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, 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.

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.

Fernanda Montenegro Brings Pathos and Humor to Walter Salles’ Moving Central Station

 

One of the richest character-driven films of the 1990s, director Walter Salles’ emotionally resonant Central Station finds great heart and drollness in relating the tale of Dora, a retired schoolteacher who supplements her income by translating letters at the title locale in Rio de Janeiro, whose life is impacted after a young boy, Josué, is left stranded in the station with Dora his only contact. The strong bond that develops as Dora attempts to return Josué to his wayward father via a series of misadventures on their lengthy eventful road trip is conveyed profoundly and beautifully by Salles (from a funny, deeply touching screenplay by Joao Emanuel Carneiro and Marcos Bernstein, from an idea by Salles), aided by terrific oftentimes sun draped on-location cinematography that lends neorealism to the story and a pitch-perfect score by Antonio Pinto and Jaques Morelenbaum that underlines the appropriate tone for each sequence, helping to adeptly blends the dramatic and comedic elements of the script. The first-rate cast, led by a legend of Brazilian cinema, Fernanda Montenegro, in a rich, towering performance, also invaluably evoke the correct sense of time and place integral to the scenario of this superior 1998 Brazilian-France co-production.

Salles has a gift for introducing the characters and key plot points with a sense of immediacy and truth, allowing moments from the film to come across with astounding force and stay with a viewer for years after seeing the film. For example, Salles shoots each scene with resourceful clarity, trusting his cast to hit the appropriate tone, focusing on the characters using frequent closes-ups and simply staged shots to capture each performer’s individuality, while allowing audiences direct access to the interpersonal relations, specifically Dora and Josué’s, as the interactions progress in compelling manner. Salles also has an eye for composing frames of visual splendor, even in the normally squalid surroundings (both in and outside of Rio), capturing the seedy Rio cityscape with a strange golden glow amid the poverty, and later craftily utilizing shadows to create a lovely aura during some nighttime sequences. Born in Rio de Janeiro and heir to the Itaû Unibanco fortune, Salles started his directorial career with 1991’s A Grande Arte before his rise to worldwide acclaim with Central Station. Post Station, Salles has maintained a steady output as a top writer/producer/director in Brazilian cinema, recently reaching perhaps a career high as director of 2024’s I’m Still Here, which brought universal hosannas to Salles, star Fernanda Torres (daughter of Fernanda Montenegro, who also has a brief but moving key role in Here), and the film, as well as major box-office success, with the fine, fact-based drama gaining (among many other awards) Academy Award nominations for Best Picture and Best Actress (Torres, who also won a Golden Globe) and an Oscar win for Best International Feature, which Salles accepted onstage as the happy and proud recipient of this breakthrough award for Brazilian cinema.

                As the jaded, worldly-wise Dora, Fernanda Montenegro masterfully imbues the complex role with great dramatic force and comic gusto, while keeping Dora true and in-the-moment at every turn. Dora’s down-to-earth, tough nature, intelligence and sharp wit are consistently on view thanks to Montenegro’s alert, precise work, and in Dora she forms a sympathetic, fully-relatable point of identification for viewers, even when the insensitive Dora appears to lack moral fiber at the movie’s outset, with her questionable actions involving what she does or doesn’t do with those transcribed letters. How Dora evolves during the story is made profound and emotionally gripping by Montenegro’s artful, honest playing. She also displays expert comic timing, carefully blending some hilarious retorts (“Show some respect, I could be your mother” is a vivid high point) and reactions with the more serious moments, wherein Montenegro’s direct-but-delicate playing hits with unforgettable force, often with just a look or gesture, leading up to a deeply poignant finale. Although the meaty role is rife with possibilities to play up (or overplay) both serious and comic aspects of Dora’s indomitable character, Montenegro admirably uses subtle, spontaneous methods to bring Dora to life as a fully formed, independent and unique figure who proves it’s never too late to improve one’s moral outlook, and change from an anti-heroine to someone more noble. Born in 1929, Montenegro first achieved success in Brazilian theater, radio and television after starting her career in the late 1940s, before making her feature film debut in 1965, then alternating between films, t.v and the stage thereafter, becoming one of the most famous and admired Brazilian stars, until Central Station brought her singular talents to the attention of a global audience. Post her astounding success with Station, Montenegro has continued to shine on stage and screen, gaining the prestigious National Order of Merit from Brazil in 1999 and winning an International Emmy for her work in 2013’s Sweet Mother, then recently have a beautiful, triumphant reunion with Salles via I’m Still Here serve as a fitting grace note to a remarkable career.

Discovered in Rio by Salles, the untried Vinícius de Oliveira as Josué is an ideal partner for Montenegro, believably illustrating the youth’s stubbornness, pride, sensitivity and fear as he finds himself alone and vulnerable in the crime-infested metropolis, and Josué’s need to latch onto Dora for survival. As their friendship develops and the boy learns to trust Dora, Oliveira shows real affection for and chemistry with Montenegro, making this oddball couple one of the era’s most endearing, with audiences hoping for a positive outcome for both of the roaming outcasts. Oliveria also does a fine job demonstrating Josué’s growing confidence under Dora’s protective watch, leading to a key moment wherein he forcefully causes an important change in their fortunes, which demonstrates the growth in the dynamic between Dora and Josué, as well as the young boy’s maturity as he learns to get on and work against adversity in a tough world. Following this important start in films, Oliveira would build a solid list of screen credits, including a reunion with Salles for 2008’s Linda de Passe, while also strengthening his acting prowess by adding theater work to his resume.

In the prime supporting role of Irene, Dora’s next-door neighbor and best friend, the esteemed Marília Soares Pêra, also a veteran of Brazilian stage and screen, brings great warmth and humanity to the film. Irene serves as Dora’s moral conscience early in the film, and Pêra exudes positive energy and decency amid her bleak surroundings, showing compassion towards Josué during their meeting, and forthrightly calling Dora to task for her oftentimes harsh, selfish nature. Pêra presents such a likable persona as Irene a viewer welcomes each of her subsequent appearances later in the film, wherein she has primarily comic exchanges with Dora via several phone calls. Among the rest of the cast, Othon Bastos does intriguing work as the kind, shy trunk driver who helps Dora and Josué on the journey, while Matheus Nachtergaele and Caio Junqueira offer fine portraits of Isaìas and Moisés Paiva, two brothers of contrasting personalities (one jovial, one more somber and concerned), who meet and interact importantly with Dora and Josué in the movie’s revelatory final act.

With its relatable elements concerning friendship, hope and charity and sensitive, impactful direction and performances, the insightful, emotionally absorbing and funny Central Station met with major critical and audience success upon the film’s release in 1998. At the box office, Station reaped over $20,000,000 worldwide on a meager budget of approximately $3,000,000, becoming the top film hit of the year in Brazil, and (at the time) the most financially successful Brazilian film ever in some other countries, including the United States. During awards season, the film and Montenegro received a wealth of well-warranted prizes, with (among other notices of merit) Montenegro scoring Best Actress awards from the Los Angeles Film Critics, The National Board of Review, and the Silver Bear for Best Actress from the Berlin Film Festival, wherein the heartrending Station also won the Golden Lion for Best Film. Further plaudits included Best Foreign Language awards from the National Board, Golden Satellite and the British Academy, wherein it was deemed the Best Non-English Language film. At the Golden Globes, Fernanda was nominated and the film won for Best Foreign Language Film, with both Montenegro and Station going on to receive nominations from the Academy Awards. Over time, the film has continued to be regarded as one of the best offerings from Brazilian cinema, with Station placing at #57 on a 2010 Empire magazine poll of the best World Cinema films #11 on a 2015 poll by the Brazilian Film Critics Association. Maintaining the power to entertain, amuse and deeply move regardless of number of viewings, Central Station will please any movie lover interested in experiencing one of cinema’s richest and most touching comedy/dramas.

Clarence Brown Lends Power and Truth to William Faulkner’s Intruder in the Dust

 

Among the most honest and persuasive of the late 1940’s-early 1950’s “message pictures” that sought to delve into the subject of racism and the need for greater tolerance in society in regards to race relations (see also Home of the Brave, Lost Boundaries and Pinky), 1949’s Intruder in the Dust, based on the 1948 William Faulkner novel, offers a riveting murder mystery set in the deep South. Blessed with undertaking screenwriter Ben Maddow’s fine adaptation of one of Faulkner’s most assessable works, veteran MGM director Clarence Brown (who also produced the film), after a rewarding 1940s at the studio that included helming such revered classics as The Human Comedy, National Velvet and The Yearling, capped the decade with perhaps his finest directional achievement, bringing the proper grit and, filming on location in Faulkner’s vicinity of Oxford, Mississippi, evoking a strong rural aura, while cinematography Robert Surtees, aided by Robert Kern’s judicious editing, impactfully establishes the perfect mise en scène with each carefully composed shot of the small town and its citizens with “you are there” style. An excellent ensemble, led by Juano Hernández in a forceful, skillfully intuitive performance, artfully blend in with their surroundings, bringing much flavor and humanity to the provocative, absorbing production and give Brown the chance to once again prove his gift for bringing out the best from a talented cast.

                With precision and insight, Brown expertly unfolds the tale relating to Lucas Beauchamp, a proud, dignified, independent black man accused of murdering a local white man, then hoping to evade a lynch mob desired by all but a few brave townsfolk who seek to uncover the facts behind the crime in the dead of night. As he did with The Yearling, with on-location filming Brown is able to shake off the MGM gloss apparent in most of the studio’s output, however misplaced it sometimes may be, to realistically depict the injustices aimed at Lucas, and the dire consequences it seems he will inevitably face, while Lucas’ lawyer’s young nephew Chick is drawn into the plot, along with his friend Aleck and a kind-but-tough elderly lady, Miss Eunice Habersham. In depicting this trio’s after dark quest to discover evidence that may assist Lucas, Brown maintains an unsettling, ominous tone, clearly showing the dangers that await the team if they run into the wrong party, specifically the dead man’s family members. The director also allows most of the action to occur in a straightforward fashion, trusting the audience to assess the themes of the film without having the main points illustrated in a heavy-handed manner; this mature approach helps Intruder remain a fresh viewing experience over 70 years after its initial release. After this fine accomplishment, Brown would direct four more films, including 1951’s whimsical Angels in the Outfield and his final film the following year, Plymouth Adventure, before enjoying a lengthy retirement until his death in 1987 at age 97.

Possessing both a regal bearing and a humane, relatable presence, Juano Hernández commands the screen with one of the most multi-faceted characterizations of an African American yet seen in film.  Creatively utilizing his searching, soulful eyes, Hernandez adds rich shadings to Lucas with nary a word in many scenes, drawing viewers to his serene, mystifying presence, while also communicating the fear he holds concerning his environs and towards those intent on destroying him. His deep, resonant voice also indicates the wisdom and self-awareness that Lucas holds as he ponders his fate and relations to the few honorable people trying to help him. Born in 1896, Hernández had toiled in vaudeville, radio, the Broadway stage, and a few movies (including three by renown director Oscar Micheaux) before his mainstream cinematic breakthrough in Intruder. The strong critical reaction to his work led to Hernández building a solid film resume over the next twenty years, with first-rate work in such features as Young Man with a Horn, The Breaking Point, Kiss Me Deadly, The Pawnbroker and his final film, They Call Me Mr. Tibbs!, released just before his death in 1970.

Reuniting with Brown after being discovered for The Yearling, Claude Jarman Jr. comes through again for his mentor, adding shading to his portrayal of the adolescent Chick Mallison, who learns to come of age through his dealings with Lucas. Jarman clearly illustrates the awkwardness the biased Chick first displays towards the proud Lucas when they meet on the latter’s property, then the teen’s more reflective, open mindset as he develops a deeper understanding of the older man’s complex nature and works to aid Lucas when he faces the wrath of the community. Jarman does a fine job playing Chick with a straightforwardness and unforced innocence that renders the young man’s path to maturity and greater empathy towards others satisfying and believable. Jarman would be granted another good part in one of John Ford’s best Westerns, Rio Grande then, as with many young stars before and since his brief reign, find parts harder to come by, with his last feature 1956’s The Great Locomotive Chase and a television appearance in 1979’s epic miniseries Centennial, before in later years proudly appearing on the Oscar stage with his juvenile award for The Yearling alongside a fleet of other Oscar winners, before his passing in January 2025 at 90.

Given the lengthiest amounts of dialogue, David Brian has possibly his best screen role as John Stevens, the initially presumptuous lawyer who at first believes the charges against Lucas, then has a gradual shift in his opinions as he ponders the increasing evidence presented. Although the lawyer, serving as a touchpoint for Chick and the audience, is given speechifying that sometimes borders on the pedantic, Brian does a nice job showing the fair-minded change of heart that marks the upstanding Lawyer’s ethically sound mindset. A former song-and-dance man, Brian shifted gears and started strong out of the gate in 1949 as a new, edgy Warner Bros. leading man; in addition to fine work in Intruder the year brought him attention as the object of affection for leading Warner stars Joan Crawford and Bette Davis in two prime melodramas, Flamingo Road and the equally must-see Beyond the Forest. Following this high-profile start in films, Brian carried on for the next two decades in a lot of Westerns and some other genres, with titles such as Million Dollar Mermaid, The High and the Mighty, How the West was Won and The Rare Breed highlighting his cinematic oeuvre.

Veteran character actress Elizabeth Patterson, as the morally upright, no-nonsense, observant Miss Habersham, offers a highly individual portrayal of a senior citizen who is intent on taking action to aid Lucas, when most of the town is resigned to accept the probability that he is doomed. With grace and economical reserve, Patterson makes such every expression detailing the fine lady’s altruistic, noble countenance is exactly right, whether the character is showing bravery, reflectiveness or fear when the pensive heroine is made to take on Lucas’ key adversary, the murder victim’s vengeful brother, at the entrance to the prison wherein Lucas is held in one of the film’s most trenchant and impactful segments. Starting on Broadway on 1913, then moving to films in 1926, Patterson’s aptitude for playing spry aunts and old maids with distinction and (when appropriate) comic zest made her a beloved figure to moviegoers of the 1930s and 1940s, in works such as the peerless Love Me Tonight, Remember the Night and I Married a Witch. In a dramatic vein, Intruder may represent Patterson’s zenith. There is a sense of immediacy to her work that shows she is always clearly in-the-moment and genuine as the practical-minded, alert Miss Habersham attends to the weighty matters at hand, causing an audience to root for her and her partners in a risky nighttime excursion, and hope no harm comes her way then, or in broad daylight later in the aforementioned jailhouse confrontation. Patterson would lessen her onscreen output after this peak, featuring in only a few 1950’s films, but gaining a much bigger audience appearing in several episodes throughout the course of I Love Lucy’s phenomenal run, before making her last movie, Tall Story, in 1960, then passing in 1966 at age 91.

Among the rest of a superior cast, another stalwart character performer, Porter Hall, is memorable as Nub Gowrie, the patriarch grieving his murdered son, Vinston. Starting in films in 1931, Hall carved a niche for himself as a direct everyman and, as with Patterson, could add edge and/or comic sensibility to a part, resulting in rich, authentic work in classics such as His Girl Friday, Sullivan’s Travels, Going My Way and providing some welcome lighter moments as Walter Neff’s unwanted witness in Double Indemnity. As Nub, Hall brings a somber dignity and surprising compassion to role, making an audience strongly identify with this despondent father. Will Geer has just the right calm, unassuming demeanor as the sage Sheriff Hampton, confident that justice will be served, but willing to listen to reason as the mystery comes to the fore, bringing a backwoods charm to the role that would serve as a huge asset to his most famous, Emmy-winning part in the 1970’s as Grandma Walton. Charles Kemper, who had a brief run in feature films (after starting his career in shorts) from 1945 until his early death at 49 in 1950, also does spot-on work as Crawford Gowrie, aptly conveying the loathsomeness of the hateful man who is set on ensuring Lucas’ ruin, while conversely Elzie Emanuel brings some levity to the story as Aleck, Chick’s loyal friend who puts his qualms aside to assist Chick and Miss Habersham in trying to unlock the secret surrounding Vinston’s murder. Finally, Brown adds an abundance of regional flavor by including many locals as extras in the mob scenes, helping to instill a vivid sense of time and place with these extras’ inclusion in the scenario.

                With the film’s October 1949 release, Intruder was properly recognized as an insightful, mature drama addressing prevalent, controversial issues, alongside other films of the same ilk, such as Home of the Brave, Lost Boundaries and Pinky. Although the stark subject matter limited the movies commercial appeal, critics were quick to notice this cinematic benchmark’s achievements. The National Board of Review placed Intruder third on its list of the year’s best pictures, while The New York Times also included the film on its Ten Best list. The thought-provoking movie merited the United Nations Award from the British Academy, Maddow was nominated for two awards by the Screen Writers Guild of America, and both Brian (for Supporting Actor) and Hernández (for Best New Actor) were up for Golden Globes. The uncompromising, striking view of the evils involved in enforcing prejudice, including sometimes daring dialogue that still packs a wallop, has allowed the movie to resonant firmly with viewers throughout the decades. Credit for Intruder in the Dust maintaining its power to move and provide plenty of intellectual stimulation for audiences to the present day must go to the exemplary efforts of Brown and a talented cast and crew for bringing one of William Faulkner’s most candid and accessible tales to the screen with exceptional flavor, discernment and sincerity.

Sidney Lumet Frames 12 Angry Men with Artful Precision

 

           One of the most incisive, stimulating dramas from the 1950s, United Artists’ forceful production of 12 Angry Men allows audiences a deep dive into the diverse aspects that can go on in a jury room as the peers therein attempt to make a “beyond a reasonable doubt” decision. Screenwriter Reginald Rose, adapting his 1954 Emmy-winning teleplay Twelve Angry Men based on Rose’s own experiences as a juror, provides a fascinating take on the motivations, egos and biases that can come into play among an array of contrasting personalities as they seek (or try to overlook) key facts in a murder case, while attempting to determine the validity of the evidence presented by presumed eyewitnesses. Director Sidney Lumet, in a remarkable cinematic directional debut, adroitly focuses on each jury member in order to paint a full portrait of the man’s assets and flaws, while perfectly capturing the mood involved in the dour jury room surroundings, aided by Boris Kaufman’s rich black and white lensing, Carl Lerner’s complex editing and a sparse, melancholic hinged score by Kenyon Hopkins that helps set the time-and-place. One of the most dynamic, gifted casts ever, led by Henry Fonda as Juror #8, the protagonist determined to give the accused a fair shake when the initial odds look dire, work in perfect tandem with Lumet, each coming through with definitive, highly individual performances that stand as benchmarks in their careers.

Born in 1924, Lumet started his landmark career as a child actor on Broadway, before WWII caused a break in this vocation. Post-war, Lumet honed his directional skills working off-Broadway, then thrived as one of the most prolific helmers of live television fare. This expansive background made him an ideal choice to oversee a film based almost entirely on one set. Using Rose’s concise, multi-faceted script, Lumet is able to emphasize the tense environment and array of emotions each juror encounters, allowing the theatrical nature of key moments to come across in vivid fashion, due to careful staging and precise use of close-ups that reveal a juror’s mindset, while also giving the actors and camerawork the freedom to bright forth the sometimes-florid drama with a sense of immediacy and truth. The ambience Lumet is able to maintain for the 96-minute run time is also a prime achievement, with a viewer first feeling the humid, sweat-inducing courtroom climate, then a sense of relief when rain comes midway through to offer the jurors a welcome reprieve as temperatures continue to rise. Lumet also wisely provides one lingering shot of the despondent young man on trial early on, before fading into the actual jury room. This sole image stays with a viewer throughout the proceedings as a humane point of identification, reminding one of the life at stake depending on the jury’s final decision.  After this outstanding endeavor, Lumet would continue as a major force in American film, often showcasing stories based in New York City and featuring powerful acting, offering such work as A Long Day’s Journey into Night, The Pawnbroker, Serpico, possibly peaking in the mid-1970s with Dog Day Afternoon and Network, continuing apace in the 1980s with Prince of the City, The Verdict and Running on Empty, then finishing his career with aplomb via 2007’s Before the Devil Knows Your Dead, before passing in 2011.

By 1957, Henry Fonda had firmly established his screen image of the ideal American over a two-decade career as a leading figure in films, with his iconic Tom Joad in The Grapes of Wrath, perfectly-pitched comic work opposite Barbara Stanwyck in The Lady Eve and his calm-yet-intense work as the most consciousness and decent citizen in 1943’s classic The Ox-Bow Incident just three of his soaring interpretations. Co-producing 12 Angry with writer Rose after gaining clout via his massive success on stage and in the 1955 film version as the title figure in Mr. Roberts, Fonda’s clear involvement with the 12 Angry material can be witnessed in his focused, dedicated portrayal of the honest, morally upright juror #8. As the intricacies of the plot develop, Fonda also does a great of suggesting, along with the character’s decency, the self-satisfaction and ego that may also be compelling #8 to challenge the opinion of his associates. In the wrong hands this role could grow tiresome and unbelievable, as the juror relentlessly questions nearly every observation of his peers, but Fonda so clearly conveys the search for honesty and justice driving the man that a viewer can only feel great admiration for the courage and principals he possesses. Following this triumph, Fonda would continue to score on stage and film, including changing gears to phenomenal effect as one of the cinema’s nastiest villains in 1969’s Once Upon a Time in the West, then eventually winning an Oscar in 1982 for a much more likeable delineation opposite Katharine Hepburn and daughter Jane in his final feature film On Golden Pond, shortly before his passing later that year.

Lee J. Cobb, as the easily riled juror #3, finds perhaps the most ideal role for the bombastic playing style that helped make him a top character star on stage and screen during this period, particularly via his breakthrough as Willy Loman in Death of a Salesman on Broadway and his Oscar-nominated mob boss in On the Waterfront. 12 Angry provides Cobb ample opportunities for his high-powered emoting, especially when #3 frequently tangles with Fonda’s juror over contrasting opinions but also gives Cobb room to show a more ruminative side as he finds parallels between #3’s own life and the trial. Equally adept character player Ed Begley, a few years from his Oscar win for Sweet Bird of Youth, has one of the richest roles as juror #10, a garage owner firm in his belief there can only be one outcome in regard to the verdict. In a bravura scene, Begley does an expert job illustrating the inner hate impelling #10’s beliefs, while also suggesting the man isn’t initially aware how limiting and unfair his perspective is.

As juror #4, a calm, reflective stockbroker who appears only interested in reviewing the case without bias, E.G. Marshall’s stillness is remarkably effective. Marshall conveys the character’s various thoughts with subtle craft, detailing possible changes in the man’s stance on the crime without making it clear to a viewer exactly what his final vote will be, with Lumet knowing when to place Marshall front-and-center as juror #4 mulls over the twists and turns relating to the evidence. Jack Warden, after first making an impact in 1953’s From Here to Eternity, then gaining further exposure on television’s Mr. Peepers, witnessed a big 1957 uptick in his screen career, with good work in Edge of the City and The Bachelor Party also attaching notice. In 12 Angry, as juror #7, a successful, down-to-earth salesman who appears as interested in making a baseball game as in reaching the correct verdict, Warden invests the role with an uncomplicated, easy-going demeanor that helps add believability to the role.

Martin Balsam, as the foreman of the group (a.k.a. juror #1), also makes his name as an important character actor in a part that allows him to showcase how admirably he could bring depth, distinction and spontaneity to an everyman role, traits that served him well for the rest of his career, many other high-profile works. In his second film at the start of a lengthy tenure in movies, the handsomely bespeckled, amiable Robert Webber has an easy infinity with the camera as juror #12, the friendly ad executive who attempts to bring some levity to the proceedings, while also showing a more involved nature as temperatures flare up and serious choices need to be made by each juror. Similarly in his second film of an expansive acting career, John Fielder shows some of the traits that would make him a star character player as a go-to guy for parts requiring a timid disposition as juror #2, an unassuming, mild-mannered bank teller who manages to show some heart and defiance when pressured by some of his aggressive peers.  

One of two actors recreating his fine work in the teleplay, George Voskovec lends great dignity and, when warranted, passion and urgency to his most famous screen role as juror #11, an introspective European-born watchmaker trying to ensure his peers are fully invested in making a fair decision. Joseph Sweeney also makes a strong connection with the audience in adapting his television role to the big screen as juror #9, the eldest member of the group who proves himself benevolent, rational and insightful as the discussion of the case unfolds. Years before major stardom on television, Jack Klugman registers as the tough, no-nonsense juror #5, who has a vivid moment wherein he takes umbrage over labeling the defendant worthless due to his lower-class background #5 strongly identifies with. Finally, Edward Binns offers a humane, likeable portrait of juror #6, a house painter who compassionate team player, but one able to stand up to any disrespect or injustice he notices his colleagues displaying.

It would take 12 Angry time for public perception to place the work among film history’s great dramas, with lukewarm box office awaiting the movie’s April 1957 release. However, critics fully grasped its merits from the get-go, resulting in the film placing in the top ten on both The New York Times and Time magazine’s ten best lists and ranking second on the National Board of Review’s top ten, gaining Fonda a Best Actor British Academy Award and winning Rose a Writers Guild of America prize for Best Written Drama, attaining the Golden Bear for Best Picture at the Berlin Film Festival, and granting Lumet a finalist spot from the Director’s Guild of America and one of four Golden Globe nominations, along with ones for Best Drama, Actor (Fonda) and Supporting Actor (Cobb). At the Oscars, Lumet and the film would repeat for nods, with rose cited among the Best Adapted Screenplay nominees, with the cast overlooked, with the ensemble nature of the piece providing the only clue for how Fonda could be left off the short list after creating one of his most intelligent and artful performances. Recently 12 Angry has factored in the forefront on several lists, with it ranked at #2, just behind To Kill a Mockingbird, on the AFI’s 2008 list of Top Courtroom Dramas, the year after it made the AFI’s 10^th Anniversary list of the 100 greatest American films and inclusion on the National Film Registry’s inductees. The film’s increasing reputation as a landmark drama also led to a 1997 television update of the material led by Jack Lemmon and an Emmy-winning George C. Scott as jurors #8 and #3. Those wishing to delve deep into superior dramatic fare so impactful it causes viewers to reconsider how they might approach any assumptions they have in regard to (seemingly) reasonable beyond a doubt facts of a case will find themselves held in rapt reverence by the gripping, thought-provoking entertainment found in the company of 12 Angry Men.