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Calcutta (1946)
The stuff that dreams are made of.
Calcutta was a big hit upon its release, and I can easily see why. It's Hollywood escapism at its finest. Every frame of the film is eye candy to the nth degree. Alan Ladd never looked more beautiful. Hell, no man ever looked more beautiful. Gail Russell and June Duprez are beautiful. The Hollywood version of Calcutta is beautiful, and its exotic doors and windows frame the actors beautifully as well. The film has a relatively short running time (83 minutes), an exciting, and necessarily fast-paced story, and a lot of twists and turns that will keep viewers until the end (and, after the end, as exactly what happened is never very clearly explained). But the story is almost irrelevant to the appeal of the film -- it's merely an excuse for all of the beautiful people, drinking, fighting, smuggling jewels, double-crossing one another, making love, while acting uber cool and looking breathtakingly beautiful the entire time. Josef von Sternberg, who was known for making films in studio versions of exotic locations with beautiful stars and gorgeous photography once said that the best stories don't come from novels or plays, but from newspaper articles. Film isn't really about plot. Film is a dream fantasy -- and Calcutta is pure dream. Okay, it's a male-oriented fantasy: Ladd has two gorgeous women in love with him (and despite the Production Code restrictions, he obviously sleeps with both), who he basically treats like crap... sexy, smoky-voiced nightclub singer, June Duprez is willing to accept his "playing the field"; and packed with guy style adventure (Ladd comes off as a cross between James Bond and Indiana Jones)... but who's complaining. Just sit back and enjoy the dream.
Thunder in the East (1952)
A Criminally Underrated Film
And one of Alan Ladd's best.
"Thunder in the East" boasts excellent direction by Charles Vidor, the camerawork of one of Hollywood's master cinematographers, Lee Garmes (who worked on most of the Von Sternberg-Dietrich masterpieces), and memorable performances by Ladd, Deborah Kerr, Charles Boyer, Cecil Kellaway, John Williams, and virtually everyone involved. The romance between Ladd and Kerr is poignant and unforgettable ("The awning is still blue."), and Kerr is a standout as a blind woman who's afraid to leave the city that she was born in, and knows so well that she can walk through as if she had sight.
The film's political message won't appeal to pacifists, and while there is only one real action scene at the end, the offscreen acts of violence leading up to it are extremely disturbing: a bus load of refugees, many of them children rides off with the children happily singing a song. We later hear that the bus was attacked and that everyone on board had been killed. An English couple attempts to evacuate by driving off in a horse and carriage, only to have their empty carriage return, and one of the main characters has his hand cut off by the bad guys (the attacking Muslim forces) in an attempt to persuade him into complying with their demands.
The open ending, described as "abrupt" in some of the other reviews is a decade ahead of its time. I like to think the odds are in favor of our heroes -- however the main point is that each of the men advancing toward the camera (the primary and secondary protagonists) has undergone a profound change in character as a result of the events they've become embroiled in.
Yes, the film feels a little like "Casablanca" at times (is this a bad thing?); and, no, it isn't quite as great as "Casablanca" (few films are); but while it's not as enjoyable, it's much darker, more realistic (in spite of being set in a fictional state), has a deeper, more profound message, and a much more adult approach. "Casablanca" works so well because the overriding air of cynicism is merely a pose -- with the two most jaded characters (Rick and Louis) finding a cause to believe in. "Thunder in the East" offers little in the way of hope -- only violence (with superior force) can save one from violence. And even then, the outcome remains unknown.
I've only given this film 9 stars because it never rises to the level of a cinematic masterpiece (like "The Third Man," "The Lady from Shanghai," "Orphee," "Meshes of the Afternoon," "The Seventh Seal," or "Shane") -- but for a "standard" Hollywood film, I rank this with the "Greats."
The Third Man (1949)
The Greatest Film Ever Made
The Third Man is an art film disguised as a suspense thriller -- so well disguised that it would make a master of suspense like Alfred Hitchcock proud. But viewers who experience it only as an art film should heed Major Calloway's self-criticism and try digging deeper than a grave. And it's precisely because it allows casual audiences to enjoy it as a genre film that places The Third Man head and shoulders above all other art films (which operate on an art for art's sake format).
So if The Third Man isn't just a suspense film, what is it? The answer is, that it's many things. In fact, it is so structured as to lend itself to an endless series of interpretation. Levels upon levels upon levels of meaning. The most prominent ones being: loss of innocence/disillusionment, political commentary, fantasy vs reality, the nature of good and evil, traditional morality vs modern amorality, confrontation with one's shadow/doppelgänger, and a Jungian attempt to stabilize an unbalanced psyche. This last interpretation provides the basic myth-making structure from which all other interpretations arise.
Like Vienna, American writer Holly Martins' psyche is compartmentalized into 4 sectors: Ego (Holly), Shadow/Id (Harry), Anima (Anna) and Superego (Calloway). During the war, the shadow had become dominant, and wrought havoc on both America/Martins' psyche and the world (both symbolized in the bombed out landscapes of Vienna). At first the Ego attempts to protect its subconscious counterpart (Harry), but eventually the Superego wins out. Harry/Shadow is killed (banished to the underworld as symbolized by his fingers stretching helplessly out of the sewer grate), Anna/Anima is repatriated to the Russian sector (also suppressed), Calloway/Superego has restored order ... and Holly/Ego is left standing alone in a cold, bleak world of reality, disillusionment and loss.
Note the confusion/alliance of identities in Anna's confusion of "Harry" and "Holly," along with her wearing Harry's initial's on her/(formerly his) pajamas. Holly's constant confusion of the real life drama with his pulp westerns (both to Calloway and Popescu) -- the b/w morality of which is as anachronistic as the cowboy heroes he identifies with. And his ultimate (or penultimate, depending on how one cares to interpret his state of mind at the ending) refusal to "be sensible"/"be reasonable" and accept, and to operate within, the modern world in all its amoral ambiguity ("I haven't got a sensible name").
Equally ambiguous is the film's final stance: the world without Harry (amoral, corrupt, self-serving) is an empty one for both Holly and Anna. Despite Harry's flaws (which include the murder/mental of destruction of dozens of children he sold watered down penicillin to), we like him (as an audience) and need him (as a part of our psychic totality). In his self-serving way, he has even managed to perform some acts of kindness (forging Anna's papers to keep her the Russian sector). As if in demonstration of his famous "cuckoo-clock" speech, the return to order leaves our hero/ego alone in a graveyard of leafless trees with the psychological crutch of a socially acceptable drug (cigarette) as his only source of comfort. As he tosses the match to ground with a gesture of disgust, we're treated to what is possibly the single most bleak image a film has ever ended on.
And, while the film is so justly celebrated for these points that they hardly need mentioning: Robert Krasker's cinematography is highly innovative, and superb, Carol Reed's direction brilliant, the acting of Joseph Cotton, Alida Valli, Orson Welles, Trevor Howard, as well as the wide array of wonderful character actors (Bernard Lee, Ernst Deutsch, Paul Hörbiger, Wilfrid Hyde-White), and even the extras (Krasker and Reed pick dozens of fascinating faces out of the Vienna streets to focus on) flawless, Graham Greene's original screenplay a masterpiece, and Anton Karas' "Greek Chorus" zither playing is both a stroke of genius and a blessing from the gods.
Sergeants 3 (1962)
Interesting Transposition of Gunga Din to the American West
Re-envisioning George Stevens' classic "Gunga Din" as a western seems like an obvious choice for director John Sturges, whose classic "The Magnificent Seven" of two years before was a similar transposition of Akira Kurosawa's "Seven Samurai." The geographic switch not only renders the story more accessible to American audiences, but provides for a more credulous (if historically inaccurate) set of villains (the Lakota Ghost Dancers). More importantly the change of setting allows for a more direct commentary on race relations the United States, which is unfortunately softened in its impact due to the story's compromised ending.
It's clear, though never directly stated, that Sergeant Merry's (Frank Sinatra's) refusal to allow ex-slave Jonah Williams to join his troop (even as a civilian stable boy) is due to the segregated military policies of the time. Had the film held to the original scenario, wherein Williams/Din sacrifices his life in preventing a massacre of the troops his is arbitrarily barred from being a member of, the film might be held in greater critical esteem. Williams' martyrdom would also have raised the film, like its original, to the level of a socio-serio tragi- -comedy.
The happy ending fails on several levels, since the "resurrection" of Jonah Williams after having received a spear wound to his midsection, and an arrow to his shoulder places a strain on credibility, and his subsequent induction into the military racially integrates the U.S. Military roughly 75 years prior to its historical counterpart. This fairytale desegregation in turn negates any social statements the film had hinted at prior to that point in the narrative; effectively blunting the film's message and turning it into a harmless, throwaway western comedy-adventure.
Even so, the end result remains an enjoyable two hours' entertainment. Sturges' direction provides from some exciting action sequences, and plenty of breathtaking Panavision vistas filmed in Bryce Canyon. One memorable touch is the offscreen death of the telegraph operator in the film's opening scene: Sturges cuts from a shot of the Indians slowly advancing toward the operator to a shot of the telegraph operator on the receiving end as the message suddenly cuts off. Sinatra, Davis, Dean Martin, and even Peter Lawford turn in strong performances. Joey Bishop also does a good job with his more limited role as the group's comic foil.
Crime and Punishment (1935)
Better than the book.
Director Josef von Sternberg once said that the best stories come from brief sources like newspaper articles. His condensation of Dostoyevsky's cumbersome novel into an 88 minute film, bears his statement out. I've always felt that Crime and Punishment would have worked better as a short story than a novel. There's neither enough plot nor philosophical speculation to justify its length. The film is a visual treat (it's a Sternberg) and moves along at a fast enough pace to keep interest from lagging -- even when the end is inevitable from the outset (courtesy of the Production Code). But the film's greatest strength is in its actors. Edward Arnold, the too beautiful to be real Marian Marsh, and especially Peter Lorre. Mr. Lorre is riveting in his depiction of Raskolnikov's journey from poverty driven desperation, to fear, to arrogance, to his ultimate repentance and redemption. It's not only one of his finest performances, but one of the cinema's all time greats.
Moontide (1942)
Forgotten Minor Gem
An impressive amount of talent was involved in this low budget film: Nunnally Johnson & John O'Hara, screenplay; Salvador Dali, nightmare sequence; Fritz Lang & Archie Mayo, direction; and a cast that included Jean Gabin, Ida Lupino, Thomas Mitchell, Claude Rains, Jerome Cowan, Sen Yung, and Tully Marshall. The end result doesn't quite rise to the level of "masterpiece," but it's far from your typical Hollywood fare.
It's got a European feel and sensibility to it, and mature themes, characterizations, and pacing. It's only missteps are in soft pedaling the seamier elements in an attempt to placate the censors. Savvy viewers can read between the lines enough to see that Ms. Lupino's character had worked as a prostitute and that Mr. Mitchell had a homosexual attraction to Jean Gabin. Unfortunately, the ending feels too compromised to be satisfying. I'm guessing that in the original story, it ended in rape and murder.
The acting is first rate with Rains and Mitchell cast against type, but it's Gabin and Lupino who really shine. I haven't seen many films by Archie Mayo, but those that I have show him to have been a talented director. His Svengali seems more like it came from UFA than from Hollywood. With a stronger ending and a bigger budget this might well have been one of the greats.