EveryBestPicture.com revisits this Oscar Best Picture winner
2019 was not a vintage year for Hollywood, and the Oscars made sure we will not forget this fact any time soon. The nominations for Best Picture this year were the winner, “Green Book”, an entertaining enough “BlacKkKlansman”, cringe-fest “Bohemian Rhapsody” which hung on the lead’s brilliant impression of Freddy Mercury, blockbuster “Black Panther”, the earnest “A Star is Born”, European costume drama “The Favourite” and “Roma” which could never win in this category as it was Mexican, a Netflix film and the best film of the year. The top three of these were not Hollywood productions and therefore outsiders, of those left many were surprised to see Green Book walk away with the much coveted little gold statuette. But why? This ‘based on a true story’ tale, like any good TV movie, is that of a chapter of Dr Don Shirley’s life. Having been invited to study in the elite Leningrad Conservatory in the Soviet Union, the first black person to do so, we find this piano virtuoso embarking on a tour of the ‘deep south’. His record label employ a minder (Frank Vellelonga, or Tony Lip as his largely Mafiosi friends and acquaintances call him) whose duty it is to drive him from one engagement to the next, and to ensure that he is not way-laid by southern racists with the help of the ‘Green Book’- a guide for black drivers in the segregated south. Little about this film stands out as being unworthy of Oscar greatness- the premise has won before: an ‘interracial’ pair drove through the southern states in Driving Miss Daisy, 1989, making similar racial harmony pit stops along the injustice highlighted freeway. There is even a similar ‘driver stops to take a pee, much to the passenger’s horror’ scene. This may well become a trope. My consternation in this pick lies in the sheer lack of quality. This is a middle of the road excursion. It never slips into the intellectual fast lane, nor does it stop to admire the scenery. It just pootles along introducing a number of lazily constructed stereotypes as characters (Italian immigrants built around the “Forgeddaboudit” persona of the mafia heyday, with no other angle explored). The Italian community featured could well have been on day release from a comedy sketch (Key & Peele have one that comes to mind). There are no events of note, nothing unexpected happens (not even the discovery that Dr Shirley has sexual experiences with men really raises an eyebrow, telegraphed as it was by the occasional pursing of the lips by Mahershala Ali in the role of the good doctor). The film is even shot in such a disappointingly perfunctory way that I couldn't describe it as shoot by numbers. Tony writes home to his wife “I never knew how very beautiful this country was”, and his droning voiceover is accompanied by a shot of a pretty average looking pasture. No depth, no scope, no beauty. This could not have been hard to do, surely? The viewer wonders what inspired Tony to write those words and why the filmmakers neglected to use the medium of film to share such a visual feast. Most disappointing of all was the simplistic way the film dealt with the central issue of prejudice is about as safe and by-the-book as it can possibly be. While travelling through Kentucky, our Italian American driver spots a Kentucky fried chicken: “IN KENTUCKY! When’s that ever gonna happen?!”. Dr Don Shirley, when faced with the culinary experience in question asserts, nonplussed, “I have never had fried chicken in my life.” The first effect is the obvious: The audience watches Tony’s surprise and is encouraged to shake heads and chuckle at his absurd generalisation that “You people love the fried chicken, the grits and the collared greens…” “Oh Tony” (the viewer declares), “if only you could see yourself through my 21st century eyes.” The racist assumption of “what THEY eat” is ridiculed. Fair enough, but it is not exactly breaking the surface. Just ten viewing minutes later the two of them are presented with a meal by the white southern gentlefolk who “whipped up a special menu in honour of our guest… home cooked fried chicken!”. We are once again invited to roll our eyes. I have to say, this is the most disappointing of all the Oscar winners I have yet seen. A winner should highlight some kind of achievement in a film, of ANY description, and quite honestly I am baffled as to what about this film might have stood out to anyone. Meh. 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
EveryBestPicture.com revisits this Oscar Best Picture winner
This is a musical about a woman's coming of age. But this is not a coming of age we would recognise in today's world- this teenager has no angst, she is happy all the time and her transition to womanhood is thanks to her aunt who runs a one woman finishing school. The men that surround her (Honore played by Maurice Chevalier, and Louis Jourdan as Gaston) think themselves sharks in a pond of lady-fish known as 'Gay Paris'. Although I do wonder if they mis-spelled 'Gaudy'. Technicolor, the company that were behind the colour revolution in Hollywood may also have been behind the set design... much like Around the World in 80 Days which suffered from the same headache-inducing promotion of scarlet reds, panther pinks and canary yellows. Now, this film was clearly made in another age. The innocence in having 60 year old Chevalier sing an opening song called 'thank heaven for little girls' directed a schoolgirls in uniform without thinking it might come across as creepy... especially since you hear him declare that he loves to collect pretty young things. The men are free to galavant, they brag about attempted suicides from the women they have spurned and do so while somehow receiving favourable treatment from the director who expects us to applaud and admire them. The chaos caused by young Gigi having the presence of mind to turn down Gaston's offer of marriage in the film only highlighted just how insane the idea of a woman having her own will is in this universe they all inhabit. Once again, this was a triumph for a film providing audiences with an experience they could not get close to anywhere else. Parisian high society of the turn of the century had taken on a mythical status- mentions of the Moulin Rouge, Monte Carlo... and all in colour. Once again, the spectacle trumped quality. The film is entertaining enough, if you can get around lines like "So fresh, so eager, so... young!" from pensionable men aimed at young teens in school uniform. The soundtrack contains memorable numbers, although not always for the right reasons. The sets and locations are beautiful, costumes once again garish to remind you that the film is in colour (I KNOW!). At least there were no unnecessarily overlong song and dance numbers and there was at least an effort to tell a story. But it was all just a bit dull. By the end you are struggling to understand why anyone would go for Gaston, a spoilt rich boy who having mistreated every woman in town can't seem to pin down how he feels about Gigi. With more back-and-forthing than a metronome (and just as much predictability) he finally settles on proposing, by which time the correct response from Gigi and her aunts would have been to "sling yer 'ook, mister." Surely it'll be a short-lived engagement, nil chance of marriage, less chance of fidelity? But despite the propaganda and conditioning process she has been through, Gigi is very clear on what she is getting herself into. In her words: "I'd rather be miserable with you than miserable apart." She has little choice either way. Depressingly, she may as well benefit from the material gains brought by this unfortunate alliance. And so it ends. Unless you are writing a masters on the sanitisation of predatory male figures in historical cinema you too will want to avoid it. EveryBestPicture.com revisits this Oscar Best Picture winner
At the time, 80 Days Around the World was released with the man behind it being chased by creditors for repayment of the massive debt incurred by his production (Michael Todd, a broadway producer who had never been involved in the making of a film before). With a paid cast of nearly 70,000 people and 8,000 animals this was certainly a production of epic proportions. It was a film with a budget of $6,000,000, shot on locations over 3 continents and even used a new filming technique ("Todd-AO") which allowed it to be filmed in widescreen on one lens and projected onto a curved screen, producing a more immersive experience for the audience. The gamble clearly worked- it made its money back nearly six times over and of course won the academy's Best Picture Oscar of 1957. Why were audiences so taken with it? Well, if this film has one thing in spades, it is spectacle. Audiences settling into the colour era which began 10 years before could witness a Jules Verne story, written 100 years before, come to life and take place all around them. There is a long air balloon sequence inserted solely to showcase the stunning palace gardens of France, Spanish bullfighting sequence which lasts a full ten minutes, train mounted cameras showing us countryside scenes from the asian subcontinent featuring elephants and other exotic animals. None of this has much bearing on the story, but are successful in providing us with sights we would almost certainly never have witnessed, had we seen this film in the 1950s. Around the World in 80 days was ambitious in its scale, technically and even quite daring in its technicolor portrayal of the past.
Sadly, this is the perfect of example of a film whose charm and success appear largely to have been lost in the 50 years since it was released. Perversely, the very things which made it so special 50 years ago are now precisely the things that now stand against it:
Although I cannot find any reference as to why the 'fisheye lens' effect dropped in and out throughout the movie, I would suspect it was down to the Todd-AO effect. Michael Todd, the man behind the movie, funded development of this, which he believed to be a more immersive experience: the screen curved subtly around the moviegoing audience. It is now impossible to see it as intended as the technology was superseded by IMAX tech and eventually lost. As the first widescreen film to be filmed through one lens (previous 'cinemascope' films required a 3 lens camera and other technical info you are probably not as interested in hearing about as I was) this was an achievement which set a standard still around today- an early version of widescreen IMAX. Unfortunately, watching it now, the fisheye effect remains in many scenes and, perversely, reminds you that you are watching a film rather than immersing you. Not a good thing to say about any movie.
The film spends the first 2 hours introducing you to cultures that you my not have been familiar with in the 1950s, which would have been a huge draw, especially since it was all in colour. The makers had the power to show sights which few in the world could boast to having seen all of. Alas, they chose to use this power to show stereotypes of all nationalities. In its favour is the fact that they spared no nation from this process, but when the stereotype of the British was someone who kept good time, had good manners and kept his cool while the Chinese come out smelling of opium (or other such intoxicants), Native Americans languished in the 'Redskins' narrative and in Japan all women were dressed as Geishas you find yourself less inclined to give it the benefit of the doubt.
Even at the time, Around the World in 80 Days was considered to be 'Light Entertainment', for the masses and certainly not worthy or highbrow contemplation. Nonetheless, it was venerated by the academy, winning 5 Oscars. It is also fair to say that given that there was no expense spared (and it showed) audiences are likely to have come out of the cinema feeling that they certainly got their moneys worth, regardless of whether the script was written by an overzealous 14 year old. It could have been, but wasn't.
Actin performances are perfectly fine- there is only so much an actor can do with a script whose highlights are long panning shots of the Asian and American countrysides from trains. Much to my surprise I discovered that Cantinflas (playing Passepartout) won the Golden Globe for best actor, quite an achievement considering he probably spoke fewer than 100 words. Although I heard Chaplin was a fan of his work in Latin American cinema.
In the final act the story makes an appearance. Finally, the story comes alive. Our travellers make it to the states and after a fracas with some 'injuns' (and before that the most hilarious cameo ever, from Frank Sinatra, who appears to have had his lines cut) the threat of not completing their journey rears its head. In summary, the first 2.5 hours are a slow motion tour of someones idea of the concept of 'foreign', but the ending was well orchestrated. You could accuse the film of using that old cinematic trick of convincing an audience they have seen a good film by inserting 25 minutes of decent plot and dialogue just before they go home, so it stays with them. Unfortunately for me, the first two acts were too overlong to forget, so I would lean towards a rating of 'bearable relic'. Around the world in 80 Days is to be avoided, if you have a choice.
With no thanks whatsoever to Dr. Louis Bayman 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. |