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Scritzy
Reviews
Disneyland: The Scarecrow of Romney Marsh: Part 1 (1963)
Ah, I'm a child again
My husband bought a Christmas gift for both of us: a used VHS rental copy of DR. SYN (also known as THE SCARECROW OF ROMNEY MARSH). It was my favorite movie ever shown on "Walt Disney's Wonderful World of Color." It was his favorite as well.
We had gotten our hopes up this past summer, for it had been said that Disney was releasing the movie on DVD. "Scarecrow" on DVD! Wow! Then it didn't happen. Speculation among "Scarecrow" fans was that Disney canceled the release because the studio was thinking of remaking the film.
I hope for two things if a remake is in the works: (1) that Johnny Depp plays Dr. Syn; (2) that the remake is literal, because one shouldn't tamper with perfection.
Because after viewing our old favorite, my husband and I agree that it is still magnificent. "Scarecrow" has a delicious creepiness about it, causing a momentary spinal shiver, as if the damp wind from the marshes has just laved over the skin.
The story is compelling. The acting is first-rate, better than in many Disney films (both then and now). The villains are wonderfully hateful. The victims are kind souls who don't deserve ill treatment. The heroes are worthy of cheers. And the opening song is a lively ballad that sets the tone for the story to come.
The Scarecrow and his gang may be a bit too scary for very young children, just as the Wicked Witch of the West and Oz's Wizard may disconcert little ones. Otherwise, "Scarecrow" is a great family film.
Sometimes I view movies I loved as a child and wonder why?? Not so with "Scarecrow." It remains as good a film as it was 40 years ago, when I sat in front of the TV in the den, singing along with the opening theme and shivering with anticipation as the story began.
A Beautiful Mind (2001)
Whose life is it, anyway?
"A Beautiful Mind" is a beautiful movie. It is the story of the brilliant and tortured John Nash, mathematician and Nobel laureate, a man who wrestled with the demons of mental illness and came out on top.
Or is it?
If you read the book on which the movie was based - and be forewarned, it is NOT an easy read - you will find that the movie really had only the most tenuous connection with John Nash's life. He was brilliant. He was arrogant. He was mad. He married Alicia. And he won a Nobel prize.
Yet even after I read the book, and saw Nash himself interviewed (and heard him make discouraging comments that his schizophrenic son should employ more "rational thinking"), I found that I still like the movie.
Maybe because I have wrestled with my own demons of mental illness (though mine are tame compared to Nash's), I found myself in sympathy with Nash's film self. I also felt for Alicia, as my spouse has had to go through some harrowing moments with me. Scenes in the hospital were a bit unnerving. Yet there a poignant hope surrounding the film, that those of us in the depths may find the light in the tunnel, and passage out of the darkness.
Akiva Goldsman's script was both luminous and shadowy, probing the mind of genius and insanity with equal aplomb. Someone so complex as Nash could not have been brought to life by a poor writer. Sylvia Nasar's book is excellent; Goldsman's screenplay, though bearing only slight resemblance to the book, is excellent as well. The movie owes much to the screenplay's brilliance.
Russell Crowe did a wonderful job as Nash, portraying the man on many levels. The one problem for me was his accent, or lack thereof. Only twice did he lapse into something faintly resembling a Southern accent. The rest of the time I kept hearing Richard Burton, particularly as George in "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?" Crowe will be the perfect choice to play Burton's role in the remake.
Jennifer Connelly was both strong and delicate as Alicia Nash. (It would have been nice if the film had at least hinted that Alicia is Hispanic.) Ed Harris rarely stumbles, and he was certainly in fine form as the hard-as-nails - and ultimately terrifying - William Parcher. Judd Hirsch was unfortunately wasted in a throw-away part.
Ulimately, however, it was the performance of Paul Bettany that made me go back to the theater a second time, and what will make me buy the video as soon as it is released. As the "prodigal roommate" Charles Herman, Bettany was a perfect foil and comic relief for Crowe's anguished Nash. The role of Charles may well have been the most difficult in the film, and Bettany did it proud. I was disappointed that the Academy Awards overlooked him.
Perhaps the film owes its heart and soul to its director, Ron Howard. I've never been a huge fan of Howard's pictures - though I did like "Apollo 13" (and "Gung Ho" had its moments: "No more MTV! No more Twisted Sister!"). With "A Beautiful Mind," Ron grows up. It's nice to see one of my contemporaries make good after many years of hard work. (You can always count on Ron to include his family in his pictures - Daddy Rance showed up in "A Beautiful Mind" as a mental patient, and Ron himself was a party guest.)
While much of the pre-Oscar buzz going around was true - "A Beautiful Mind" does sugarcoat Nash's rather abrasive personality - the best thing to do is judge the film as a separate entity. Read the book for the life of John Nash. Watch "A Beautiful Mind" to see a beautiful movie.
O Brother, Where Art Thou? (2000)
O Brother, Thou Art in my Heart!
What can you say about a movie with such memorable lines:
"Gopher, Everett?"
"Oh, George, not the livestock!"
"We thought you was a toad!"
How about saying, "Oh, brother!" Because whence came those lines, the film, "O Brother, Where Art Thou?" Based on Homer's Odyssey, this delightful frolic takes our Depression-era adventurers, led by Ulysses Everett McGill, from the railroad to the recording studio, from the chain gang to river of redemption.
"My hair!"
Everett (played by George Clooney, doing a wicked Clark Gable imitation) leads his fellow prisoners, Pete (John Turturro) and Delmar (the incredible Tim Blake Nelson) through the fields and furrows of the Deep South. In the course of their travels, they meet a blind prophet; Pete's horse-eating turncoat cousin; a talented black guitarist (Chris Thomas King) standing at the crossroads (having sold his soul to the devil in order to learn to play the guitar; hmmm, wasn't there a movie called "Crossroads" that had to do with
oh, never mind); a blind radio station owner who starts the boys on their singing career; some incredibly hot babes (read: Sirens) who make off with Pete ("They loved him up and turned him into a horny-toad!"); and a one-eyed gluttonous con man (read: Cyclops) essayed by John Goodman.
"Cow killer!"
Oh, yes, did I mention George "Babyface" Nelson, who machine-guns cows, then makes off with a bundle in a bank robbery but gets depressed and leaves the loot with the boys? And Pappy O'Daniel, the fussin'-cussin' politician? Then there's the encounter with the excruciating little Wharvy Gals and their baby-factory mother (Holly Hunter) who longs for a "bona fide" suitor to take care of her and her girls. And a turn with the KKK, which constitutes a hysterical takeoff on the march of the Wicked Witch's guards in "The Wizard of Oz."
"I don't want 'Fop'
I'm a 'Dapper Dan' man!"
Through it all we have Everett's obsession with pomade and hairnets, Delmar's salvation and philosophical acceptance of the world around him (shades of "Forest Gump" here) and Pete's hapless encounter that leads to betrayal. And the mysterious lawman with the bloodhound (Daniel von Bargen) who shows up in the worst places at the worst times.
Most of the acting is first rate (except for the Wharvy gals) and the story, aside from a little rough language, is mesmerizing. (The lack of Academy Award nominations for "O Brother" was disappointing. Tim Blake Nelson's omission was particularly puzzling.) The one sour note is the cruelty to animals - though digitized and computerized, it still looks all too real.
However, the real star of "O Brother" is T-Bone Burnett, the genius producer (brilliant architect of Bruce Cockburn's career) who crafted the soundtrack. He has pulled together some of Nashville's finest - including my favorite killer gospel group, The Fairfield Four (appearing as singing gravediggers). The music weaves through the story to make a rich and colorful tapestry, so tightly woven that one can barely imagine one without the other. The main theme, "Man of Constant Sorrow," turns up in two vocal and two instrumental versions, all of which rock (though the radio station version, with its awesome guitar, is my favorite). I couldn't wait to buy the soundtrack to this film. And I can't wait for the film to come out on video, so I can sit and watch it over and over again, reciting my favorite lines.
"Stay out of the Woolsworth (sic)!"
Oh, brother, what a classic!
Freaks (1932)
One of us ...
What makes a person "different?" Is it the way he looks, the way she talks? Is it the face or figure, the mode of dress? Is it genius or stupidity, talent or boorishness? And the hardest question of all, to misquote Mama Gump: "What's 'different' mean, anyway?"
Speaking from the point of view of one who has been called "freaky" on more than one occasion, I can say I would probably have felt much more comfortable around the genuine Freaks of Tod Browning's movie than the "normal" characters portrayed. The normal woman is evil enough, but to have her go ballistic when the Freaks decide to reach out in love and acceptance - allowing her to be known as "one of us" - shows the absolute horror of non-conformity. I can't be like them
if I were, I'd be "different."
Are the freaks so different from us? Are people of other races different? People of other religions? People who live in housing projects or mansions? Are they so different? If we cut them, do they not bleed?
To be wanted, loved, needed, accepted, is a human desire that runs deep to the soul. Yet what if you are accepted by freaks? One of them? One of us? What does that make you?
"Freaks" has lost none of its punch. It hits in the gut, hard. When I viewed it, I could understand why it had been banned. It was too, pardon the word, freaky. These weren't actors in makeup. They were living, breathing humans (yes, humans!) who lived life as the only way they knew how: normally.
The only movie I saw more disturbing than "Freaks" was "Silence of the Lambs," but it merely made me want to check my basement before I went to bed that night. "Freaks" has haunted me for many years. Maybe because I, like them, live in my own version of normality, have been gawked at and talked about and have even caused anger because of my "freakiness."
But that's okay. I accept you. Whether you know it or not, you're one of us.
The Blues Brothers (1980)
It was the trailer ...
I saw the trailer for "The Blues Brothers" 11 times, because I saw the movie "Fame" 11 times. (The BB trailer ran right before the show.) And the trailer sucked me in. It was so tightly edited, so exciting, so ... so enticing. I really wanted to see this movie! And so I did - I'm sorry to say, with a guy I didn't particularly like, one who guffawed and made embarrassing comments regarding the return of certain items of Jake's personal property by the prison guard. Therefore I didn't quite appreciate the flick the first time out, except for the music and dancing.
A few years later, when it showed up on cable, my husband and I taped it. We just about wore the tape out. I bought a copy of "The Blues Brothers" when it was re-released. Unfortunately the sequel (if you can call it that) was about to be released and the first 30 minutes of the tape are devoted to promoting the sequel. No matter. I can fast-forward to the good stuff.
Is "The Blues Brothers" a great film? Of course not. It can't touch "Casablanca" or "Citizen Kane" or even some of the Marx Brothers' wackiest turns. But is it a great movie? Oh, my. Better than four fried chickens and a Coke. Better than country AND western. Better than shrimp cocktail in a five-star restaurant. (Well, maybe not that good, but close.) "The Blues Brothers" has become a movie (like "A Christmas Story") that I know so well I can quote it. Or should I say, act it. I have Aretha Franklin's, "They still owe you money, FOOL!" dead-on.
I watch it today with a sense of melancholy. John Belushi was so talented. He had so much promise. Too bad he viewed life more as the brawling car chase than the mission from God. He could have been a contender. What a tragedy, and what a waste. No wonder the sequel didn't work. He wasn't there to toss the cigarette lighter out the car window.
But we still have the original Blues Brothers romp, with its Orange Whip (every tried to drink that stuff?), dry white toast, wine served by a waiter who grew up to be Pee-Wee Herman and other visual, aural and gustatory delights.
And it certainly had a heck of a trailer, too.
The Patriot (2000)
A compelling story awash in gore
THE PATRIOT is set in Colonial South Carolina. My husband was born in Rock Hill, my grandparents lived in Chester and I have traveled extensively in the Pee Dee/Low Country of the state; therefore I recognized quite a bit of the scenery. The film messes with history (still, as co-author of a historic textbook, I knew more or less who the characters were supposed to be), but it is a compelling story. And Mel Gibson is outstanding in his portrayal of a tormented man driven to extreme means to defend his family.
That said ... I knew ahead of time THE PATRIOT contained violent battle scenes and other rather unsavory (often sadistic) bits of business. I didn't realize, however, that I was going to spend half the movie with my hands over my eyes. Particularly disturbing to me was a suicide scene that lasted perhaps a second, but made me hyperventilate (I lost a friend to suicide a few years ago). One might say that since war is hell, the violence is not gratuitous. Maybe not, but gore is gore, and there's quite enough of it. THE PATRIOT is a good movie, but I would not recommend it for anyone who finds violence unnerving.
Love Business (1931)
You Gotta Love "Love Business"
One of my all-time favorite "Our Gang" shorts, starring the inimitable Jackie Cooper, the ever-engaging Mary Ann Jackson and the hysterical Norman "Chubby" Chaney. Jackie, in love with Miss Crabtree, is worried when she comes to board at his mother's house; how will it be to have the object of his affection under the same roof? Kid Brother Wheezer is delighted, however, telling Miss Crabtree, "Now Jackie can sleep with YOU and call YOU tootsie-tootsie and moonie-moonie." (Jackie's dreams of Miss Crabtree have been disturbing Wheezer's sleep.) Adding to Jackie's distress is Farina's contention that Jackie will have to "slick up" since the teacher is living with him. (Stymie demurs, proclaiming, "I wouldn't wash MY feet for NOBODY!")
Jackie's problems become worse when Chubby shows up to give Miss Crabtree flowers and candy and tells her, "Don't call me Norman, call me Chubsy-Ubsy!" When she kisses him, he bounces up and down, yelling "Whoopee!" But when he begins to court the fragile beauty, saying, "Oh, Miss Crabtree, there's something lying heavy on my heart," Jackie appears, threatening, "Oh, Chubsy-Ubsy, there's going to be something lying heavy on your nose!"
It is always poignant to watch a film like "Love Business," knowing what history had in store for those adorable kids: Chubby died at age 18, Wheezer at 20; Stymie became a druggie (but cleaned up his act in adulthood and was a well-loved character actor until his death); June Marlowe (Miss Crabtree) got Parkinson's disease; and even Pete the Pup got bum-rapped because he was a pit bull. But tragedy cannot dim the luster of the "Our Gang" films because, for the most part, they were so well-done.
Thank God for films like "Love Business," in which the teacher can kiss a kid and not get sued, where a woman can serve mothball soup and not even make anyone sick, and where a schoolboy rivalry over who loves the teacher doesn't result in a showdown with assault weapons. That kind of innocence doesn't exist anymore. But though it's so very innocent, "Love Business" is also so very, very funny.
Frank's Place (1987)
LA, not L.A., and thank God for it
Frank's Place is one of my favorite shows. Very underrated, very unappreciated and quite ahead of its time. The episode in which the corpse shows up sitting in the back row at his own funeral, with Bach's marvelously macabre "Toccata in D Minor" as the stinger, is pure genius. The episode in which the homeless man stands at the back door singing "Daaaaaaaaaaayyyyy-OOOOOOOO!" (Harry Belafonte, eat your heart out) is classic. And who could believe that Shorty! The use of subtitles to translate that spicy-as-gumbo Louisiana gush - what a hoot! My husband, whose father was from Louisiana, could always understand every word Shorty said. I had to rely on the subtitles. Why, why, why wasn't this show given a chance? Because it was sensitive, intelligent and enormously funny, that's why. Diversity, the dearth of which is so lamented today, came to TV in 1987 and was shuffled off with less finesse than was the missing corpse. Our loss. TV Land, bring it back! I promise to set my VCR!
Ed Wood (1994)
Kinship with a Fringie
The theatre wasn't exactly filling up fast: so far my husband, a friend and myself were the only ones seated. Just before the movie began, a young couple walked in. And shortly after the movie began, they walked out. I wonder if they asked for their money back. I hope they didn't get it.
The movie was ED WOOD, Tim Burton's homage to trash-film director Edward D. Wood Jr., which only played in Greenville for two weeks and did not show up at the second-run movie houses. Apparently no one wanted to see it. Their loss.
But perhaps I'm being too hard on those who don't appreciate the subtle nuances of Eddie Wood's movies. To me, Eddie was a glittering bead hanging on Hollywood's lunatic fringe. However, Eddie, a transvestite who often directed his masterpieces wearing high heels and an angora sweater, was not exactly your mama's director. He was no Frank Tashlin, who tried to make Jayne Mansfield respectable in THE GIRL CAN'T HELP IT. He was no Norman Taurog, who made Elvis look like a dork in countless girls-cars-and-guitars flicks. He wasn't even Russ Meyer, whose exploitation films are legendary in their trashiness. No, Eddie just never seemed to get a break. He wanted to be Orson Welles. He didn't even find the measure of fame accorded to Orson Bean! He remained a pathetic outcast, forever a fringie.
Perhaps it is appropriate that Johnny Depp was chosen to portray Eddie Wood. Depp has a long history of playing outcasts and fringies -- Edward Scissorhands, Gilbert Grape, Hunter Thompson. Depp makes it clear that Eddie's angora-covered heart was in the right place. He worked hard on his scripts, he gave important roles to spectacularly talentless actors like Vampira, wrestler Tor Johnson and Eddie's own main squeeze, Dolores Fuller. And he was very kind to the drug-addled has-been Bela Lugosi, even dissuading the drunken Drac from committing suicide (which wasn't entirely altruistic, perhaps, as Lugosi had threatened to take Eddie with him). Depp makes Eddie appear almost human.
Depp's portrayal is just one of several that are outstanding: George "The Animal" Steele as Tor Johnson, Jeffrey Jones as Criswell, Vincent D'Onofrio in his cameo of Orson Welles and Bill Murray as Bunny Breckinridge -- one of the rare times Murray has immersed himself in his character and not been merely Bill Murray with someone else's name. Also delightful is a brief appearance by organist Korla Pandit, 1950's television personality once billed "The Prince of the Wurlitzer."
However, all the performances in ED WOOD are overshadowed by Academy-award winner Martin Landau as Bela Lugosi. For those enough old enough to remember Landau in TV's "Mission: Impossible," it perhaps isn't surprising that Landau was able to hide so completely behind a spookily accurate makeup job; seeing Landau's Lugosi watch himself on television was eerie because Landau looked enough like Lugosi to make it seem real.
The film ends on a high note, which Eddie's life didn't -- he died in his sleep, watching a ball game, just a few days after he'd been evicted from his apartment.
ED WOOD is not a family film. Some of the language is strong, drugs and drink are abundant, and many of the characters are a shade on the bizarre side. It might be hard to explain to one's children why this apparently virile man loves to raid his girlfriend's closets.
Unfortunately, ED WOOD hasn't exactly burned up the box office. Perhaps it is because so few people can relate to someone as weird as Eddie, with his terrible stories about men in angora sweaters, killer octopi, blank-eyed wrestler slaves and, the piece de resistance, aliens with eight failed plans to take over the universe. I believe Eddie himself felt like those aliens, which is why, viewing PLAN NINE FROM OUTER SPACE, he said, "This is the one I'll be remembered by." And perhaps that very weirdness made the story appealing to me. Having lived as a misfit and outcast, working hard all my life to reach a goal that has remained elusive, I can, to quote someone I don't care for, feel Eddie's pain. It's too late for him, but perhaps there's hope for me yet ...
Horror Hayride (1991)
Webb Wilder: Unappreciated Genius
I first saw HORROR HAYRIDE shortly after a friend's suicide. Viewing this decidedly abnormal film, which is essentially a long-form video for Webb Wilder's disc DOODAD, made me laugh, truly, deeply and hysterically, for the first time since her death. Since then I have purchased the video (yeah, some people do think I'm crazy but get over it!) and watched it countless times. Webb Wilder is in a class of his own. An actor of the Jack Webb School of Emotion, he also writes lyrics of the type that Lyle Lovett would write if Lyle were on Prozac (or maybe something stronger).
The film unfolds in semi-documentary fashion, with Webb's reluctant agreement to help Kirsten, the governor's daughter, with her little driver's ed film. But Briley Parkway, the "film school ... intellectual smart-butt" director Kirsten has engaged to shoot the driver's ed flick is involved in something shadier than tossing mannequin heads in the audience as a careless driver is beheaded. Perhaps he isn't the "vapid, shallow ... congenitally misinformed, moronic Napoleonic fop" described by the head of the driver's ed board, but he doesn't seem to have come from the Disney organization either. Webb's search for the secret gets complicated by his reunion with an old flame, head doctor Barbara Slovine. They lament their broken relationship at a cast party ... Did I mention that at said party Webb and undercover highway patrolman Travis Byrd sing a song apparently entitled, "If You Don't Think Elvis Was Number One, You're Full of Number Two." (I once threatened to sing this ditty when I was entertaining a group of senior citizens.) Webb, a true incompetent spy long before Austin Powers said his first "baaaaayyyyybeee," gets to the truth but can't put the scum away despite his judo moves; he promptly gets tossed on his back with the comment, "Boy, you're dumber'n a bucket o' rocks." So who saves the day? Do yourself a favor, rent the flick and find out. (You'll find it in a trilogy called CORN FLICKS.)
Aliens, nightmares, tater tots and Twitty City, not to mention a kickin' cover version of the Electric Prunes' psychedelic masterpiece, "I Had Too Much to Dream (Last Night)" ... HORROR HAYRIDE has much to offer the inquiring mind. Though I've been told more than once that a person would have to be stoned to understand, much less like, this film, I disagree. It helps to be cold sober and wounded. Because there's nothing like laughing until you fall off the sofa to keep you sane. I'm forever grateful to the unappreciated genius of the self-proclaimed "last of the full-grown men." I actually listen to his music, too. And like it. Oh, and I have an autographed picture sitting in my studio. Am I crazy? Yeah, have been since the age of twelve. Am I a Webb Wilder fan? Way, major. Pick up on it!