shown chopping wood just as easily they can), but they also quickly learn how to dance and they subject themselves to Milly's tutelage quite readily. They even shave off their facial hair as a way to demonstrate her power over them. Doing so gets them what they want--women--but the film seems to ask if there is a cost to doing so. Even Adam, allegedly the most masculine and strong-willed, must submit to Milly when she becomes pregnant (guess the gender of the baby). The filmmakers may have used the story of the myth of the Sabine women (or "sobbin' women," as one of the songs puts it) as an organizing principle for the plot, but they also seem to have in mind something about the feminization or "taming" of men as being necessary for civilization. Okay, let's save that theory for an analytical paper some other time.

I have always liked Howard Keel's singing voice, and Jane Powell was one of the better dancers ever to work at MGM. Their talents are used to great effect in this film. Jacques d'Amboise is a standout among the brothers, primarily for his dancing (not surprising, considering his status as a ballet star at the time), and you'll notice Julie Newmar and Ruta Lee (with different names) among the brides with lovely voices. The songs aren't particularly memorable here, but there are moments of clever humor throughout the movie--one of the slyest involves the naming of the brothers after Biblical characters in alphabetical order (pity the brother whose name begins with "F"). At the heart of this film, though, is the dancing. I never watch it without marveling at the amount of work it took to put these images on film. Thankfully, they've been preserved forever for us to watch and take delight in. Enjoy.

Atlantic City (1981)

Atlantic City was nominated for Best Picture of 1981. It's the story of a long-time but low-level gangster named Lou (played by Burt Lancaster), who falls in love with a much younger oyster bar waitress named Sally (played by Susan Sarandon), who has aspirations to become a croupier. Neither of them has yet to be successful at achieving his/her dreams, as evidenced by the rather seedy apartment building in which they both live. In fact, hardly anyone in the movie has managed to live out her/his dreams: Grace, the bedridden showgirl who was married to a mobster; Dave, Sally's husband who has gotten involved with cocaine smugglers; even Sally's younger sister, whom Dave has impregnated. But all of them have aspirations, and all of them believe that they will succeed if given just one more chance.

Watching this film is like watching a master class in acting. Lancaster had been out of the spotlight for many years when he got this part. He's amazing to watch, even better (I think) than he was when he starred in films like Elmer Gantry and The Birdman of Alcatraz. You can see all of the failed attempts at getting out of the criminal life that he has taken, but you can also see the fire of passion that still burns in him as he watches Sally use lemons to wash off the smell of her job at the end of the day. He has such gravity to him, such weight, when he walks or even when he's observing other people.

This was relatively early in Sarandon's career, but you can already see just how talented she is. Despite being stuck in a low-paying job, which she took out of necessity to escape her impoverished past, Sally too has a powerful desire to better herself. The frustration she experiences as she attempts to learn how to work as a casino dealer is written clearly on Sarandon's face; at times, everything seems to be conspiring against her shot at success (or escape). Both performers convey so much even without dialogue, although the script itself is also excellent, using these people's lives to show a time of transition in the title city, as the old apartment buildings are being torn down to make way for the casinos which promised redemption for Atlantic City.

I might never have seen this film had I not started this project. Nothing about the plot summary suggested that it would be one that I enjoyed. Who could fathom a love story between someone of Lancaster's age and someone of Sarandon's age? Who would believe that these two unlikely partners would get themselves involved in dope peddling? However, this is truly a forgotten classic. People don't talk about it very much these days; maybe there are just too many other films from that era getting more attention, or perhaps not that many people have seen it. That's a shame. This film deserves a wider audience.

Fargo (1996)

A nominee for Best Picture of 1996, Fargo is one of the darkest comedies you'll ever see. The Coen Brothers have managed to tell an incredible story of the attempt by a car salesman (played by Willam H. Macy) to extort money from his wealthy but domineering father-in-law by having his wife kidnapped. Unfortunately, he hires two inept criminals (Steve Buscemi and Peter Stormare) to help him carry out the plot. They manage to kill several people through a series of odd circumstances, leading to the involvement of the persistent and very pregnant Sheriff Marge Gunderson (Frances McDormand). She quietly manages to track down the details of the pair's actions due to her particularly sharp instincts.

The script is filled with funny lines. My personal favorite involves the Sheriff's interview with the two hookers who spent a night with the criminals. Trying to get some sort of description from them, all she manages to glean is "the little guy was kinda funny looking." It's a line that gets repeated several times during the course of the interview, and then later in the movie is repeated by another character who's talking to a deputy. Of course, the script also manages to include some interesting physical comedy as well, if you like your comedy pretty dark. The most infamous (and still pretty shocking) image is the one involving the wood chipper. If you haven't yet seen the movie, you're likely to be surprised. How you react to that scene is probably the best indication of whether you think this is a comedy or not. This was a most deserving win for Best Original Screenplay (despite the words that appear at the beginning of the movie suggesting that it was "based on a true story"--another joke on the audience by the Coens).

After watching the movie again, I'm a bit surprised that McDormand was chosen as Best Actress for this role. It isn't that her performance is bad. She's clever and funny, and her facial expressions are priceless. She is very good indeed. It's just that it seems to be more of a supporting part than a lead role. She really only appears in the second half of the movie, and much of the action that takes place does not involve her directly. It was a somewhat weak year for lead female performances, but she managed to win over Brenda Blethyn's performance in Secrets & Lies and Emily Watson's in Breaking the Waves, both far more emotionally demanding parts. And that was the year of the sweep by The English Patient, which includes a great subtle performance by Kristin Scott Thomas.