Rosemary's Baby (1968)

 

Rosemary’s Baby tells what could have been a very heartwarming story of a young couple (played by Mia Farrow and John Cassavetes) who move into an old New York apartment building with lots of history and some very gregarious neighbors. Of course, what the two new tenants don’t realize yet – and what we as viewers quickly start to suspect – is that these neighbors are quite strange. A couple of them, the Castavets (played to perfection by Ruth Gordon and Sidney Blackmer), are really quite nosy and pushy. Gordon’s Minnie, in particular, likes to insinuate herself into Rosemary’s everyday life as much as possible, and Cassavetes’ Guy Woodhouse actually befriends Blackmer’s Roman Castavet almost immediately. I suppose if you rent an apartment that is now available because the previous tenant died (thankfully, not in the apartment, which is quickly established to the relief of the Woodhouses) and you also know that a young dancer who lived in the building fell to her death – unless, perhaps, it wasn’t a fall – then you might find comfort knowing that some older, seemingly kind people are looking out for you. Oh, if only it were that simple. What’s really going on starts to become clear when Farrow’s Rosemary has either a dream or a vision (or is it neither one?) of being raped by a demon while others watch. When she becomes pregnant, everyone starts making a fuss over her and tries to get her to drink some strange smoothies and go to a particular doctor and… it just never seems to end. Minnie shows up almost every day to check on Rosemary, who starts to look especially sick. No one, including her neighbor-endorsed doctor, wants her to worry, but Rosemary starts to think something might be wrong with the baby. Farrow’s thinness and famous (or infamous, as the case may be) short hairdo help to convey the potential illness perfectly. This may be the only film that includes a testimonial for the work of Vidal Sassoon. She gets little support in her concerns from her husband, who seems especially distant after she reveals she’s pregnant, and it’s only in the company of her friends from outside the building that she seems to get any sympathy. I suppose, though, that when you confess that you think you might have been impregnated after some sort of bizarre ritual performed by a coven of Satan-worshipping witches, your friends need to comfort you. Yes, that’s right. The building is filled with witches, and they’ve chosen Rosemary to carry the devil’s child so that they will then have someone evil to take over and cleanse the world. Well, “cleanse” might be the wrong word for what they have in mind, but you get the picture. We have several occasions when we have to wonder if Rosemary might be delusional or if she is right about the witches. When she notices that Roman has pierced ears – which is supposed to be a sign of a male witch, I guess – it only takes a book from a former landlord to convince her. I suppose it’s a good thing she didn’t go to a dockyard or the Village; all those pierced ears would have really freaked her out. Rosemary’s Baby is considered a horror classic, and it certainly builds in suspense as we learn more and more about the neighbors and their plans. I’m not sure I fully appreciate the enigmatic ending, though, since it’s unclear exactly what Rosemary might do with respect to her devil baby, but such endings were becoming more common at the time. The film raises some interesting questions about the bodily autonomy of women, and Rosemary is almost treated as little more than an incubator by so many people in the building. It also forces us to consider what we know about others in our lives and what kind of influence they might be having over us. Some aspects of the film are, naturally, dated, and we certainly have seen far more horrifying tales on the screen, but Rosemary’s Baby serves as quite a strong origin point for what many modern films do with female characters, in particular. I’m certain that’s not really a good thing, but I suppose you can never imagine just where or how a film’s impact might spread.

Oscar Win: Best Supporting Actress (Ruth Gordon)

Other Oscar Nomination: Best Screenplay Based on Material from Another Medium

Ice Station Zebra (1968)

 

Ice Station Zebra is a spy thriller rather badly disguised as a rescue mission. An American submarine, commanded by Rock Hudson’s James Ferraday, picks up a mysterious British spy, Patrick McGoohan’s David Jones (not the one from the Monkees or David Bowie, sadly) to locate a group of British scientists at a weather station on the ice at the North Pole. The submarine has the odd name of the USS Tigerfish – go figure. The Americans also have to take on Jim Brown’s Capt. Leslie Anders, a tough Army guy who assumes control of the ship and inexplicably starts having everyone try to reassemble guns with their eyes closed, and Ernest Borgnine’s Boris Vaslov, a Russian defector who seems to be “friends” with the rather oily Jones. Ferraday doesn’t get any information on why all of these strangers are aboard his submarine; he’s just under orders to take them to Ice Station Zebra. Everyone seems to know that the Russians are also on their way because, as we very, very slowly discover, there’s some weird but valuable spy satellite recording that the Americans made but the British took and now the Russians want—or something like that. Frankly, it’s not quite intriguing enough to keep up with the specifics. We just spend a lot of screen time listening to a lot of back-and-forth accusations between the different factions on the sub before we get to the climactic moments. By the time everyone makes it to the North Pole, the base has already been destroyed and many of the people stranded there are either badly injured or dead. When one of the survivors states, more than two hours into the plot, “You took so long to get here,” I could honestly understand how he felt. This is a movie that moves – pardon the pun, but pun intended – at a glacial pace. It’s very talky as well, even when there’s a standoff between the Russians and the Americans, and there’s lots of guns involved. I would have expected much more shooting than yapping at a moment like that. The film’s cinematography is beautiful, though, especially the shots of the submarine under the ice, and the special effects are particularly effective when one of the torpedo hatches blows open and floods the submarine. You can understand why the film was nominated in those two categories. However, the special effects are nowhere near comparable to those of 2001: A Space Odyssey, the other nominee in that category, and the pacing for the entire film is just too slow.

Oscar Nominations: Best Cinematography and Best Special Visual Effects

Chitty Chitty Bang Bang (1968)

 

I can’t quite decide if Chitty Chitty Bang Bang truly qualifies as camp or if it’s just bad. It is most certainly bad, though. Allegedly, this is a musical aimed at children, yet I can’t imagine a child being entertained by the almost 2.5-hour running time with all of the confusing characters and plot lines. And much of the music, including the dreadful title song that was inexplicably nominated for an Oscar, is already quite bad without adding the choreography of several production numbers to the mix. Even the names of most characters are silly. The title car, whose name derives from the noise its engine makes, won Grand Prix races for three years in a row before exploding in its final race. The two Potts children convince their poor unsuccessful eccentric inventor father, Caractacus Potts (Dick Van Dyke), to buy the car and fix it up. It becomes quite an amazing vehicle, capable of converting into a sort of pontoon boat and into a flying machine. Given that the father is prone to devices that look positively Rube Goldbergian in nature (his complex machine for cooking eggs and sausages, for example), it’s kind of amazing that it can even run, much less float or fly. The carelessness of the children, Jemima and Jeremy, brings the daughter of the local candy-maker (played by the lovely Sally Ann Howe) into their father’s life; she almost hits them with her car and then takes them home to chastise their father for his poor parenting. Her name, Truly Scrumptious, is a nod to the ridiculous names of female characters preferred by the author of the book on which this film was based, Ian Fleming, perhaps better known for the series of James Bond novels. When Caractacus, Truly, and the two children enjoy a picnic on the beach, the father spins a bizarre tale about Baron Bomburst of Vulgaria and his desire to steal Chitty. The Baron kidnaps Grandpa Potts by mistake, hauling him off inside a “shed” that really looks more like an outhouse. When Caractacus and the rest chase the Baron’s zeppelin back to Vulgaria, they discover that there are no children there because the Baron’s wife hates them and has gotten them declared illegal. The Baron even employs a Child Catcher, portrayed by talented ballet dancer Robert Helpmann, and his role is the stuff of nightmares. Chitty Chitty Bang Bang is all rather supremely silly, to be honest, and the music doesn’t help much. If you want to see how truly awful a production number can be, how one number can truly drag a movie to a halt, watch the big scene for the song “Toot Sweet,” a song about a new kind of candy. Thankfully, a large number of dogs interrupt the performance at the candy factory, just not quickly enough. The worst song, though, may be “Chu-Chi Face,” which primarily serves as a way to learn how much the Baron (Gert Frobe, better known as Bond villain Goldfinger) hates his wife (Anna Quayle, who comes closest to giving a truly campy performance, and the film is all the better for that). And I’ll need quite some time to forget the singing of Heather Ripley (Jemima) and Adrian Hall (Jeremy) about how, well, truly scrumptious Truly truly is. That song, in particular, is cringe-inducing, and young children tend to be poor singers anyway. To be fair, the movie does have a couple of good numbers. “Me Ol’ Bamboo” is a fun number that showcases Van Dyke’s dancing, but it’s really just a plot device that isn’t all that necessary and mostly just adds to the film’s length. And the staging of “Doll on a Music Box,” which manages to highlight Howe’s lovely voice and her ability to perform some elaborate choreography, works well until Van Dyke shows up to start singing another version of “Truly Scrumptious.” Oddly, Van Dyke doesn’t perform with an English accent, which is very puzzling given that almost everyone else in the cast is British, including Benny Hill as a toymaker in Vulgaria. And poor Howe’s character of Truly suffers the indignity of driving her car into a duck pond three times during the course of the movie, a sure sign that the filmmakers have exercised very little creativity. The insertion of an intermission only serves to make us endure more time waiting for this nonsense to end. I’ll resist the temptation to use a word that rhymes with Chitty to describe this film, but it certainly fits.

Oscar Nomination: Best Original Song (“Chitty Chitty Bang Bang”)

Planet of the Apes (1968)

I’ve watched all of the different film versions and sequels and rebooks of Planet of the Apes over the decades, but I always return to this original film (based upon the novel by Pierre Boulle) as the best. It still has the power to surprise and entertain even after repeated viewings. The plot is simple yet intriguing. A team of American astronauts lands on a strange planet after being in suspended animation for a long period of time. The three who survive their long trip in space face a long, hard journey through some desolate land, but they finally encounter a group of primitive humans. The humans, unable to speak, are soon rounded up by a group of gorillas riding horses. We are almost half an hour into the film before it lives up to its title. The dominant species is apes, and even among the apes, there is a hierarchy. Orangutans lead the society with their control of science and faith, gorillas supply the physical strength to serve in the military or perform other hard labor, and chimpanzees are scientists and doctors. Two chimps, Zira (played by Kim Hunter) and Cornelius (Roddy McDowell), take a particular interest in one of the humans who has been captured, Charlton Heston’s Taylor. Zira studies human behavior, and Cornelius is an archaeologist who has found evidence of an earlier human civilization. However, Dr. Zaius (played by Maurice Evans, whose voice alone is enough to capture your attention) heads up the scientific community, and knowing already the truth about the connection between humans and apes, he plans to have Taylor castrated and/or lobotomized before other apes discover the secret. There’s a fake trial over Taylor’s fate, but an escape facilitated by Zira and Cornelius leads him to seek the source of human civilization in the so-called Forbidden Zone. It’s the end of the film before Heston’s Taylor realizes that he is actually back on Earth, just thousands of years in the future after humans have destroyed the land and their civilization. The haunting image of the Statue of Liberty in the final frames is justifiably famous. Heston is really the star here, and he must have loved having his body on display for much of the film. He was certainly in great shape, and the view from behind is definitely an enjoyable one that we get to witness a couple of times. Heston also gets some of the greatest lines in film history, such as when, during an attempted escape from captivity, he finally regains the use of his voice from an injury sustained in his capture. His immortal response to being recaptured? “Take your stinking paws off me, you damn dirty ape!” Overall, the film raises some tricky questions about evolution and strongly condemns the violence and self-destruction humans were inflicting upon each other during the late 1960s. It might even be making some subtle comments on bigotry and prejudice and race relations. Planet of the Apes deserves special mention of its makeup. Artist John Chambers managed to allow the actors to have (limited) facial expressions while still appearing to resemble the various kinds of apes. This was before the days of CGI, so Chambers’ accomplishment is even more remarkable considering how much time the actors must have sat in the makeup chair each day.

Honorary Oscar: John Chambers for his outstanding makeup achievement

Oscar Nominations: Best Costume Design and Best Original Score for a Motion Picture (Not a Musical)

Finian's Rainbow (1968)

 

There are so many narratives going on in Finian’s Rainbow that it reminded me of the annual untangling of Christmas lights. Eventually it all works out, but it can be very frustrating doing the hard work of sorting through everything that’s happening. Finian McLonergan (Fred Astaire) and his daughter Sharon (Petula Clark) have come to the United States from Ireland because Finian has stolen a crock of gold from a leprechaun. They arrive in Rainbow Valley because Finian thinks burying the gold near Fort Knox will help to make it grow or multiply or increase or something. The poor sharecroppers of Rainbow Valley are about to be evicted from their tobacco farm for not paying the rent. Their savior is Woody (Don Francks), who’s working with one of the other residents, Howard (the great Al Freeman Jr. in a terribly thankless role), to develop a mentholated tobacco. Sadly, their current version won’t burn, a problem for a tobacco crop. Og, the leprechaun who had his gold stolen by Finian, shows up to reclaim the crock because without it, he’s losing his fairy powers and slowly becoming mortal. As he becomes more mortal, he begins to fall in love, first with Sharon and then with Susan the Silent (Barbara Hancock), Woody’s sister who can only communicate with her dancing. And, if that weren’t enough, there’s a racist Southern senator (played by Keenan Wynn) who’s turned black by a wish Sharon makes while standing over the pot of gold. She wants him to experience what it’s like to be black in the South, but watching Wynn in blackface is horribly uncomfortable. His transformation is meant to demonstrate, perhaps, that even an unrepentant racist like Sen. Billboard Rawkins can be redeemed? Too much of the film depicts the horrible attitudes that he and his assistant Buzz (Ronald Colby) espouse, such as when Buzz tells Howard, who’s just taken on a job as the senator’s butler so that he can make some money to pay for his scientific equipment (don’t ask), that he needs to walk with a stereotypical shuffle when delivering a drink. Again, watching all of this is so uncomfortable. By the time the senator defends an offensive law he’s written that outlaws blacks and whites living together by saying, “I don’t have time to read [the Constitution], I’m too busy defending it,” you might wonder how much of the film is going to be devoted to this racist claptrap. Even Og the leprechaun (played by Tommy Steele in the most over-the-top manner) doesn’t understand why the color of one’s skin should limit what they’re able to do in life. Sadly, that isn’t the only failure of the film. Astaire is justifiably given a couple of showcases for his dancing, but unfortunately, the camera loses his feet multiple times, a disgraceful act on behalf of the director and cinematography. By the way, the director? Francis Ford Coppola, just four years before his first masterpiece, The Godfather, was released. Why he was given a musical is beyond comprehension. Some of the songs are great, of course, having transitioned from Broadway classics to musical standards, songs such as “Look to the Rainbow,” “Old Devil Moon,” and “How Are Things in Glocca Morra?” I could have done without the sexist attitudes of Og’s song about the fickle nature of men’s attraction, “When I’m Not Near the Girl I Love,” but given the filmmakers’ lack of willingness to eliminate the racist subplot in the interest of making Finian’s Rainbow more streamlined than its almost 2.5-hour running time, I’m not surprised they kept all of the songs, even the ones that make you cringe.

Oscar Nominations: Best Sound and Best Score of a Musical Picture (Original or Adaptation)

The Lion in Winter (1968)

One of the nominees for Best Picture of 1968, The Lion in Winter suffers a bit from its origins as a play. While the dialogue is sharp, much of the action feels confined so that the actors are able to speak all of their lines to each other. The cast is filled with talented performers, but they are often given little else to do but talk. I would imagine that such restrictions worked better on the stage than they do in the film. I enjoyed the scenario, but it would have been a stronger movie had there been more action added to the screenplay.

The film concerns the decision by King Henry II (Peter O'Toole), also known as Henry Plantagenet, over which of his sons shall be his heir upon his death. All of the family, including Henry's exiled wife, Eleanor of Aquitaine (Katharine Hepburn), have been summoned for what is dubbed "Christmas court" in 1183 so that they can determine who shall be the proper successor. Henry fears he has little time left to make a suitable choice, given his age, so he wants his three sons to demonstrate their appropriateness for taking his place before he makes his final decision.

In truth, none of the three seems like a good choice. The youngest son, John (who would, indeed, later become King John), is his father's early favorite, but he seems, to be charitable, rather dim-witted for the monarchy. John is played by Nigel Terry. Eleanor favors the eldest son, Richard (who would descend to the throne upon his father's death and become Richard the Lionhearted), but his father does not trust Richard. You would undoubtedly recognize the actor playing Richard; he's a young Anthony Hopkins, and his distinctive voice and confident acting style are already clearly on display in this film. The third son is Geoffrey, who is very deliberate in his plans to eliminate both of his brothers from consideration so that he could lay claim to the throne. Geoffrey is played with malicious glee by John Castle.

While all of this is going on, Henry is also attempting to negotiate with King Philip of France (Timothy Dalton) over the marriage of Alais (Jane Merrow), the French king's half-sister who has lived with Henry and Eleanor since she was a child. She is now Henry's mistress, but he initially plans to marry her to John. She had initially been promised to Richard, the heir apparent as the oldest son, but she truly loves only Henry. Philip wants Alais to be married, or he will demand that Henry return her dowry.

There's a lot of confrontations between the characters in this film. The three sons are perpetually squabbling. Henry battles with each of his sons. Eleanor too fights with the sons at different times, but she saves her harshest criticism for Henry himself. They have long been estranged from each other, hardly surprising since he has had her imprisoned for at least ten years. They still have romantic feelings for each other, but the old wounds they have inflicted upon each other have not yet healed. Both king and queen also fight with Alais, who manages to get in a few barbs of her own now and then. And, of course, Philip gets a chance to denounce almost everyone in the royal family, particularly in one scene where all three princes wind up in his room and their father storms in to confront the French king.

There are deals and alliances enough to make a year's worth of Survivor episodes. And there are betrayals of almost everyone. The most stinging has to be Philip's betrayal of Richard. He admits to Henry that the two young men had a love affair--well, he uses the more clinical term of "sodomy" much of the time--but while Richard and his brothers are still hidden in the room, Philip claims that the relationship meant nothing to him. The look on Hopkins' face shows the pain that this confession causes Richard. Before the narrative ends, Henry will lock all three of his potential heirs in the dungeon and banish his wife back to Salisbury Tower. That's not how the film ends, of course, but I suspect that the ending is the least important aspect of the movie anyway.

Historically, of course, none of this happened. There was no Christmas court in 1183. The line of succession was always relatively clear because English tradition calls for the eldest son to be the next king. And Richard and Philip never had a relationship. It was Philip and Geoffrey who were lovers in real life. (There is an exchange between the two actors that would suggest such an attraction.) Really, though, it's all just an exercise in speculative narrative carried out by the playwright/screenwriter James Goldman, who won an Oscar for his script here. He certainly has given some good lines to the performers. One of my favorites is from Eleanor: "Had I been sterile, darling, I'd be happier today."

The best performance in the film, by far, is the one by O'Toole. He gives masterful line readings and can show both great bluster and deep sorrow in the space of an instant. It's quite a showy part, and O'Toole makes the best of it. He has always impressed me since his first major role as the title character in Lawrence of Arabia. All of the actors portraying the princes are good, too, but Hopkins definitely stands out. Both he and Dalton demonstrate here the promise of what would be long, successful careers.

If there is one person who is miscast, sadly, I think it's Hepburn. It isn't that she can't portray Eleanor with the dignity of a queen or that she can't deliver the lines with the archness that they require. It's that she doesn't sound French or English or anything other than the New England Yankee that she was. It's rather jarring to hear her surrounded by all of these classically trained English actors with those wonderful and appropriate accents. Oddly enough, she was the only member of the cast to win an Academy Award, famously tying Barbra Streisand in Funny Girl for Best Actress of 1968. If that doesn't show the depth of love the Academy had for Hepburn, I'm not sure what does.

Oliver! (1968)

I've seen Oliver! several times in my life. Oliver Twist, the novel by Charles Dickens, is one of my favorite books; I've read it numerous times and have even taught it a couple of times. However, as much as I enjoy film musicals in general and this particular film musical version of a cherished favorite, I am still surprised this was chosen as the Best Picture of 1968.

You're probably familiar with the story already. A young orphan, Oliver Twist, leaves the workhouse to face an uncertain life in the funeral trade. After facing abuse at the hands of the funeral director's family and employees, he runs off to London. There he meets the Artful Dodger, who introduces him to Fagin and his gang of boy thieves. They are all, in turn, under the command of the evil Bill Sikes. Bill himself is cared for and loved by Nancy, who also befriends Oliver and tries to ensure that he is unharmed.

While all of this dark stuff is going on, there's singing, lots of singing. And the score is quite beautiful, good songs all around: "Consider Yourself," "It's a Fine Life," "I'd Do Anything," "Who Will Buy?" A real standout, though, is "As Long as He Needs Me," one of the oddest paeans to co-dependency you're likely ever to hear. There's dancing too, particularly well executed by the boys in such numbers as "You've Got to Pick a Pocket or Two." These numbers do indeed enliven the film.

I like several of the performers too. Shani Wallis is great as Nancy; she has a beautiful voice and a real sense of vitality. Ron Moody is a delight as Fagin, particularly his ability to switch emotions in a second. I've always liked Oliver Reed's performance as Bill Sikes, a thoroughly despicable character in many ways but who comes across as oddly sexy in this film. Yeah, I know. What can I say? Mark Lester, playing Oliver, doesn't make much of an impression, but then again, the character himself doesn't make that much of an impression in the book, does he? It's really more about the people around him than it is about Oliver himself.

The real star, though, is Jack Wild as the Artful Dodger. Wild was a talented singer and dancer, and he certainly knows how to draw attention to himself. You're always looking for him in the midst of the scenes at Fagin's hideout. Even among a gang of singing and dancing boys, you can't help but focus on him. He was about 16 years old at the time this film was made, but he seems so much younger in appearance and so much older in his wisdom and experience. I first knew Wild from his performances on the Saturday morning kids' show H.R. Pufnstuf; I loved that show and own the DVD of the complete series. What a shame to see him already gone at such a young age and under such tragic circumstances.

I know I've been saying good things about this movie, and you're probably puzzling over why I don't think it deserved to win Best Picture. As entertaining as Oliver! (you have to have the exclamation point, don't you?) is, it's just a bit too frivolous even as a movie musical to be the best film of the year. The Academy also nominated Romeo and Juliet that year, a gorgeous film that still is one of the best adaptations of Shakespeare ever. There was also The Lion in Winter, a great period piece featuring some staggering performances from the likes of Katherine Hepburn and Peter O'Toole and a young Anthony Hopkins. (I won't speak much now of the other two, lesser nominees: Funny Girl and Rachel, Rachel.) The single best film of 1968 wasn't even nominated that year: 2001: A Space Odyssey. How can anyone think that Oliver! was the best film of the year when Stanley Kubrick's masterpiece isn't even in the running?

So enjoy Oliver! for what it is: expensive, splashy musical entertainment. Admire the work of young Jack Wild and the other talented performers in the film. Sing along to the songs you remember. Just don't think that this is the Best Picture of 1968.