EveryBestPicture.com revisits this Oscar Best Picture winner Five minutes in and you think that the beginning gave too much away. The exposition is really heavy handed but, fortunately, this movie has plenty up its sleeve. The main characters are introduced making phone calls in the lobby, each explaining their identity: “I am awaiting news from Manchester, without it I cannot sell my business” says the factory owner, “I am dying, and plan to live out my final days in the grand hotel, the greatest of hotels, spending all my savings. And I hate my boss, the factory owner.”... and so on. If you ever find yourself wanting to explain exposition with a copy of Grand Hotel to hand, play the first 4 minutes. The pace is slow to begin with, but as we meander alongside the protagonists, through the halls, rooms and balconies of the Grand Hotel we benefit from this pacing. We are gently absorbed into and by the construct, it watches much like a novel. The flailing about of the early talkies had been off-putting, here I found myself admiring the magnetism of the drama. The characters are driven by endearingly simplistic motivations and remain true to them throughout. There is Greta Garbo’s Russian Ballerina (Gusinskaya) who has lost inspiration and John Barrymore’s Hotel Thief (Baron Felix) who finds the light in her presence, Joan Crawford’s playful ‘Flem’... there is a strange pleasure in watching these finely crafted charicatures’ stories play out. Each character has their best moments when they hold the spotlight in masterful two-handers. A fine collection of character actors, they feed off each other but always in a shared spotlight. Any combination of characters seems to bring something new, reveals something you hadn't yet seen, one of the clearest examples of this is with Kringelein, the aforementioned accountant who finds a new lease of life in his final days spending all his savings on champagne and gambling. When opposite the Baron he becomes more confident, with Flem he is a shy boy or ‘soft old fool’ and when in the presence of his boss of 30+ years he cowers, but later rails against his cruelty. They are all defined by their relationships with others, and once you see this you realise that you cannot wait to see who comes together next. Wallace Beery plays said boss: General Director Prysing, factory owner. Although shown in a sympathetic light at first, a businessman trying to keep a company afloat, his turning point comes when he lies to push a business deal through in desperation. Generally a distasteful character, he is responsible for crushing any chance of a happy ending for the Baron and the Ballerina in the final act. In the context of the first years of the great depression it would have been very easy to set him up as the bad guy, and likewise the Baron as the hero.The latter, a man down on his luck resorting to crime to survive, maintains his honour as best he can and always supporting the underdog: just what the 1930's needed. And so, the pace picked up towards the end and really found its groove in the final act. 'Life goes on, regardless' is the message and it is delivered artfully. The Grand Hotel itself is an apt metaphor for the world which continues to turn despite goings on on the surface. Guests come and go, fall in and out of love, births, deaths, gain or let slip a fortune. But, the doors will continue to open and shut dispassionately. Money is also a theme- how people will sacrifice morality and dignity or simply what is right in order to keep it or to make it, despite their often noble instincts. Here, we have another early talkie worth watching, you do come away wishing to have booked a room and stayed even one night. This film gives you two hours in the Grand Hotel and they are worth it: I've given it 5 stars on tripadvisor. EveryBestPicture.com revisits this Oscar Best Picture winner All love is powerful, Hollywood has long exploited this. It sells this particular strain by the bucketload: a romantic love that knows no bounds and is limited by no earthly constraints. The English Patient is one of the most perfect expressions of this kind of love. This man (Almásy, played by Ralph Fiennes) and woman (Katharine Clifton, played by Kristin Scott Thomas) find themselves in a situation which needs no further complication. She is married to another, WWII is breaking out around them and they spend most of their time in crocked vehicles with dwindling water supplies in the deepest of deserts hoping that they will be rescued sooner rather than too late. But they do fall in love. That much you can see from the poster. It is as if Jane Austen and Rudolf Valentino collided, creating something new, but old. Somehow, innocence and good sense had been left out of the mix. Our two protagonists show neither of these qualities in any great abundance and as a result the fireworks fly, a marriage implodes and the devil may care. I can't say that I warmed to either one of them- but that doesn't seem to matter to me. Both are rich- he is a count, she is landed gentry. Both have lives of excess and folly, champagne camping trips, events in evening dresses and tuxedos, but also manage to take themselves terribly seriously. They are not used to having to earn anything, to having to wait for what they want. If it weren't for the fact that she falls for him, that the feelings are mutual, you are left with little doubt that his sense of entitlement to her by virtue of the fact that he loves her utterly and completely would not just be creepy (as it sometimes comes across), but dangerous. He has little compunction in letting her know that he has rights to her, that she should relent, and she does. His somewhat single minded view of how she should spend her time is, fortunately, shared. His willingness to do anything to see her again leads him to provide maps to Rommel's Nazi desert troops enabling a massacre of thousands. All in the name of his love for her. However, this portrait of a love which leaves a trail of destruction across North Africa is countered by another tale woven into the film, a tale of two simpler people who seek nothing material (Naveen Andrews plays Kip, Juliette Binoche as Hana). Their love hurts no one, but hanging above them is an ever approaching double-bladed sword of Damocles: everyone she loves dies, and he is a bomb disposal expert who spends his days defusing booby traps and unexploded ordinance. The English Patient is sumptuously shot. To make it this far into a review without mentioning this, or comparing it to Lawrence of Arabia (as lazy as it may seem, with both set in the desert) is absurd. But it is to the film's credit that the beauty is complementary, not central. The power of this film lies in the worlds created by the director (Anthony Minghella): utterly convincing. You willingness to believe is enhanced by the central performances, the intimacy between Fiennes & Scott Thomas is particularly striking. There is so much going for this movie, and it stood out so considerably from the other films of the mid nineties, I can understand why when it came to voting for 'Best Picture' the members of the Academy would have thought to themselves that this had the edge, and posted their ballot accordingly. It distils Hollywood's obsession for (and vision of) love so well that it doesn't even need you to like the characters very much in order to admire the depth of feeling they have for each other and enjoy this movie-going experience. So, both couples find their worlds shaken and shaped by love and death, and spend much of their time transcending both. It is well worth watching it happen. This was worth revisiting. An important note on the matter of size
If you get the chance, this is really one for a very big screen. We are lucky that these days most of us have a 40-odd inch screen in their home, but being immersed in this film, to physically look up to it, is where it is at. To feel the music, to become part of the world that is Minghella's creation is worth a cinema ticket. If you can't, although there is plenty to take from watching it scaled down, the epic nature of a film like this will most likely be lost in translation to the small screen. Enjoyable in both settings, but I recommend an outing for this one more than most. EveryBestPicture.com revisits this Oscar Best Picture winner
Oh dear. I am open to accusations of having a deaf ear to musicals, counting but a few in a very long list of beloved films. However, this classic, a jaunty tale of an entitled middle-aged American ex-G.I. (Gene Kelly as Jerry Mulligan) struggling as an artist in a painted set Paris really did exemplify why the genre is so maligned by many. The inevitable love affair begins when he daintily harasses a very reluctant 19 year-old (Lise Bouvier, played by Leslie Caron) into a date while taking advantage of the vulnerabilities (and means) of a divorcee closer to his age (Milo Roberts, played by Nina Foch). We are supposed to love this. Gene Kelly's charms are undeniable- the smile, his grace, his looks and voice would each be enough to launch a star and in combination he lights up the screen. But when forcing himself on young women, the charms flake away revealing a forty-something guy who dyes his hair and won't take no for an answer. Eugh. Apparently, borderline creepy not taking no for an answer works. Tip: stare at a girl you don't know when in a cafe long enough to make her visibly uneasy, then interrupt her conversation pretending to know her (so that her companions don't intercede and even give you her phone number "I lost it!") and drag her to the dance floor, even if she is telling you 'no'. It obviously results in Lise being unable to resist Jerry and they go on a few dates. He sings, he dances, she falls for him. Only....... she is already 'with' Henri Baurel (played by equally entitled, old and talented singer/dancer Georges Guétary) and upon meeting Jerry decides that the next correct course of action is to....... accept an offer of marriage from Henri (Eh?!). And continue to meet with Jerry behind Henri's back, without telling either that she is committed to both relationships. Fully. OK. The dance numbers that are randomly interspersed, often without warning, seem to me to be very much by the numbers. I am no expert, and am probably revealing this in saying that to a lay viewer the value appeared to be in the set design and costumes. They stood out in their quality- sure, everyone danced well, but these interjections bore almost no relation to the plot and some seemed to last interminably. The opening scenes featured a number in which Henri boasted about his girlfriends many charms, each charm ("she reads books") was followed by a 1 minute dance solo on a striking colour-themed set from Lise (reading books while dancing in a yellow set, for instance). By the 3rd 'charm' I was wondering how many there were going to be, by the 6th I was hoping it was the last, by the last I had literally fallen asleep. Admittedly, as a teacher, Friday night is not the best time to watch an unknown entity. So I paused, and came back to it the next day. Lise soon reveals that she only feels compelled to marry Henri because he looked after her when she was a child, while her parents were fighting for the French Resistance. There's something more than just a little uncomfortable about this Woody Allenesque arrangement. But never mind. LOOK! Dancing! The movie is also distractingly disjointed. Not just because I watched it over two viewings. The story leaves holes big enough to build several Eiffel towers: what happened to Milo, Jerry's cash cow divorcee? Last seen exiting stage left for a glass of champagne, unbeknownst to her Jerry then left the room without saying goodbye to bid his other love farewell. Milo would have returned with two glasses wondering where her date went. But don't think about that. LOOK! A dance number! After a brief exchange with Jerry we see Lise drive off with tears in her eyes. After a 17 minute song and dance number that happens in Jerry's head Henri drives Lise back into the arms of Jerry (-literally, he takes her there in a powder blue Citroen). Why was Henri, the man previously so pleased with his 10 year grooming project coming to fruition so glad to see Lise disappear into the arms of Jerry? Did a gendarme see this scene of mid-life crisis (19 year old woman crying out of the window being driven away by a middle aged menace to innocence) question both parties and promptly turn the car around? Was it a noble act, without a hint of reluctance? Did he have another friend queueing up to hand over their daughter? Take your pick of the explanations, because it is far from clear. With a look on his face like he just found a golden croissant Henri bids her farewell and skips into the ether. Jerry and Lise bound towards each other delighted and wordlessly walk away from the camera into their future as Gershwin's score swells. This film managed to make so much hard work (the choreography, the set, the dancing, the costumes, the extras, the orchestra, the score) come across as half hearted. This is quite an achievement. The script was the last on their list of 'things to consider'- everything else came first, and so the film flops around like sardines on the deck of a trawler: all energy, no plan. A huge disappointment given the quality of grace onscreen. The sexual politics were just as distracting as was the lack of cohesion between scenes (or even acts). There were enough loose threads to repair an ageing sofa. Lise was left looking like a rag doll, as she was passed between her two male lovers and eventually had her mind made up for her when Henri gleefully handed her back to Jerry. I didn't get the impression that their renewed love affair would last. Much like the 'magic' of this film, their affair will also have faded and been forgotten by Autumn 1951. EveryBestPicture.com revisits this Oscar Best Picture winner "All About Eve". Unassuming, never puts a foot wrong- both the title role and the film. Both begin as fairly nondescript, but it is hinted at early on that there is more to Eve than meets the eye, and so we watch events unfold with anticipation. With an impossibly strong female cast (Bette Davis, Marilyn Monroe are among the supporting cast, Ann Baxter the titular Eve) it is for once the turn of the men to decorate the set with limited roles. Shots are usually from behind and over the man's shoulder and constructed to ensure the women take centre stage. And with good reason. This is a tale of women existing within the constraints put upon them living in a man's world. Margot (Davis) has given everything to her career and begins to see the end nearing with every passing day- her roles were always written for twenty-somethings and it has been a while since she was pushing forty. Now, in her words, she is working hard just to 'stay a woman'. In the men's eyes Karen (Celeste Holm) exists as a wife, and a friend to other women, but nothing more. Miss Casswell (Monroe) a ditzy film actress more than willing to play the angles she needs to in order to give those with the whip hand reason to let her get ahead. Margot leads the way as the ageing talent they love a verbal tussle with, but are tired of having to bow to. When you finally see Eve reveal her true colours it comes as no surprise, her intensity is dialled up a notch, and the reaction from Margot is proportional, finally vindicated in her suspicion of the butter-wouldn't-melt Eve. I am moved to note that the negativity in the relationships between the women, the backbiting, plotting and holding on to by their teeth to what little dignity they are afforded by the powerful men around them reflects the schoolyard and the power games played between 14 year old schoolgirls. It is all the power they are allowed to wield, and their 'histrionics' (as they are perceived) are easily dismissed by those not involved. But just like in the playground, the distress caused by these power games is always surprisingly powerful when it is finally revealed after having been suppressed for so long in order to keep a hold of their dignity. This film, so laden with verbal guile, ends equally gracefully. We want the plotter to get her just desserts, but we also love it when a Machiavellian scheme bears fruit. Both would have been the most satisfying of endings. Whichever you might hope for, you get more. There is no suggestion that this is the end, no suggestion that anyone involved has bettered themselves or learned their lesson- it suggests that leading ladies are in a constant cat fight and the only dignified end is an exit, not a victory. This is a film which holds its own nearly 70 years after its release. Every element, even down to the interaction between the sexes, have aged, but they have done so brilliantly. Nobody comes out of it unscathed, but it certainly suggests that there is more than one way to come out on top once claws are bared in human interactions. This is a thoroughly entertaining watch, one whose appeal lies beyond the usual ground of the nostalgia nerd, and I commend it for its enduring quality. With thanks to Hannah Laurel who requested this review
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AuthorPablo Griffiths is a man with a passion for many things. He has recently taken an interest in writing about film, and himself in the third person. |