Weeks 15-16

High Noon (1952): Yeah, it has something of a macho “man’s gotta do…” mentality and it’s not shy about ] shaming a young Quaker woman into a “stand by your man” situation, but it’s also an interesting exploration of duty and honor and what it means to be brave (or, conversely, cowardly). I like how everything is tied together by Tex Ritter’s “Don’t Forsake Me, My Darling (High Noon),” which does a great job of setting the film’s tone in the opening. Plus snippets of the song frequently turn up throughout the film, and the rhythm of the tune is suggestive of both the chug of a train and the tick-tock of a clock—quite appropriate as the film (more or less) unfolds in real time as the marshal awaits the arrival of the noon train, which will bring an exonerated enemy out for revenge. The film is “slow”—at least by western standards and not particularly action-packed, with the exception of two fights/battles. But it’s never dull. What makes the film compelling is watching these characters’ interact as we navigate their loyalties. Every person in town, one after the other, for one reason or another, refuses to stand with the marshal. Everyone in town (friend and enemy alike) forsakes him in the end—except for his new wife. So the only one to stand and “fight” with him is his pacifist bride.

 
A Streetcar Named Desire (1951): This is more or less a straight screen adaptation of the play—even in its casting, as Brando (Stanley), Hunter (Stella), and Malden (Mitch) all reprise their stage roles. The performances are fantastic. I especially like Brando. Almost everyone else’s performances are heightened, melodramatic, but his feels very natural—it’s a nuanced counterpoint to the others. Interestingly, he’s the only member of the principal cast who didn’t win an Oscar for the film. A friend (and fellow film lover) posited that the character of Stanley might have been too unlikeable for Academy voters, and he suggested that probably few actors portraying “unlikeable” protagonists have walked away with Oscars, especially before the 1970s. I think he’s right. It didn’t help Brando, though, that he happened to be up against Bogie and his “legacy” Oscar for The African Queen.  

Streetcar is set primarily in and around Stanley’s and Stella’s apartment in a slummy part of the French Quarter in New Orleans. The sultry air is palpable. We sweat with the characters. At times, witnessing Blanche’s descent into madness is almost unbearable. She’s a well-drawn character, who simultaneously perturbs and saddens us. We want to dismiss her. We want to root for her. Stanley, at times, seems reasonable, if hot-headed, in his suspicion of her, especially as Blanche seems to take pleasure in antagonizing him. At other times, Stanley is downright cruel. In the end, he destroys her. When Stanley returns home from the hospital to rest, Blanche is decked out in her southern-belle finest, and she spins a yarn about a suitor coming to take her away. She’s nips at Stanley, letting him know in no uncertain terms how high above him she believes she and her sister are in social standing, how far she feels Stella has fallen by marrying this “Polack.” Then he bites back. Horrifically. And the thing we feared might happen the whole film happens.

On the Waterfront (1954): Damned if you do; damned if you don’t…

Brando is reunited with Streetcar director Alia Kazan and costar Karl Malden in a nearly perfect film about labor violence and racketeering in New Jersey. Probably my favorite Brando role. And one of the best stories on the AFI list. I don’t even know where to start. The compelling family drama (between Terry and his brother)? The fact that Terry’s love interest is the sister of a man he helped kill? The fact that he didn’t even know he was aiding in a murder? The priest who (at least, at first) single-handedly takes on the mob? The revelation that Terry essential ended his boxing career on a fight his brother asked him to throw (for money)? The internal turmoil Terry experiences weighing whether or not to stand up, to fight, to “rat”? The lovely, if obvious, irony that Terry is a gentle soul who looks after rooftop pigeons (his own, plus the pigeons of the man he—accidentally—helped kill), all while weighing whether or not he should himself become a pigeon? The heartbreaking moment when the neighborhood boys, who’ve always looked up to him, turn their backs on him (and slaughter aforementioned pigeons) when he talks to the police?

Just stop reading this blog now and go watch the movie. 

The Third Man (1949): This is another one that will likely be at the top of my rankings for this list at the end of the year. It’s got a lot of great “filmy” stuff for geeks, but it’s a solid mystery flick. 

The story—a lopsided love-triangle filled with intrigue and delightful characters (even their names are wonderful—Harry Lime, Baron, Callaway, Holly Martins)—is great. The action is well-paced. And the music is fun. I even like the unique opening credit sequence: a static shot of zither strings plucked by an unseen musician.

From a filmmaking perspective, The Third Man is stunning. The copy I have is a 15+ year-old DVD that was either scanned from a really poor print of the film or copied from an old VHS tape. I probably plucked it out of a $2 bin at a discount store. I plan now to upgrade to Blu-Ray (unfortunately the Criterion is out of print!). But even with this poor transfer, I could appreciate the meticulous use of light, shadow, and framing. There are several unique and arresting camera angles, too, and the film manages to feel fresh after more than six decades. 

The story was penned by Graham Greene, but from what I’ve read, Greene himself didn’t realize just how great the story was. Apparently he wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about director Carol Reed’s ending, either, which has become one of the most iconic scenes in classic film: Anna’s long, slow walk towards Holly--a continuous one minute take with beautifully framed symmetry. The film is symmetrical in structure, too, both beginning and ending with a funeral, and a shot of Anna walking away from it.

It’s dark, but it’s fun. Joseph Cotton’s Holly Martins is brash and antagonistic towards the authorities in Vienna, often calling Major Callaway “Callaghan” (maybe deliberately, maybe not). Callaway dishes it back just as well, telling Holly, “I don’t want another murder in this case, and you were born to be murdered.” 

What makes the movie most memorable for me, though, is the climactic chase scene through the sewers of Vienna. It’s thrilling, intriguingly staged and shot, and it concludes in a poignant confrontation between old friends. Wells’ (Lime’s) pleading face is almost boyish, harkening back to his and Holly’s childhood friendship.