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 decade. 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.

Michelangelo Antonioni’s L’Avventura Proves a Game Changer for Monica Vitti and Cinema

 

                Signaling a stylistic shift in cinematic storytelling from the straightforward narrative accustomed to filmgoers, 1960’s L’Avventura boldly unfolds an unconventional, challenging tale in an often-impenetrable manner, with director Michelangelo Antonioni putting his highly original mark on the production, offering audiences a viewing experience unlike any seen before onscreen. Depicting the mystery surrounding the disappearance of a wealthy young woman, Anna, after she, her boyfriend Sandro and other cosmopolitan friends take a jet-set type yachting excursion to the Mediterranean island of Lisca Bianca, and how this impacts the relationships of those near her left literally asea concerning her fate, the film and its crafty screenplay by Antonioni, Elio Bartolino and Tonino Guerra provides audiences no easy answers in unveiling the circumstances surrounding Anna’s vanishing, and why subsequent events play out the way they do. Beautiful black and white cinematography by Aldo Scavarda that weaves on-location Italian environs such as Rome and Sicily into the plot, an evocative score by Giovanni Fusco and nicely modulated performances, specifically by the elegant Monica Vitti in her breakthrough role as Anna’s best friend Claudia, aid in keeping the movie’s mesmerizingly enigmatic tone at the forefront of each artful sequence.

                With ingenuity and skill Antonioni shows great talent in creating a new method to illustrate plot situations and the interactions between characters via his revolutionary visual style and break from traditional storytelling norms. Using interesting camera angles, which includes bringing cast members into view in surprising fashion, startling close-ups that sometimes cut off facial features, and incorporating often sparse dialogue in scenes wherein the focus is on the players’ simply looking at each other or at figures in an ambiguous manner as they ponder the state of their affairs, Antonioni allows one to gain an individual interpretation as to the feelings and motivations of each character, possibly based on the viewer’s own personal experiences. He also explores the transitory nature of relationships in a modern, mature way, without clearly spelling out why a person dealing with tragedy might quickly move on and fall in love with someone else, as in the case of Claudia and Sandro, or how early on Anna might suddenly feel disassociated from Sandro for no articulable reason, while still feeling passion and love for him.

Antonioni also frames scenes and dialogue to increase the intrigue of the piece, such the moment when a character states a boat was heard in the vicinity of the island around the time of Anna’s disappearance, then later showing four young men interrogated who were found on a boat in the area, without it being clear if the first boat might be the same one mentioned earlier, or another that could have taken Anna away. Following his major critical success with L’Avventura, Antonioni would solidify his place as a leading voice in international film during the next two years with La Notte and L’Eclisse, his follow-up films that also feature Vitti and serve as a trilogy of sorts with L’Avventura, then after 1964’s Red Desert with Vitti, go team with renown producer Carlo Ponti for his biggest worldwide success with the modish, London-based and Swingin’ Sixties’ flavored Blow-Up, which also featured inscrutable plot elements that captured audiences imaginations, helping the film and Antonioni to b box office and critical rewards, with Blow Up awarded the top prize at Cannes and the newly-established National Society of Film Critics, with Antonioni winning Best Director from the later organization, and Oscar nominations for his direction and screenplay. Following this peak, Antonioni and Ponti reaped lesser returns with their next two English-language undertakings, Zabriskie Point and The Passenger, before the director completed three more films, including his final work, the 1995 all-star anthology Beyond the Clouds, the same year he was bestowed a richly deserved honorary Academy Award, before his passing in 2007 at 94.

As Claudia, the cool, statuesque Monica Vitti, Antonioni’s partner and onscreen muse, comes through as the perfect heroine and camera subject to convey a variety of moods, effectively combining a distinct, ethereal presence with one of a more direct and playful nature, depending on the requirements of a given moment. Vitti portrays Claudia‘s bond to Anna and her despondent nature over the loss of Anna with a resourceful, fluid acting approach. Later, as Claudia becomes the object of Sandro’s affection, Vitti shows the clear conflict between the young woman’s attraction to and need for Sandro’s love, and her guilt and feelings of unfaithfulness towards Anna if she chooses to willingly succumb to his embrace immediately after her friend’s disappearance. In one particularly expressive moment detailing her dramatic skill, Vitti finely demonstrates Claudia’s shift change from giddy excitement as she fully surrenders to a love affair with Sandro, to abrupt sullen detachment as she realizes he doesn’t share the same passion for her. After L’Avventura, Vitti would continue as a leading light in world cinema, gaining a host of awards for her gallery of strong, complex women, including five David di Donatello (aka as Italian Oscar) Best Actress prizes, while trying her hand at more assessable entertainment of the spy genre with 1966’s English-language Modesty Blaise, making her final film in 1989 as star and (for the only time) director of Secret Scandal before a lengthy retirement, then passing in 2022 at age 90.

As Anna, with brief screentime Lea Massari presents a colorful, complex character that lingers throughout the film. Massari believably shows Anna’s impulsive nature, such as a key scene wherein she causes havoc among the boating party’s swimmers with claims of a shark nearby, and her restlessness concerning her bond with fiancé Sandro, and how sturdy their relationship is, as Anna ponders a growing distance between them, even after they become intimate again as soon as Sandro returns from a business endeavor. Massari would build an interesting list of credits after possibly her most famous work as Anna, including Serigo Leone’s first directional assignment, 1961’s The Colossus of Rhodes and winning praise for her work in Louis Malle’s Murmur of the Heart, with her final film role coming in 1990 and her death at 91 occurring in June of 2025. Opposite Massari, then Vitti as Sandro, the Romeo of the piece, the calm, ultra-masculine Gabriele Ferzetti reaches one of his career peaks in a prolific film resume running from his debut as a teen in 1942’s street of the Five Moons to his final role in 2010, that includes Leone’s Once Upon a Time in the West, On Her Majesty’s Secret Service and 1974’s The Night Porter. Ferzetti lends Sandro a tellingly detached air but adds shadings to the role that make it hard to pinpoint exactly who Sandro is, as he comes across as overly confident at times, but also sensitive and hurt in other key moments, with Ferzetti believably balancing the various aspects of Sandro’s comportment with precision.

As Giulia, the pert, seemingly uninspired young wife of an older, more intellectual husband, the doll-like Dominique Blanchar is memorable in adding an eerie dimension to her role, first playing up Giulia’s insipidness and sensitivity during the trip at sea then, in stunning fashion, revealing a more carnal and harsher demeanor later in the film, to the dismay of Claudia who witnesses Giulia’s capricious behavior. Others blending into Antonioni’s dreamy-yet-bleak vision include James Addams as Corrado, Giulia’s condescending husband, Esmeralda Ruspoli as Patrizia, a sophisticated, bemused member of the voyage, Lelio Luttazzi as Raimondo, a would-be paramour who only has amorous eyes for Patrizia during the expedition and Jack O’Connell as the surprising and surprised inhabitant of Lisca Bianca the party discover during their search for Anna.

The unorthodox L’Avventura created controversy at the 1960 Canne Film Festival, but due to Antonioni profound, innovative arrangement of the film’s mise en scène and its undeniable quality, which the jurors must have sensed merited recognition of some kind, the landmark film went on to gain a Jury Prize, then gained the British Film Institute’s Sutherland Trophy for its originality and imagination, Nominations for Best Film from Any Source and Best Foreign Actress for Vitti from the British Academy Awards, and landed on Time magazine’s 1961 year-end list of the top ten foreign films. After the initial release, in short order critics heralded the trendsetting masterpiece as among the most accomplished works of the cinema, with L’Avventura placing at #2, just behind Citizen Kane, on the esteemed 1962 Sight and Sound poll, then staying high on the list in subsequent decades, at #5 in 1972, #7 in 1982 and still solidly ranked inside the top 100 at #72 on the most recent 2022 survey. With the film’s uniquely framed visuals, intelligent, multi-layered performances and opaque, thought-provoking storyline and themes by Antonioni in perhaps his most consummate achievement, the influential, transcendent L’Avventura will assuredly continue to fascinate and stimulate audiences wanting a singular, unforgettable viewing excursion.

Jennifer Jones and Gregory Peck Passionately Pair in Selznick's Blazing Sun

 

           One of the most intriguing large-scale productions to come out of Hollywood’s Golden Era, 1946’s Duel in the Sun offered producer David O. Selznick an opportunity to bring an exciting, provocative tale to the screen after the more polite and homespun Since You Went Away fared very well with 1944 audiences and well enough with critics, resulting in nine Oscar nominations, including a win for Max Steiner’s evocative score. Helmed by the great King Vidor, starting a period wherein he showed flair bringing juicy material to the screen with vivid color (literally in the case of Sun, then to follow in monochrome via The Fountainhead, Beyond the Forest and Ruby Gentry), the ace director adeptly keeps the lengthy screenplay by Selznick (based on Niven Busch’s 1944 novel) moving at a florid pace, allowing the 145-minute run time to breeze by for audiences held rapt by the wealth of rousing proceedings unfolding, leading to one of filmdom’s  most astonishing finales.

Selznick also clearly aids in adding scope and vividness to the tale, with elaborate scenes such as a calvary riding in to stop a mob and an expertly staged party sequence, combining a tantalizing mixture of the lurid and dramatic to ensure viewers gain a rousing entertainment experience in the epic scale associated with Selznick’s major productions, specifically Gone with the Wind, at the time the most finically successful film ever made, a status it stills holds today when inflation is factored in. Selznick may not equal Wind’s achievements with Sun, but the elements tied to a first-class, absorbing narrative that made Wind such a durable success also help propel Sun forward, allowing for a distinct film with a flavor all its own. Besides the aforementioned Vidor and Selznick contributions, Dimitri Tiomkin’s pulsating score, a top-tier cast fully vested in their meaty assignments, and some of the most arresting cinematography of the era (lensed by Lee Garmes, Ray Rennahan and Harold Rosson) are some of the factors which place Sun and its story surrounding the beautiful, wanton Pearl Chavez and her interactions with the McCanles, distant relatives the orphaned Pearl goes to live with on their cattle ranch during a period wherein oncoming railroad production loomed large, into the can’t miss category for cinephiles.  

                As the torrid Pearl, Jennifer Jones showcases a neurotic, sensual, highly-charged acting style and a low, earthy vocal delivery previously largely kept in check in good girl roles such as the saintly title figure in Jones’ Oscar-winning, career establishing turn in 1943’s The Song of Bernadette, followed by two more nominations for largely gentil playing, abet with restless overtones, in Since You Went Away and Love Letters. Before Sun in 1946, Jones’ expert playing opposite Charles Boyer in Ernst Lubitsch’s Cluny Brown revealed an offbeat, saucy comedic touch, then Jones threw herself into Sun with abandon and a knack for the overwrought, making her high-strung, emotional work as Pearl hard to forget, especially in her sadomasochistic-inclined scenes with Gregory Peck as the oily-but-magnetic Lewt McCanles, which caused plenty of buzz for the film and sleepless nights for the Hays Production Code. After Sun, Jones (often working with Selznick, whom she married in 1949) would build an interesting career alternating between genteel leading ladies, such as in Portrait of Jennie and possibly her biggest 1950’s success in Love is a Many Splendored Thing, with edgier, more complex and original work in her Gentry re-teaming with Vidor, stealing the show among an imposing cast as a creative liar in 1954’s Beat the Devil and fascinating as possibly the most unhinged suburban housewife of the era in 1956’s The Man in the Gray Flannel Suit, a performance which the author covered here. After Selznick’s death, Jones largely retired from the screen, before having one final, very endearing bow working opposite Fred Astaire and Paul Newman in a true 1970’s blockbuster, The Towering Inferno.

1946 also represented a banner year for Gregory Peck, after breaking through with an Oscar nomination for Keys of the Kingdom following his debut in 1944’s Days of Glory. 1945’s Spellbound and Valley of Decision, opposite Ingrid Bergman and Greer Garson, solidified Peck’s status as the hottest new leading man in town, and with both Sun and The Yearling in 1946, he justified the faith both viewers and Hollywood executives were placing in him, showing a heretofore undetected range and skill as an actor. After offering one of his most engaging and effective performances in what would become his typically noble, All-American persona via Yearling, Peck does a surprising about-face in Sun, tackling his shady character with great zeal. Based on his accomplished work as the diabolical Lewt, it’s a shame Peck didn’t go on to show his flair as a villain elsewhere until 1978’s The Boys from Brazil, as Sun indicates how well he could thrive in this mode, while also using his angular good looks to very sexy advantage as the lustful Lewt, leading a viewer to ponder just how bad being led astray by this alluring varmint could be. In demand for the rest of his career as a stoic, earnest figurehead via classics such as The Gunfighter, Roman Holiday (in a welcomed lighter fashion), The Guns of Navarone and Oscar nominated work in work in Yearling, Gentlemen’s Agreement, Twelve O’Clock High and possibly his peak in To Kill a Mockingbird (which finally won him an Academy Award), Peck’s deft work in Sun remains a reminder of how stimulating and nefarious a screen presence he could be when given a chance to step out of his decorum.

Along with his costars, Joseph Cotton was reaping the rewards of being a top 1940’s Selznick contract player, after auspiciously starting out his screen career via collaborations with Orson Welles (who provides Sun’s opening narration with a controlled grandiosity fitting to the subject matter) in Citizen Kane and The Magnificent Ambersons. Costarring with Jones in Since and Love Letters, Ginger Rodgers in I’ll be Seeing You and on loan out for Alfred Hitchcock’s Shadow of a Doubt (perhaps Cotton’s most mesmerizing performance) and opposite Ingrid Bergman in Gaslight in the three years prior to Sun found Cotton near the lofty status of Peck as one of Hollywood’s most in-demand leading men circa 1946. As Jesse, Lewt’s much more decent and caring brother, who also has feelings for Pearl, Cotton offers a nice counter to the heated interactions of Jones and Peck, bringing a calm dignity and genial nature to his scenes, which helps balance out some of the high theatrics on display around him. Cotton would continue to thrive throughout the rest of the decade, cumulating in a key classic of the period, director Carol Reed’s The Third Man, wherein Cotton paired with Welles onscreen again in memorable fashion.

Among the incredible cast, Lionel Barrymore shows his knack for playing an irascible heel as the headstrong Senator Jackson, who seems intent on causing Pearl specifically and others in general plenty of hardship, around the same time he was giving James Stewart similar treatment in It’s a Wonderful Life, easily winning Barrymore the award for “Prime Cinematic Bastard of 1946.” Lillian Gish makes perhaps the biggest impression among the supporting players as Laura Belle, Pearl’s kind mother figure, illustrating her undiminished ability to hold the screen with grace and authority after proving herself to be one of the most gifted screen performers during her heyday in the Silent era of film. In Sun, Gish has a moment wherein Laura Belle sits in a chair as the Senator chastises his wife for taking in Pearl, and without a word powerfully conveys the put-upon woman’s feelings with a single, jaded stare in response to the verbal attack, indicating the character’s inner strength more powerfully than any dialogue could, before Laura Belle puts her husband in his place with a quiet but unquestionably steely resolve. Other key players in the stacked cast include Walter Huston, clearly having a ball as the “Minister” who casts a lecherous eye on Pearl as he implores her to follow a virtuous path, Herbert Marshall as Pearl’s weary, dignified father, Charles Bickford as an older suitor for Pearl’s affections, Butterfly McQueen bringing her unique comic flavor to the proceedings as Vashti, and Tilly Losch, who as Pearl’s mother helps get the film off to a rousing start with a provocative dance sure to cause temperatures to rise among the men onscreen, for better or worse.

With Selznick’s keen gifts of promotion, which naturally played up the sexier aspects of the storyline, leading to the movie inheriting the famous “Lust in the Dust” moniker, Sun had no issues living up to the hype, as patrons lined up in droves to catch his latest overblown but irresistible undertaking, resulting in (according to Variety) first-run box-office rentals of $8,700,000, allowing the film to cover its high production cost and place just behind The Best Years of Our Lives as the top hit of 1947 (both films were released in late 1946). Critics were less enthused, though Jones and Gish did gain Oscar nominations for their vivid work, while gaining faithful fans who could never forget viewing one of the screen’s most perverse Westerns. One young fan, Martin Scorsese, who lists Sun as his first film viewing experience, grew up to champion the film’s vivid use of color and compulsively watchable theatrics, helping to raise the film’s reputation over the years as a prime example of a grand scale melodramatic Western from Hollywood’s Golden Age. A prime potboiler that has lost none of its power to compel, viewers looking for a diverting night at the movies won’t be burn by this majestic and moving Sun.

And a fond farewell to Connie Francis, the preeminent female pop star of the late 1950s-mid-1960s. Born Concetta Rosa Maria Franconero on December 12, 1937 in Newark, New Jersey, Francis would witness an unsuccessful start as a teen recording artist, then breakthrough in 1958 with an update of “Who’s Sorry Now,” which illustrated Francis’ knack of conveying young heartbreak via her powerful vocal prowess. Providing herself equally adept with upbeat numbers, Francis would gain a string of huge hits during the next five years, including three #1s, “My Heart Has a Mind of Its Own, “Everybody’s Somebody’s Fool” and “Don’t Break the Heart that Loves You So.” As an MGM singing star, Francis successfully ventured into the studio’s films with 1960’s Fort Lauderdale-based teen-centered comedy/drama Where the Boys Are, wherein Francis’ pleasant personality formed a natural affinity with the camera, leading to several lighter screen musicals and one of her most iconic hits via the Neil Sedaka-Howard Greenfield-penned title song (Sedaka and Greenfield had first collaborated with Francis on 1958’s up-tempo “Stupid Cupid,” their first big hit). After her heyday, Francis would suffer many personal setbacks, while remaining a beloved figure to her loyal fanbase, demonstrating her vocal talent to a mass audience once again with the recent online popularity of “Pretty Little Baby.” Rest in Peace to an endearing, uniquely gifted vocalist, Connie Francis.

Charlie Chaplin Hits the Heights with City Lights

                A sublime blend of comedy and plausible sentimentality, 1931’s City Lights represents possibly writer/producer/director/star Charlie Chaplin’s most satisfying and moving depiction of one of the most famous and endearing characters in cinema, his beguiling “Little Tramp,” already a signature of a roster of durable silent Chaplin hits, including The Kid, The Gold Rush and The Circus. This innocence, free-spirited drifter persona allows a fitting showcase for Chaplin’s gifts as a physical comedian and skillful actor in Lights, with the legend artfully illustrating both impressive dexterity in maneuvering through scenes wherein his agility is put to the test (such as the introductory scene with the tramp working his way up, down and around a statue) as well as compelling, insightful playing during the more emotionally-driven moments, including an ending that is simply among the most poignant, powerful and unforgettable in film history. Aided by an excellent group of players, specifically radiant leading lady Virginia Cherrill and Harry C. Myers as an inebriated millionaire who befriends the tramp, Chaplin pulls off one of the greatest (nearly) one-man endeavors ever committed to cinema, majestically handling the tricky task of combining the scenario’s touching and farcical components with grace, taste and an unforced, honest sensibility.

                Clearly putting all his substantial talents into Lights, his first film with at least some sound elements, with inventive synchronized sound effects coming into play throughout the film, but no clear dialogue meshing with the subtitles, Chaplin builds a series of cleverly stage, mainly humorous vignettes around the simple tale of an amiable metropolitan tramp who encounters a lovely, blind flower girl and devotedly works to help her regain her sight, assisted in his efforts by the aid of a rich man who, when drunk, considers the tramp is best friend, while quickly forgetting they’ve ever met once he sobers up. Leading to a host of challenges for the vagabond. In addition to stellar work in front of and behind the camera previously mentioned, Chaplin also provides a playful musical score that sets a nice rhythm for the many bits of comedic business (with Jose Padilla composing the more touching melody for the blind girl’s theme music) and, in tandem with Willard Nico, is responsible for the accomplished editing, which helps present the rapidly-paced incidents over the 86-minute running time with clarity and the appropriate tonality for each sequence, sometimes deftly switching from slapstick to heartfelt drama within the space of a few seconds.

                From the opening scene, it’s apparent Chaplin had honed his most famous screen personage to perfection since the tramp’s first appearance on screen in 1914. Chaplin craftily manages to imbue the loveable character with individuality and believability, using vivid body language, agility and often-bemusing facial expressions to form a fully rounded character that remains fresh and entertaining over ninety years after the film’s release. Chaplin’s nimbleness is on full display in possibly the film’s most colorful set piece, wherein the tramp is forced into a boxing bout wherein he seems ill-matched to his replacement competitor (veteran character actor Hank Mann, already nearly twenty years into his five decades in film), after first agreeing with the initial boxer to “go easy” and split the take. A title card at the film’s outset states the movie is “A Comedy Romance in Pantomime,” and this spirited, uproarious and literally knockabout sequence fully conveys the comic gesticulation the credits refer to, with Chaplin at his most limber bouncing around and off his foe in the ring as the match progresses, with an audience on tenterhooks as they await the tramp's fate facing apparently unsurmountable odds.

Conversely, without overdoing the sentiment, Chaplin artfully lends a poetic air to scenes between the infatuated tramp and the serene object of his affections, who believes he is a benevolent millionaire, a notion the tramp tries to uphold as he strives to improve the impoverished girl’s fortunes, creating a captivating chemistry with Cherrill as this oddball couple’s romance blossoms in a simple, enchanting manner. There’s a sense of purity and tenderness in the delineation of this relationship that draws a sympathetic viewer in, making them hope that somehow these seemingly mismatched societal misfits will be able to overcome their setbacks and find happiness together. From their first encounter to the unmatched denouement this duo is among the most winsome in cinema and, whether working in a humorous or serious vein, Chaplin’s tramp remains a viable figure thorough the film, admirably mixing the humane aspects of the role with stylized comedy to bring off a memorable portrait of a down-on-his-luck but decent, understanding and caring hero.

Although accumulating limited entries in her filmography during a brief career in movies, the alluring Virginia Cherrill would gain cinema immortality with her delicate, intuitive work as the vulnerable, romantic flower girl. Wisely playing the role in a direct-yet-subtle manner, the sincerity Cherrill infuses into the role and her unfussy acting approach makes her performance hold up in a manner that allows modern audiences to feel great empathy towards the girl’s plight, just as strongly as Cherrill must have affected viewers upon the initial release of Lights. Aided by Chaplin’s keen direction, she does a wonderful job of suggesting the character’s blindness without using overly dramatic gestures or blocking that would have been a normal aspect of enacting such a role circa 1931, and for some time after that. Cherrill and Chaplin work with exquisite synchronicity during their few scenes together, creating a satisfying and unique bond that stays with a viewer. Cherrill’s accomplished, stately work in her first major role suggested a great career as a leading lady of talent and distinction awaited her, but after a few more features, including appearing the same year alongside Janet Gaynor and Charles Farrell in Delicious, Cherrill would abandon movies after 1936 for marriage to an Earl (thereby becoming a Countess via this third union; her second had been to no less than Cary Grant) before a long-term fourth and final marriage, with her beautiful portrait of the tranquil, humane maiden enduring as her most invaluable contribution to the cinema.

In the key role of the affluent but frequently soused millionaire who views the tramp as his best friend, except when he’s sober, Harry C. Myers does a deft job of defining the character’s shifting loyalties in a colorful, amusing fashion. As his butler James, who tolerates the tramp’s intrusion into his domain, then relishes the opportunity to treat the poor man with distain in the most forthright manner, Al Ernest Garcia, in the fifth of his six films with Chaplin, also sparks his character with an entertaining flourish. In her final film, Florence Lee adds a nice touch as the girl’s forlorn grandmother. For years movie folklore had also place Jean Harlow in the film as a party guest, but it appears her scene was cut from the film.

            Upon release in late January of 1931, the public embraced City Lights with open arms, allowing the film to reap in rentals of $4,250,000 during its first run (according to a 1932 article in Variety) placing it at #2 at the time among the top-grossing films of the early sound period, trailing only Al Jolson’s The Singing Fool. Critical praise which has never wavered was also evident, with the films placing on the top ten lists for the year’s best films at both The New York Times and The National Board of Review. Lights has also maintained a constant presence on the esteemed Sight and Sound polls conducted since 1952 of the greatest films ever made, conducted every ten years since 1952, from a high ranking of #2 (alongside The Gold Rush) on the initial 1952 list, to current placement at #36 on the most recent 2022 poll. Placement on several AFI polls also indicates the movie’s enduring popularity, with Lights coming in at #76 on the institute’s initial “100 Years. . .100 Movies” 1998 poll, before rising steeply to #11 on the AFI’s 10^th anniversary poll, a year before ranking at #1 on the AFI’s list of top romantic comedies, while the National Film Registry inducted the film for preservation on the organization’s 1991 list. The lasting appeal of City Lights, with its power to entertain via great comedic business while emotionally resonating with viewers as the unlikely fragile, warm relationship formed between the tramp and the ethereal flower girl grows, makes this unbeatable classic a prime choice for those in the mood to see an exemplary comic romance that is sure to linger long after that profoundly moving, justifiably famous final fade-out. 

Humphrey Bogart and Katharine Hepburn Indelibly Team on The African Queen

 

Serving as one of the screen’s ultimate romantic comedy adventures, The African Queen provides the sole, exemplary pairing of two cinematic giants, Humphrey Bogart and Katharine Hepburn, in a captivating excursion down the Nile. Helmed by John Huston, who made the on-location production quite an adventure in itself, the James Agee screenplay (from the 1935 novel by C.S. Forester) by Huston, James Agee, Peter Viertel and John Collier expertly combines comedic, dramatic and elements in a tantalizing fashion that Huston crafts into some of the most entertaining 105 minutes found on celluloid. In detailing the inventive story of craggy steamboat captain Charlie Allnut (Bogart) and the prim, spinsterish missionary Rose Sayer (Hepburn) as, circa 1914, they traverse down the river via the rickety-but-durable title vessel, finding a wealth of intrigue in the process while developing a unique, endearing bond, Huston and his faultless stars and crew engender a rare cinematic experience sure to please and thrill viewers of any age, no matter how often they watch the invigorating Sam Spiegel and John Woolf production.

John Huston continued his fruitful association with Bogart with the richly satisfying Queen. Starting his directional career with Bogart via The Maltese Falcon, possibly the detective film from Hollywood’s Golden Era, Huston would achieve additional success with the star, including Key Largo and Oscars for writing and directing his 1948 masterwork, The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, while also filming one of the best film noirs, 1950’s The Asphalt Jungle. With Queen, Huston appears particularity enlivened by the choice material, deftly meshing a sense of fun throughout the film with the more tense and dramatic situations on view. He is greatly assisted in capturing the perfect ambiance for the tale by Jack Cardiff, one of Technicolor’s supreme cinematographers, who lenses the atmospheric African settings to vivid effect, allowing a viewer to feel they are in very close proximity to Charlie and Rose’s often hair-raising predicaments. After Queen, Huston would remain a primary force in cinema, both as director (Moulin Rouge, the ambitious Moby Dick, The Misfits and a fine late-career resurgence with Under the Volcano, Prizzi’s Honor and The Dead) and in his shift to acting, with an Oscar-nomination for The Cardinal under another noteworthy director, Otto Preminger, and his incisive, disturbing Noah Cross in Chinatown.

As Allnut, Humphrey Bogart gained one of the richest roles of his career after a spectacular 1940s that featured his 1941 breakthrough in High Sierra and Falcon, followed by a great run as both an anti-hero and romantic lead in classics such as Casablanca, The Treasure of the Sierra Madre and, opposite costar and wife Lauren Bacall, To Have and Have Not, The Big Sleep, Dark Passage and Largo. With Queen, Bogart was able to show a more relaxed, comical side, and he seems to be having a ball on screen portraying the uncouth but friendly and good-hearted captain. Also, his potent chemistry with Hepburn makes the evolving relationship of their polar opposite characters amusing, believable and ultimately moving and exciting as the tale’s chief adventure comes to the fore, with scenes such as a drunken Charlie taking Rose to task and a thrilling ride down some rapids coming across with robust comic brio due to the perfectly-pitched teamwork of the stars, in their sole, ideal outing. Following Queen, Bogart would build a solid film resume in the 1950s, with Oscar-nominated work as the unstable Captain Queeg in 1954’s major hit The Caine Mutiny, the same year he reteamed with Huston for the offbeat and highly engaging Beat the Devil and formed a star box-office trio with Audrey Hepburn and Willian Holden in Sabrina, and a return to his gangster roots in the tense The Desperate Hours among his output before his passing in 1957.

Katharine Hepburn also left one of her most permanent impressions on film with her sage and alternately funny and emotionally forceful interpretation of the deeply religious, unemotional Rose, who embarks on a journey that vastly changes her demeanor and outlook. Hepburn claimed she had trouble getting a grasp on the role until Huston suggested she use Eleanor Roosevelt as a model, and in her calm, observant manner at the outset of the film, the star does appear to be channeling the legendary gracious-yet-formidable former First Lady. Armed with one of the more abundant character arcs in movies, which shows Rose becoming uninhibited and daring as the trip takes Charlie and her on a series of unexpected turns, Hepburn persuasively conveys each aspect of Rose’s complex makeup with humor, skill, and depth, allowing her great talent and intuition as one of the cinema’s best and most individual actors to shine throughout. In Rose Hepburn creates a dynamic portrait of a courageous woman finding her purpose and sense of self under surprising circumstances. Also, her singular teaming with Bogart allows Charlie and Rose to rate among the most unlikely but appealing and exhilarating hero and heroines ever to take on an arch enemy, with the audience heartily rooting for these brave, seemingly outmatched and overwhelmed underdogs to gain their ultimate objective. Hepburn would go on to gain continual praise for the rest of her lengthy career, including three Best Actress Oscars to add to her first for 1933’s Morning Glory, with her instinctive-yet-crafty, emotionally driven work as Rose Sayer maintaining a high place in a filmography full of unbeatable performances.

Robert Morley makes the strongest impression among the rest of the players as Reverend Samuel Sayer, Rose’s ultra-somber, forthright brother. Morley handles both the comic and dramatic facets of the brief role with verve, illustrating, for example, the reverend’s subtle but aghast reaction to the hungry Allnut’s out-of-control stomach pangs at dinner with dismay and dead-on whimsical aplomb, then later depicting the despondent clergyman’s shattered state after tragedy strikes his East African mission with a moving clarity that stays with a viewer. Morley would go on to add much merriment to another Huston outing via his reteaming with Bogart in Devil, and remain a leading figure on stage, screen and in literature before his passing in 1992 at 84, scoring a particularly notable late-career success with his lively comic work in 1978’s Who is Killing the Great Chefs of Europe? Two other well-known characters actors also pop up in the film’s final act, with Peter Bull and Theodore Bikel, in his first film role of note before going on to an impressive career as an actor and folk singer, making their presences felt as the cold, skeptical adversaries Charlie and Rose encounter.

Released in L.A. in late December 1951 to qualify for the Academy Awards, The African Queen quickly captured the imagination of the general public and the substantial approval of the critics. At the box office, the stellar teaming of Bogart and Hepburn, aided by the colorful plotline Huston’s inspired direction, helped make the movie one of the biggest hits of 1952, with U.S./Canadian rentals of $4,000,000, placing it among the year’s top ten moneymakers (according to Variety). The movie placed on Time magazine’s Ten Best list, then had its Oscar campaign meet with success with four nominations for the film, including ones for Best Director, Best Actress and a win for Bogart over no less than Marlon Brando for A Streetcar Named Desire. The enduring appeal of Queen has allowed it to maintain a high status among the great 1950’s films, aided by a 1987 best-selling book by Hepburn detailing the making of the movie and latter accolades, such as inclusion on the National Film Registry’s 1994 list and a lofty #17 placement on the AFI’s 1998 “100 Years. . .100 Movies” list (after first placing in the top ten on a 1977 AFI poll). For an unsurpassed, riveting cinema experience of the adventure/comedy/romance ilk, movie buffs will be rewarded with an intoxicating watch as they journey along with Bogart and Hepburn downstream on the diverting African Queen.

Robert Altman and an Inspired Cast Find Cinematic Harmony in Nashville

 

                 Standing tall among the great films of the 1970s, a most influential decade for a new breed of American filmmakers, each contributing their own unique style and vision with monumental works such as The Godfather, Jaws, Taxi Driver and Star Wars, Robert Altman’s daring, revolutionary Nashville from 1975 serves as possibly the legendary director’s most entertaining, creative and moving work. Centered around a cavalcade of characters intermingling in the title city around the time of the Bicentennial, Altman captures one of the greatest examples of a specific environment ever committed to film. Fearlessly helming elaborate set pieces on-location in and around Nashville, including an opening scene detailing a traffic pile-up on a highway that artfully introduces many of the rich roster of talented players in an ensemble cast seldom equaled before or since on the screen, Altman beautifully adapts the dynamic, funny and perceptive original screenplay by Joan Tewkesbury in seemingly improvisational style, allowing each of the plethora of actors to shine in distinct, spontaneous fashion, with those playing the fictional Country & Western stars at the heart of the story also adding individuality to their roles via involvement in writing their musical numbers. Satirically addressing themes such as Americana, politics, fame and relationships circa 1975, Nashville proves a fully satisfying, surprising and profound experience sure to linger with a viewer long after witnessing the unforgettable climax of the film.

                Starting his career on television in the 1950’s, Altman would direct a couple features in the 1960s (1967’s Countdown starring a pre-Godfather James Caan and Robert Duvall and, from 1969, That Cold Day in the Park with Sandy Dennis) before witnessing a major breakthrough with the surprising smash critical and box-office success of the untamed comedy M*A*S*H in 1970. Nashville caught Altman at a peak period of creativity, after further honing his craft, specifically in how he experimented working with actors to build storylines and portrayals into a cohesive whole, in M*A*S*H and his other early 1970’s endeavors of various quality and moods, including Brewster McCloud, featuring Altman’s most singular discovery Shelley Duvall in her film debut, the evocative McCabe and Mrs. Miller, a terrific modernized 1974 adaptation of Raymond Chandler’s The Long Goodbye, with Altman regular Elliot Gould giving perhaps his most free spirited and ingenious performance, and the stark crime drama Thieves Like Us, starring Duvall and Keith Carradine. With Nashville, Altman attempted his most ambitious project yet, and it’s awesome to watch how dexterously he manages to keep the interweaving storylines and personalities therein consistently fascinating and relatable, with a marvelous sense of wit and humanity showcased throughout each segment. Altman was giving moviegoers a new, more free-flowing narrative structure with Nashville, lending a sense of documentary-style reality to the proceedings, while letting his impeccable cast offer unorthodox-yet-truthful spins on an array of extraordinary roles, resulting in a grandiose, splendidly-crafted scenario that pulls audiences in for the 160-minute run time, and leaves them in a state of both elation and incertitude by the close of Altman’s epic portrait. Altman would continue his eclectic career post-Nashville following his own funky and singular vision, in the process enriching his cinematic oeuvre with further diverting offerings as 3 Women, The Player, Short Cuts and Gosford Park.

                Carefully selecting each actor for the approximately two dozen major Nashville characters resulted in a cornucopia of triumphant performances rarely witnessed in a single film. Ronee Blakley makes a vivid impression as the frail but prodigiously talented C&W superstar, Barbara Jean. Her soulful singing and heartfelt emoting of Barbara Jean’s tumultuous mindset draw a viewer to her plight and indicated a great career in films for the newcomer, which unfortunately never transpired, leaving Blakley’s adept, poignant Nashville work to endure as evidence of her remarkable musical and thespian gifts. Also making a maximum impact in her first major film after breaking through on television’s Laugh-In, Lily Tomlin demonstrates the skill and care evident in all her work, and proves herself a screen actor of dramatic force and merit. Portraying Linnea Reese (in a role based on input from Louise Fletcher, who left the film) a gospel singer and mother of two deaf children who finds her stable life complicated by advances from a sexy folk singer, Tom Frank (Keith Carradine, who is effortlessly magnetic), Tomlin lets an audience in on Linnea’s every conflicting thought, leading to the famous moment wherein she becomes aware of Tom’s intentions as he serenades her with “I’m Easy,” while half the other women in the crowd believe Tom is singing only to them. After this insightful portrait, Tomlin would go on to conquer Broadway with her one-woman show, while continuing to thrive on television and films, with The Late Show, a huge smash opposite Jane Fonda and Dolly Parton in 9 to 5, All of Me with Steve Martin, an Altman reunion with another amazing cast in Short Cuts and, more recently, great work in Grandma and a wonderful re-teaming with Fonda for the hit t.v. show Grace and Frankie among her accomplishments, along with a prestigious Kennedy Center Honor in 2014, to go with the Grammy, Emmys and Tony awards she’s amassed over a distinguished career.

        Karen Black, having a nice mid-1970’s run after her Oscar-nominated breakout in Five Easy Pieces, with iconic work in Trilogy of Terror on t.v. and roles in high-profile offerings such as The Great Gatsby, Airport 1975 and the bleak but fascinating The Day of the Locust, brings comic gusto to her playing of Connie White, a slick, commercial C&W leading light whose serves as an interesting counterpoint to the more pronounced talent of Barbara Jean. Black does a nice job with her key song and gets one of the biggest laughs commenting on Julie Christie’s wayward hairdo, as Christie glides by in an appealing cameo appearance with Gould, perhaps on her way to shooting her big 1975 L.A.-based opus, Shampoo. Henry Gibson shines in the primary male role of Haven Hamilton, a veteran Grand Ole Opry star loyal to his musical C&W roots in the face of changing tastes, while Geraldine Chaplin shows great comic flair as Opal, an intrepid-yet-vapid English journalist, wandering around and out of her element but, recorder in hand, intent on haplessly uncovering some of life’s deeper meanings in the Nashville environs.

The bountifully gifted Barbara Harris does a spectacular job as Winfried (or is it Albuquerque?), an eccentric housewife on the run from her husband as she attempts to break into the Nashville music scene, with an incredible payoff that Harris nails in unforgettable fashion. Duvall makes her highly individual visual presence felt as Martha, a gangly free-spirited groupie, while Gwen Welles is both funny and wistful as Sueleen, a tone-deaf but beautiful waitress desiring a music career, but forced to face reality regarding her chances in the industry after discovering she’s been hired for a gig based more obvious assets. Other familiar names blending in extremely well with the general comedy-drama ambience of the story include Allen Garfield as Barbara Jean’s tough, loyal husband, Barnett; Barbara Baxley, who has one of the best moments when her character nostalgically reflects on JFK; Ned Beatty as Linnea’s lawyer husband interested in promoting and using Sueleen; Keenan Wynn as Martha’s concerned uncle; Christina Raines as Tom’s beautiful colleague and lover; Timothy Brown as the chief African American star at the Opry, who still finds himself dealing with discrimination;  Scott Glenn as a Vietnam War veteran with a connection to Barbara Jean, and Jeff Goldblum in an early role as a lanky motorcycling riding local.

                Nashville gained solid box-office and overwhelming critical favor upon its release, starting with an early rave from difficult-to-please but powerful reviewer Pauline Kael and a Newsweek cover story. Kael’s contemporaries followed suit in heaping praise on Altman’s masterpiece, and the film would go on to reap a wealth of prizes during a very competitive awards season. Among its chief plaudits were Best Picture prizes from the New York Film Critics' Awards (wherein Altman and Tomlin also won for Director and Supporting Actress), the National Board of Review (in a tie with Barry Lyndon; Altman would tie Lyndon’s Stanley Kubrick for Best Director, with Blakley cited for Best Supporting Actress) and the National Society of Film Critics (with Altman winning Best Director and Henry Gibson and Tomlin cited for Supporting wins). Joan Tewkesbury would gain one of the most richly deserved screenplay awards ever from the Los Angeles Film Critics, The New York Times and Time magazine would include Nashville among their top ten films, with the Golden Globes granting the film eleven nominations, including a win for Keith Carradine’s self-composed hit, “I’m Easy.”

               Come Oscar time, Nashville would score nominations for Best Picture, Director, Supporting Actress nominations for Blakley and Tomlin, and a sole win for Carradine’s “I’m Easy” fortunately allowing Nashville to become the Oscar-winning film it should be. The movie would indicate its staying power with placement at #59 on the American Film Institute’s 2007 list of the 100 greatest films, and with inclusion on the National Film Registry’s 1992 list of films for preservation. For a savory, gratifying cinematic feast sure to leave audiences in awed admiration, movie lovers will find ample rewards in moseying up to the astonishing sights and tuneful sounds of Nashville, perhaps the most enduring effort from a filmmaker of unsurpassable talent and finesse, Robert Altman.