No Country for Old Men (2007)

Winner of the Academy Award for Best Picture of 2007, No Country for Old Men is a brilliant treatise on the role of violence in society. Much of the plot centers on the hunt for $2 million in drug money that has gone missing after a shoot-out on the isolated prairie of the western part of Texas. The story follows Llewelyn Moss, the hunter who stumbles upon the dead bodies at the shoot-out and the money that remains unclaimed, and his nemesis, a killer named Anton Chigurh who uses a rather unusual tool for killing. The other primary plot strand involves Sheriff Ed Tom Bell and his deputy as they try to solve the mystery of what happened to those men in the desert and what has become of Moss and his wife.

Much attention has been given to Javier Bardem's performance of Chigurh, and it's worth all of the praise that it has received. He's stunning in the part. In one of the early scenes, while handcuffed, Chigurh manages to strangle a police officer to death and free himself. The look on his face as he chokes the bleeding man to the last breath is almost orgasmic. Truly frightening to watch that scene, but it sets a tone for almost every encounter that the viewer has with this character. He leaves behind him a trail of blood and bodies. It seems he has only one purpose in life: to kill. He has apparently been given orders to retrieve the money, and anyone who stands in his way is likely to die. It's the single-mindedness of his vision that is most chilling. He seems to be an embodiment of the mentality that violence, death, destruction, etc. are effective ways to attain our goals, that whatever we must do is justifiable so long as it helps us to achieve what we set out to do. Scary stuff indeed.

Josh Brolin is great here. He's very understated as the welder who gets in a bit over his head when he starts collecting guns and money from the bodies of dead drug dealers. What I liked about his character, though, is just how much strength he has. It's a quiet strength, certainly, but he's willing to do whatever it takes to get the job done as well (although he is less prone to killing unless it is in self-defense). He's very resourceful and quite matter-of-fact; his response to his wife's question of where he got a pistol and a satchel of money ("at the getting place") perfectly sums up the ways that some Texas men tend to respond. What also struck me about his character is the depth of his conscience. Twice, he awakens in the middle of the night because he is still puzzling over some dilemma, a moral one or perhaps a logical one. Both times lead to some dangerous outcomes.

The best performance, in my mind, is by Tommy Lee Jones as Sheriff Bell. He's just everything you'd want in a sheriff: funny, smart, persistent, diligent, laconic, all while being a model of integrity. His voice-over at the film's start sets the tone for the kind of man he is, and he remains remarkably consistent throughout the movie. His moments of humor stand out, of course, such as when asks his deputy how they're going to put out a bulletin for a man who has recently drunk milk. Yet it's scenes such as the one with Moss's wife in the restaurant that show you the range that Jones is capable of. He tells her a story of how one man's attempts to kill a cow for slaughter went awry and, in doing so, pretty directly tells her the exact danger that her husband is in. I could watch his character again and again and still be transfixed.

I don't think this film is too graphic, a charge that has been leveled by some. It does not seem to revel in the deaths that Chigurh and others cause. The joy that he feels, for example, when strangling the deputy is really quite horrifying to the audience. Normal people would not feel any sense of exhilaration at watching the senseless deaths of innocent people (like those who lose their cars to Chigurh). If anything, this film actually shows just how brutal and ugly such killings are. The film is set in 1980, but its emphasis on the consequences of violence are just as relevant now as they would have been then. I realize that No Country for Old Men might not have played well to the older, more conservative members of the academy, but great movies about violence have won before: The Godfather, Unforgiven, The Silence of the Lambs, etc. Such films have reasons to include violence, and thematically, these violent films teach us a great deal about who we are as a people.

The last part of the movie has been criticized for its ambiguity, and I have to say, without revealing the ending, that I have no idea why. Everything that happens at the end has been set up throughout the rest of the film. Listen to what the characters say about the future, and you'll know what I mean. Watch how Chigurh behaves after he's killed someone, and you'll understand. And listen carefully to the story that ends the film; it's the key that pulls everything together in as clear a fashion as any movie can that is about the insanity that violence represents.

Sunrise (1927-28)

Sunrise won the first and only Academy Award for Best Unique and Artistic Production of 1927-1928. There were, in a sense, two Best Picture awards that first year, the other being Best Production (and going to Wings). After the first prizes were given out, this category won by Sunrise disappeared, and the Academy sort of decided in retrospect that "Best Production" was the same as "Best Picture." In doing so, the Academy has diminished in some ways, I think, the achievement of this film, one of the most remarkable accomplishments of the silent era.

The story begins during the summer, vacation time, with the arrival in a small village of a woman from the city (played by Margaret Livingston). Actually, she’s referred to as the Woman from the City, capitalization being very important to this story. Before long, she has managed to charm a local farmer (The Man, played by George O'Brien) and convince him to kill his wife so that the two of them can leave for the city together. The Wife (played beautifully by Janet Gaynor, one of the key reasons to watch the film) begins to realize the plot against her, managing to avoid her husband from killing her while they are rowing to the city for a day's vacation. After several failed attempts by the husband to make amends for his cruel behavior and dangerous intentions, they begin to reconnect with each other, falling in love all over again during a series of comic adventures in the city.

The characters in the film do not have names. They are referred to almost as types: The Man, The Wife, The Woman from the City, etc., but do forgive me if I don’t get the capitalization right each and every time in this review. It’s a bit too much. There is certainly an "Everyman" quality to this film. You can believe that this is a story that has happened many times before. Certainly, some of the specific details, like the location or people's professions, might be different, but overall, the emotions expressed here are universal. They also have some common traits associated with their types or stereotypes. The Woman from the City is sexy and dangerous with her stylish hair and her fashionable clothing. She flirts shamelessly with the man, who leaves his wife while she’s making dinner for him. Gaynor’s wife is dutiful and trusting, a model in some ways of what the expectations for women were at the time.

A couple of flashbacks reveal some happier times for the husband and wife. We see how much joy the birth of their baby brought them. There’s no rationale given in the plot for his cheating, though. Is he bored? Did the birth of their child change his attitude toward his wife? Are men (Men) just prone to looking for new women? There’s a little bit of complexity to O’Brien’s character, however. He doesn’t immediately agree to the suggestion that he drown his wife and save himself from drowning by using a large bundle of bulrushes, all ideas suggested by The Woman. In fact, he reacts quite violently at first to the idea, but the woman uses sex to get her way. Again, you could make something of that characterization of men and women if you wish since the film clearly wants them to be considered archetypal in nature. The subtitle even supports this: "A Song of Two Humans." 

Gaynor is the primary focus for much of the film. She plays a simple woman, someone who doesn’t quite understand why her husband may no longer care for her. She instinctively runs from him after his failed attempts to kill her in the boat on the way to the city. You watch her emotions change gradually as they spend time together in the city. Their afternoon turns out to be quite playful and fun. They get a picture of the two of them kissing. A carnival pig escapes and gets drunk while trying to escape from The Man. They dance a peasant dance to please a crowd of people. She even becomes a little flirtatious with him. The sequence in the city is quite charming, really.

The irony of the plot is that their boat capsizes in a terrible quick storm on their voyage home. They’re reunited and happy, but now in greater danger. He ties the bulrushes to his wife’s back so that she may float, using what was going to be his own means of escape from attempted murder to save her instead. He makes it ashore, and The Woman from the City shows up almost immediately, thinking her plan has worked and that she and The Man can be together. However, he’s in love with his wife and is desperate, quite frantic, to find her. He chokes the woman in much the way he attempted to choke his wife earlier in the film. It’s a nice circular moment for the story.

This film was directed by F.W. Murnau, the great German director of Nosferatu. He brings a clear sense of German Expressionism to this American film, particularly in the scenes of the city. Look at the angles of buildings and streets; you'll detect the connection to the German films of this era. And he also has the benefit of some of the most exquisite shots ever put on film, thanks to the cinematography of Charles Rosher (who also did brilliant work on The Yearling) and Karl Struss. This is really one of the most beautiful movies of the silent era (and almost all of it was filmed at Big Bear Lake, which has never looked as pristine and sparkling as it does here), and it was a worthy recipient that first year of the Oscar for Best Cinematography.

The film features some lovely juxtapositions of images, such as when the action of the city is depicted by having several locations on the screen simultaneously. There are also some lovely transitions that blend reality and fantasy, most effectively perhaps when the husband and wife kiss in the street as cars rush by, but visually, we see them walking though a field of flowers. I particularly admired how the filmmakers used superimposition to reveal the image of the Woman from the City surrounding The Man as he looks at The Wife and decides to what to do. It’s very ingenious, and it’s quite the accomplishment for 1927 and a silent film. By the way, Sunrise features a synchronized soundtrack of music and sound effects, and that does contribute a great deal to our appreciation of the film and its story. It certainly isn’t what we now consider a “sound” film, but most silent movies had accompanying sound, either through someone playing music while the film ran or through some other mechanical means.

In 1989, Sunrise was one of the first twenty-five films to be selected by the Library of Congress for preservation as part of its National Film Registry. Wings had to wait until 1997 to be included as part of the registry. Even the Library of Congress seemed to acknowledge the greater artistic achievement of Sunrise even if the Academy has somewhat diminished its significance. However, if you want to see the full range of Academy Award winners for Best Picture, you really have to seek out Sunrise. I know that Wings is now the only film listed as Best Picture for 1927-28, but Sunrise won an Oscar that same year for what is, in every sense of the phrase, the best production. It deserves a look too.

Oscar Wins: Unique and Artistic Production, Best Actress (Janet Gaynor), and Best Cinematography

Other Nomination: Best Art Direction

Atonement (2007)

One of my favorite films released in 2007 was Atonement. I've seen the film multiple times, including two times in theaters during its initial release, and it is a rich experience each time. Almost every aspect of this film is first-rate: the acting, the direction, the cinematography, the set and costume design, the writing, the editing. I may appreciate the overall achievement of other films from 2007 a bit more, as did the Academy, but this is one that I return to again and again.

The film tells the story of the consequences of a lie. A 13-year-old girl, Briony Tallis, "sees" two encounters between her older sister, Cecilia, and the family's gardener, Robbie. Being just a bit too young to comprehend fully what she sees while simultaneously being just old enough to envy Robbie's attentions for Cecilia, Briony uses her talent for storytelling to create and support an accusation of rape against Robbie. The cousin who claims to be the victim of the rape, Lola, goes along with Briony's tale, and Robbie is first sent to prison and then, in effect, forced to serve in the British army during World War II. Cecilia breaks from her family over their treatment of Robbie and begins a life for herself as a nurse, a life she hopes to share with Robbie when he returns from war. Her words to him on the night of his arrest echo throughout the film: "I love you. Come back. Come back to me."

I've written elsewhere of my admiration for James McAvoy. He's an exceptional choice here for the romantic male lead of Robbie Turner. And Keira Knightley matches him expertly. Their scenes at the fountain and in the library bristle with a sexual charge. You can sense what Knightley's Cecilia means when she tells Robbie that he knew all along that they were in love, even before she figured it out herself. The film overall depends upon the chemistry that these two actors have. Their relationship is the emotional core of the movie, even more so at times than the lie that Briony tells, and you want them to be reunited and have the happy ending that they deserve.

There are three actresses who play the part of Briony Tallis. The first is Saoirise Ronan, who plays her at film's start at the age of 13. She's exceptional in the part, showing just how mean-spirited and spiteful a child of that age can be. You can sense that she knows she is dooming Robbie to an awful life, but her anger and desire for revenge are so overpowering that she will not or cannot stop herself from telling the lie. The middle of the film has Romola Garai playing Briony at age 18. Briony has begun training as a nurse, perhaps (as the story suggests) as a form of penance. She has finally begun to see how damaging her actions were, and the sense of remorse she feels is obvious. The painful scene she has with a wounded French soldier, who may or may not have met her before, is just one example of Garai's subtle gifts as an actress.

The best, though, is indeed saved for last. Vanessa Redgrave plays the successful author Briony at the end of her life. Her scenes all involve a television interview about her latest (what she calls her last) novel, Atonement, which tells the "truth" about her actions as a child. Much of Redgrave's time on the screen is shot in close-up, just her explaining the sequence of events that have led her to write the book, and boy, is she a marvel to watch. There's lots of dazzling stuff in this movie, including an amazing tracking shot on the beach at Dunkirk that almost everyone mentions, but few things keep you as spellbound as Redgrave's Briony finally admitting to everyone, including herself, the full extent of what she's done. Such a small part, in some ways, but such a commanding actress to leave you with such an impression at the end of the film.

Other members of the supporting cast are perfect in their parts. A young Benedict Cumberbatch, years away from his sexier roles as Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Strange, here plays a rather sadistic chocolatier, a phrase I don’t expect to get to use too often. Harriet Walter does a marvelous spin as the matriarch of the Tallis family, always in need of an afternoon lie-down for a heat-induced headache. I also enjoyed seeing the great Brenda Blethyn in the small role of Robbie’s mother, a servant at the Tallis mansion. The green silk dress that Knightley wears for the sequence in the library deserves special mention too. It certainly provides support for why Robbie would find Cecilia irresistible.

I think what has struck me each time that I've seen this film is how expertly constructed it is. I'll give just one example to demonstrate what I mean. From her bedroom window, Briony sees the encounter between Cecilia and Robbie that ends with Cecilia diving into the fountain, emerging fully drenched in only a slip, and walking away with a vase. Briony, of course, being a "writer" even at the age of 13, begins to put the details together in a way that she can understand. However, immediately after we see Briony's "version" of events, the film shifts to a different angle, both in terms of where the camera is looking and in terms of story perspective, and it shows us another version of the same sequence of events (the "real" version, allegedly). It's a daring move to use such a method throughout a film that is ostensibly a historical romance, yet it works brilliantly here. (Perhaps too well. The couple sitting behind me at the second screening spent much of the closing credits time trying to figure out what had really happened. Pity.)

It is sometimes difficult to put into words exactly why I like some films so much. Such is the case with Atonement. It is, obviously, quite a different film from the others in this category. Some would even say that it is a relatively old-fashioned film, given its subject matter. However, I think what truly elevates it is the way that it does indeed challenge our notions of storytelling. This narrative keeps folding and unfolding upon itself. Even at the end of the film, some of the moments that we have come to accept as "real" earlier on are proven to be just as false as others. It's a challenge to a viewer to make sense of the story on their own terms, and I think that is just what we need in movies these days.

Oscar Win: Best Achievement in Music Written for Motion Pictures/Original Score

Other Nominations: Best Motion Picture of the Year, Best Performance by an Actress in a Supporting Role (Saoirse Ronan), Best Adapted Screenplay, Best Achievement in Cinematography, Best Achievement in Art Direction, and Best Achievement in Costume Design 

The Greatest Show on Earth (1952)

The Greatest Show on Earth won the Oscar for Best Picture of 1952, and it's widely regarded as one of the worst films ever to capture the top prize. You'll often see it cited as one of the examples of how often the Academy "gets it wrong." I don't fully agree that this is a bad movie even though I don't think it deserved to win Best Picture. It certainly isn't better than High Noon, which was also nominated that year and is one of the greatest films ever made. One of the other classic films of that year, Singin' in the Rain, wasn't even nominated for Best Picture, yet we all know what a reputation it has earned over time. No, what you get with The Greatest Show on Earth is simply an entertaining look at life behind the scenes of the Ringling Bros.-Barnum & Bailey Circus. Movies like this are popular for a reason. Cecil B. DeMille's circus movie manages to include romance, intrigue, organized crime, and elephants. It also has a pretty spectacular train wreck sequence that seems childish or amateurish by today's special effects standards but was pretty remarkable for its time.

Here are the basic elements of the plot. Charlton Heston plays Brad, the manager of the circus who wants a full season of money-making shows, so he hires a famous trapeze artist, a risk-taker named the Great Sebastian (played by Cornel Wilde). However, in doing so, he has to displace from the center ring the circus's own Holly (played by Betty Hutton). Further complicating matters is Holly's affection for Brad. He, of course, is far too consumed with making the show successful to realize that he also loves her. Holly manages to find a half-hearted romance with Sebastian, leaving Brad to respond to a silly flirtation from Angel, one of the elephant tamers (played by Gloria Grahame). Dorothy Lamour manages to make an appearance now and then too, apparently so she can crack jokes at the right time and sing a number or two. (Her co-stars in the Road movies, Bob Hope and Bing Crosby, make cameos not to be missed.)

If you think this sounds a bit like a soap opera, you'd be right. What distinguishes this from other soap operas then and now is the backdrop of the circus. The film uses actual performers from Ringling Bros.-Barnum & Bailey throughout the movie, and the scenes where they put up the tent or get ready for their performances are a fascinating look at the ways those mid-century spectacles were put together. In its documentary-like approach to those scenes and the ones of the actual circus productions themselves, you can get a glimpse of what made those shows so enticing to the ladies, gentlemen, and "children of all ages."

Hardly anyone in the cast delivers an award-worthy performance here. Heston, who would win Best Actor a few years later for Ben-Hur, is often painfully wooden, a trait he never quite lost throughout his long career, in my opinion. Wilde is shirtless as often as possible in the movie for a reason; he's also clad in tights a lot, and there's a reason for that as well. He certainly didn't seem to be hired for his acting ability. Hutton could be a talented singer and dancer--she has a couple of good numbers here--but as an actress, she wasn't particularly strong. Grahame delivers her lines with some zing, but even she seems to know the hokiness of what she's saying. Of course, she and Sebastian have a past; of course, she still loves him; and of course, she's going to pretend like she hates him now. Much of the story never rises above that level of cliche (and, yes, it was already a cliche in 1952).

I have to mention Jimmy Stewart as Buttons, one of the clowns. (The great Emmett Kelly is one of his colleagues.) He's a doctor who killed his wife and is now wanted by the police, who (naturally) can't find him because he looks like a clown rather than an accused murderer. Buttons has to stay in clown make-up throughout the movie, just one of the little conceits that make you pause and wonder why the script doesn't do a better job of addressing this oddity. Wouldn't the other performers wonder why he walks around made up like a clown all the time? The rest of the clowns don't do that. Wouldn't they wonder why he even seems to sleep in his clown make-up? It must have seemed unhealthy to some of them that he stays "in character" all the time, night and day. How odd that you'd hire Jimmy Stewart, one of the most famous actors of his generation, and hide his recognizable face for the entire movie. Thankfully, his voice is also so distinctive that you don't need to see Stewart's face to know that it's him.

I think what I like best about this movie is the sense of urgency and intensity that all of the circus performers seem to feel. They love the attention they get from the circus-goers. You understand why both Holly and Sebastian want the center ring. In a case like this, who wouldn't want to be the center of attention, both literally and metaphorically? Even when Brad is injured during the train wreck, the rest of the performers (especially Holly) are so desperate to put on a show that they come up with a way to have a circus in the middle of nowhere. To a degree, this film is really about show business in general, the desire that all performers have to connect with an audience, to receive that love and affection from the people who buy tickets. It's as if that's all they need to make them live. Perhaps it's that understanding of show business, that insight into the need to be in the spotlight, that made The Greatest Show on Earth the winner in 1952.

Reds (1981)

I truly wasn't prepared for Reds, a nominee for Best Picture of 1981. I was expecting a film more focused on the rise of Socialism in the United States during the early part of the 20th Century, some sort of filmic agitprop maybe or perhaps a more documentary-like approach. Certainly, the film does include that perspective, especially with the interviews of some of the actual people who were witnesses to the events of that time. However, Reds is really a love story somewhat disguised as a political film. I don't truly believe Warren Beatty, the director-writer-lead actor-producer-whatever-else-he-is, really wants to convert any moviegoers to Socialism or Communism or Bolshevism or any other ism through his depictions of what happens with labor movements in the U.S. or the various revolutions in Russia or any of the other historical events he includes. I think he instead wants us to see the persistence of our love for each other despite all of the "great events" that happen as a backdrop to our lives, that ability we have to maintain our private relationships despite our involvement in other, more political or public actions. In that respect, Reds is very reminiscent of Doctor Zhivago or Gone With the Wind.

Beatty very generously keeps the character of Louise Bryant as his primary focus, and he coaxes a deeply felt performance from his leading lady, Diane Keaton. Keaton is simply great here, only a few years after her career-defining role as the title character in Annie Hall. She seems to get much more attention when she plays a comedic role like Annie, but as Bryant, she moves beyond being merely funny. She's touching and angry and loving and desperate and the full range of emotions. She's the heart of this film, and it succeeds in large part because of the strength of her acting. I wonder why she didn't get a chance to do more dramatic work after this film. Were moviegoers just unable to accept her in a role very different from Annie Hall?

Beatty is also strong as John Reed, whose Ten Days That Shook the World was an influential first-hand account of the Bolshevik Revolution. I don't really see the full depth of Reed's love of the ideals of Bolshevism in Beatty's performance, but I do see the passion that the man has for political activity more generally and the love he has for his wife Louise. Jack Nicholson plays Eugene O'Neill in a way that makes you forget that you're watching Jack Nicholson, and given how often he has coasted in recent years on his own oversized personality, that's saying something. Maureen Stapleton won an Oscar for her portrayal of Emma Goldman, but I have to say that her performance didn't strike me as being particularly noteworthy. Stapleton is a great actress, certainly, but what is she truly allowed to do in this film that would draw the notice of the academy? She's good, as she always is, but I think perhaps this was an attempt on the part of the academy members to find a way to acknowledge Beatty's overall accomplishment.

I do admire Beatty's various achievements here. He's a solid director and a consistent actor. His script, co-written with Trevor Griffiths, is well structured. It's tough to imagine any studio willingly supporting a film like this nowadays. Can you imagine that pitch meeting? "I want to make a movie about a couple of American Socialists who fall in love and who support the Communist Revolution in Russia." I just can't believe that such a film would ever get funding these days. Thankfully, Beatty had the clout at the time to make this interesting and sympathetic movie about subject matter that would become so taboo in the years that saw the rise of the New Conservatism during Ronald Reagan's presidency.

The Elephant Man (1980)

I couldn't watch The Elephant Man, a 1980 nominee for Best Picture, in one sitting. I kept turning it off and coming back to it after a break of a couple of hours or even a couple of days. This movie is just incredibly painful to watch. I think it's about the ways we are cruel to each other, and the depths of human cruelty displayed in this film are just too much for me to sit through for more than a few minutes at a time.

It's the story of John Merrick (played by John Hurt in award-worthy make-up), whose physical deformities have led to him being abandoned to a Victorian era freak show where he is put on display and frequently tortured and tormented by his "owner." He is rescued, at least temporarily, by a physician (played by a young Anthony Hopkins) who first wants to study him but who later befriends and tries to protect Merrick. The movie shows how, over the course of time, Merrick achieved a measure of notoriety among the elite of London society, who came to visit him at the hospital and talk with him about various subjects. He exhibited a nimble mind and a taste for artistic expression. I particularly enjoyed the scene depicting his first time watching a theatrical performance; it's a powerful, resonant moment of our collective ability to welcome others.

The first person other than the doctor to recognize the amazing soul inside the hideous figure of a man is an actress named Mrs. Kendal. She's played here by Anne Bancroft in what amounts to little more than a cameo, but what an impact her few minutes on the screen have. She manages to demonstrate both her initial revulsion over Merrick's appearance and how she overcomes that emotion, eventually becoming one of the so-called Elephant Man's closest friends. Bancroft was great in almost every part she played. Here she's so full of warmth and generosity; it's a joy to watch her. It made me realize just how much we lost when Bancroft passed away a few years ago.

It's the few heart-warming moments like the ones involving Mrs. Kendal that allow you to get through the rest of the film. I hope you don't misunderstand and think that I don't like The Elephant Man. This is truly a brilliant film in many ways, including its beautiful black-and-white cinematography, and it's perhaps one of the best films David Lynch ever directed (yes, I know, save your suggested alternatives). But what makes it so sharp (and challenging to experience) is its willingness to show us so much of the negative side of human nature: our greed, our willingness to abuse or take advantage of others, our tendency toward cruelty to and even hatred of those who are different from us. This is an emotionally wrenching film. If you didn't have a few moments of kindness and positivity now and then, I don't think you'd be able to watch it all the way through to the end. Thankfully, I did manage it. I don't think I will be able to watch The Elephant Man again for quite a while, but I'm grateful to have seen such an indictment of humanity coupled with a message about our capacity to love our fellow human beings.

Grand Hotel (1931-32)

Grand Hotel is one of the first all-star films, featuring lead performances from Greta Garbo, Joan Crawford, Wallace Beery, John Barrymore, and Lionel Barrymore. They all play guests at the Grand Hotel in Berlin, and their characters' lives keep connecting and disconnecting from each other throughout the movie. There are as many plot lines as there are main characters, yet each is relatively easy to follow. I suspect everyone who watches this film develops a particular fondness for one of the stories over the rest, and mine is certainly the one featuring John Barrymore.

John Barrymore never quite got the recognition for his acting ability that he deserved. His brother Lionel and his sister Ethel won Oscars for their film work, but John was never even nominated. Of all of the cast of Grand Hotel, I think his is the performance that most deserved recognition among this ensemble of actors. He plays a down-on-his-luck baron, a man who is so desperate for money that he stoops to some pretty reprehensible actions such as breaking and entering or even filching a wallet of money from a sick, dying friend. However, he's also a man with a conscience, the kind of guy who feels remorse and returns the wallet that he has stolen. He also doesn't go through with his theft of a pearl necklace from the great dancer played by Greta Garbo. Instead, he falls in love with her and "nurses" her back to happiness with his affections. I was more interested in what would happen to the Baron than any of the other characters in the film, and that's certainly a testament to Barrymore's talent. He was known for his profile, yet it's his face that I found to be his greatest asset. He's amazingly expressive.

The rest of the cast is good too. Garbo plays Grusinskaya, the dancer who has lost her love of performing because she has no love in her life. I like her best here after she falls in love with the Baron; there's a giddiness to her performance that's quite intoxicating. Beery plays a very hot-tempered industrialist who has to make one last deal or else he will face bankruptcy. He's his usual solid self (although I always tend to prefer him in more comedic parts). He’s also the one member of the cast trying to do a German accent; I’m not sure it works effectively, but kudos to him for trying. Crawford plays the secretary Beery hires to help keep records of the deal; of course, he falls in love with her and plans to take her with him to England for a clandestine relationship. Crawford is also very strong here, smart and very wise to the ways that things tend to operate. I once read a review of the film Chicago that described Catherine Zeta-Jones as being the kind of actress whose desperation to be a star was as visible on the screen as Joan Crawford's. It was an interesting comment, but in watching Grand Hotel, I can certainly see what the reviewer meant. Crawford attempts to make herself the most interesting person in any scene she's in, whether through her posture or her facial expressions or whatever other means she has available. She certainly has a hunger to be the center of attention.

The one performance I didn't particularly like is Lionel Barrymore's. He plays a dying clerk at Beery's company. He's come to Berlin to indulge himself; he wants to enjoy what little time he has left before he dies. Unfortunately, he seems to be playing to a theatrical audience rather than a film one; his performance is almost too big and broad for the screen to contain it. His brother John is much more subdued and, therefore, much more effective. Lionel's Kringelein is teeth-grindingly excessive at times. It is a pleasure to watch the two brothers when they are together, but such scenes only serve to underscore just how much better a film actor John was.

One of the minor characters, Dr. Otternschlag (played by the formidable Lewis Stone with half of his face scarred, a constant if subtle reminder of World War I), says of the Grand Hotel: "Always the same. People coming. People going. Nothing happens." Of course, we see a great deal happen during the course of the film, but perhaps because the end of the film so clearly mirrors the beginning, we're meant to see that no matter what happens, the hotel and Berlin and the rest of life continue on as if nothing ever happens. It's a pretty bleak outlook, frankly, particularly given how much time and attention have been given to the lives of these individuals.

Grand Hotel holds the dubious distinction of having been nominated in only the category of Outstanding Production and winning. No other aspect of the film – not its acting nor its production design nor its cinematography – was nominated. It’s certainly surprising that it won the big award with no other recognition.  The production design, in particular, is quite spectacular. There’s a circular desk in the lobby of the hotel, and it’s there that we meet each of the characters who will be the focus of the movie. The hotel and its room are all very Art Deco and beautiful. I’d also point to Garbo’s costumes as deserving of a nomination, but the category of Best Costume Design wasn’t a part of the ceremony yet.

The film’s camera work is also dazzling at times. We begin the film with an overhead shot of telephone operators at the hotel, setting up the idea that carries throughout the film that the hotel is very busy and lots of things are actually happening, despite what the doctor says. There are also shots from the floor where all of the major characters are staying that look down on the street and on the lobby. They are pretty spectacular views.

This movie is certainly entertaining and deserves credit for its ability to juggle the stars and their various storylines, but it isn't particularly challenging. I enjoyed it, certainly, but I can't imagine that there weren't other films that year that contributed more to the art of film. I suspect this is one of the examples of how the studios influenced voting very early in the history of the Academy Awards. Perhaps Louis B. Mayer felt it as MGM's turn to get a Best Picture Award, and he had an all-star cast to support him.

One last side note: Jean Hersholt plays one of the men behind the front desk of the hotel. His character has a wife in labor over several days, apparently one of the longest labors in the history of pregnancy. I had never seen, at least not knowingly, a performance by the man for whom the Academy's Humanitarian Award is named. He's good here, but perhaps he will and should be better remembered for his work creating the Motion Picture Relief Fund, which still provides assistance to retired members of the motion picture community. I'm going to try to keep an eye out for him from now on.

Oscar Win: Outstanding Production

There Will Be Blood (2007)

One of the nominees for Best Picture of 2007, There Will Be Blood ostensibly tells the story of the level of greed that was inspired by the discovery of oil in turn-of-the-last-century California. Its primary character is Daniel Plainview, a man whose desire to make as much money and acquire as much of the oil-rich land as possible overtakes almost every aspect of his life. The plot turns upon his growing obsessive nature, which is nicely compared and contrasted to that of a young minister who seemingly wants only to have his church grow as swiftly and exponentially as Daniel's wealth grows. This is a film about the single-minded ways that we go about achieving our goals, and it is also a commentary on the disastrous results of doing so.

This film was directed by Paul Thomas Anderson, and it's quite a revelation watching it once you know he's the director. This is nothing like Boogie Nights or Magnolia, both of which I really admired and enjoyed. They were very much in the same vein as Robert Altman's films, very episodic with interconnected characters and plot lines. Anderson has dedicated There Will Be Blood to Altman, yet it's not a film like the kind Altman would have ever made. Instead, this film follows a relatively straightforward chronological plot. There's one main character who is the focus throughout the action. There aren't the same quick cuts that you associate with either Anderson or Altman; scenes and shots sometimes play out very slowly. And rather than a lot of dialogue, particularly the kind that overlaps, There Will Be Blood is often a film about silence. The first 15 minutes, for example, are wordless. Yet you're still drawn in quite powerfully to what is happening as Plainview tries to rescue himself from a dangerous fall down a mine shaft.

Of course, at the center of this film is the performance by Daniel Day-Lewis as Plainview. It's one of the greatest performances I've seen in years. Day-Lewis has such commitment to the part and such intensity. He's truly frightening to watch at times, so deep into character has he gone. You can see all of his emotions, even when he's trying to mask them himself, and you can certainly see how his growing obsession with oil and the money that it brings can, quite literally, physically transform him. You can't quite turn away from him whenever he's on the screen, and that's almost every minute of this movie. A lesser actor could never be as commanding a presence in this role. The overall success of the film depends, I think, primarily upon how much we are invested in Day-Lewis's Plainview.

What's even more amazing about his work is that it so overshadows that of some of the other cast that you forget how, in some ways, they are completely wrong for the parts they have been given. Case in point: Paul Dano. As the Rev. Sunday, Dano gives just too weak a performance. He's meant to be akin to a faith healer at times, one of those charismatic ministers, but he can't quite muster the gravitas that the part dictates. He comes across more like a child who's playing "grown-up." I know Dano is a good actor; I thought he was one of the best things about Little Miss Sunshine. However, when you're in the same scene with the force of nature that is Daniel Day-Lewis, you need to be able to hold your own.

I do, however, want to point out one other performance that I think does stay with you after the film. Dillon Freasier plays H.W. Plainview, Daniel's "adopted" son. Much of Freasier's performance is silent, even before his character loses his hearing in a mining accident. Yet even without words, he manages to convey just how much he is absorbing from the events around him. He has some of the most expressive eyes I've seen since watching Whoopi Goldberg in The Color Purple years ago. Like her, Freasier can summon emotions through a simple look. It's quite amazing that such a young performer can leave almost as indelible mark as the lead actor.

Bound for Glory (1976)

Bound for Glory, nominated for Best Picture of 1976, tells the story of folk singer Woody Guthrie's travels from Texas to California and his subsequent adventures in the Golden State during the years of the Great Depression. Rather than follow the usual biopic formula of trying to cover as many highlights of a person's long life as possible, this movie instead chooses as its focus a seminal period in Guthrie's life. It was during the Depression that he began to encounter huge numbers of the impoverished in America, and those encounters really changed who he was as a person and what he wanted to accomplish with his music and his life. This film, much like the more recent The Motorcycle Diaries, shows the growth in consciousness of an activist, the motivations behind a famous man's later actions.

The look of the movie is what struck me (and probably everyone else) first. It's filmed in that sort of golden sepia tone that we tend to associated with photographs of the time period in which the movie is set. Either that, or it's the color of the dust that so surrounds the people in Texas (and other parts of the country as well). The cinematographer is the great Haskell Wexler, and it's a nice tribute to his accomplishment that he is the first contributor named in the opening credits. The shots of Guthrie's travels by train, in particular, are just spectacular, and the scenes in the migrant worker "camps" (especially those shot at night) are equally awe-inspiring. Wexler won a well-deserved Oscar for his work here.

David Carradine plays Guthrie, and his performance is a far cry from the work he did on the TV series Kung Fu. It must have been a risky choice to select Carradine for this part. Here he plays Guthrie as a very stoic fellow, quietly observing a great deal of what happens around him. You can still sense how much the harsh treatment of the migrant workers affects him and why he wants to become more political with his music, despite the attempts by his radio station bosses and the advertisers to get him to avoid being so overtly political on the air. It's a calm performance, and Carradine is very good here, just as good as he was in Kill Bill a couple of years ago.

I also liked the work of Melinda Dillon. She seemed to be the It Girl of the 1970s when they needed someone to play a female character who's emotionally fragile and always on the edge of a crisis or breakdown. She actually plays two roles in the film, Guthrie's wife Mary and his radio singing partner Memphis Sue, and she's good in both roles.

I have to mention the music also. Rather than use original recordings by Guthrie, the film includes vocal performances by Carradine and the others like Dillon and Ronny Cox. They all turn out to be quite strong singers; I was as pleasantly surprised listening to them as I was when Sissy Spacek sang in Coal Miner's Daughter rather than use Loretta Lynn's original recordings. The songs that are chosen to be included here do more to set a tone for the action than almost any movie I've seen before or since. Someone (anyone? please?) in Hollywood needs to watch this film to get a sense of how to select the right song for the right moment without being heavy-handed or ironic.

M*A*S*H (1970)

Nominated for Best Picture of 1970, M*A*S*H is perhaps best known nowadays for having spawned one of the most successful television series in history. I always loved the show and its dark sense of humor even in the days when the networks were still using laugh tracks to tell us when something was funny. The movie version is quite different, of course, particularly given that you don't have as much time to develop the characters the way that the show could. Still, it's an entertaining film, making some of the same trenchant observations on the craziness of wartime that the TV show did (but doing them first, of course).

Like most films directed by Robert Altman, this one has very little in the way of a plot. Two talented surgeons (Hawkeye, played by Donald Sutherland, and Duke, played by Tom Skerritt) are sent to work in a Korean War hospital, a Mobile Army Surgical Hospital, to be specific. Neither one is fond of following orders, a trait that Army officers tend to disapprove of. They are joined later by a gifted chest surgeon, Trapper John (Elliot Gould). Most of the movie is devoted to individual scenes of the attempts by these three men to maintain a sense of their own sanity through the use of humor. They manage to rid themselves of the religious hypocrite Major Frank Burns (Robert Duvall), they ridicule and embarrass Burns' accomplice (Hot Lips, played by Sally Kellerman), and they even squeeze in a bit of golf now and then. And the football game that serves as the focus of the second half of the film is a riot, with each side engaging in increasingly dirty tricks. Rather than follow a single thread of a plot throughout the movie, what Altman and his screenwriters choose instead is to have a series of incidents that reveal who these people are and how they feel, especially the strength of their emotions about the military and its attempts to bring democracy to places like Korea. The episodic nature of the movie does not diminish its comedic (or any other) impact in any way.

M*A*S*H is, of course, a commentary on war itself and the insanity that surrounds war. Although the film is set in Korea, everyone knows that it is really about Vietnam and how the military was completely out of its element fighting that war. None of the military leaders in the movie seem to have a clue what is going on; they are a collection of bumbling, incompetent fools. You'd have to turn such a movie into a comedy or you'd likely face the wrath of the Pentagon. And the humor here is pretty cynical and bleak at times. Watch the doctors try to help the camp dentist commit suicide, and try to keep from laughing as they create a tableau reminiscent of the Last Supper. (That he's trying to commit suicide because he now thinks he's gay since he can't get an erection is really quite the stupidest of premises, to be frank.)

The film opens in the same way as the television program always did, with helicopters bringing in wounded. Those helicopters show up a lot during the movie, and Altman never spares us from the blood spilled during wartime. Numerous scenes take place in the surgical unit, and there's much more of an emphasis on the casualties of battle than you might think. It's an interesting juxtaposition the film makes of the moments of laughter and the time healing wounds, but perhaps that's meant to explain why the surgeons in the camp need to have some of their sillier moments such as trying to determine if Hot Lips is a "true" blonde, leading to a shower scene that's almost as famous as the recreation of the Last Supper mentioned above.

Only Gary Burghoff, playing company clerk Radar O'Reilly, also starred in the television show. The rest of the cast were replaced even though their characters retain most of their traits from the film version. I know some people prefer the film version, and others really enjoy the television series more. To me, they're so very different from each other. A film has to capture your attention and quickly give you a sense of the characters, and M*A*S*H does just that. You get a sense of just how iconoclastic these doctors are and how out of place they are in the military structure. Television has the luxury of a slower pace, revealing bits and pieces of characters over time, and the series accomplishes that as well. I still think the film and television versions fit together nicely, and I'm glad that the quality of the movie inspired a quality TV show. We've certainly seen enough examples in recent years that the reverse is seldom true.

Airport (1970)

Airport, nominated for Best Picture of 1970, was one of the first (if not the first) of the disaster movies that became so popular in the 1970s (well, at least among my family and friends). I have seen it several times over the years, and I've always enjoyed watching it. It spawned some pretty awful sequels, but the original is still a good example of just how wrongheaded Hollywood has become these days. Airport isn't one of the greatest films ever made, certainly, but it manages to use what was then a big budget to tell a story that draws viewers into it rather than spend the money on special effects to wow the crowds.

As I was watching Airport this time, I began to notice that most of the film was spent developing the characters and their relationships with each other. It's almost 100 minutes into the film (which only runs about another 30 minutes anyway) before the actual disaster itself occurs. So rather than a prolonged special effects bonanza, which I believe is the way it would be filmed today, instead what you get is a film about how interrelated our lives often are. It isn't as if we viewers don't know what's going to happen on the flight--that's abundantly clear as soon as we meet our future bomber (played by Van Heflin) putting together his briefcase--it's just that the film isn't merely about the bomb itself. It's about the people whose lives are going to be and are affected by the mid-air explosion. The suspense is only heightened by the fact that we first learn about the passengers and crew who are on board.

Just as an example, take the case of Dean Martin and Jacqueline Bisset. He plays the captain for the flight, and she's the head stewardess (that's the lingo of the day, not flight attendant). They've been having an affair even though he's married (his wife is played by Barbara Hale of Perry Mason fame). She reveals to him that she's pregnant before the flight takes off, and he's forced to deal with his emotions while simultaneously trying to keep the passengers on the plane safe. Martin's Capt. Demerest is also brother-in-law to Burt Lancaster's airport manager, and the two of them repeatedly clash over airport policy. Early in the film, for example, they haggle over how to handle the snow-covered runways. Knowing all of these details influences the way we respond to later conversations between the two men after the bomb has exploded; needless to say, they exchange some tense words, but you still have a sense that they each want to achieve the same goal. It also makes us empathize with Martin's captain when he must see his lover after she's been seriously injured by the blast. And all it takes is one look from Hale as Martin exits the plane walking with the gurney carrying Bisset to let you know how she feels. No one in Hollywood seems to write characters of such depth these days, people you could get to know and care about before the explosions begin.

So many famous character actors have small parts in this film. It almost becomes a game of "Isn't that so-and-so?" Helen Hayes, of course, won an Oscar for Best Supporting Actress as a stowaway who always seems to manage to get her way; she is terrific here. But there's also the great Maureen Stapleton as the wife of the potential bomber and George Kennedy as the guy you call whenever there's trouble and Jean Seberg as the head of public relations for the airport. And that's only the beginning. Each of these characters has enough of a back story for you to become involved in what happens to them all.

A few years ago, when I was teaching a film class at my college, I showed The Poseidon Adventure, one of my all-time favorite films. The students loved it, a reaction I was not expecting. For contrast, I also showed one scene from the film Twister. I then compared it to the scene in The Poseidon Adventure when Ernest Borgnine's cop and Stella Stevens' former prostitute reveal how much they love each other and what they've endured together. The "similar" scene in Twister between Helen Hunt and Bill Paxton pales in comparison. Even the students could tell that from looking at just one scene. It seems that Hollywood, the big studios, at least, have lost their ability to tell stories like Airport or The Poseidon Adventure, where character is always more significant and important than special effects. Think of what we've lost as a result.

From Here to Eternity (1953)

Winner of the Oscar for Best Picture of 1953, From Here to Eternity depicts the lives of Army soldiers in Hawaii in the months before the attack on Pearl Harbor. This is an interesting examination of the roles of masculinity in the military, and I found Montgomery Clift's story as Private Robert E. Lee Prewitt to be particularly fascinating. Certainly, the scene on the beach with Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr making love has gotten much of the attention over the years--and perhaps rightly so, given how erotic it remains even now--but Clift's Prewitt is a man who refuses to follow everyone's expectations of what a soldier should or must be. He's a model of individualism and nonconformity, if it's not too much of an oxymoron to say that.

The film begins with Prewitt showing up to his new army base after being demoted and transferred from another unit. Almost immediately, he fails to fit in. Despite a reputation as a gifted boxer, he refuses to participate in the base's team, and the other soldiers set out to make him miserable until he relents and joins them. He's also a bugler, far more talented than any other who's had the position at the base. When he plays "Taps" in honor of one of his friends, it brings tears to all of the men in the company (whether they allow themselves to show the tears or not). And he falls in love with a "hostess" at a local club, a woman who has obviously taken the job for the money and who starts out with a intensely pragmatic sense of who and what she is. Of course, in 1953, the filmmakers had to make her a hostess, but any adult watching the movies knows that she's a prostitute. Yet Prewitt still loves her because he sees past all of the stereotypes associated with such women. Given all those narrative details, how could Clift not be the focus of the movie? How could he not command our attention?

Lancaster and Kerr's storyline is much more conventional. He's a sergeant who reports directly to her husband, the captain of the unit. Her husband, as you might expect, is frequently absent, leaving her alone and lonely, emotions she has felt before at other bases where her husband has been stationed. (Yes, that means she too has a reputation.) Lancaster slowly makes her fall in love with him just as he falls in love with her, and the chemistry between him and Kerr is strong. The scene where he shows up at her home in a rainstorm is almost as sexually charged as that moment on the beach that people are more familiar with. Throughout their scenes together, you can sense how much their characters yearn for each other's company, and you also sense the strain that the secrecy of their relationship has on them both. Both Lancaster and Kerr are good--they always were--and he's particularly adept at showing us a man who's figured out how to work the system of the army to his advantage.

Still, I'd rather watch Clift. His very presence in the movie calls into question what it means to be a man. He's capable of feats of strength, certainly, yet he also shows genuine affection and even tenderness for both his lover Alma (played by Donna Reed) and his friend Maggio (played by Frank Sinatra). That mixture of intelligence and sensitivity is what makes Clift such a compelling actor to watch. When he stares down the brute who's been abusing Maggio, you sense just how much strength is coiled in that body of his. And the endurance that he shows while undergoing "the treatment" by his fellow soldiers, his willingness to allow them to continue to abuse him, shows how much more of a man he is. It's a intriguing study of masculinity, as were many of the films that he appeared in. His performance alone is worth the time to watch From Here to Eternity.

The Yearling (1946)

The Yearling, a nominee for Best Picture of 1946, is one of the most beautifully shot films I've seen in a while. Set deep in the Florida Everglades, it's the story of a young boy named Jody Baxter who adopts an orphaned fawn as his pet. Much of the film tracks his and the fawn's growth into adulthood, and the highlights of the movie are those scenes shot in the wilderness of Florida as Jody and the fawn, eventually named Flag, romp and play. The cinematography of those moments is really quite spectacular, some gorgeous shots that make you want to see for yourself if such a place still exists.

The story begins with Gregory Peck, here giving his usual solid performance with just the slightest of grins every now and then, and Jane Wyman, playing his wife who's still grappling with the deaths of her other children, trying to raise their son with a sense of adventure and love of nature (from his father's side) and morality and responsibility (from his mother). Claude Jarman Jr. plays Jody with a real "aw shucks" sensibility. I'm sure his performance is lauded by many people, but I quickly found him to be quite irritating. It isn't that the approach to the role is wrong--Jody would naturally be naive given his isolation in the Everglades--it's just that Jarman is quite obviously untrained as an actor. Peck and Wyman, as expected, are consummate professionals, and there are even times when Peck's interaction with Jarman sparks some sense of realism, but given the miscasting of such a central role, the film overall doesn't work for me.

That's not to say that it isn't without some enjoyable moments. I particularly liked the visits to the Forresters; they're even more backwoods and backwards than the Baxters, and they're obviously there to provide some comic relief to the otherwise saccharine proceedings. Chill Wills as Buck Forrester is a particular delight. And I even enjoyed the scenes at the Forrester home with Jody and Fodderwing, the youngest Forrester, a boy who is destined to die before the film is over given his "unnatural" abilities to understand the strange ways of nature. He and Jody have a most intriguing conversation while up in a treehouse; watch the scene and see if you can determine who's the better actor, Jarman or Donn Gift as Fodderwing.

If you've seen Old Yeller (and what man of a certain age hasn't), you'll need to prepare yourself for a moment similar to the shooting of the dog in that later film. The resonance isn't quite as powerful in The Yearling, perhaps because Flag is a wild animal and not a domesticated pet like Old Yeller. Viewers naturally would have more empathy for a boy who has to shoot his own dog, given how many people have had a dog themselves while growing up. But when the deer continues to behave as an animal in the wild would do, you know there's truly only the one option left. The scenes that follow do, however, give Wyman an opportunity to show her strength as an actress. For the first time, she allows her character a chance to open her previously hardened heart to her only son, and it's a powerfully emotional moment in the film.

This is a family film, and certainly until the point in the film when Jody must face the fact that he has to destroy Flag, it's a film that even young children could enjoy. Adults, though they could certainly admire the scenery and perhaps the performances of the adults, will likely be somewhat underwhelmed by the focus on Jody and the acting of Claude Jarman Jr. for much of the movie. It's just perhaps a bit too corny and old-fashioned for grown-ups nowadays (although I suspect it was too corny and old-fashioned for real adults back in 1946 as well).