No Country for Old Men (2007)

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sunrise (1927-28)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Other Nomination: Best Art Direction

Atonement (2007)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Greatest Show on Earth (1952)

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

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

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

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

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

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

Reds (1981)

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

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

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

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

The Elephant Man (1980)

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

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

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

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

Grand Hotel (1931-32)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oscar Win: Outstanding Production