Elizabeth (1998)

Having the opportunity to re-evaluate a film can be worthwhile. I saw Elizabeth, one of the nominees for Best Picture of 1998, in the theater when it was first released. At the time, I thought it less impressive than another film set during the Elizabeth Age and co-starring Joseph Fiennes, Shakespeare in Love, which would eventually win the Oscar that year. Now that I've watched the film again, though, I realize just how fine an achievement it is. I know that, as a period drama, the costumes and sets will be detailed and immaculately reproduced, and they are, but what is even more intriguing is the performance of Cate Blanchett as the so-called "Virgin Queen" and the story about how she grew to become one of England's greatest monarchs.

The film begins in 1554 during the reign of Queen Mary, a Catholic who fears that when she dies, her younger half-sister Elizabeth will assume the throne. Elizabeth is, you see, a Protestant, and Mary fears reprisals for her people. She should have good reason to fear, given how brutally she and her court have punished Protestants during her reign. In fact, one of the earliest scenes shows three Protestants being burned at the stake. It's a particularly brutal scene, and we are not spared much in its depiction on screen. That sense of brutality continues throughout the movie, with various scenes showing us those who have been slaughtered in battle or the pain inflicted upon a young lady-in-waiting who unknowing dons a poisoned dress. Yes, you read that right.

Upon Mary's death, a young Elizabeth must quickly learn what is expected of her. The film raises a lot of the questions that surrounded her reign. There was a feeling at the time that a woman, particularly one who had not yet married, was not truly fit to be the ruler of an empire like England's. Even Elizabeth herself is filled with doubts at times. She is surrounded by people who were loyal to her sister, and there is so much pressure to wed and give birth to a boy who can assume the mantle of power. It had to have been quite overwhelming, and Blanchett allows us momentary flashes of the pain that Elizabeth feels when she has yet another difficult decision to make.

It's the various behind-the-scenes intrigues that make up the bulk of the plot. Elizabeth hires Geoffrey Rush's Sir Francis Walsingham, a brutal man capable of killing or having killed anyone who opposes his queen. In fact, the first scene with Walsingham shows him cutting the throat of a young boy who had attempted to kill him. Rush's Walsingham helps Elizabeth fend off attempts by Mary, Queen of Scots, and the Duke of Norfolk (an intense Christopher Eccleston), among others, to lay claim to the throne. I won't comment upon the fact that Walsingham seems to be surrounded by handsome young men throughout the movie. Let's just say that the often-married Walsingham has no wife apparent throughout the narrative. We're meant to focus instead upon his use of spying and espionage to achieve his goals, but the nebulous nature of his sexuality is always in the background almost every time Rush's character is on the screen.

At its heart, Elizabeth is a romantic film as well. The first time we see Elizabeth, she is dancing joyously in a field. Her lover, Robert Dudley, the Earl of Leicester (Fiennes), applauds her. You can see just how much affection they feel for each other. Of course, Dudley is already married and is, therefore, unsuitable as as potential husband. Nevertheless, Elizabeth cannot truly bear to banish him from her court even after he is implicated in a plot against her. She half-heartedly plays along with the attempts to wed her to various men, including the nephew of Mary of Guise (the exquisite Fanny Ardant). However, the Duc d'Anjou (played by Vincent Cassel) seems to prefer the company of men and the clothing of women, facts revealed by Elizabeth to almost everyone at court. It is Dudley whom Elizabeth truly loves, and she does her best to seek out ways to reject the potential suitors who are brought to her.

There are several highlights for me in Elizabeth. I enjoyed the flirtatious way with which Blanchett's queen convinces the nobles and clergy to support the Act of Uniformity, which established a single church for England and a single prayer book. It's a masterful job of acting, with Blanchett coy at one moment and strong-willed at another. She even manages to make a joke or two at the expense of the unmarried clergymen in the audience without, apparently, offending them. I also enjoyed the subplot involving the Pope's attempts to have Elizabeth assassinated. It helps that the Pope is played by John Gielgud, and the assassin is none other than Daniel Craig. Gielgud was always a fascinating actor to watch, and I enjoyed seeing Craig in this early movie role. He displays some of the same brashness he would later bring to the Bond films, and there's even a torture scene that the makers of Casino Royale seem to have copied.

I remember when I first saw this film that I was annoyed by the direction by Shekhar Kapur. He keeps placing barriers between us and the action. There are always pillars or walls or sheer fabric that obstruct our view. I thought perhaps he had an inept cinematographer, but this time I realized that we are seeing these moments the way that someone eavesdropping would have. We become complicit in the palace intrigue by seeming to skulk around behind Elizabeth. She even notes at one point that there is no privacy for a queen like herself, and there's no better example of that than the night she takes Dudley to bed and her ladies-in-waiting watch the two of them make love. We, too, invade the queen's privacy, and the film allows us periodically to see what that is like.

I would like to compliment the costume design and set design for Elizabeth. They are both exquisite. This is a rich, lush film in many ways. The coronation scene, in particular, is a marvel. It's lit almost like a Vermeer painting come to life, so beautiful are all of the elements on screen at the time. I have watched quite a few costume dramas (or period pieces or whatever) for this project, but Elizabeth is one of the few that truly stands out for the work its makers have done in recreating a time period and a look.

The greatest praise, though, should be reserved for the star. Blanchett was nominated for Best Actress and deservedly so. She lost to Gwyneth Paltrow in Shakespeare in Love because, well, that movie was a bit more light-hearted and fun-filled and romantic. And the Academy was incredibly susceptible then to influence by the Weinsteins, who were the producers of Paltrow's film. Yet Blanchett's Elizabeth is a remarkable achievement, one that is likely to be more lasting and one she continued almost a decade later in Elizabeth: The Golden Age. I'd like to see her return to the role every few years, giving us a history of Elizabeth as she aged. It was a long reign after all.

Oscar Win: Makeup

Other Oscar Nominations: Picture, Actress (Blanchett), Art Direction, Cinematography, Costume Design, and Original Dramatic Score

Henry V (1946)

I will readily confess that the so-called history plays are not my favorites among the works of William Shakespeare. I'd much rather see a tragedy (King Lear or Macbeth, perhaps) or a comedy (A Midsummer Night's Dream) than to try to decipher the political and historical context of a history play like Henry V, the film version of which was nominated for Best Picture of 1946. I will also admit that, even after watching the movie, I'm still not entirely sure what all was going on. I didn't drag my copy of the Riverside Shakespeare out to give myself some background knowledge. I watched the movie hoping I could follow along. That I couldn't is less the fault of director-producer-star Laurence Olivier than my own failings as a Shakespearean scholar.

Having said that, I found several elements of this film to be fascinating to watch, regardless of whether or not I could understand what the performers were discussing. I love that the first third or so of the movie is played as if we are witnessing a production of the play in 1600 at the Globe in London where many of Shakespeare's plays were first produced. There's even a flier that drifts down from the heavens to announce the production. We are at various times in the audience or on stage or even backstage as the performance unfolds, and I think Olivier has chosen a most intriguing way to call attention to the dramatic qualities of Henry V. I wish the film could have maintained that vision throughout, but it does shift to become more like a traditional film in order to show us the battle sequences. Those are staged with actual horses and lots of land rather than whatever gimmicks the stage might have allowed.

Olivier's genius is in showing us some of the smaller aspects of stage production. For example, before he makes his entrance as the title character, he coughs to clear his throat and then he puts on his "actor face" to walk on stage and wow the audience. In fact, we get to see the audience's reaction to him as if we are watching from the wings or backstage. There are also a couple of goof-ups with two actors in the roles of an archbishop and his assistant, letting us acknowledge that not every performance in a play is always top-notch. I even enjoyed the interruptions by the audience, the members of which applaud loudly at times, and the sudden rainstorm that forces many people in the standing room only section to leave the theater. Many of the difficulties an open-air production might face are here.

I know that most of the film is about the attempts by King Henry V to conquer France and claim what he considers to be his rightful title as heir to its throne. I suppose my studies of English history should supply a ready answer for why he thought he was also the king of France, but frankly, that was too long ago and I couldn't follow the dialogue here to ascertain it either. We viewers do have the sense that some in France will be happy to see him succeed while others are more resistant. Many of the English soldiers who fight for Henry are also torn. Some think they are wasting their time in France, but others are intensely loyal to the king and his cause. Olivier, who was always credited with being the greatest of stage actors, delivers some rousing speeches here. Some of them are rightfully well known for their lyricism: "Once more into the breach," for example. I have always enjoyed seeing performers tackle the so-called St. Crispin's day speech--"we few, we happy few, we band of brothers"--and Olivier's rendition of it is the best I have ever seen.


The staging of the historically significant Battle of Agincourt is likewise impressive. After the perfunctory "negotiations"--really just some chest-thumping in which "civil" warriors of the time liked to engage--the French begin a charge against a vastly outnumbered English. However, the English are prepared. They are, for example, using longbows instead of crossbows, and the swish of those arrows in the air can make your blood run cold knowing how destructive they will be. And I loved the moment when the English leap from the trees to attack the French soldiers. The element of surprise certainly works in your favor when you're seemingly overwhelmed by superior forces.

As is somewhat typical in the history plays (or most drama from that time period, to be honest), women play only minor roles here. The Queen of France (played by Janet Burell) gets a few lines to demonstrate her sharp tongue, but much of the women's dialogue is left to Princess Katherine (Renee Asherson) and her lady-in-waiting (Freda Jackson). Their attempts to learn English are particularly delightful, but at the end, Katherine is merely expected to marry Henry and unite the two countries and be happy. Not exactly a challenging role for an actress, is it? I almost hoped that Olivier would have maintained the Elizabethan tradition of having men playing the female characters. That would have made for an intriguing film in 1946.

Actually, the film was completed in 1944 in England before the end of World War II. Many have claimed that Olivier's version of Henry V was an inspiration to the English people fighting against the Germans. The Battle of Agincourt is one of the greatest English victories in history, so what better way to get the people of England to have an optimistic attitude than with a return to an earlier victory which occurred despite what seemed like overwhelming odds? I would imagine that the St. Crispin's Day speech spurred on many an Englishman and woman. By the way, the film was nominated for Best Picture of 1946 because that's when it was released in the United States. Never let it be said that the Academy can't be parochial. ("It doesn't count until it plays in Los Angeles," or something like that, seems to be the mentality.)

Norma Rae (1979)

Sometimes, the reputation of a film is based upon the strength of a single powerful performance. A great actor or actress can lift a seemingly ordinary film to a realm where it is considered strong enough to vie for the Oscar for Best Picture. Such is the case with 1979's Norma Rae, which features an iconic performance in the title role by Sally Field. So good is Field as a single mother who gets involved in attempts to unionize the workers at the textile factory where she works that what might be considered a merely good film is now considered a classic of the late 1970s, one of the greatest decades for American movie-making.

I hope that first paragraph doesn't sound like too much of a criticism because I admire the work that director Martin Ritt has done here. Norma Rae has its heart in the right place, certainly, and I agree with its politics. I just think that much of the film's reputation falls squarely on the small shoulders of Field, who was making quite a leap by taking on this part. It's a gutsy performance, anchored by the scene with which everyone is familiar. Oh, you know the one I mean. Norma Rae walks through the factory, having been fired by the factory bosses, and holds up a sign with the word "Union" scribbled on it. Even if you haven't watched the entire movie, you've seen that scene.

Yet focusing on that scene alone undermines the powerful acting job Field pulls off here. At the film's beginning, there's only a hint of the union activist she will become later. Norma Rae lives in the same small town in which she grew up. She works beside her mother at the textile factory, and her father is in another part of the building doing his job. It's her mother's temporary loss of hearing (from the noise of the machines running all day) that prompts the first outburst in the movie about the need to do better by the workers. Contrast that moment, though, with what follows. Norma Rae goes to a local motel to meet a married man who comes to town regularly. She's bored with him--she's bored with her life, really--and she wants to break it off. After he hits her so hard that her nose starts to bleed, Norma Rae meets Ron Liebman's Reuben at the same motel. He's in town to organize the workers at the plant, and he's everything a Southerner would be suspicious of: Jewish, New Yorker, union sympathizer, abrasive, you name it. It takes a good actress to allow us to see how complex a woman like Norma Rae is, someone who could look past her mundane life to be intrigued by what Reuben plans to achieve in her hometown.

The factory bosses, in an attempt to silence Norma Rae, give her a supervisory job with additional pay. She doesn't like having to "spy" on her co-workers, but the money could help with her family's expenses. However, Norma Rae is never one to give in too easily, and after several clashes with the bosses over what she considers horrible working conditions and too much resentment on the part of her colleagues, she goes back to her old job. Her activism on behalf of the workers isn't over, though, and she begins attending and organizing meetings of the workers outside of the factory to discuss the possibility of forming a union. She also begins helping Reuben by passing out fliers as the workers enter the factory each day. There is, of course, resistance from many people in town, but Norma Rae and Reuben, as unlikely a team as you could expect, slowly gain support and earn the right for the workers to take a vote on unionization.

There's a lovely romantic subplot involving Beau Bridges (who remembers him being this cute?), a fellow factory worker with a daughter of his own. Norma Rae has two children, each by a different father, so she doesn't think of herself as marriage material. Yet Bridges' Sonny Webster is remarkably persistent, and the film shows us the happiness the newlyweds experience as well as the difficulties they face in the depressed economy of their town. Even when the inevitable rumors begin that Norma Rae has been having an affair with Reuben--and, to be fair, she is certainly intrigued by him, perhaps sexually excited by him--she remains loyal to Sonny.

As a study of small town labor organizing, Norma Rae pays careful attention to details. Although not as graphic as later films would be, this movie does show the beatings that union sympathizers had to endure. And there are even attempts by the factory bosses to incite racism among the white workers by claiming that the black workers plan to take over if a union is organized at the factory. Even the police seem to be on the side of the factory bosses. When Norma is arrested, they carry her to jail and charge her with disorderly conduct. Field certainly ought to earn your respect for her acting in that scene. Four men have an awfully difficult time getting her inside a police car.

The supporting cast, including Liebman and Bridges, is also uniformly good. The great character actor Pat Hingle plays Norma's father, and all of the performers who play factory workers let their faces show the way that such work slowly causes one's self-esteem, one's sense of self-worth, to disintegrate. All of them look "real," as if they truly worked in a factory. No Hollywood beauties or leading men among the supporting cast, thankfully.

If I have any problem with this film, it has to be the theme song. The title is "It Goes Like It Goes," and it won the Oscar for Best Song that year. I still can't quite believe it. It's not as if it faced stiff competition or anything (although I do like "Through the Eyes of Love" from Ice Castles and "The Rainbow Connection" from The Muppet Movie well enough that I wouldn't have been offended by a win for either of them). The best and most popular song from the movies that year, the title song to The Main Event, wasn't even nominated, so the voters went with this Norma Rae ditty. I know it's sung well by Jennifer Warnes, whose music I tend to like. It's just an inconsequential song that tends to repeat a cliche too many times. A movie as good as Norma Rae deserves better than that, and the Academy voters should have known better too.

Gaslight (1944)

They don't make films like Gaslight, nominated for Best Picture of 1944, anymore, and frankly, today's film-makers should just stop trying. You'll likely never be able to create a sense of tension as effectively as director George Cukor and his talented cast did with this film. I'd like to call this the best Alfred Hitchcock film that Hitchcock didn't make, but I have a feeling that would offend some of my friends who, like me, are huge fans of the master of suspense. What you have instead is a beautifully filmed, well-acted thriller set in Victorian England (with all of its requisite fog).

Ingrid Bergman plays Paula Alquist, a young woman who moves to Italy after the mysterious murder of her aunt, a famous opera singer. While in Italy, Paula tries her own hand at singing opera, but recognizing that she is not as talented as her aunt, she decides not to pursue a career in music. She herself is instead pursued by the accompanist who plays the piano at her singing lessons, Gregory Anton. I guess when you have Charles Boyer chasing after you, you don't tend to say no, and it's only a matter of time before the two of them are married at Lake Cuomo and planning her return to England.

Gregory wants to take Paula home to London to live in her aunt's house in Thornton Square; we don't understand until much later why he's so adamant about taking her back to a place where she has experienced such pain. The house at #9 has been sitting vacant for the ten years that have elapsed since her aunt's murder, and walking back into the home clearly makes Paula nervous. She masks her fears by trying to show Gregory some of the more intriguing mementos there, including a remarkable portrait of her aunt in the role of Empress Theodora and the contents of a curio cabinet filled with items she had collected, including a signed glove. Claiming that the items would upset her, Gregory moves a great deal of the furnishings to the attic and locks them away from Paula.

Before long, things begin to take an even stranger turn. Gregory is prone to irrational moments, such as when he grabs a letter from her hand before she can read it too carefully. He also keeps telling her that she's forgetful and is prone to losing things. So paranoid does he make her that Paula never wants to go out of the house. We start to realize that Gregory is deliberately trying to drive his wife mad, particularly after we see him hide his watch in her purse. She's had a series of incidents where objects appear in places where they are not supposed to be, and she's begun to question her sanity.

Joseph Cotton, who is regularly appearing on this blog thanks to his prolific career, plays a Scotland Yard inspector who's trying to locate some missing jewels that were given to Alice Alquist, Paula's aunt, by a European monarch. It's considered a dead case (so to speak) by everyone else, but he befriends Nancy, the new housemaid that Gregory has hired, in order to find out what she might know about the goings-on at Thornton Square. Nancy is played with delicious glee by a very young Angela Lansbury. She's a hoot to watch, particularly when she's blatantly flirting with the master of the house (who flirts right back). You begin to feel that Nancy might know a lot more than she's willing to let on.

The climax is really too intriguing to spoil. I'm sure you've probably seen the image of Bergman holding a knife over Boyer, who's tied to a chair. How he gets that way and what she does to him are just a bit too much fun for me to ruin for you. I know that had someone like Hitchcock made this film, it would have had a few more surprises than Cukor and the three screenwriters are able and/or interested in pulling off, but I do think the ending is completely satisfying.

All of the performers are top-notch. Bergman won the Oscar that year for Best Actress, and she's so good here at depicting Paula's mixed emotions. Boyer is her acting equal, though, managing to be charming at times and intensely cruel at others. He lost to Bing Crosby playing a priest in Going My Way, and frankly, I don't see how the Academy could even compare the two roles given the range that Boyer manages to convey. I have already mentioned Lansbury and Cotton, but I'd like to add the great Dame May Whitty as a nosy neighbor to the list of solid performances here. Whitty provides many of the comic moments of the film, and it's a pleasure to watch her in the few scenes she gets. She and the rest of the cast make Gaslight a film worth seeing and enjoying.

The Sand Pebbles (1966)

The Sand Pebbles, a nominee for Best Picture of 1966, is an earnest film that attempts to depict a little-known episode in the relationship between the United States and China. The film is set in 1926 and depicts a series of incidents involving a U.S. gunboat named the San Pablo (with the nickname of the Sand Pebble). At the time, China was being overtaken with nationalist fervor by those who wanted all foreign influences removed from the country. And perhaps you'll remember from your World History class that this was also the time period that saw the Communist movement begin take hold in China. That's a lot of background information for one movie to hold, but The Sand Pebbles does an admirable job of providing enough details to give a viewer a sense of the history being rendered.

The movie begins with the arrival of Steve McQueen's Jake Holman on board the San Pablo. He's been transferred to this run-down ship because he's amassed quite a track record of fighting with his superiors. Holman is one of those men who knows how things are supposed to be done--he, of course, has a strong moral compass to tell him--and when others don't see things his way, he tends to respond with his fist rather than with logic. McQueen is very good here, but this role is different from those cool-guy types he was more accustomed to playing (see The Thomas Crown Affair for the most obvious and maybe the best example). He earned his only Oscar nomination for Best Actor for the role, and I think it has something to do with the subdued nature of his performance. He doesn't appear to be "acting" the part. It seems he's just "being" Jake instead. He's an observer more than a participant at times, but eventually, Holman can only stand by for so long without taking action.

The film follows the travels of the San Pablo as it patrols the Yangtze River and its tributaries. A substantial portion of the film takes place on board, of course, especially in the rooms where the men must come into contact with each other. Needless to say, perhaps, Holman quickly sets himself apart from the other men. He doesn't like having the Chinese workers on board deciding how to run "his" engine. However, after an accident involving the replacement of some bearings results in the gruesome death of the previous Chinese engine room leader, Holman is forced to choose another one to help him run the engine room. There are numerous clashes between Holman and the other members of the crew, though, not just over the tension between the Americans and the Chinese. It is Steve McQueen after all, and a bit of his rebelliousness needs to be evident in the film.

The great Japanese actor Mako plays Holman's new go-to guy, and it's a treat to watch the interaction between the two of them. You'd expect Holman to be resistant to working with Mako's Po-han, but it isn't long before Holman begrudgingly accepts Po-han's help and his friendship. He even stops using the derogatory terms for the Chinese thanks to his relationship with Po-han. Mako deservedly received a nomination for Best Supporting Actor for his work here. It must have been a demanding role for him, especially since his character gets involved in a brutal bar fight with one of the white crew members over some false accusations and then he gets caught by the Chinese and tortured in front of the men on the San Pablo, but Mako always lets you empathize with him and his good-natured ways. He was a fine actor who always managed to attract your attention no matter what role he played.

This isn't really an action movie in the traditional sense, to be honest, but there are some good action sequences. The most effective one involves an attempt by the San Pablo crew to penetrate a row of Chinese boats that are linked together. You see, the crew wants to rescue some missionaries at the Chinese Light (hey, I didn't name it), and the boat has to get through this obstacle the Chinese have created. That sequence is soon followed by a shoot-out at the mission between the Americans and the Chinese. These moments of action are rather thrillingly depicted, and they certainly stand out in what is really a rather slow-paced film overall.

I've neglected to mention that there's a bit of a romantic subplot involving Holman and one of the missionaries, Miss Eckert, played by Candice Bergen. To me, it's silly to put a love story in the middle of a movie about conflicts between the U.S. and China in 1926, but I suppose Hollywood must live up to its cliches. Bergen, despite having a reputation for being one of the worst actresses in the movies when she began her career, acquits herself here in what was only her second film role. There's no real physical contact between Holman and Miss Eckert. She is a missionary, after all, but there's an obvious attraction between them.

I've tried to avoid discussing the other romantic subplot involving Richard Attenborough's Frenchy and a Chinese woman named Maily (Marayat Andriane, later known as Emmanuelle Arsan). I know the film is attempting to make a point about the possibility of better relations between the East and the West through this romance, but it's pretty hackneyed stuff. Consider this: Maily is first shown as a novice bar girl over whom the crew members fight. Given that she's a virgin, there's a premium for the privilege of her...um..."attention." However, she's really the bar girl with a heart of gold since what she really wants is a good man like Frenchy to love. If that sounds silly, it's because it is. The filmmakers could have cut all of the sequences involving these two characters, and the movie wouldn't have suffered.

The Sand Pebbles attempts to show how the Americans reacted to Chinese opposition to their presence, but it does a poor job of showing the Chinese perspective. I suppose that's understandable given that the book on which the film was based is written from an American perspective as well, but the relentless stereotyping of the Chinese people and the name-calling tired me out after a while. Everyone who shoots at the boat, for example, is a "bandit." Not someone trying to preserve his country's Independence or cultural identity--no, he's a bandit. I suspect the Chinese members of the audience for this film in 1966 must have cheered when Mako's Po-han beats up the white crew member, but then soon afterward they must have wept to see him so brutally treated by his own people. And I won't even mention the fact that the film has a Japanese man and a Thai woman playing Chinese characters. That trend has stayed consistent to today; witness the discussions that took place over Memoirs of a Geisha if you want evidence.

There's still much to admire about this film. The performances are uniformly good, and I haven't even mentioned the consistently reliable Richard Crenna as the ship's captain. The score is lush and beautiful, as is the cinematography. The shots of the river, in particular, are quite breath-taking at times. I think my favorite of those images starts the film, when a so-called Chinese junket dwarfs the American gun boat; perhaps, the film-makers were trying to tell us something with that opening shot. I earlier used the word "earnest" to describe this film, and I think I'd have to stick with that. Earnestness is a trait too often missing from today's movies, so I won't (and can't) fault The Sand Pebbles for having it.

A Tale of Two Cities (1936)

Being a huge fan of Charles Dickens, I have, of course, read A Tale of Two Cities. I've even taught it a couple of times in English literature classes. However, I had never seen this particular film adaptation before. It was produced during that mid-1930s era of big-budget literary adaptations, many of them (like this one) produced by David O. Selznick. Naturally, taking a Dickens novel and trimming it down to about two hours of screen time means leaving out a lot of the action of the book, but this film's makers have managed to retain much of the spirit of the source material. It's an enjoyable version of Dickens' book on the different ways that London and Paris responded to the French Revolution although the movie spends more of its time in France rather than England. That was, after all, where the more interesting action was taking place.

The plot may likely be familiar to many of you, but here is a brief overview. The film begins with Lucie Manette (the charming Elizabeth Allan, who is marvelously lit here to enhance her beauty) returning to France to be reunited with her father, who has been imprisoned in the Bastille for eighteen years and is now a free man but a bit disoriented and helpless. The revolution, at least in terms of the strong feelings against the aristocracy, has already begun in Paris, and events such as the accidental death of a child who is hit by the carriage of the Marquis St. Everymonde (Basil Rathbone, later to be best known for his portrayal of Sherlock Holmes) only add to the growing distaste for the rule by the wealthy, the members of which seem increasingly out of touch with the reality of everyday life.

The Marquis' nephew, played by the always reliable Donald Woods, changes his name to Charles Darnay and tries to distance himself from his uncle's way of life. The uncle had already disowned Charles because of their differences of opinion about the poor in France and had even planned to have his nephew arrested. Charles falls in love with Lucie, but before the story can have a happy ending, Charles is hauled into court on suspicion of having incriminating British documents. He has Ronald Coleman's Sydney Carton as his attorney, and even though his character seems to be drunk for most of the picture, Coleman manages to find the heart at the center of his world-weary lawyer. It's particularly touching to see how much he feeds his unrequited love for Lucie into his defense of Darnay. He even seems, at times, to be reformed from his drinking thanks to his contact with her.

The greatest character in the novel—in the dramatic sense—is, of course, Madame DeFarge. So cunning and manipulative is the character, and so filled with hatred for the indignities she and her family have suffered, that you expect an actress in the part to chew more than a little of the scenery. The film makers cast the little-known stage actress Blanche Yurka in the role, and she is the most compelling aspect of the movie, in my opinion. Always thinking of how an action might benefit her, Yurka's Madame DeFarge gets to shine, in particular, during her courtroom testimony against Darnay. It's one of the few times she puts down her knitting, but Yurka makes the moment one of the most engrossing in the movie. She's meant to be the great villain of the movie, which she most certainly is, but you also understand just how much pain she has suffered. A lesser actress than Yurka might have faltered, but this performance is quite assured.

I also have to mention the great Edna May Oliver. She plays Lucie's companion, Miss Pross. Oliver was like an earlier version of Thelma Ritter. You always knew you were in for a treat when she appeared on screen, which she did regularly in small supporting roles. The Academy had just created the categories for Best Supporting Actress and Actor in 1936, but sadly, its members did not select Oliver to be in the inaugural group. That's too bad because she deserves recognition at least for the scene in which she single-handedly takes care of Madame DeFarge. She also knows how to deliver a zinger for maximum effect.

The film has numerous moments meant to show the gap between the wealthy citizens of Paris and the impoverished regular people. One moment occurs when a cask of wine falls into the street and bursts open, and people begin drinking from the broken bits in the street. Another scene has the poor swiping food that had been meant for the dogs of the wealthy, so hungry are they. This is all meant as a backdrop to the French Revolution, of course, an event that seems to have horrified Dickens himself, given the severity with which he portrays the members of the revolution. For example, Madame DeFarge's desire to see Lucie Manette (now Darnay) and her child killed in order to exact even more retribution for her family's past mistreatment is meant to show just how blinded many people became to the depths of their bloodlust.

Throughout the second half of the film, the image of the guillotine keeps reappearing. Many of the revolutionaries even take to wearing necklaces with small versions of the execution device. If you've read the novel, you know how prominently the guillotine figures in the climax of the narrative. The film is faithful to the novel's version of events, for the most part, allowing a sympathetic character to make an overwhelmingly generous sacrifice on behalf of a loved one. The way the climactic scene is shot, with its mix of shadows and light, is quite stunning, an almost perfect example of classical Hollywood cinematography.

The highlights of the film are the scenes that start the revolution, particularly the storming of the Bastille. The filmmakers were able to manage large numbers of extras to make this sequence believable and frightening. We get a series of closeups of the faces of the poor involved in the fighting, and it’s a relief to them when the troops show up and actually begin firing on the Bastille. Naturally, such moments get undercut later when innocent people with no real links to the aristocracy become victims of the fanaticism of the revolution. The central example is a young seamstress who knew someone wealthy but, of course, was certainly not a member of the elite herself. Her scenes with Colman’s Carton just before her execution are among the most touching in the film.

Interestingly, A Tale of Two Cities was actually released in 1935, but it was nominated for Best Picture of 1936. Maybe its December 25 release date made it eligible for the later year. I don't think the film would have won in 1935 either, a year that was filled with other literary adaptations like David Copperfield and Les Miserables and A Midsummer Night's Dream. The eventual winner for 1936 was The Great Ziegfeld, another big-budget film but with musical sequences (and released by the same studio, MGM). Adaptations of Dickens novels have been nominated several times for Best Picture over the years but have never won. Now they seem to be relegated to occasional BBC miniseries productions with airings on PBS.

Oscar Nominations: Outstanding Production and Best Film Editing

Doctor Zhivago (1965)

Doctor Zhivago, a nominee for the Best Picture of 1965, is a typical David Lean film in many ways. It presents the best in cinematography and art direction and costume design; it must have cost a fortune to make, and it looks like it did. It has a huge cast of characters who fill large expanses of space. It's primarily a romantic story threaded throughout a historical narrative. In other words, it's a big movie. Lean tended to specialize in such films, and he was frequently successful at bringing them to the screen with a great deal of style. Doctor Zhivago certainly qualifies as an example of his talent as a filmmaker. I just wish it moved at a somewhat quicker pace and had a bit more heart at its core.

The title character of Doctor Zhivago is played by Omar Sharif. It must have taken guts to have an Egyptian play a Russian doctor, but we moviegoers have always been willing to accept Hollywood's strange casting rules (e.g., Rita Moreno in many of the early roles of her career). Zhivago is an intriguing man. He's a medical student who also writes poetry. He even gains a measure of fame before the Marxists assume control of Russia. People like the lyricism and beauty of his poetry. All of that will change, of course, when men like Lenin and Trotsky assume power. By then, Zhivago's poetry will seem too self-centered and sentimental, at least by those in power.

Zhivago marries his childhood sweetheart, Tonya (played by Geraldine Fitzgerald), but he has been intrigued by Lara (the angelic looking Julie Christie) from the first time he saw her. And he gets several opportunities to see her before they begin their relationship with each other. Much of the film is really about how torn his emotions are between the women. Tonya is the stable choice, certainly. He's known her all his life. She's a devoted mother, and she has tried to keep her parents safe and by her side during the Bolshevik Revolution and all of its changes to the day-to-day life of the Russian people. It's perhaps a somewhat traditional way of life that she represents that seems to bore Zhivago.

Lara, especially as portrayed by Christie, offers a far more alluring romantic partner. He keeps crossing paths with her, and he begins to see the various entanglements with men with which she is struggling. For example, Rod Steiger plays Victor Komarovsky, Lara's lover who refuses to leave her when she falls in love with a younger radical, Pasha (Tom Courtenay). So Lara shoots Victor at a Christmas Eve party in full view of the other guests. The doctor has to take care of Komarovsky, who claims to give Zhivago Lara as a "wedding present." She instead leaves with Pasha and becomes involved in the revolution.

There's actually quite a bit about the revolution itself in the film, and I suppose it's good that Lean and his team have attempted to place this love story within a historically accurate framework. Yet it does make the film drag on. At times, I thought the movie was going to last longer than the actual revolution did. We even get to see battles between the Communists and the Tsarists over control of various parts of the country, all of which tends to distract us from the romantic plot. It's tough to think about romance when you're witnessing the burning of entire towns.

Zhivago and Lara meet again and start to work together, she acting as his nurse. There are the usual separations that come with romantic films (although being commandeered to work for the Red Army is, no doubt, an unusual twist), but eventually, he and Tonya move close enough to where Lara lives that he can begins an affair, one which his wife seems to acknowledge. There's one scene of him in bed with Lara at her home followed by him in bed with Tonya in their cottage that is meant to demonstrate just how difficult and frustrating the situation is for Zhivago. We follow Sharif's character throughout all of these difficulties, getting quite a full picture of this man's life.

I could mention a point that has been discussed elsewhere: how Zhivago begins to favor the blonde, fair Lara over his darker-haired wife. In the midst of the civil rights movement of the 1960s, I suppose you could make something of that choice (and the difficulties that he faces in making that choice). Certainly, his obligations to his wife seem like such obstacles to his relationship with the lighter-haired Lara, and the film certainly makes the issue of his making the right choice between these women into one of its major themes. Yes, I'm fully aware that this film isn't about race, but it's a film about a revolution that was made and released while there was another revolution going on in the United States. There must have been some resonance there for people of the time.

I wish I could say that I loved this film. The performances are good--how could they not be with such a strong cast?--and it is a very beautiful film, like watching a series of lovely postcards from Russia. And I do admire Lean as a director so much. One of my favorite of his films is Passage to India, and I have repeatedly stated that Lawrence of Arabia is perhaps the best film ever made. Yet Doctor Zhivago leaves me somewhat cold. I don't know. Perhaps it's all of those scenes of snow and ice and frozen rivers to cross, but the passion in the film is always fleeting, temporary, delayed. Yes, I know great romantic films are often about separating the lovers and having them reunite. I just don't need the Bolshevik Revolution to do it; revolutions tend to take too long.

By the way, my mother has always loved the theme music to this film. When I was younger, I bought her a music box with what has come to be called "Lara's Theme." I was only a kid, really, but I saw how much my mother loved that music box and the song it played. It's quite a haunting piece of music.

Oscar Wins: Adapted Screenplay, Art Direction (Color), Cinematography (Color), Costume Design (Color), and Substantially Original Musical Score--you have to love the specificity with which the Academy created its categories back then

Other Oscar Nominations: Picture, Director, Supporting Actor (Courtenay), Film Editing, and Sound

The Human Comedy (1943)

The Human Comedy was nominated for Best Picture of 1943, and I suppose it's an indication of the depth of Hollywood's support for the war effort. This film, written by William Saroyan, is really just a series of vignettes of small-town life in the San Joaquin Valley of California. There is a sense of an overall plot, thanks to the voice-over narration by the dead father of the family that is the central focus of the movie. No, I didn't write that incorrectly. The voice-over is by a dead man, a device that would be used to greater effect about seven years later in Sunset Boulevard. Here it's just a bit creepy.

Mickey Rooney is the main star of the movie. At least, he gets the most time on screen. He plays Homer Macauley, a high school boy who has had to assume the mantle of family provider thanks to his father's death and his older brother's recruitment into the Army. Rooney has a job after school delivering telegrams, sometimes singing ones. Anyone who's seen his musicals with Judy Garland would know that Rooney can sing and dance. The Human Comedy shows that he can also act. He gets some big emotional scenes, including the one involving the death of the old telegraph operator, Willie Grogan (played by Frank Morgan, still perhaps best known as the Wizard in The Wizard of Oz).

The entire Macauley family gets to shine, though, if for only a few moments each. The always reliable Fay Bainter plays the mother of the clan, and she has a daughter, Bess (played by a young Donna Reed), and another son, Ulysses ("Butch" Jenkins, in what amounts almost to a non-speaking part), at home. They periodically receive letters from the oldest son, Marcus Macauley (Van Johnson), one of which makes Homer cry because of its sentimentality--in a good way, I mean. When Marcus tells his younger brother that he (Homer) is the best of the Macauleys, you're likely to tear up as well. There are a couple of scenes depicting Johnson in the Army itself, and they are usually played for laughs, such as when he has KP duty with his friend Tobey George (John Craven).

The worst part of Homer's job, of course, is having to deliver telegrams that notify a family that a son has been killed in action. So painful is this aspect of the work that Morgan's Willie tends to stay drunk most of the time in the telegraph office. He even makes a deal with Homer to make certain that he's able to intercept the telegraph messages as they arrive, so drunk is he sometimes that he could miss an important one. There's an especially sad telegram that has to be delivered, but the shock of that moment is best left to experience yourself.

The Human Comedy has a few too many speeches to suit my taste, but I suppose that's rather common among war movies of the time. Yes, I know this isn't technically a war movie, but it does show the impact that such events had on the people left behind. Hollywood seems to have found those stories quite compelling, considering the Oscar wins for Mrs. Miniver the year before and the nominations for Since You Went Away a year after the release of The Human Comedy. One of these speeches, though, is particularly egregious. Homer and his high school rival, Hubert Ackley III (David Holt), are kept after class on the day that they each hope to win the 220 low hurdles race. They've both been courting the same girl, and it's led to a disruptive classroom environment. Homer's history teacher gives a rousing discussion about equality, respect, civilization, and democracy. It all could have been written by the War Department, frankly, and it's just a bit too jingoistic for me.

(That scene also gives one of the best lines of the movie. When Homer receives encouragement to win the race from his teacher, he states, "I never knew that school teachers were human beings like everyone else and better too." As a teacher, I have to appreciate that mentality.)

The film features a subplot involving Homer's boss, Tom Spangler (James Craig), and his courtship of the wealthy Diana Steed (Marsha Hunt). Of particular note is the dinner party where she tries to convince him that he's just like everyone else at the party. So enamored of her is Spangler that he even dons a bowtie--and looks rather ridiculous doing so--as a homage to her father's preferred neck apparel. The best scene with the two of them, though, is when they return to town for a cultural festival and keep driving past the different groups of people dancing: the Greeks, Mexicans, Armenians, Russians, and Swedes. I suppose it's a very efficient way of touring the world and never having to leave your small town. Sort of like a drive-by cultural education.

As I mentioned earlier, the plot is really a series of vignettes, and they are mostly charming if brief moments. I liked the one of the neighborhood boys trying to steal peaches from an old man's tree. The old man actually enjoys letting the boys take the peaches, but he's game to play along with the ruse. He knows it's all part of growing up. If you pay attention, you'll recognize Carl Switzer, better known as Alfalfa in the Our Gang short films, as one of the boys. Later in the film, you might also recognize Robert Mitchum as one of the three sailors who pick up Bess and her next door neighbor for a night of innocent movie-watching.

Perhaps my favorite part of the film is the most unrealistic in some ways. Marcus' Army buddy Tobey listens to all of the stories of the Macauley family and life in Ithaca, California, and starts to feel like he grew up there himself. He is actually an orphan with no roots. Marcus gives him a picture of Bess, and Tobey falls in love with her through her picture. He and Marcus vow that they'll both return to Ithaca and marry their sweethearts, and you believe that such outlandish things could indeed happen. It's only after the movie ends that you start to question just how likely such a romance would be.

I think The Human Comedy is an interesting film in many ways, not the least of which is its loose, episodic structure. There are good performances, particularly from Rooney, who was nominated for Best Actor for this movie. I expect most of the moments depicted here, which are so evocative of life in a small town, are drawn from real life experiences. I just don't know that this film contributes anything of note to the craft of filmmaking. It's still solid "entertainment," but I tend to think that nominees for Best Picture should be more than that. Yes, I am fully aware that quite a lot of the movies I've watched for this project so far fall into the "competent but not exceptional" category, but I am always pleasantly surprised when one tends to stand out from the crowd. The Human Comedy, though, is not such a film.

The Quiet Man (1952)

You might expect that a film directed by John Ford and starring John Wayne would be a Western. However, The Quiet Man, nominated for Best Picture of 1952, is a gentle film that evokes the simple pleasures of life in the Irish countryside. You might think that such a film, given the pedigree of its cast (more on them later), would attempt, in some way, to depict the Irish people in non-stereotypical ways. However, The Quiet Man is one of the drinking-est movies ever. Hardly a moment goes by, it seems, without someone hoisting a pint. You might even think that the film's gorgeous co-star, Maureen O'Hara, would be able to transcend the long-standing images of redheads as being fiery and temperamental. Yet you'd be wrong there too, as the actress plays--or is forced to play?--to type most of the time.

Despite all of this, I still found The Quiet Man to be a charming, beautiful film. The color cinematography is so luscious that it will make you yearn for a vacation to the Emerald Isle. I don't know that the Irish landscape has ever been more lovingly depicted on film. Ford's cinematographers, Winton C. Hoch and Archie Stout, deservedly won Oscars for their work here. Ford also won the award that year for Best Director, but this film is very different from the films he made in genres that were more familiar territory: westerns and war movies. This movie is a character study, really a study of several characters.

Wayne plays Sean Thornton, a boxer who has accidentally killed a man in the ring. He has retired to Ireland, the place of his mother's birth and where he himself was raised as a young boy, with plans to purchase her family's home and begin a new life. Having lived in Innisfree until his family moved to America, Sean knows several of the people in town. One of the first of his old friends he meets is Barry Fitzgerald's Michaeleen Flynn, who never refuses a drink regardless of the occasion. Flynn becomes Sean's unofficial envoy into the village life of Innisfree, trying to help him achieve his goal of purchasing his mother's house and winning the hand of O'Hara's Mary Kate Danaher.

Naturally, there are complications. The ancestral land is now owned by the Widow Tillane (played with a fun sense of archness by Mildred Natwick), and another landowner, Squire "Red" Will Danaher (Victor McLaglen), thinks he has a right to purchase the land before Sean gets it. The widow, however, has her heart set on courting Squire Danaher and gives the property to Sean in hopes that Red will forget about the land and focus on her instead. You know, of course, that doesn't happen, and when Wayne's Sean and O'Hara's Mary Kate meet and the romantic sparks fly, you shouldn't be surprised to learn that Red is the biggest obstacle they will face in their courtship.

You'd fall in love with O'Hara too if your first sight of her was as vivid as Sean's. Ford has O'Hara herding sheep the first time Wayne's character sees her. She's in vibrant blue and red, and her red hair glistens brightly in the sun. She's quite a vision. Throughout the movie, in fact, it's tough to take your eyes off O'Hara. She is almost always clad in bright colors which showcase her beauty. My personal favorite is when she wears green. If you'd forgotten just how stunning she was, watch this movie and all will be revealed.

The romance between Sean and Mary Kate has its comedic elements. The first time he kisses her, for example, she slaps him. When he refuses to take her bonnet in a town race--choosing the widow's bonnet instead--Mary Kate fumes. When their matchmaker, Michaeleen, takes them for their first carriage ride after they are allowed, finally, by her brother to court, he gives them the rules for appropriate behavior, including "no patty-fingers." No, I don't know what that is, either, but doesn't it sound funny? My favorite line about their relationship, though, also comes from Flynn. He tells Mary Kate: "Have the good manners not to hit the man until he's your husband and is entitled to hit you back." She refuses Sean after they married until her dowry can be provided; she's a very traditional bride in many ways. She even tries to leave town on the train at one point, only to have him drag her--literally at times, by the hair--back to town. I'm certainly not condoning violence against women, but the scene is played for laughs, and Sean gets what's coming to him soon afterward anyway.

One of the centerpieces of the film is the fight between Wayne and McLaglen, a character actor who appeared in many Ford films. The two men, ostensibly using so-called Marquis of Queensbury rules at all times, punch each other through the Irish countryside and into town. They even take a short beer break before continuing the slugfest. The entire town shows up for the match, and Michaeleen starts taking bets on which man will win. I won't ruin it for you, but I think it wouldn't take much to guess how a somewhat traditional Hollywood picture of the 1950s might end.

The supporting cast is first-rate, particularly McLaglen, Natwick, and Fitzgerald. I'd also like to point out how good Ward Bond is in the role of Father Lonergan. Given his usual tough guy roles, it's refreshing to see Bond here as the fishing-loving parish priest who doesn't mind taking a drink now and then. He and Natwick and Fitzgerald have a great time plotting a way to get Mary Kate and Sean married so that the widow and Red can finally be together.

It's the stars, though, who stand out here. Wayne is charming and witty, still masculine but not a man who resorts to violence (at least, at first) to deal with his problems or issues. I liked this performance. He was often an underrated actor, and The Quiet Man shows that he didn't need all of the macho posturing in order to be intriguing on film. In fact, despite a few on-screen implications by some of the townspeople, Wayne's Sean manages to convey a consistent sense of strength and security.

O'Hara is the real find there. She's as fiery as you'd expect a redhead to be, I suppose, but you have to admire the ferocity with which she tackles some of her scenes. When she "returns" Wayne's kiss, she's more aggressive with him than he has been with her. And there's a fire in her eyes whenever she has to confront her brother over the promised dowry of furniture and money. You won't be able to take your eyes off her when she's on screen. It makes perfect sense that Wayne's Sean would be immediately drawn to her. So are we.

I also want to mention briefly that this is one of the few films I've seen that has characters speaking in Gaelic, the native language of Ireland. O'Hara speaks a few words to the priest, apparently about the wedding night, and those lines are not translated into English. We are allowed to be as "shut out" of information as someone like Sean would be at that moment. I was happy to see that the original language of this beautiful country was allowed into the script and even happier that there were no subtitles to ruin the impact those words have on a viewer.