The White Parade (1934)

 

It would be unfair to call The White Parade a “lost film” since there is one print that survives. It’s housed at the UCLA Film Archive, and you can watch it if you make an appointment and agree to follow the rules the archive has. Of course, that means a trip to Westwood for what will likely be a full day if you don’t live in Los Angeles, so I’m not likely to make the trek until I reach a point of desperation I’m not currently feeling. It might not be truly lost, but it’s certainly not readily or easily available to very many people if it’s locked away in an archive.

The plot, according to IMDB, concerns “the hopeful, ambitious students at a hospital training school and is primarily a story of the stern discipline and laborious physical and mental toil they endure in order to become nurses and join the White Parade. It is told mainly through the character of June Arden, who finds romance with Ronald Hall III along the way, with side stories of the other girls who find failure, success, laughter, and tears along the way.” By the way, IMDB’s description includes the following sentence which really isn’t about the plot: “The forerunner of umpteen dozens of TV series over the past 40 years.” Well, someone or something has to be the starting point, doesn’t it?

The film is based upon a novel by Rian James, who co-wrote the screenplay with Jesse Lasky Jr., Sonya Levien, and Ernest Pascal. (Only James and Lasky received credit, though. Such are the vagaries of Hollywood.) The film is dedicated to Florence Nightingale, arguably the most famous nurse in history, a woman who inspired many people to join the profession of nursing to help others. Apparently, she’s referenced many times during the film itself.

The main character of June Arden is played by Loretta Young. June is an aspiring nurse at the Mitchell-Reed School for Nurses, and the film follows her and several of her classmates as they undergo the rigorous preparation they need to begin their practical training at a hospital. John Boles III plays June’s love interest, Ronald Hall III, a wealthy polo player. I guess at one point you could have a job as a polo player, and it was quite lucrative. I suspect that Boles’ character is not as charming throughout the film as might be initially assumed. Rich polo players with a Roman numeral at the end of their names don’t tend to be pillars of compassion and understanding in the movies.

Much of the plot involves the process of becoming a nurse, but there’s enough interaction between the different nursing students to suggest that they are jealous and underhanded and perhaps prone to being unable to keep their work and personal lives separate. There’s also a conflict between June and Ronald over the amount of time she’s spending at her job, but wasn’t that a likely source of disagreement at a time when many women were not expected and certainly not encouraged to have careers of their own? And who couldn’t see this coming from Rich Polo Player III?

Interesting bit of Oscar trivia: Young also starred in The House of Rothschild the same year as The White Parade, and both films were nominated for Best Picture. That is not a particularly common occurrence for the Academy Awards. Young would win an Oscar for Best Actress of 1947 and was one of the most reliable and well-like stars of her era.

Rumor has it the print at UCLA is in pretty bad condition, most likely a result of having just one option for preservation. Maybe the film can be and will be restored some day, especially since it will be in the public domain within the next few years.

By the way, I’m married to a nurse, and he’s never heard his occupation called “the white parade.” Neither has anyone else in nursing that I’ve ever met. Was this perhaps a nickname that was in favor for a very short period time? Or maybe it was a regional designation that never gained widespread favor? Or maybe James just made it up for his novel?

Oscar Nominations: Best Picture and Best Sound Recording

Best Picture of 1939

 

Oscar Winner: Gone With the Wind

Other Nominees: Dark Victory, Goodbye, Mr. Chips, Love Affair, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, Ninotchka, Of Mice and Men, Stagecoach, The Wizard of Oz, and Wuthering Heights

My Choice: The year 1939 is often referred to as the “greatest year in Hollywood” because of the astonishing number of quality films that were released that year. It’s tough to argue with the list of nominees for Best Picture even if it fails to include some other classics from that same year. However, it’s also tough to argue with the Academy’s choice of Best Picture. I’ve already discussed the complications that come with the film Gone With the Wind, but when you consider the sheer scale of filmmaking involved and you watch the iconic performances by everyone in the cast and you think of the lasting impact that it has had (good and bad, I suppose), it’s the most obvious and deserving choice.

If I’m allowed to pick a runner-up, it would be The Wizard of Oz, perhaps the second most influential film from that year, and it too represents filmmaking on a grand scale and features great performances from everyone in the cast. Why wouldn’t I be allowed to pick a runner-up? It’s my blog, after all.

Of Mice and Men (1939)

 

Of Mice and Men is a pretty bleak film set in Depression-era California. It’s based upon the novel by John Steinbeck, and if you’re expecting a happy experience, you’ve clearly never read one of Steinbeck’s books from that era. Two migrant workers keep moving from one job to another, and it’s a tough existence, particularly since one of them suffered a brain injury as a child and cannot fully comprehend most of what people say to him. However, he’s astonishingly strong and a hard worker who listens to and does whatever his friend tells him to do.

The two friends are George (played by Burgess Meredith) and Lennie (Lon Chaney Jr.), and they’ve been together for years. I think I heard George say they were cousins at one point early in the film, but that still doesn’t stop the questioning from everyone about why the two of them are together. It’s pretty simple, though. Lennie needs someone to keep him from using his brute strength to harm someone or something. At the start of the film, the two of them are escaping from Weed because Lennie did some act that upset the townspeople. We’re never told exactly what happened, but we start to imagine what it could be.

We quickly get introduced to a host of characters that will play important parts in the narrative. Curley and his new wife, for example, will keep getting involved in George and Lennie’s lives. Curley (Bob Steele) is the son of the owner of the barley farm the two men show up at. Curley is jealous of any attention his wife gets, and he’s quite hot-tempered, seemingly always up for a fight. His wife (Betty Field, fascinating in a small role) is bored and, to be fair, a bit of a tramp. She wants to see other people, to get out of the house from time to time, but Curley keeps leaving her alone to hang out in the nearby town with other men and, presumably, other women. Make of that sentence what you will.

Charles Bickford plays Slim, the most experienced and knowledgeable hand on the farm and someone who takes little guff from Curley. Roman Bohnen plays Candy, a farm worker who lost his hand in an accident and hangs around doing little odd jobs. He has an older dog that the other workers object to because it’s gotten weak and rather smelly. One of the first terrible incidents in the film is when several of the men convince Candy to let them kill the old dog and he would get a new puppy from Slim (like Curley’s wife has done). You can see from Bohnen’s face just how much it breaks Candy’s heart to let them kill his dog. It’s a tough moment in the film, one that will resonate all the way through until the ending.

Georgy and Lennie have a plan to earn enough money to buy a farm, a place where they can escape the constant difficulty of being someone else’s worker. Lennie will get to raise some rabbits, and he never stops talking about the rabbits. He really, really gets excited about them. That’s how Candy finds out about the farm and asks if he can join them. He has a lot of money, probably from being paid off after losing his hand on the job. Even Crooks, an African American farmhand who isn’t allowed to sleep in the bunkhouse with the rest of the men, asks to join them on the farm. It’s clearly meant as a representation of the American Dream, and it’s interesting to see that the downtrodden, the disabled, and the marginalized are the ones most invested in trying to escape their current situation and achieve that dream.

A series of misunderstandings leads Curley to attack Lennie, and the larger man breaks Curley’s hand even though he was just trying to stop the temperamental Curley from continuing to hit him. Lennie just cannot control himself; he doesn’t understand how strong he is and how dangerous he is as a consequence. Chaney was dismissed as a character actor and later as a horror film actor, but he’s very effective here. He is more expert at conveying someone with the lingering effects of a brain injury that a lot of other actors could muster.

The acting overall is particularly first rate. Several of the cast members came from the original Broadway production of the play adapted from Steinbeck’s novel, including Leigh Whipper who played Crooks and then went on to have a long career in Hollywood. Bohnen was also a stage actor, but he embodies Candy in a very naturalistic way here. Meredith had already performed in a few films, and Chaney had more than fifty film credits by the time he was cast as Lennie. Field was starring in just her second film here, but she brings a fitting sense of world-weariness to the role. She makes quite an impression in the few key scenes she has in the film.

It’s a sequence between Chaney and Field that serves as the climactic moment of the film. Curley has kicked his wife out of the house, so she goes to the barn to get the puppy that Slim gave her. She discovers Lennie there, sad because he’s accidentally killed his puppy by petting it too hard. Field makes the most of this scene, giving quite the monologue about how she wound up with Curley and how she’s going to Hollywood to be discovered. Lennie, of course, doesn’t follow most of this. He just keeps repeating the same lines, which prompts the rather low-class, rough woman to call him “goofy.”

Lennie talks about how much he likes soft things, perhaps the fur of the puppy or the fur of a rabbit, as examples. She talks about how soft her hair is and asks him to touch it to feel for himself. He hurts her because he doesn’t realize how strong he is and winds up killing her by accident. It’s a tragic moment in the film because we realize rather quickly that Lennie and George will have to leave again and keep looking for a new place.

When George and Candy discover the body, it doesn’t take long for the rest of the men on the farm to show up and figure out that Lennie is to blame. They form a search party, and it’s a race to see who can find Lennie first. This final sequence really allows Meredith to shine. He demonstrates the heaviness of the burden he’s been carrying trying to look out for Lennie all these years. It’s quite exhausting, so when he reaches a fatal decision that harkens back to an earlier scene in the film, the audience might be horrified, of course, but they will fully comprehend why he takes the action that he does. Meredith had a long and distinguished career in film, and this early role demonstrates how suited he was to the medium.

I don’t always talk about musical scores for dramatic films because, to a degree, they’re meant to serve as background music. However, Of Mice and Men features a marvelous original score by the great American composer Aaron Copland. This was only three years before he completed “Fanfare for the Common Man” and just five years before “Appalachian Spring,” two of his masterpieces. It’s tough to watch the film and not pay careful attention to the music that underscores the dramatic tension.

Oscar Nominations: Outstanding Production, Best Sound Recording, Best Scoring, and Best Original Score 

Wuthering Heights (1939)

 

Wuthering Heights is one of the greatest love stories in fiction even though it ends tragically for the lovers. (No, I won’t apologize for spoiling the ending of a novel that’s been around for almost two hundred years now.) This film adaptation of Emily Bronte’s novel features less than half of the full plot of the novel, but that allows it to focus more on the central romance, and that’s probably the reason that so many readers, particularly English majors, still love the book.

The film begins and ends with the arrival at the estate called Wuthering Heights of a stranger named Lockwood. He’s been caught in a snow storm and seeks refuge at the home, but the owner, Heathcliff, is less than hospitable. When Lockwood sees and hears what appears to be the figure of a woman in the snow, Heathcliff runs outside into the storm, leaving the housekeeper, Ellen (the great Flora Robson), to share with Lockwood the details of the love between Cathy and Heathcliff. What follows for much of the film is a flashback narrative told by Ellen. A small complaint here, and perhaps it was just the print that I watched, but Robson’s voiceover sounded like it had been recorded in a well.

Heathcliff comes to Wuthering Heights as an orphaned young boy from Liverpool. Cathy’s father takes him in, and Cathy and Heathcliff become friends as children. Hindley, Cathy’s brother, is a different matter, though, and he never accepts Heathcliff as belonging to the family or the home. Heathcliff and Cathy fantasize about having a future together that is more fairy tale than realistic, but when Cathy and Hindley’s father dies, Hindley takes over control of the home and becomes a drunk. He also becomes even more dismissive of Heathcliff, who has been forced to live in the stables with the horses.

As adults, Cathy and Heathcliff are played by Merle Oberon and Laurence Olivier, certainly one of the most attractive couples to appear on film. The two young lovers have been meeting in secret atop Penistone Crags overlooking the Yorkshire moors. It’s there that they profess their feelings for each other and make plans to be together. Yes, the class distinctions and Heathcliff’s unknown origin will present difficulties, but they seem unwilling to consider that they might ever be separated.

The two of them sneak into a neighboring home to watch a party from outside, but two dogs attack them, leaving Cathy’s leg wounded. The young man of the house, Edgar Linton (played by a young David Niven), takes charge of her recovery but demands that Heathcliff leave. Cathy stays at the Linton estate for months healing and gets caught up in the word of rich people. Edgar falls in love with her and proposes to her. After all, Heathcliff (who is frequently dismissed as being a gypsy) hasn’t been around, Edgar is handsome and she is beautiful, and why shouldn’t they be together? Who has ever heard of a romantic storyline that didn’t involve at least three people?

Cathy now wants fine things and confesses to Ellen that she’s planning to marry Edgar. Heathcliff overhears their conversation and gets upset when he thinks she no longer loves him. I mean, she does say that it would be degrading for her to marry him, and this is not long after she’s criticized him for having dirty hands, which is probably pretty common for stable boys, to be honest. Those are some rather unkind things to say about someone you love. Of course, he doesn’t hear the entire discussion and misses the part when Cathy says that she realizes that they are meant to be together. He rides away, and she runs after him in a storm.

Once again, Cathy takes months to recover. They had very delicate constitutions in those days, and a good soaking from a rain would make them ill for a long time, I suppose. After she recovers, she marries Edgar and moves into his home. She and his sister, Isabella (Geraldine Fitzgerald) become friends, and everyone seems happy. You know where this is headed, right? Yes, Heathcliff returns after being away for a long time, and he’s now a gentleman. You can tell by the change in his clothes. He’s also acquired enough money to pay off Hindley’s gambling debts and liquor bills, making him the owner of Wuthering Heights.

His success shocks everyone, naturally, but Cathy claims to be happily married. It’s Isabella who finds herself attracted to Heathcliff. Edgar vows to prevent them from seeing each other, but everyone knows how that’s going to turn out. Heathcliff has become especially cruel now that he has money. He lets Hindley live at Wuthering Heights, but he regularly demoralizes the man and reminds him constantly of his cowardice. He also plans to make Cathy suffer by marrying Isabella.

You could see why someone young and perhaps naïve like Isabella could find Heathcliff appealing. He’s handsome and has a lot of money. He doesn’t seem to suffer fools easily. (Plus, he’s played by Olivier when he was perhaps his most handsome.) I have always suspected, though, that she is more aware of what’s going on than most viewers or readers think. Look at the scene where Isabella and Cathy fight over Heathcliff. Isabella clearly knows that Cathy is still in love with him, and he’s unable to look at anyone but Cathy. It’s only after living in the miserable home that is Wuthering Heights that Isabella herself starts to regret her decision.

Cathy then falls ill to one of those mysterious ailments that no one in the movie can name, perhaps for fear that it will be catching. It might just be love sickness or heartbrokenness, but as Ellen puts it, she’s willing herself to die. I guess if she cannot be happy with Heathcliff, she’d rather just perish. Heathcliff finds out that she’s ill and shows up in her bedroom to, basically, tell her off for leaving him, not just now but all those years ago when she chose Edgar, a pretty rough way to say goodbye to someone you love, certainly. She asks for forgiveness, tells him that she’s always loved him, and asks him to take her to her window so that she can see the moors again.

She vows that she’ll wait for him at the crags after she dies, and he prays that she will haunt him until his own death. That brings us back to the frame story that began the film. The doctor, played by the reliable Donald Crisp, shows up and says that he thought he saw Heathcliff and a woman walking together on the moors. When he climbed to Penistone Crags, he only found Heathcliff’s dead body in the snow. The film then provides a fantastical image of their “ghosts” (for lack of a better word) walking away from the camera.

It’s an emotional story, true, and you can see why it still resonates after so many years. I could point out that it seems from this version that Heathcliff was more in love and devoted than Cathy, but that might draw the ire of the Cathy-lovers out there. I will say that musical score by Alfred Newman is so evocative and lush, and the rather dark cinematography by Gregg Toland certainly fits the overall tone of the film. Olivier received his first of twelve Oscar nominations for this film, and Fitzgerald was also nominated for Best Supporting Actress. Oberon was overlooked for her performance, but it was a very tough year for Best Actress.

I’d like to single out one performer who didn’t get any Oscar attention. Robson is marvelous as Ellen. Watch her face during that pivotal scene where Heathcliff overhears the wrong part of a conversation about Cathy’s impeding marriage to Edgar. Look at how emotional she gets when she has to tell Isabella and Heathcliff that Cathy is dying. Robson takes a small role as a housekeeper and turns it into a pivotal one to the plot without the kinds of overacting that normally gets attention in small roles.

Oscar Win: Best Black-and-White Cinematography

Other Oscar Nominations: Outstanding Production, Best Actor (Laurence Olivier), Best Actress in a Supporting Role (Geraldine Fitzgerald), Best Director (William Wyler), Best Screenplay, Best Art Direction, and Best Original Score

Best Picture of 1929-30

The Winner: All Quiet on the Western Front

Other Nominees: The Big House, Disraeli, The Divorcee, The Love Parade

My Choice: All Quiet on the Western Front remains one of the most powerful war films ever made. None of the rest of the nominees rise to its level of greatness. The only one that comes close is The Big House, so that would be my second choice. 

The Love Parade (1929-30)

 

The Love Parade is a charming musical presentation of the consequences of a reversal of gender roles. It seems to ask, what if men were the powerless ones in relationships? Until the ending, it makes some good points about what might happen if partners were truly equals rather than having an imbalance in importance or power or authority. The ending cheats the audience a bit because it seems so retrograde in its implications, but until that point, we’re given some opportunities for moments of reflection.

Maurice Chevalier plays Count Alfred Renard, a military attaché to the ambassador to France from the country of Sylvania (no relation to the television set, apparently). While in Paris, he’s had numerous affairs, including one with the ambassador’s wife. He’s sent back to his home country to face the queen for punishment. By the way, even his servant (played by the delightful Lupino Lane) and the dog had flings with numerous partners. All of this is related through the song “Paris, Stay the Same,” suggesting that the French city is perhaps more open-minded than Sylvania. Everyone, save the ambassador, seems to have had a good time.

Jeanette McDonald, in her first major film role, plays Queen Louise of Sylvania, and she gets a nude bathing scene that’s quite shocking considering the image of most of her late films. She comes across as so prim and proper in her career that it’s a surprise to see her starting this film with such a sequence. Everyone in the government and, really, in the country wants her to marry someone, but she’s not interested in any of the options that are presented to her. When Renard shows up, she gets intrigued by reading the report about his escapades. It must be pretty racy stuff, after all.

She must punish him, of course, but cannot think of a suitable way to do so. He vetoes her plan to make him grow a beard, certainly an odd way to show your displeasure with someone. When he suggests instead that he be forced to remain at her side, she seems quite happy even though she wonders aloud if that’s truly a punishment. The song “Anything to Please the Queen” (which sounds like the title of a great anthem for a drag performer) accompanies this sequence, and it’s a rather charming romantic number.

Everyone in the queendom, it seems, watches the Queen and the Count’s first dinner together. In fact, this is the most voyeuristic country in history. Almost everyone seems to be either watching the two through the windows or gossiping about what they’ve seen or heard from others. The Queen and the Count do seem to have immediate chemistry, and why not? It is a romantic comedy musical after all, and it was the first sound film directed by Ernst Lubistch, who had such a wonderfully light style for these kinds of films.

They get married quickly, and the count becomes the prince consort. Unfortunately, that means he has no power because he’s not the king and most definitely not her equal in decision making. He realizes this when the wedding vows are all about her. He has to obey her, for example, no sharing of that aspect of marriage. The phrase “I now pronounce you wife and man” is a clear and clever reversal of how it is commonly phrased. The wedding night is continually interrupted by cannon fire, which is quite suggestive for a film so early in the sound era. He cannot stop the noise so that he can concentrate upon lovemaking, though, because he has no power or authority, and besides, the Queen has asked for it. I suppose even she appreciates a good metaphor.

Each day she gets to go out and do queenly tasks, like inspecting the grenadiers, and he only has activities like tennis and bridge. He even has to wait for her to eat breakfast, so he feels like he is not useful to anyone.  The song “Nobody’s Using It Now” suggests just how useless he feels, and exactly what “it” is makes for quite a naughty song. He tries to be helpful, even creating a budget for the country that would be self-supporting rather than depending upon a loan from other countries, but because he is the prince consort, it’s rejected. He tells her that he’s going back to Paris on the night she’s supposed to attend the opera because he serves no purpose in Sylvania. They fight because their appearance together has implications for the country’s success at raising money and for its reputation among other nations. He shows up after all, of course, because this is romance, and he gets a standing ovation from the audience. Why they applaud him so vigorously is a source of confusion. What exactly has he done to deserve such a response? Why is he so much more popular than the Queen? Does everyone really know what’s been going on in their private chambers?

When they return to the palace after the opera, he makes her beg him to stay. They discuss a suitable punishment for her, and what do you know? She has to stay by his side the way he stood by hers. This is the second Oscar nominee from this year that starts with an interesting premise about women’s equality but ends with the men resuming control over a relationship. It must have been very tough to be a feminist in this era.

There’s a cute subplot involving his loyal servant (Lane) and one of the queen’s maids (played by Lillian Roth). They have a comic number entitled “Let’s Be Common” that verges on slapstick or burlesque. It’s very physically demanding, and they are both more than able comic actors. That moment is perhaps only topped by “The Queen Is Always Right,” which involves numerous supporting cast members in a debate over the nation’s future, but Roth and Lane are the highlights of that number as well.

The filmmakers don’t translate the occasional use of French in the dialog. There’s even a joke about it. Chevalier asks someone if they know French, and when he replies no, Chevalier clearly says something quite derogatory. Later, when another person replies yes, Chevalier simply shrugs and says, that’s too bad.

Here’s a bit of Oscar trivia for you: The Love Parade was the first film to be nominated for six Academy Awards, but it lost all of them. As I’ve noted earlier, it was MacDonald’s first feature film in a leading role and Lubitsch’s first sound film. As slight an entertainment as this appears to be to a viewer nowadays, it certainly has a place in Oscar history.

Oscar Nominations: Best Picture, Best Director (Lubitsch), Best Actor (Chevalier), Best Cinematography, Best Art Direction, and Best Sound Recording

The Divorcee (1929-30)

 

The Divorcee is an intriguing Pre-Code examination of double standards. A married couple break up not because the husband cheats on his wife, which he does first, but because she later cheats on him and he cannot accept her infidelity. The script makes a rather impassioned plea for fairness in the ways that the different genders are treated when it comes to these kinds of behaviors, but the story fails women, in particular, with its rather retrograde ending.

We first meet Jerry (Norma Shearer) and Ted (Chester Morris) with their group of wealthy friends at some sort of cabin retreat. They get engaged during this trip, but their friend Paul (Conrad Nagel) gets jealous because he’s in love with Jerry himself. He gets drunk and then has a horrible car accident that leaves another one of their friends, Dorothy (Helen Johnson), disfigured. Out of guilt, Paul marries Dorothy in her hospital room while intercutting scenes show us Jerry and Ted’s wedding. You might think that Jerry and Paul will later have an affair, but you’re already off base. That would be too simple.

On the day of their third anniversary, Jerry and Ted seem very happy together, but when their friends show up with a woman named Janice (Mary Doran), Ted gets very uncomfortable. He’s leaving for Chicago the same day for business, but Jerry quickly realizes that he’s upset because he was unfaithful with Janice. He tells Jerry all the usual lies: he was drunk, it wasn’t planned, it doesn’t mean anything, blah blah blah. She’s angry and disappointed with him, and he leaves for a week.

Ted does try to get in touch with her to apologize, but she manages to avoid or ignore his attempts. Their friend Don (Robert Montgomery) takes her home, and he’s a little bit drunk like Ted was with Janice. Don takes her to a club where she’s clearly thinking about what she’s going to do with Don later on. There’s a very determined look on her face. Initially, she’s tearful over her own fidelity, but she gets angry quickly when Don asks her not to tell Ted. How does she tell her husband? “I’ve balanced our accounts. That’s all.” That certainly seems like one of the coldest announcements possible, and he winds up angrier over her infidelity than she did over his own infidelity. It’s quite a double standard, and she points it out to him directly.

One of the wildest scenes follows. Ted shows up drunk at a friend’s wedding, demolishes the cake, and punches a man that he thinks might have been the one she slept with (he’s wrong, of course). He then goes home to pack so that he can leave her. Morris is particularly good in this sequence, and he’s especially strong when Jerry is pleading for forgiveness out of a sense of fairness. He cannot see that what she did is no worse (or better) than what he did, and she witheringly condemns his male pride.

After they divorce, Jerry dates a series of men in a brilliantly edited sequence that only shows pairs of hands (one male, one female) in the shots. The dialog establishes that she’s seeing men from a wide range of nationalities based upon the accents. She’s also acquiring quite a bit of jewelry, it appears. Her hair has gotten looser, curlier than before, suggesting the freedom that she now feels, and she claims to be having a good time even if she admits that none of these relationships are serious.

You remember the unfortunate Paul from earlier, yes? Well, Jerry and Paul meet on a train, and he tells her that he still loves her. She breaks down at his admission and admits that she’s very tired of all these so-called good times. His marriage to Dorothy has been an unhappy one for them both, and he wants to divorce his wife and marry Jerry. He’s got a new job in Japan, so it could be a fresh beginning for them both. She accepts his proposal only to be confronted by Dorothy, who comes to see Jerry and finds Paul there. She tells Paul that she wants to stay married because he’s all she has at this point. This scene is a bit tough to watch because the actress playing Dorothy is wearing a very dark veil to cover her disfigured face. How could she even tell who she’s talking to? Can she see through all that black fabric?

Jerry decides that she wants to reunite with Ted. Remember what I said about the movie’s ending unraveling its premise that women might have as much right to have an affair as men do? Of course, everyone who does so must still be punished, and this was before the Production Code went into effect. She moves to London for a new job and keeps going out in Paris with the hopes of finding Ted. They do meet again, and the film provides its happy Hollywood ending for two people who have, I suppose, both realized that they’ve each done the other wrong. It still seems rather unrealistic given all that’s happened.

Shearer was chosen as the Best Actress for her performance, it’s quite easy to see why. She does get to show a wide range of emotional responses, and her face is very expressive about what’s happening to her. She doesn’t need dialog all the time; she can convey emotions very directly. I know that the Academy had not yet started awarding Best Supporting Actress yet, but if they had, I’d fully expect that Zelda Sears as Hannah, the maid who remains loyal to Jerry through the film, would have been nominated. She’s great comic relief and knows how to deliver her lines with a lot of zing. When she tells Jerry at one point that she has a date with the butcher, Jerry asks if he has “honorable intentions.” Hannah’s reply: “I’m afraid they are. He just wants to keep a good customer.” It’s nice to have these moments of fun.

Oscar Win: Best Actress (Norma Shearer)

Other Oscar Nominations: Best Picture, Best Director (Robert Z. Leonard), and Best Writing

Hello, Dolly! (1969)

 

Hello, Dolly! is the film adaptation of the enormously successful Broadway musical, which was based upon a 1954 play from Thornton Wilder, The Matchmaker, which had already been adapted into a non-musical film in 1958. I say all of that because the film itself is such an old-fashioned picture that you have to remember that the source material had already been quite thoroughly worked over for decades. Besides, the whole plot is set in 1890 and involves a widowed matchmaker (the title character of Dolly Levi) trying to help others get married but also focusing on landing herself a rich husband. It’s not exactly breaking new ground in storytelling.

Much of the criticism of the film nowadays has to do with the selection of a young Barbra Streisand, just 26 at the time of the film’s release, to portray the lead character, Dolly Levi. The Broadway musical famously starred Carol Channing, who was apparently not even considered for the role because the studio was going to spend so much money on the film and she wasn’t a big enough “name” to carry it. I think the criticism of the casting choice is a bit unfair even if I would enjoy seeing what Channing’s legendary performance might have been like on film. Perhaps Streisand was too young for the part as originally written, but young women become widows too and she certainly brings a great deal of energy to the part. Yes, she borders on slapstick at times, but the story itself is so… wild? that it fits.

Besides, when you hired Streisand in the 1960s, you got that voice. She was already a music superstar, and all you have to do is listen to “Before the Parade Passes By” or the title song to realize how much she truly brings to the enjoyment of the film. Her voice is perfect for all of the Jerry Herman songs from the Broadway musical that are included here, and I enjoy the range she brings to “So Long, Dearie” near the end of the film. She had just made her film debut in Funny Girl the year before, a role that won her the Oscar for Best Actress, and she was as reasonable a choice for the time as any other person besides, perhaps, Channing.

By the way, if you want to talk odd casting decisions… Walter Matthau was certainly an odd choice to play the male leader, Horace Vandergelder, a half-a-millionaire from Yonkers who becomes the object of Dolly’s attempts to get married again. He’s certainly no singer, as his big number, the misogynistic “It Takes a Woman,” proves beyond a doubt. He’s also not a dancer, as the production number associated with the song ably demonstrates. Throughout most of the film, Matthau wears that typical hang-dog expression of his, and it doesn’t really do much to help us understand what Dolly sees in him. He does know how to deliver a punchline, though, so perhaps that was in his favor.

Director Gene Kelly (yes, that one) and his team of filmmakers take a very slow pace to the plotting of the film. As delightful as some songs are, they just seem to go on forever. Take “Put on Your Sunday Clothes,” which was used to such great effect in WALL-E (2008). It’s certainly a fun song, but as I was rewatching the film, I kept thinking that it could be half as long and would maybe be twice as effective. It’s not a sung-through musical, but you might be mistaken in believing it is after watching “Before the Parade Passes By” amid the 14^th Street Parade and all of the intertwining storylines that merge there.

The filmmakers do pay great attention to detail, particularly the costumes and the sets. Streisand wears some magnificent gowns, which I dubbed “the red one” and “the purple one” and “the gold one.” The spectacular gold beaded number during the climactic musical moment in the film is certainly worthy of the Oscar nomination for costume design. Besides, you can’t miss the succession of impressive big hats that she gets to wear. The production design justifiably won an Oscar, and all you have to do is look at the details in Irene’s millinery shop or the Harmonia Gardens restaurant to see why. Even the sheer scale of the production is impressive. I can’t imagine who difficult it was to wrangle all of the extras for the parade or for the restaurant sequence.

The supporting cast is filled with talent, and the secondary plots sometimes become much more interesting than the central one. Tommy Tune, here in his first film role before he became a Broadway legend, plays an artist in love with Horace’s niece, Ermengarde (Joyce Ames). The pairing of the tall Tune and the not-so-tall Ames is used to great comic effect, especially in a sequence involving a dance contest. As Cornelius Hackl, a clerk in Vandergelder’s store, Michael Crawford, pre-Phantom of the Opera, is a comedic delight. He’s also a very gentle singer, bringing a nice delicacy to “It Only Takes a Moment.” and he acquits himself nicely in all of the many dance numbers he’s in. It’s tough to see how the sexy Phantom emerged from the skinny fellow in this film, but you can tell he’s already a talent.

Marianne McAndrew makes an impressive debut as Irene Malloy, the owner of the hat shop who was Horace’s initial choice for a prospective wife. McAndrew is quite charming and funny. She knows how to deliver a line with the right amount of delicacy or sarcasm, and she makes for a solid secondary romantic lead here. Barnaby, the other store clerk, is played by Danny Lockin, who is a fantastic dancer. He steals whatever number he’s featured in. He’s well paired here with E.J. Peaker as Minnie Fay, who isn’t given much more to do than giggling and dancing, but she’s still delightful to watch at both.

Dolly’s job is to find Horace a wife (she already has, but he doesn’t know it’s her), get Cornelius and Barnaby together with Irene and her assistant Minnie Fay, and get Horace to support the marriage of Ambrose Kemper (Tune) and Ermengarde. No small feat, certainly, given all of the moving parts. Everyone shows up together at the Harmonia Gardens for a sequence that serves as the highlight of the film. It has it all—music, dancing, slapstick, energy—and it moves more quickly than much of the rest of the film.

The title song for the movie takes place in the restaurant and is the biggest production number of them all. Since all of the plotlines lead to it, it takes up quite a bit of time. The dancing waiters have their own number first, and the choreography by the great Michael Kidd is just astonishing—so energetic and precise. At one point, Cornelius and Barnaby get caught up in all the dancing and help with putting on quite a floor show. If all the restaurants did this nowadays, it might be more fun to dine out although you’d likely be quite hungry if you’re waiting for someone to serve you while they’re busy prancing about the restaurant.

And then Streisand as Dolly makes her grand entrance at the top of the restaurant’s grand staircase. She’s in that stunning golden dress and has long feathers of gold and green in her hair. It’s just her and the male dancers (quite a handsome group) for almost eight full minutes. She even encounters the delightful Louis Armstrong as the orchestra leader and duets with him for a few lines, even providing a little jazz vocalizing with one of the greatest jazz artists of all time. It’s interesting to note that Armstrong had a number one hit with the title song in 1964 and even won a Grammy Award for it. It is wild to watch once again as an entire restaurant comes to a halt while she belts out a song and dances around the place. Is no one impatient for their food? I guess realism isn’t the point, though, is it?

The film was released in a so-called roadshow version that included an intermission with music. That must have made for quite a long day. It’s not a great film overall, honestly, despite being fun to watch. Streisand and the supporting cast and the production design are all worth some attention, but it certainly seems odd that in the year that saw Easy Rider and Midnight Cowboy, the Academy was still nominating old-fashioned films like Hello, Dolly! I think the exclamation mark is mandatory, by the way.  

Oscar Wins: Best Art Direction-Set Decoration, Best Sound, and Best Score of a Motion Picture—Original or Adaptation

Other Oscar Nominations: Best Picture, Best Cinematography, Best Costume Design, and Best Film Editing

The Smashing Machine (2025)

The Smashing Machine is based upon the life of Mark Kerr, an amateur freestyle wrestling champion and mixed martial arts fighter. Kerr (played here by Dwayne Johnson, who certainly knows his way around a wrestling ring) becomes more addicted to pain drugs as he keeps subjecting his body to some pretty brutal treatment. The difficulty is that very few people try to stop him or help him, and he’s constantly fighting with his girlfriend (the always reliable Emily Blunt) over his drug use. Johnson seems to have bulked up even bigger than he normally is for this role, and he looks very different with hair and facial prosthetics. This movie might be remembered as the one where viewers started to consider that Johnson is a good actor, but honestly, who didn’t already know that he was a good actor? He’s very skilled at showing the difficulty Kerr has in getting sober and staying sober; he becomes very difficult to be around because he’s so very careful about his sobriety. Blunt’s Dawn gets mad because he’s changed so much; they’re really just too different from each other to be successful in this relationship. The fight sequences – and there are many of them – can be quite bloody and tough to watch, and I never quite grasped why so many of the tournaments were in Japan, but that just might be due to my own lack of knowledge about this sport. Perhaps the film’s lack of success was the result of Johnson trying to branch out as an actor, but isn’t that what we want to see of actors?

Oscar Nomination: Best Achievement in Makeup and Hairstyling

Jurassic World: Rebirth (2025)

I’ve never missed any of the movies in the Jurassic Park/World/Universe franchise, and I must admit that I enjoyed Jurassic World: Rebirth more due to the actors than the dinosaurs this time. The setup is a little silly, but it follows the formula much like a Bond film always features an opening stunt. Yet another human goof leads to disastrous results with a particularly gruesome and ugly mutant, the D Rex, but more on that later. As we know from previous movies, the dinosaurs are loose now from the islands that contained them, but they can only live in certain temperate zones or they die. Rupert Friend’s pharmaceutical rep Martin Krebs is trying to develop a breakthrough drug to treat heart disease, and he needs blood and tissue samples from three different species of dinosaurs: one that lives on the land, one that lives in the sea, and one that flies through the air. All bases covered, I suppose. So he assembles a team that includes Scarlett Johansson at her baddest-ass self as a former covert operative, Mahershala Ali as a former member of her team, and Jonathan Baily at his most adorable (slutty little glasses and all) as a paleontologist. Added to the mix are a family sailing near the latest dinosaur island: a father, his two daughters, and the slacker boyfriend of the older daughter. Xavier, the boyfriend, seems to be the comic relief until he actually turns into a bit of a hero. Once everyone has been connected, it’s just a danger-filled journey to find a means to get someone to rescue them after all of the ships have been wrecked. Along the way, the team tries to collect its samples, and we get to see just how adept Bailey is at showing the wonder of seeing dinosaurs in the wild. His facial expressions – and what a face it is – are almost childlike with joy. The youngest daughter, Isabella, acquires a cute little dinosaur companion that she calls Dolores, but most of the creatures are downright scary. A Tyrannosaurus Rex that can swim? A Distortus Rex that looks like a misshapen blend of a T Rex and a xenomorph from Alien and a bunch of leftover parts from other dinosaurs? No thank you. I’ll still with more familiar ones; they’re scary enough for me. There are some clever links to the earlier movies and to TV shows with dinosaurs scattered throughout the narrative, and the bad guy gets his comeuppance in a deliciously brutal way. I keep wondering just how many dinosaur islands are there? How many more islands with dinosaurs can there be to keep the sequels going? Given its box office success, it probably won’t be long before we find out.

Oscar Nomination: Best Achievement in Visual Effects

Avatar: Fire and Ash (2025)

 

Avatar: Fire and Ash is the first film in the Avatar series not to be nominated for Best Picture, and it’s probably not too difficult to ascertain why. It’s mostly the same story arc as the previous films, just with a new villain. Well, a new additional villain. A lot of the same themes get covered: there’s another environmental crisis, and there’s the same struggle between the native people and the colonizers. There’s a big confrontation between the native people and the colonizers, of course, and the visual effects are the primary focus throughout. The twist, if there is one, is that this time there’s a group of Na’vi, the Mangkwan, who are participating in the destruction of their own world and attacking other Na’vi because The Mangkwan have rejected the worshiping of Eywa. They also start partnering with Stephen Lang’s Quaritch, the villain from the two previous movies, and he and the other colonizers introduce guns to this tribe of Navi, and it’s not going to end well for anyone. Anyone who’s ever seen a Western film knows where this is headed. The film spends a lot of time focusing on the young human with white skin, Spider (Jack Champion), who left his awful father (Quaritch) in the previous film to join the Na’vi. Neytiri (Zoe Saldana) is reluctant to accept him and welcome him into their home because of his skin color, so it’s possible that the filmmakers are trying to make a point about racism in a movie mostly populated by tall blue people. It’s not particularly clear what that point might be, though, since everyone seems to have enemies who have the same skin color and enemies who have a different skin color. Kiri (voiced by Sigourney Weaver) saves Spider after his oxygen mask fails by connecting him to the earth and undergoing the ritual that revives him and allows him to breathe the air of Pandora. This change leads the colonizers to capture Spider to see if they can reverse engineer his DNA so that they too could benefit from the secret to living without a mask. As you might expect from a James Cameron directed film, the visuals are stunning. This is the third film in the franchise to win for Best Achievement in Visual Effects, and they go hand-in-hand with the cinematography. I’m still not a fan of wearing those stupid 3D glasses over my regular prescription glasses, but eventually I adjust and just feel like I’m immersed in the world of Pandora again. I’m just not certain what message or messages we are meant to take from this film. Is this a movie cautioning the viewers about ruthless leaders? Is it an attempt to be subversive by suggesting that we combat their ideas even if they align themselves with people who might seemingly be on our side become of our common traits? The filmmakers, sadly, are not fully effective in making any of these points. I’m also troubled by the depiction of the Mangkwan in the film; they appear very similar to native tribes from, say, the Amazon or other parts of South America or Central America. It’s not a flattering depiction either. By the way, here’s another piece of Oscar trivia for you. Avatar: Fire and Ash is the first film directed by Cameron in 31 years not to be nominated for Best Picture. If the series continues, as he says it will, perhaps he should comfort himself with all the money he makes rather than expecting more Oscar glory.

Oscar Win: Best Achievement in Visual Effects

Other Oscar Nomination: Best Achievement in Costume Design

East Lynne (1930-31)

 

The melodramatic leanings of East Lynne become increasingly wild as the film progresses. I’ve watched a lot of pre-Code films, especially in recent years, but I’ve never seen one that has such an unhinged ending as this one. It’s based upon a Victorian novel by Ellen Wood (as Mrs. Henry Wood, of course), but it’s taken considerable liberties with that book’s plot. I don’t think this is truly an Oscar-caliber film, but I cannot deny that it becomes increasing more watchable if for no other reason that you’re curious as to what crazy plot twist lies ahead. Since you’re unlikely to be able to find this film easily, I may spend too much time providing plot summary, but I think that will give you a clear sense of just how bonkers it is.

A beautiful young woman, Isabella (Ann Harding, who was having a good year at the movies), marries a rich man named Roger Carlyle (the great Conrad Nagel) and moves into his estate, East Lynne. On her first day at his austere, gloomy house, she meets Cornelia, Roger’s sister, a control freak of the first order. Cornelia (played with great malice by Cecilia Loftus) even refused to attend Isabella and Roger’s wedding because she thinks Isabella is too young and frivolous. Cornelia wanted Roger to marry a neighbor girl, Barbara, who she thinks is more “suitable” for her brother. Needless to say, that attitude doesn’t bode well for the marriage if Cornelia is going to live in the same house with them and continue overseeing every aspect of life at East Lynne, and that’s just what happens.

Three years pass quickly, and Isabella’s life has changed a great deal. She’s wearing drab clothing now instead of the beautiful, fashionable gowns she brought to the estate. The house is just as dark and dreary as ever; Cornelia doesn’t like open windows and sunshine — it’s bad for the carpet, I guess, or perhaps the light would cause her to burst into flames. Isabella and Roger have a son, but Cornelia doesn’t like him to play because he sometimes tears his clothes. You know, like a child sometimes does when they’re having fun. Cornelia has also cancelled Isabella’s orders for new clothes for herself and her son. Money for fashionable clothing is a waste in her mind.

Then “the incident” occurs. While Roger is out of town, Isabella and Cornelia plan to attend a party. Unfortunately, on the day of the event, Cornelia develops a convenient headache. The prospect of having a good time must have been devastating to her. Isabella decides to go anyway, accompanied by a former suitor of hers (played by handsome Clive Brook). After the party, Brooks’ Captain William Levenson escorts Isabella home, professes his love for her, and even kisses her. Nothing else happens between them, and she goes to sleep by herself. I mean, it was the 1930s, so nothing much more than that could have been shown anyway.

Cornelia waits until the return of her brother to share what she thinks happened between Isabella and William, and Roger becomes accusatory very quickly. Isabella yells at them both – a rare moment of strength for her at this point in the film – and calls them and the house “old and drab,” not the most inaccurate statement, to be fair. She leaves the house, but Roger won’t let her take her child. She’s heartbroken over this but decides to leave for France to get away from all of the gossip in England. She’s become such a scandalous figure that even in France, people from England won’t talk to her in public.

It’s the portion in France that throws the plot into melodramatic overdrive. Capt. Levinson is on the same ship going to Calais, and he suggests that they have a good time in Europe. She agrees and doesn’t even demand that they marry at some point. Levinson gets kicked out of the British Army for some vague reason having to do with the Franco-Prussian War. Was he helping the French? Was he hurting them? Who knows? Who cares? Does it matter? He gets sent to Paris, which seems an odd thing for the Army to demand of him, and she goes with him. The war has gotten worse, so they cannot leave the country and return to England despite her desire to see her son again.

During an argument between Isabella and William about returning home, they both run into the street just as a bomb hits a building near them. It falls on them, and her injuries include a loss of eyesight. In fact, she may lose her full sight. That’s when she finds out her son is ill, and she makes it back to England against the doctor’s advice. Joyce, the maid who served her many years ago, lets her into the house and lets her sit with her son overnight. Isabella loses her remaining eyesight during the night after getting to see her son one last time. Carlyle throws her out of his house, and Joyce (a delightful Beryl Mercer) finally tells him off about how he abandoned a woman who loved him unconditionally and was the victim of Cornelia’s lies. It’s just a bit late for justice, though.

The dramatic end to this nonsense? Isabella walks out of East Lynne and, no longer able to see, walks off a cliff just as Roger tries to catch up to her! The plots in those days could really provide an ending, couldn’t they?

Harding, who was nominated in the same year for her performance in Holiday (but didn’t win) is quite competent here. Her best moment is when the film gives us a closeup of her face as she’s listening to a melancholy song. It’s clear that the song is raising so many emotions, and she lets us have a momentary look inside.

I have to mention the quality of the version that I watched. The sound and picture were quite awful, and it is tough to see what was so appealing about this film in 1931. The only complete print seems to be at the University of California at Los Angeles, but it too is apparently pretty bad. The film will be in the public domain in 2027, but there are plenty of bootleg copies out there, including the one that I watched. Many of these copies, though, don’t include the last reel with Isabella’s return to England. Interestingly, the version I have does include the full ending, but it looks like someone recorded it off a television screening of the film. That somehow seems a fitting way to view this film.

Oscar Nomination: Outstanding Production

Best Actress of 1939

 

Bette Davis was always at her best when she played strong-willed women, and the role of Judith Traherne in Dark Victory was perfect casting. Judith is a hard-drinking, hard-partying socialite who learns that she has a brain tumor. At first, she refuses medical attention, but eventually she succumbs to the wishes of those around her, including her doctor, played by George Brent. It’s interesting to watch Davis as a young woman who realizes that she might die from her illness. She’s so good at fidgeting when she’s uncomfortable such as during her initial examination in the doctor’s office. You know she’s fearful and fragile under all of her bluster. After the surgery, Judith initially has a different personality; she is confident and cheerful and outgoing. However, discovering by accident that the tumor was inoperable and that she has very little time left to life, she reverts to her old ways of drinking. She’s hurt and angry after learning the truth, and she lashes out at people who are her friends and even at her now-husband, the doctor. By the way, Davis is particularly good at playing drunk. She doesn’t overplay it; she behaves the ways that drunks often do. The film’s emotional payoff happens after Judith comes to a place of acceptance. The final sequence of the film, after she’s learned that she’s going to die within a few hours, is heartbreaking to watch as Davis makes a series of choices for her reactions to her best friend and her husband. She’d already won two Academy Awards by this point, and no one was likely to take the honor away from Vivien Leigh for Gone with the Wind, but Davis gives another one of her unforgettable performances in Dark Victory.

Irene Dunne plays Terry McKay, a former nightclub singer who enjoys a fling with a handsome French playboy in Love Affair, and she’s witty and knowing and dear, qualities Dunne could bring to almost any role. She also displays a flair for fashion and sophistication in this film, so it’s no wonder that Charles Boyer’s Michel Marnay falls for her. Both of them are, naturally, involved in relationships with other people, but as we watch their romance bloom while they are on a journey by boat to the United States, we can sense how they are meant to be together. Terry may act very coy with Michel at times, but Dunne infuses a wry sense of humor (and that hearty laugh of hers) into the performance at just the right time to undercut any sense of hesitation we might have about believing that she loves him. When they arrive in America, they depart with plans to meet up six months later to see how they feel about each other after some distance apart. You don’t think a Hollywood romance can occur without obstacles, do you? Unfortunately, it’s Dunne’s Terry who suffers the most; she is struck by a car on her way to the Empire State Building for their rendezvous. She decides not to burden him with the news of her injuries, so he’s left to believe that she didn’t want to meet. Of course, whenever she thinks about their time together on board the ship, she gets rather wistful, so it’s unclear what exactly motivates her to let him think she’s abandoned him. The two lovers accidentally meet at the theater after another six months pass, and he comes to her apartment to visit her and learns of her paralysis. It’s the romantic ending you might have hoped for, but it does seem that the obstacles the film has placed between Terry and Michel are horribly unnecessary. If they truly feel this strongly about each other, wouldn’t they have been together even after her accident? No matter. Dunne makes their reunion a tender and emotionally satisfying ending to the film, and that’s really what we should care about.

Greta Garbo received her third and final Oscar nomination as the title character in Ninotchka. Watching her Nina Ivanovna Yakoshova, nicknamed “Ninotchka,” alter her facial gestures and body language and almost every aspect of her character as the film progresses is quite a marvel. This would be Garbo’s penultimate film, and she’s marvelous. At the start of the film, she’s so deadpan and matter of fact and seemingly emotionless that you can’t imagine that she’s going to fall in love with Melvyn Douglas’ Count Leon or anyone else, really. After all, she has only arrived in Paris from Russia to settle a matter of some royal jewelry that the Bolsheviks are trying to sell in order to raise money for needs back in their home country. However, Garbo delivers her lines perfectly, and she modulates her facial expressions to fit the plot’s development. When she breaks out into a laugh after Leon falls in a restaurant, it’s so shocking that it’s no wonder that MGM advertised the film with the tagline, “Garbo laughs.” She gets to do more than laugh, though. She starts to adjust her posture as she becomes more accustomed to Parisian customs; you can see her body relaxing. Her smile, that radiant smile, appears with greater frequency, and she conveys so naturally the progression of a woman’s emotions as she falls in love. One of the most moving and effective scenes occurs when Ninotchka has returned to Russia and is meeting with the three agents who failed to sell the jewelry quickly enough in Paris. They’re having a dinner at her (shared) place – four eggs made into an omelet – when a telegram arrives. Unfortunately, it’s been redacted because it comes from Leon in Paris. The disappointment on her face is heartbreaking. So few actors, male or female, could master the closeup the way Garbo did. She would never win a competitive Oscar, and she would retire from the screen just a couple of years after Ninotchka’s release. What a loss for the profession of acting!

From the moment that the image of Greer Garson’s lovely face emerges from a mist in the Alps, she becomes the heart of Goodbye, Mr. Chips. Her Katherine is such a warm, gentle presence in the film, and she serves as a naturalistic counterpoint to her costar Robert Donat as the title character of Mr. Chipping. Interestingly, Garson’s character is only in the film for about 35 minutes or so, and that would normally be considered a supporting role instead of a leading role for a movie of this length, but it’s the way that her Kathy, in essence, uses her sweet and easy persuasion to take over so much of the life of Mr. Chips that makes this such a star turn for Garson. She’s charming all of the time, but Katherine can also be a bit brash and forward; she is a suffragette, after all, who’s taking a bike tour of the Alps when she meets her future husband on that misty mountainside. Everyone in the film who meets Kathy is charmed by her – her husband’s colleagues, his students, even the headmaster of the school –and it’s tough for us as audience members not to be similarly charmed by Garson in her first major film role. When Katherine dies in childbirth, her absence casts quite a pall on the rest of the film, and frankly, with only Donat to take up our time, the movie falls precipitously in interest.

Gone with the Wind clocks in at almost four hours, and it gives viewers a lot of time to watch Vivien Leigh deliver one of the greatest performances in film history. Her Scarlett O’Hara begins the film as a vain Southern belle more interested in making her prospective beau jealous, but she ends the film as a woman who’s suffered a great deal of loss and pain in her life while managing to maintain a sense of who she is. She’s flirtatious and lively and charming, but she’s also serious and calculating and tough. Scarlett has the intelligence to be successful in business, but she doesn’t have the opportunity as a woman to do so. Southern society at the time defined women like Scarlett in terms of the man they were attached to. We understand why she marries each of the three men Scarlett weds during the course of the film, and we also realize before she does that it’s truly Rhett Butler that she’s destined to love, not the rather bland and colorless Ashley Wilkes. The film allows us several great close-ups of Leigh’s face, and it’s especially effective at allowing us to see just how masterful Scarlett can be at manipulating men. The ending of Gone with the Wind tries to make it seem like the focus should be on Tara, the former plantation that was her home, and the land and her connection to it. However, I never think the film is about Tara. It’s about Scarlett and how she’s managed to find a way to survive through some of the most astonishing events any one person could have experienced. When she notes that “tomorrow is another day,” you recognize that this is not the end of what has already been an astonishing story of a woman’s life. Watching this film allows us to savor how well Leigh conveys so much of what has happened to that woman.

Oscar Winner: Vivien Leigh in Gone with the Wind

My Choice: You think I’m going to disagree with the Academy on this? Leigh is so fantastic that it’s impossible to imagine any other actress in this role. I realize that this is such a stacked category of indelible performances, but Leigh has to be the obvious choice. If I were given the option of choosing a runner-up, it would be Garbo for her delightful comedic turn, but the Academy Awards don’t announce runners-up.

Predator (1987)

 

Ostensibly, Predator is a movie about a commando mission to an unnamed Central American country that goes horribly wrong. The team, led by Arnold Schwarzenegger’s Dutch, was sent under false pretenses but wind up with bigger concerns than the fact that they’re being used. It’s all about some Cold War era concern about the Soviet’s invading the region. Of course, none of this truly matters because this is really a movie about how an extraterrestrial starts to stalk the members of the team, killing them one by one in some rather gruesome ways. I think I got the order of deaths correct: Hawkins (Shane Black), Blain (Jesse “The Body” Ventura), Mac (Bill Duke), Dillon (Carl Weathers), Billy (Sonny Landham), and Poncho (Richard Chaves). That leaves just Dutch to get rid of the Predator, and that’s no easy feat. The alien has cloaking technology, so it can easily disappear in the thick jungle, and it has the ability to see the humans through its infrared or thermal imaging vision (if that is the correct word for it). The onscreen rendering of these characteristics is, of course, what gained an Oscar nomination for the film’s visual effects, and special attention should also be granted to the costume and makeup for the creature itself and its glowing green blood. There’s a reason that we’ve had a series of sequels and prequels since this original film was released. It’s almost 67 minutes into the action before we see a full image of the predator (or a somewhat full image), and we don’t see its face until the last ten minutes or so of the film. Much like the shark in Jaws, I suppose, less is more when it comes to building tension? I guess that also gives us more time to enjoy Schwarzenegger’s performance and his delivery of such classic lines as “Get to the chopper” in that often-mimicked accent of his. If I have any complaints about the film, it’s that the camera locations and angles tend to signal too clearly where the Predator will appear next, and the fact that all it takes is mud to throw off its ability to find the humans makes it seem somewhat less threatening. Predator has always seemed like more of an action film than horror or science fiction to me, but the blend of genres and Schwarzenegger’s charisma work to great effect here.

Oscar Nomination: Best Visual Effects