Marlon Brando and Vivien Leigh Brilliantly Take a Streetcar to Screen Glory

Rarely has a stage-to-film transfer been as deftly and powerfully created as in Warner Bros.’ remarkable 1951 version of Tennessee Williams’ landmark Pulitzer Prize-winning 1947 Broadway hit, A Streetcar Named Desire. Relating the story of the emotionally fragile Blanche DuBois, a fading Southern Belle forced to leave her environs and take the title trolley to the New Orlean residence of her younger sister Stella and her brutish-but-sexy husband Stanley Kowalski, director Elia Kazan, repeating his role after helming the play, pulls a host of stellar cinematic elements together, including a supreme cast, evocative black and white cinematography by Harry Stradling that artfully captures the seamy New Orleans atmosphere and a bluesy, often erotically-charged score by Alex North, with the skill of a master craftsman who knows exactly how to blend the highly-theatrical aspects of the story with a more believably modern approach to the volatile material and performances. Due to the all-mighty Production Code, the carefully composed screenplay by Williams and Oscar Saul had to be sanitized by Warner Bros. to sidestep some of the play’s adult themes (specifically depictions of homosexually and rape), yet Kazan and a monumental cast and crew all working at creative peaks, specifically stars Vivien Leigh and Marlon Brando, both lending all of their substantial talents in electrifying portrayals of Blanche and Stanley, were still able to convey the central plot points of Streetcar with passion and dexterity.

By 1951, Kazan was firmly at the head of both Broadway and Hollywood creative forces, having started his career as an actor on stage and film (1940’s City of Conquest) before gaining more pronounced success as a director, helming The Skin of Our Teeth, All My Sons, Death of a Salesman and Street on Broadway, while making a strong fray into movies starting in 1945 with A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, wherein his aptitude for drawing great performances from players regardless of their theatrical backgrounds was readily apparent via the work of the entire cast, specifically Oscar-winner James Dunn and young Peggy Ann Garner, who also was granted a special juvenile Oscar for her touching work, then winning an Oscar for Gentlemen’s Agreement and achieving an additional big hit with 1949’s Pinky,  another “message” picture tackling themes of prejudice, while also moving into film noir territory with two intense crime-oriented films with on location shooting, Boomerang! and 1950’s Panic in the Streets.

Fully versed in the art of finding the correct cinematic style for a story, the thriving Kazan is clearly at the top of his considerable game with Streetcar, illustrating the complex, character-driven narrative with lucidity and stunning dramatic force. Although the scenario largely takes place on a single set Kazan, wisely focusing on the magnificent work of Leigh, Brando and a stellar supporting cast and adroitly utilizing Stradling’s awesome use of shadow and light and North’s jazz-infested score to capture every mood, is able to escape the stage-bound vibe that hinders many transfers of plays to film, building such arresting dynamics that relationships unfold in profound, exciting ways, causing a viewer to become transfixed by the immediacy of the scenes and the “in the moment” performing on display therein, with Kazan managing to modulate the theatricality of the situations to stay in perfect tune with the more subtle nature of cinematic storytelling, including vividly sincere screen acting of the highest order. After Streetcar, Kazan would maintain his lofty place on stage (overseeing another Williams’ Pulitzer Prize hit, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and also directing The Dark at the Top of the Stairs and Williams’  Sweet Bird of Youth) and in films, with another Oscar for On the Waterfront, East of Eden, Baby Doll, A Face in the Crowd, Splendor in the Grass and his highly personal passion project America, America bringing him significant acclaim and sometimes healthy box-office returns. Although 1952 testimony wherein Kazan named names for the corrupt House of Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC) caused some damage to his reputation, witnessed by the divided response when Kazan received an honorary Oscar in 1999, Kazan’s best work has kept a rightful place among the best-acted, most impressive films of the post-war era and beyond.

As possibly Williams’ most impactful and provocative heroine, the unnerved-yet-coquettish  Blanche DuBois, Vivien Leigh recreates her London stage success in one of the most powerful emotionally driven performances ever filmed. Dealing with her own mental issues at the time, Leigh appears determined to enact Blanche with the same force and conviction that marked her previous career-defining work as Scarlett O’Hara, while also infusing vulnerability and personal distress into her trenchant portrayal with shattering effect. Scenes wherein Blanche recollects her tragic romance with her deceased husband, or addresses the poems he wrote to her, carry a truth and emotional resonance that are rare to find in film, with a viewer wondering exactly how Leigh was able to plunge so deeply into the character, while finding the exact emotive balance in skillfully modulating the role from the stage to film, bringing as much realism as possible to the role and (at least) matching the more modern Actor’s Studio influenced work of her colleagues. Leigh also employs plenty of sensualness in the role as Blanche adopts a coquettish demeanor, teaming with Brando to generate a wealth of electricity as Blanche and Stanley‘s contrasting personalities create increasing tension and heat as the plot thickens, and lends a disquieting eroticism to the famous scene wherein Blanche flirts heavily with a young collector who arouses her attentions, to the extent of making her “mouth water.” Leigh’s searing work in Streetcar gained respect from her colleagues, with Brando stating Leigh was Blanche in some respects, Kazan claiming she would have “crawled through glass” to achieve greatness in her performance, and Williams avowing that Leigh found depth and complexity in the character he hadn’t intended when writing Blanche. After her triumph in Streetcar Leigh would return to the stage, winning a Tony for Tovarich, while sporadically appearing in films, including another imposing trek into Williams’ territory with 1961’s The Roman Spring of Mrs. Stone, before her final appearance in 1965’s Ship of Fools.

Commanding the screen with animal magnetism and an instinctive, forthright thespian ability which would revolutionize screen acting, Marlon Brando brings his star-making role of Stanley to film with a resounding spontaneity and intelligence that announced him as the actor of his generation. First making a major impact on Broadway via a small but overpowering role in Truckline Café that made evident the rare talent Brando possessed to display naked emotionalism in an honest, spellbinding fashion, Streetcar would confirm his reputation as the most gifted young actor on the Great White Way, as well as one possessing the charisma, sex appeal and looks that made him a sure bet for matinee idol status in Hollywood should he head west. After making this trek, 1950’s fine drama The Men, directed by Fred Zinnemann, provided an ideal film debut for Brando to showcase his intensity and sensitivity as Bud, a paralyzed war vet trying to find purpose in life while facing his disability, Brando was in perfect form to adapt Stanley to the screen with style, wit and uncommonly believable emoting that allows the audience to identify with the anti-hero’s abrasive, sometimes abusive behavior as, in Brando’s hands, Stanley also possesses a humanity that somewhat offsets the violent outbursts caused by his quick temper, such as in his famous breakdown wherein the despondent Stanley cries for “Stella!” to return after he’s lashed out at her. Brando allows for a sly spitefulness to Stanley as he plays cat-and-mouse with Blanche, with an audience becoming completely enveloped watching two of the great performances unfolding in hypnotically diverting fashion. Brando would indeed fulfill the promise of Streetcar by becoming the screen’s preeminent actor as well as a top box-office draw, amassing two Oscars during his career in a colorful filmography that included movies of both high quality and demerit, with the singular Brando often giving distinct, ingenious performances in lesser films made intriguing by his unique, often impish presence and undiminished mastery of his craft.

Actors Studio advocates and alumni Karl Malden and Kim Hunter also scored career-enhancing results recreating their Broadway roles as Mitch, Blanche’s shy-but-interested suitor and Stella, who’s torn between her loyalty to her sister and devotion for her coarse-but-enticing husband. Malden had toiled on stage and in film for a decade before his Streetcar breakthrough, debuting on Broadway in 1937 and in films shortly thereafter via 1940’s They Knew What They Wanted, thereafter making his strongest impact in noirs such as Boomerang, Kiss of Death and Where the Sidewalk Ends. With Mitch, Malden is able to add sensitive shading to the role, clearly suggesting the boyishness and mother issues that are chief characteristics of Mitch’s makeup, which lead to some eloquent scenes as the impressionable Mitch bonds with the despairing Blanche, then more caustically-laced moments as Mitch begins to question Blanche’s past, with Malden agilely switching from Mitch’s elation over falling in love to his more sinister tone in later scenes. Post Streetcar, Malden would continue as one of the most prominent actors in the business, fruitfully reteaming with Kazan for an Oscar-nominated turn as the uncompromising Father Barry in Waterfront and coloring his buffoonish hick in 1956’s controversial Baby Doll with comic brio, making an impressive turn to directing for 1957’s tense crime thriller Time Limit, holding his own with Brando as one of the screen’s most sadistic villains in Brando’s fine directional debut One-Eyed Jacks, in his element as Omar Bradley in Patton, then finding a huge audience on television in the 1970’s as the star of The Streets of San Francisco and hocking the American Express card in commercials, eventually ending his big screen career with 1987’s Nuts, with a final t.v. appearance in 2000 on The West Wing before his passing at 97 in 2009.

Kim Hunter made an encouraging entry into movies with producer Val Lewton’s classic 1943 thriller The 7th Victim, followed by a few more offerings, most notably as the female star of Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger’s A Matter of Life and Death before her earnest, skillfully conveyed work as Stella propelled her to the forefront of the brightest new talent on stage and screen. With the experience of carefully honing the rich role through a wealth of performances on Broadway, Hunter brings a thoughtful sensitivity to Stella as she attempts to support her often tremulous older sister, while also convincing the viewer she’s a southern belle with the courage to stand up to her bullying husband and give back what he throws her way. Also, Hunter floridly depicts the passionate nature that drives Stella back into Stanley’s arms and the “colored lights” he mentions, regardless of the fights that temporarily break them apart. Unfortunately for Hunter, after this peak, she was quickly sidelined by the shameful HUAC, which greatly limited her screen output during what should have been a golden era for her. Inventive, beguiling work in 1968’s smash Planet of the Apes helped restore Hunter’s status on screen, with frequent film and television appearances thereafter, including an Emmy-nominated turn on The Edge of Night, allowing a wide audience access to Hunter’s exceptional acting prowess, until her passing at 79 in 2002.

Rounding out the cast are a group of stalwart players also recreating their original Broadway performances. Peg Hillias stands out as Eunice, the sassy, knowing, tough-but-sympathetic upstairs neighbor. Rudy Bond and Nick Dennis offer a few lighter moments as Steve, Eunice’s husband and Pablo, both rowdy card-playing buddies of Stanley. Wright King is also pitch perfect as the unnamed young collector who encounters Blanche in one of the scenario’s most memorable segments, working in splendid tandem with Leigh while nicely illustrating a beguiling innocence and then surprised puzzlement after Blanche abruptly puts romantic designs on him. Richard Garrick and Ann Dere do their small but choice assignments as the doctor and nurse who are called upon late in the film with stirring clarity. Finally, one outlier from the stage version, former child star Mickey Kuhn, who appeared with Leigh in Wind, pops up at the film’s opening as the handsome young sailor who provides Blanche with directions.

With a September 1951 premiere in New York, A Streetcar Named Desire created a major stir among critics and the movie-going public in general, who were unaccustomed to seeing a screen drama of such force and conviction. At the box-office the talked-about film grossed $4,250,000 in U.S./Canadian rentals, placing it at year’s end among the top five hits, according to Variety. Streetcar also did extremely well come awards season, especially considering it faced stiff competition from A Place in the Sun as the year’s top drama. However, Streetcar picked up Best Picture and Director honors from The New York Film Critics’ Awards, and mention among the top ten films on lists from the National Board of Review, Time magazine and The New York Times. Leigh also made off with a richly-deserved share of Best Actress prizes from the NYFCA, Venice Film Festival and the British Academy Awards, while Kazan and Williams were nominated by the Director’s and Writer’s Guilds, respectfully. Unfortunately for Brando, his unorthodox, uncompromising anti-establishment mindset did him no favors, resulting in one of the greatest and most influential male performances ever to grace the screen coming up empty in regards to wins by awards bodies carrying a “make him wait” bias against the spectacularly gifted and daring young star (with 1954’s On the Waterfront the wait was finally over, of course). However, Brando's status as an exciting new cinematic star of merit was noted among the twelve Academy Award nominations for Streetcar, with the movie going on to win for Leigh, Malden and Hunter’s performances and for Best Production Design.

The film’s reputation as one of the most incisive and thrilling dramas ever committed to the screen has diminished not a whit as the years pass, with revivals, telecasts and physical media releases helping to enhance Streetcar’s already glowing status, and some of the material exorcised before the film’s 1951 release now included in DVD and Blu-ray releases to give audiences a chance to view the full representation of the movie as originally intended. Regardless of which version a viewer beholds, the outstanding, unequaled work of a rare group of artists fully committed to giving their best in bringing possibly Tennessee William’s best play to the screen, including the complex, unsurpassed contributions of Brando and Leigh, ensures audiences hopping aboard this Streetcar are taken on a riveting, thought-provoking and unforgettable cinematic experience unlike any other.

Beatlemania Finds a Perfect Groove in A Hard Day’s Night

 

            Bringing a joyous, free-wheeling spirit to the screen that beautifully encapsulates the worldwide frenzy over the Fab Four circa 1964, director Richard Lester’s upbeat, modish comic take on a day in the life of Paul McCartney, John Lennon, George and Ringo Starr, A Hard Day’s Night features the Beatles in their feature film debut, and at their iconic early peak. Dynamically utilizing directional measures and camerawork, including a wealth of on-location London shots that give a quasi-documentary feel to the proceedings, to showcase the charismatic quartet and their hectic, lively environs, the free-form screenplay by Alun Owen featuring a scant plot concerning the band preparing for a television concert amid a series of misadventures affords Lester and his stars the chance to spontaneously capture the Beatles’ personalities, interactions and performances of the incredible soundtrack by Lennon and McCartney with a joie de vivre rare to find in the cinema. Creatively crafted by Lester with a keen eye towards catching a specific moment in pop history when the Beatles were leading a British Invasion in the Arts, and performed by the group and a solid supporting cast of pros with great gusto and wit, A Hard Day’s Night is accessible to both fans of the surging phenomenon known as the Beatles and any moviegoer looking for a splendid, invigorating night of entertainment.

For Richard Lester, Night represented a huge rise in his stock as a preeminent director, after starting in American and British television in the 1950’s, then moving on to film with a 1959 short, The Running, Jumping & Standing Still Film, then a feature debut with the musically-fused It’s Trad, Dad!, followed a 1963’s comedy The Mouse on the Moon. Lester’s short film was beloved by the superstar group, leading to his involvement with Hard. From the opening shots wherein the four lads are chased thorough the London streets by an onslaught of impassioned teens as the lilting, exuberant strains of title song and fast cut editing by John Jympson sets the appropriate tone, until they finally elude the ecstatic fans and find refuge in a train, it’s clear Lester is up to the challenge of adapting the right visual approach to fully grant viewers a look inside the Beatles’ mammoth success, and how the abrupt fame affected their lifestyles as they became instant icons of the era.

          Lester finds ingenious, surprising ways to showcase the supreme Lennon/McCartney songbook rife with great songs, from using the title number again during an artful, vivid end credit sequence featuring a wealth of pictures of John, Paul, George and Ringo, then going to two different extremes concerning the mood of the piece, from taking a break from the endearingly chaotic proceedings by utilizing the gentle strains of “And I Love Her” as the band rehearses on the television stage in casual fashion, to the exhilarating high of the famous “Can’t Buy Me Love” sequence, wherein the group runs from the studio to cavort in the fields nearby, while Lester dizzyingly films their escapades with overhead shots from a helicopter to bring a literally uplifting, singular elation to the scenario. The director also incorporates methods to add surreal moments, such as when the stars are shown outside of a train waving at a gentleman they have just encountered inside, before the next shot shows them back in the terrain compartment passing by the perturbed fellow’s cabin.

The director aptly wraps up the film with the excitingly staged mini concert, wherein the action is focused as much on the (mostly) young girls in the balcony screaming and crying in ecstasy as the Beatles putting over several hit numbers before finishing things off with the perennially enchanting and buoyant “She Loves You.” If one is looking for one piece of archival footage to illustrate how overwhelming the influence was of the Beatles on the youths of this generation, the forceful shots of these enraptured groupies emotionally overcome and enthralled by their idols’ talent and appeal serves as a blueprint for the Beatlemania of the period. Lester would follow up his major Hard hit with another trendy British hit, The Knack. . .and How it Get it before reuniting with the Beatles for their second movie, 1965’s Help!, before going on to the helm one of the seminal 1960’s movies, Petulia, then maintaining a nice run of titles during the next two decades creating screen entertainments with often a sly comic touch, such as The Three (then Four) Musketeers, The Ritz and his biggest box office result via 1981’s Superman II, followed by the less impactful III, before making his fitting last screen effort in 1991's Get Back, which documented a Paul McCartney world tour, then settling into a lengthy retirement.

With seemingly effortless charm, magnetism and individuality, the Beatles hold the screen throughout the film’s 87 minutes in a spirited, endearing manner. Lester deftly illustrates each distinct persona involved in the group, with John coming across as sophisticated, gib and impish, Paul (or “Paulie”) more earnest and boyishly endearing, George the most mature, thoughtful member, and sad-eyed Ringo as the good-natured, honest and childlike innocent in the quartet. Whether jamming or trading barbs in tandem or featured in singular vignettes, the Fab Four are persistently likable and sincere screen presences, allowing one to wonder how much Lester’s guidance and to what extent their natural thespian aptitude was responsible for their consistently unforced, believable interactions with each other and their fellow castmates.

The Beatles are perhaps at their most compelling while being show in the musical passages, wherein a viewer gains insight into how they worked as a team in creating some of the great popular songs, lending a historical feel to these moments as they practice their numbers with an easy and rare synchronicity, or perform hits with precision and electrifying energy, making it clear why the public was so despondent when this stellar, unusually talented and unified superstar group broke up. Outside of these remarkable scenes, possibly the most memorable subplot concerns Ringo, urged to seek out excitement, leaving the studio environs to quietly roam around with camera in hand, including a stroll near the waterside by Kew Bridge, wherein he strikes up a conversation with a young lad, Charley (nicely played by David Janson), and in the process of the sequence Starr strikes an indelible portrait as a movingly forlorn, graceful and kind figure.

Among the other players, Wilfrid Brambell appears to be having a ball playing the colorful John McCartney, a.k.a. Paul’s (other) grandfather, a mischievous, leering livewire who’s responsible for Ringo venturing away from the studio. In his most humorous sequence, John journeys to a casino and, equipment with his own (soon to be) Bond girl, Margaret Nolan (shortly before her iconic appearance in Goldfinger, particularly as the bikini and aurum-adorned focus of the title sequence), goes on a spree until the boys come to abate his reckless actions. Norman Rossington and John Junkin form a nice comic duo as Norm and Shake, the Beatles’ frequently exasperated and more benign managers, while a be-specked Anna Quayle has a nice bit as Millie, a woman who encounters Lennon and isn’t quite sure about identifying him as Lennon. Victor Spinetti also stands out as the ultra-dramatic director of the televised show, while Marianne Stone, fresh from her definitive work as Peter Sellers’ mysterious dark lady in Lolita, shows up as a reporter. In other brief parts, Pattie Boyd (soon to be Mrs. George Harrison) can be seen as Jean, the attractive blonde who captures the boys’ attention on the train, while Charlotte Rampling and Phil Collins apparently are also on view as a dancer in a nightclub and a teen fan during the finale, but online research may be necessary to find where they actually appear in the film.

        The jubilant A Hard Day’s Night found favor with both critics and audiences upon its July 1964 opening in London, with Lester’s inventive helming and the Beatles natural charm and talent onscreen gaining substantial hosannas in mainly positive reviews, while potent box-office rentals of $4,473,000 (according to Variety) ranked the film among the top hits of 1964. During awards season, the film ended up on The New York Times “Ten Best” list, then went on to earn Academy Award nominations for Owen’s playful original story and screenplay and George Martin for Scoring- Adaptation or Treatment although, in a true botch rating as one of Oscar’s biggest faux pas, neither the glorious musical score or any of the timeless songs managed to place among the nominees that year. The hit-ladened soundtrack was another key factor in building the film into a major success, with the album amassing 14 weeks at #1 on the Billboard charts, resulting in it gaining status as the top album of the year. With it’s brisk, docu-style filmmaking and constantly beguiling stars holding the screen with flair during both narrative and incredible musical sequences, A Hard’s Day’s Night retains a freshness and a good-natured vibe that should prove irresistible to viewers as it transports them back to a happier time and place when the world was the vibrant, uniquely gifted Beatles’ oyster.

         And a fond farewell to another British icon, Terence Stamp, who passed on August 17^th at age 87. Gaining an auspicious start in films with his Oscar-nominated, Golden Globe-winning (for Best Newcomer) work as the beatific, observant title character in 1962’s Billy Budd, Stamp would solidify his place among filmdom’s top young thespians with Cannes-winning work in William Wyler’s The Collector and 1967’s Far from the Madding Crowd. Sparser appearances in the 1970s eventually led to his sinister General Zod in 1978’s blockbuster Superman before being featured more prominently as one of the chief villains in Superman II. Stamp figured in some 1980s mainstream offerings such as Wall Street and Young Guns, before witnessing a career-enlivening comeback via his flamboyant-but-grounded and powerful depiction of the indomitable Bernadette in 1994’s The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. Following this landmark role, Stamp scored another big critical success with 1999’s The Limey, then worked frequently in films until his final screen role in 2021’s Last Night in Soho. 

 

Billy Wilder Scores a Trenchant Ace in the Hole Blitzing the Media

 

          A tough, penetrating view of the power of the press and how it can weave a web of intrigue with a public willing to buy into any exciting story it’s sold regardless of fact, director Billy Wilder’s 1951 Ace in the Hole offers a fascinating, still-relevant look at the ignoble extents some ambitious, immoral media figures go to in the quest to gain prestige, money and fame in their chosen profession. Armed with a caustic, engrossing screenplay (written by Wilder, Walter Newman and Lesser Samuels, from a story by Victor Desny, inspired in part by the 1925 Floyd Collins case, which is mentioned in the film) that pulls no punches while showcasing some of the best, most incisive dialogue ever, Wilder helms an incredible tale of Chuck Tatum, a once elite-reporter who, after burning his bridges into double digits, takes a small town job at the Albuquerque Sun-Bulletin, then finds a chance on assignment to return to the big time after discovering a man, Leo Minosa, has just been trapped in a cave in Escudero, a tiny locale a few hours from Albuquerque. As Tatum ruthlessly takes control of the story, including gaining exclusive access to Leo with the help of a sleezy sheriff, the tension builds, with the fate of Leo, a pawn in Tatum’s scheme, hanging in the balance. Artful on-location cinematography (in New Mexico) by Charles Lang which lends a “you are there” feel to the proceedings, an acute score by Hugo Friedhofer that knows exactly when to up the ante concerning suspenseful moments, and creative playing by a roster of fine actors led by Kirk Douglas and Jan Sterling in peak form make this 111-minute exercise in bleakness roll by in hypnotic fashion.

          Wilder appears fully engaged in bringing his latest bitter-tinged scenario to the public, after scoring in this mode with past hits such as the all-time noir classic Double Indemnity, and two key Wilder films that resulted in Oscars on his mantle, 1945’s The Lost Weekend and the previous year’s tough take on Hollywood and the transitory fame therein, Sunset Boulevard. Also well-known for his lighter fare after starting as a scriptwriter (including work on the peerless 1939 romantic comedy, Midnight) such as his directorial debut, The Major and the Minor and A Foreign Affair, Wilder often was able to deftly blend comedic elements in his more serious work. Ace is largely a harsh, unrelenting drama, one of the most intriguing aspects of the film is how Wilder is able to occasional throw in sardonic comedy lines without alternating the film’s stern tone. The director also handles much bigger set pieces than normally found in his films in adroit fashion, carefully illustrating the different types that form the mammoth crowds, vendors and newspaper men showing up at the cave site to curiously await Leo’s outcome, hawk their wares, and try to one-up Tatum with a scoop of their own, respectfully, while including expansive shots to show how this swarm overtakes the cave area as the story becomes more sensationalized. Ace proves what Wilder could pull off when given the chance to invest all his ample talents into a passion project with subject manner far from the Hollywood norm. After the disappointing initial reaction to Ace, Wilder would go on a largely uninterrupted host of hits and/or critical successes in the 1950s-60s, including Stalag 17, Sabrina, 1959’s smash-hit comedy Some Like it Hot, more Oscars along with big box office for The Apartment and Irma La Douce, before slowing down his film output. Wilder would receive justified major career accolades via the prestigious AFI 1986 Life Achievement Award, the Academy’s Irving G. Thalberg Award in 1988, as a recipient of a Kennedy Center honor in 1990 and the National Medal of Arts in 1993, before his passing in 2002 at age 95.

For star Douglas, Ace offers one of the prime roles of career, which he devours with relish, after breaking through a couple years earlier in electric fashion with Oscar-nominated work as the anti-hero boxer title figure of Champion. As Tatum, Douglas fearlessly illustrates the ambitions and desperate underhanded tactics of this unethical newsman, making no play for audience sympathy as the prime heel uses any method and anyone who can help him as he tries to work his way to the top, while also ably showing the guilt that plays on Tatum’s conscientious as he fully grasps the grim nature of Leo’s predicament. Coming across as a force of nature, Douglas unabashedly savors colorfully showcasing each of the character’s traits, specifically his worst ones, in a manner unfamiliar with the movie-going public of the time, who normal found a host of redeeming qualities in their leading men and the roles they enacted, even in parts conveying some difficult behavioral attributes. Douglas would have a great one-two punch in this intense mode during 1951, with equally imposing work in William Wyler’s Detective Story, which reaped the success with critics and audiences not afforded to Ace, helping to cement Douglas as one of Hollywood’s top male stars. He backed up this notion by making a major impact starring in many quality productions of the 1950s and beyond, including further Oscar nominations for The Bad and the Beautiful and remarkable work as Vincent Van Gogh in Lusts for Life; seeming having a ball in a late-1954 smash, Disney’s 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea; starting a fruitful partnership with Burt Lancaster with his compelling Doc Holliday in 1957’s Gunfight at the O.K. Corral; up to no good again with flair in another hit, The Vikings; then gaining possible his most famous role as the title figure in 1960’s Spartacus before continuing on as a durable star, regardless of setbacks, until his death at 103 in 2020.

Starting on Broadway as a teen in 1938, then moving into films in 1947 via Tycoon, Manhattan-born Jan Sterling quickly established herself as a talented newcomer with standout work in one of 1948’s biggest critical and box-office dramas, Johnny Belinda, then moved on to a variety of roles, including providing fine, distinctive comedy relief as one of the inmates in Caged, the classic women’s prison picture. Coming from an elite background, Sterling showed a knack for playing bad girls with and without hearts of gold, making her an ideal choice for Ace’s self-centered, cold-blooded femme fatale Lorraine, who is desperate to escape her dead-end marriage and start anew, but is encouraged by Tatum to deceitfully stay around as the ‘grieving, devoted wife’ to build both of their fortunes. Sterling does a fantastic job of showing both the snide, selfish side of Lorainne, throwing out her acid-laced dialogue with skillful aplomb (the way she sarcastically draws out the word “sheriff” is an especially satisfying moment), and a more erotic side as she warms up to Tatum and seeks to add a little intimacy to their toxically driven relationship. Ace would prove perhaps the highlight of Sterling’s film career, but she maintained a strong presence in films and television, with another peak arising via a Golden Globe award and her sole Oscar nomination for a big one from 1954, The High and the Mighty, then working well with Humphrey Bogart in his final film, 1956’s The Harder They Fall. Slowing down her onscreen output in the 1960’s, Sterling would make her final feature film in 1981’s First Monday in October, then pass in 2004 at age 82.

The rest of the formidable cast also bring skill and intelligence to their acting. Robert Arthur, in films since 1945 as a male ingenue-type, with a nice turn in Twelve O’Clock High a highlight, does good work as Herbie Cook, the young colleague of Tatum at the Sun-Bulletin whose strong moral center serves as a counterpoint to Chuck’s ruthlessness, with Herbie standing in for the audience as one of the conscientious voices in the film. As the unfortunate Leo, Richard Benedict does an admirable job of detailing the spelunker’s innocence nature and simple goodness, as well as the unrest and fear that hound Leo as time passes and he stays encumbered. Ace and Ace character actor Porter Hall adds another expert portrayal to filmography as Jacob Boot, the sage owner and publisher of the Sun-Bulletin, whose ethical stance to “Tell the Truth” in reporting puts him in conflict with Tatum’s more onerous, sly approach. As Leo’s grieving parents who want nothing to do with the chaos surrounding the rescue attempt, John Berkes and Frances Dominguez lend emotional pull and a sense of humanity to the plot’s uneasy ferocity.

The uncompromising, disturbing Ace in the Hole would take time to find widespread acclaim and a solid fan base, opening in 1951 to uneven reviews and barren box office returns, with a retitling via The Big Carnival doing little to change the movie’s fortunes. However, the film did get some positive attention from the outset, including a Venice Film Festival International prize for Wilder and one for Hugo Friedhofer’s score and an Oscar nomination for Best Story and Screenplay. Sterling also received a fair amount of praise for her unusually mordant anti-heroine, with a Newsweek profile proclaiming her an important new star and The National Board of Review bestowing its Best Actress prize to her, quite a feat in the year of Vivien Leigh’s peerless work as Blanche DuBois. Over the years film historians have raised the bar considerably concerning the status of Ace in the Hole as one of the 1950’s most indelible dramas, presaging unscrupulous elements found in today’s media. Recently the movie found its way on the National Film Registry’s 2017 list and placed on the most recent Sight and Sound poll. For a richly involving tale of corruption featuring some of Wilder’s most peerless and cynical scripting and directing, as well as work by Douglas and Sterling that ranks with their best performances, film lovers will want to be in on a classic movie scoop with a screening of the insightful Ace in the Hole.

Laura Linney and Mark Ruffalo Movingly Bond in You Can Count on Me

 

           An artful blend of comedy and drama, writer/director Kenneth Lonergan’s telling, touching and funny You Can Count on Me from 2000 beautifully depicts the enduring loyalty between a young single mother, Sammy Prescott and her wayward, vulnerable and well-meaning brother Terry, who returns to their hometown of Scottsville in New York’s Catskill Mountains and tries to gain a fresh start in life while staying with his sister and her young son at the family’s homestead. With depth and taste, Lonergan’s insightful screenplay (expanded from his one-act play This is Our Youth) explores Sammy and Terry’s unbreakable connection as, both alone and together, they face a series of conflicts and misadventures during Terry’s momentous visit, with viewers fostering admiration for the imperfect but richly humane and likable pair as the heartwarming tale unfolds. Anchored by Lonergan’s firm hand and two emotionally resonant star performances by the prodigiously talented Laura Linney and Mark Ruffalo that linger with a viewer decades after an initial watch, You Can Count on Me grants audiences the opportunity to experience one of the most compelling and honest looks at the nature of family relationships, and relationships in general, found in the movies.

                In his first directional feature, Lonergan displays a mastery of the film medium, managing to keep a cohesive tone wherein the comic and dramatic elements are evenly and believably balanced, while using the lovely on-location cinematography by Stephen Kazmierski to provide the proper serene verisimilitude for the story. From the outset of the film, wherein with scant dialogue Lonergan shows how tragedy strikes the adolescence Sammy and Terry, then illustrates them coping with the loss before Sammy is show as an adult while Lesley Barber’s melodious, violin-infused score offers a melancholic mood to help set the stage for the rural-based storyline. In addition to his expert work behind the camera, Lonergan is in fine form as Ron, the thoughtful, caring pastor Sammy seeks guidance from at critical junctures in the story. Following You Can, at intervals Lonergan has created other character-oriented works with care and intelligence, including 2016’s Manchester by the Sea, which brought Lonergan a Best Director Academy Award nomination, as well as an Oscar win for his sublime Original Screenplay.

                Laura Linney, in possibly her most impactful role, does a skillful, colorful job of conveying how Sammy’s polite, pleasant exterior serves as a front for her multi-layer persona. As the movie progresses, Linney convincingly discloses the full range of Sammy’s makeup, including her anger, humor, passion and compassion, as Sammy consistently surprises the audience with her willful, spontaneous actions. With much of the film centered around Sammy’s attempts to build a stable environment for her and her son, Linney shows the earnestness involved in Sammy’s actions to be a responsible, upright citizen, while the “wild” side of Sammy that Terry refers to manages to pop up frequently enough to cause a degree of chaos in her life. Linney’s chemistry and interaction with all her costars also helps the role come alive with flair and distinction, most notably in her work with Ruffalo, as together the two actors instill a profound conviction in their scenes that make it clear how strong and meaningful the alliance is between the siblings.

                Firmly establishing himself as a gifted screen actor of the first rank via one of the most persuasive, sensitive breakthrough portrayals in film, Mark Ruffalo brings empathy and clarity to the introverted, complicated Terry, while allowing a degree of mystery to imbue the performance as Terry, similar to but even more so than Sammy, has an unpredictable, fearless streak that often dictates his actions without him thinking things through. Starting his screen career with a 1989 television appearance, Ruffalo would spend ten years making little impact professionally, but build a significant and ultimately fruitful connection with Lonergan while starring Off-Broadway in This is Our Youth in 1996. Clearly gaining the author’s trust and respect for his exceptional acting abilities, Ruffalo was rewarded with his demanding You Can role and creates an indelible, unforgettable anti-hero to rank among filmdom’s most impressive performances. With a thorough investment in the part, Ruffalo renders Terry’s restless nature and sometimes haphazard, immature conduct with focus and purpose, while forming a synchronicity with Linney to make Sammy and Terry one of the most compelling and poignant pair of siblings in cinema, specifically their final scene, wherein the full profundity of their relationship is beautifully stated via Linney and Ruffalo’s heartfelt emoting and Lonergan’s penetrating dialogue. Ruffalo also manages to show Terry’s sometimes impulsive, foolish behavior in a charming, relatable, funny way that the audience can believe, instead of making the character oafish and one-note. Ruffalo has built upon his revelatory work as Terry to gain one of the more substantial and esteemed filmographies, deftly mixing sly work in blockbusters such as his Hulk in The Avengers, with more delicately honed performances in intelligent, smaller-scale offerings, including Academy-Award nominated work in The Kids Are Alright, Foxcatcher and the Best Picture Oscar-winner, Spotlight.

As Brian, Sammy’s uptight, passive-aggressive, frustrated new bank manager boss, Matthew Broderick effectively counters the typical good-guy screen image he set at the outset of his career via fare such as his Tony-winning work in Brighton Beach Memoirs and on film in his Max Dugan Returns debut and the hit War Games, continuing to explore characters with some less admirable traits as he did so skillfully the previous year in Alexander Payne’s terrific dark comedy Election. As Brian develops an unorthodox relationship with Sammy, Broderick subtly details first the inflexible, annoying and controlling facets of the role with great comic gusto, before showing a more understanding side as he and Sammy learn to comingle in a less adversarial manner. Post-You Can, Broderick immediately had his biggest stage success (after winning a second Tony for the revival of How to Succeed in Business without Really Trying) in The Producers, and since has alternated between screen and theater work, including a film reunion with Lonergan for Manchester by the Sea.

In an exceptional performance, young Rory Culkin demonstrates thespian skills to match those of his talented brothers Macaulay and Kieran, bringing intuition and naturalness to his enactment of Rudy, Sammy forlorn, observational eight-year-old son. Culkin displays Rudy’s openness and the innocence that finds the boy yearning to meet the father he has idealized in a touching manner, while showing the child’s more knowing mindset during his sometimes-tense relations with his mother and uncle as Ruby is prematurely forced to face some of life’s harsher realities. Among others, Jon Tenney brings a beguiling sweetness to his work as Bob, Sammy’s gentle, reliable suitor, Josh Lucas is appropriately caustic in a brief role as an unhappy figure from Sammy’s past, Gaby Hoffmann adds a nice wistfulness to her early scene as Terry’s doleful girlfriend, J. Smith-Cameron is memorable as Mabel, Sammy’s quirky coworker and Amy Ryan can be glimpsed in the opening moments of the movie as Sammy and Terry’s mother.

                Debuting at the Sundance Film Festival in January of 2000, You Can Count on Me was immediately praised by critics and audiences as a sublime example of a perceptive character-driven entertainment, going on to win the Sundance Grand Jury Prize (in a tie with Girlfight) while catching on enough with audiences to gain solid box office returns on a small indie budget. Come awards season, You Can Count on Me would score a wealth of accolades, specifically for Lonergan and Linney, with both gaining awards from The New York Film Critics Circle and National Society of Film Critics for Best Screenplay and Best Actress, respectfully, as well as Golden Globe and Oscar nominations for both, a Writer’s Guild of America prize for Lonergan and, among several other Best Actress awards from critics’ groups, Screen Actors Guild and Independent Spirit nominations for Linney, as well as a Young Artist Award for Culkin. The film placed among The National Board of Review and Broadcast Film Critics Association top ten films, as well as finding a spot on many regional critics’ lists. However, in a move as impenetrable as some aspects of Terry’s impulsive persona, Mark Ruffalo’s amazing contribution to the film somehow was largely left out of the awards conversation, in another illustration of how often these prizes need to be taken with a large dose of skepticism, with a Best Actor nomination from the Independent Spirit Awards, a New Generation Award from the Los Angeles Film Critics Association (where Lonergan’s screenplay also won) and an actual Best Actor win from the Montreal World Film Festival (thank you, Montreal) responsible for some attention being given to Ruffalo’s unsurpassable efforts as Terry. Time has only emphasized how strongly the many merits of this rare feature endure, and any film lover wanting to be amply rewarded with a subtle but powerful comedy/drama can rely on You Can Count on Me to satisfy their need for a riveting, resounding viewing experience.

James Stewart and Grace Kelly Find Adventure Awaits Through Hitchcock's Rear Window

 

One of the definitive works in director Alfred Hitchcock’s storied career, 1954’s Rear Window from Paramount Pictures offers an irresistible blend of mystery, amusement and romance. Offering the tantalizing blend of comedic and hair-raising elements Hitchcock had carefully honed during his career, Window gave the aptly-named Master of Suspense a chance to create one of his most dazzling concoctions on the screen. An involving, alternately tense and droll John Michael Hayes screenplay (adapted from a Cornell Woolrich story) help Hitchcock set an uneasy but often jocular tone, as the tale concerning a temporarily invalid photographer who believes he’s overheard a murder unfolds in enthralling fashion. Ace lensing and editing by frequent Hitchcock collaborators Robert Burks and George Tomasini, a lively, inventive Franz Waxman score that deftly sets a playful and tense tone from the film’s outset and a top cast of talented players in fine form provide Hitchcock with other significant assets to weave one of the cinema’s most mesmerizing tales of intrigue.

As he had shown in past work such as the use of a single set for Lifeboat and via long takes in Rope, Hitchcock appeared to enjoy challenging himself creatively by placing limitations on his filmmaking process, and this experimental aspect of his style, which sometimes brought uneven results, reached its artistic zenith with his incredible Window achievement. Utilizing one of the most impressive studio sets ever built, Hitchcock appears to have a ball illustrating the various inhabitants of the apartment complex, an area constructed to allow filming from virtually any angle possible. Although the narrative never strays from the complex, with Hitchcock at his most inventive a viewer is immediately caught up in the action and never views the limited physical scope as a plot hinderance. With sublime craftsmanship the director draws the audience into the scenario, making one care about each of the members of the compound, while becoming more nervous as the tension surrounding the main storyline mounts. Although Hitchcock would go on to make several more classics, including Vertigo, North by Northwest and Psycho, his unique achievement of creating in Window a delightful, fully immersive and satisfying viewing experience within a one-set dynamic stands tall among his list of major cinematic works.

As L.B. Jeffries (aka “Jeff”) the photojournalist laid up with a broken leg in his sweltering Manhattan apartment after encountering an accident while on assignment, James Stewart brings his everyman persona to the role, thereby serving as useful identification point for audiences as Jeff who, biding his time by spying on neighbors across his courtyard, becomes embroiled in and stimulated by the mystery at the plot’s center after hearing a suspicious cry in the dark one night. As one of Hollywood’s most beloved and trusted figures on screen by the time of Window, Stewart is able to allow Jeff to sidestep criticism regarding how acceptable his behavior is, as viewers avidly go along with him using any means necessary to uncover clues and facts to resolve the case. Although perhaps not among some of his more complex, earnest work in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, The Shop Around the Corner, It’s a Wonderful Life and Harvey, Stewart’s work as Jeffries ranks among his best-known roles, with the big box-office for Window helping Stewart to move to #1 among the top box-office draws in 1955 (according to the Quigley poll). Stewart would continue as a major player in films for the rest of the decade and beyond, including ending the 1950s on a high note with one of his best performances and biggest hits via Otto Preminger’s engrossing courtroom drama Anatomy of a Murder.

1954 represented Grace Kelly’s banner year in films during her brief reign as a top Hollywood star, and she possibly gained her career role in Window as Lisa Freemont, Jeff’s ultra-glamorous, cosmopolitan career girlfriend yearning for a deeper relationship with the skittish, non-committal Jeff. Kelly comes on like gangbusters from her first entrance, laying one of the more memorable kisses on Stewart, then maintaining a chic yet warm, funny and relatable presence throughout the rest of the movie. Kelly is endearing and compelling as she illustrates Lisa’s change of heart once she becomes increasingly involved in Jeff’s theory concerning a possible murder, coming across as the least-aloof screen goddess imaginable as she takes action to gain crucial evidence in the movie’s most riveting sequence. With her beauty, charm and seemingly effortless depiction of Lisa’s every mood, Kelly perfectly embodies a screen heroine for the ages, providing Hitchcock’s faith in her as his ideal leading lady was well-placed after her strong impact earlier in the year in her initial film under his tutelage, Dial “M” for Murder.

After her great success in Window, Kelly would finish the year with starker dramatic work as the unhappy, put-upon housewife in The Country Girl, and forever deal with a substantial amount of criticism after winning the Oscar over Judy Garland in A Star is Born for her Country emoting. However, some of this demeriting seems unfair when considering Kelly’s work as a whole during 1954, with both the National Board of Review and the New York Film Critics aptly mentioning all three of Kelly’s films in granting her the Best Actress prize, before she went on to match Garland at the Golden Globes with a Best Actress win for both. In retrospect, on the basis of her signature Window role alone, one could argue Kelly warranted placement among the year’s best performances, but back in the day (and still today in many cases) drab-but-serious portrayals won out over what’s deemed lighter fare, no matter how beautifully and skillfully the star inhabited the more colorful role. Kelly was happily re-teamed with Hitchcock the following year for possibly her most alluring and daring work, generating a maximum wattage of star chemistry opposite Cary Grant in To Catch a Thief. Kelly would exit her tenure as one of Tinseltown’s most bankable stars only one year later, via her celebrated 1956 marriage to the Prince of Monaco.

Offering prime support, as she did in virtually every film she made, starting with her scene-stealing cameo in her debut, Miracle on 34^th Street, Thelma Ritter accounts for many of Window’s choicest comic moments. As Stella, the nurse hired to assist with Jeff’s recuperation, Ritter utilizes her earthy, sage and witty persona to add abundant humor and heart to her scenes, with Stella going on to serve as an important ally to Jeff and Lisa as they work to solve the film’s central mystery, while also commenting on and questioning Jeff concerning his lack of interest in Lisa, serving as a voice of reason for the audience who may want to pose similar questions on the same topic. Somewhat puzzlingly, Ritter, who had gained four Oscar nominations in a row for 1950-53 work, would somehow have this streak broken the year of Window, even if now it’s possibly the first Ritter film that comes to mind for film buffs. Post- Window, Ritter who continue a very fruitful career as perhaps the biggest character actress of her generation, including two more Oscar nominations (but alas, no wins), while also winning a Tony award in 1958 for New Girl in Town.

Wendell Corey, with an established reputation as a sage, introspective leading man built after his debut in 1947’sclassic color noir Desert Fury and via quality work in such films as The Search, Holiday Affair and The Furies, does a fine job as Tom Doyle, Jeff’s friend and former war buddy, who as a Lt. Detective with the NYPD who somewhat reluctantly aids Jeff in his quest to gain information concerning the possible crime. Tom also demonstrates a chauvinistic side and comes into conflict with the liberated Lisa, and Corey does a fine job of allowing this unattractive aspect of Tom’s nature to be fully delineated, without trying to make Tom more likable to viewers. As the main figure Jeff focuses his sights on, Raymond Burr, continuing his run of heavies in movies a few years before Perry Mason would stamp him as one of the most recognizable and adored figures on television, manages to come across as both menacing and sympathetic as Lars Thorwald. Thorwald is seen throughout most of the film as a somewhat distance figure across the way from Jeff, and in his signature film role Burr does an impressive job making his strong presence felt nonetheless, making later moments wherein Thorwald suddenly becomes more front-and-center impactful, as Burr has established how imposing and dangerous an adversary Thorwald might be.

Among the other inhabitants unknowingly spied on by Jeff, Ross Bagdasarian (several years before his greater fame as the creator of The Chipmunks) can be seen as the frustrated composer whom Hitchcock fixes a clock for early in the movie in one of the director's famous cameo appearances, while Judith Evelyn makes an impression as “Miss Lonely-Hearts,” several years before facing off with The Tingler in a very different suspense classic. Georgine Darcy helps enliven scenes as “Miss Torso,” the undulating dancer “juggling wolves,” as Lisa puts it, while Kathryn Grant, a few years before finding greater fame on screen with The 7th Voyage of Sinbad and Anatomy of a Murder and as the wife of Bing Crosby, and the ubiquitous Bess Flowers, who can be spotted in a plethora of classic films, turn up as party guests at the songwriter’s apartment.

Released in August of 1954, Rear Window would resonate strongly with both critics and audiences, being hailed as one of Hitchcock’s finest films while gaining initial first run U.S./Canadian rentals of $5,300,000 (according to Variety) to place among the top five box-office hits of the year. Along with the Best Actress citations for Kelly, the movie would grant Hitchcock a Quarterly award from the Director’s Guild of America and a fourth Best Director Academy Award nomination. Hayes would also score a richly deserved Oscar nomination for Best Adapted Screenplay, with Burks also in the running for Best Color Cinematography and Loren L. Ryder mentioned for his vivid sound recording. A 1983 re-release of the film, after years of being virtually unseen by audiences (along with several other Hitchcock classics) allowed a new generation to discover one of Hitchcock’s most entertaining and ingenious comedy-thrillers. Later plaudits included mention among the films included on the 1997 National Film Registry list, ranking among the top 50 on both the AFI’s 1998 (#42) and 2007 (#48) list of the greatest films, and placing at #38 on the latest Sight and Sound poll from 2022, tying with Breathless and Some Like it Hot. These continual honors point to the timeless entertainment value of a peerless masterpiece and, with its superior cast, crew and direction by a true cinematic genius in peak form, movie fans old and new are sure to be rewarded by opting to look back through a thrilling Rear Window.