Being There (1979)
Directed by Hal
Ashby
* * * ½
Chance (Peter Sellers) has
been living inside a townhouse his entire life. Now in his middle ages, having
never left his home, he spends his days watching TV and gardening (a trade he
has devoted literally his entire life
to), all with a child-like naiveté. As the film opens, his benefactor passes,
and without any proof that he lives in the home, Chance is forced to hit the
streets without any sort of destination, completely oblivious to the workings
of the world. After a minor accident with a vehicle, Chance is taken into the
home of Eve and Ben Rand (Shirley MacLaine and Melvyn Douglas). When Ben
mistakes Chance (known now as Chauncey Gardener) for some sort of brilliant
socio-political scholar, Chance is given the opportunity to speak to the
President (Jack Warden). Following, he finds himself becoming groomed to become
one of the great political speakers of the country.
Believe it or not, Being There is my first experience with
Hal Ashby. I didn’t know what to expect fully walking in, but reading about the
film raised expectations for a comedy with deeply rooted drama, which is one of
my favorite kind of movies. Though I can’t exactly say Being There lived up to its alleged reputation, I’d be lying if I
said I didn’t enjoy it. The entire weight of the film rests on Peter Sellers.
Though my favorite Sellers performance will always be Dr. Strangelove, Sellers’ Chance is a close runner up. It’s
difficult to believe that there is a man out there that is this sheltered from the outside world, but Sellers makes it
completely believable.
Speaking of believability, I
must say that I was only to suspend my disbelief for so long before it was
completely cut. I’m sorry, but I can’t believe that the unintentional charade
that makes Chance an icon could make it as far as he does. There would just
have to be a point where somebody realizes that something is seriously off
about this guy. That said, while I was a little bothered by the ludicrousness
of the scenario, I was still wondering where it was all going to go. Then
again, it helps that Chance’s childishness sets up for some terrific jokes.
Maybe not a masterpiece, but Being There made
for a solid comedy-drama that was sometimes very funny, sometimes very sad, and
an overall excellent movie.
The Burmese Harp (1956)
Directed by Kon Ichikawa
* * * ½
While traversing the jungles
of Burma, a team of high-morale Japanese soldiers with a deep love for music –
led by Captain Inouye (Rentaro Mikuni), who narrates throughout – are cornered
and captured by British forces. It is here that they learn of Japan’s
surrender, marking the end of World War 2. PFC Mizushima (Shoji Yasui), a
skilled harp player, is sent solo to inform another team of Japanese troops of
Japan’s surrender. Things don’t go too smoothly for Mizushima, and his fellow
soldiers don’t see or hear of him for some time. That is until they cross a
bridge and pass by a Buddhist monk who looks too much like Mizushima to be a
doppelganger. As time unfolds, it becomes more evident that the monk in
question just might be their missing brother in arms.
Japanese cinema from the 1950s
has perhaps the greatest track record in the history of the art form, churning
out one great film after another with masterminds like Kurosawa and Ozu behind
the camera (even the era’s weakest films were still solid movies). Though The Burmese Harp isn’t by either of
those men, it still continues this wonderful reputation. Though rooted in
Buddhist values, it is still a universal story of letting go, and the result is
deeply profound and quite tearjerking from time to time – the scene involving
Mizushima and his fellow soldiers’ final song together really got the
waterworks going on. Oh, and the film’s power is further capitalized by the
absolutely terrific shot composition.
The only big criticism I have
is a lack of seeing enough of Mizushima before his transformation. Granted, the
film is told from the narration of Captain Inouye, but I never felt like we got
to know the pre-Buddhist Mizushima, as he exists somewhat in the background. I
feel everything would have been much more touching if we got to know him just a
bit better. That said, I feel like this is a criticism that could possibly wane
after a second watch. Regardless, this does not change the fact that The Burmese Harp is an amazing film and
fits in wonderfully with the golden age of Japanese cinema.
Desert Hearts (1985)
Directed by Donna Deitch
* *
The year is 1959. Vivian Bell
(Helen Shaver) is bound for the city of Reno with the intent of getting a quick
divorce, which requires Nevada residency. Fresh off the train, she is picked up
by Frances (Audra Lindley), who rents out rooms for women awaiting divorce
finalizations. It is here that Vivian meets the free-spirited Cay (Patricia
Charbonneau), who is something like a daughter to Frances. Upon meeting Cay,
Vivian immediately feels something
for her, though she internally wrestles with those very feelings – is it lust
or love? Platonic or romantic?
Consensus seems to indicate
that Desert Hearts as an important
landmark in LGBT cinema – Wikipedia states (albeit, with no annotated source)
that “it is regarded as the first film to present a positive portrayal of
lesbian sexuality.” For its time, maybe there really wasn’t a film as audacious
as this. I can appreciate that, but the film itself, I cannot. Though the
nervous “this is it” thrill of sex in the climactic (now, now) scene was
captured perfectly, the drama leading up to it just feels like padding, further
marred by distractingly awkward dialogue. Though the performances are solid,
even the actors seem to know just how subpar the dialogue is, and sound equally
as awkward delivering it. On a visual level, there are some major missed
opportunities considering the vast desert landscapes, but no terrific
cinematography to compliment it.
If there is anything that is
interesting, it is the dynamic between Frances and Cay. I’ve mentioned that
Frances treats her like a daughter, so imagine the drama that ensues when Cay
and Vivian are on the verge of going off together, leaving Frances to her
lonesome – of course, she protests. Unfortunately, nothing feels fully
developed, but at least it kept my interest. I’ve come to realize that LGBT
films are very hit or miss for me. There are truly some extraordinary ones out
there, like My Own Private Idaho or
last year’s unbelievably great Call Me by
Your Name. When it’s not great, though, it tends to be very mediocre that
thinks that dealing with LGBT themes immediately makes the movie good. Desert Hearts falls into the latter
category.
In a Lonely Place
(1950)
Directed by
Nicholas Ray
* * * ½
With a history of violence and
a hot temper, Dixon Steele’s (Humphrey Bogart) reputation has seriously dented
his place in Hollywood as a screenwriter. Tasked with adapting shlock of a
bestselling novel, Dixon invites the young Mildred (Martha Stewart), who is
reading the novel, over to his house to give him the nutshell version of the
story. As the evening proceeds, she leaves for the local cabstand to take her
home. The next morning, Dixon discovers that Mildred has been murdered, and his
reputation has led him to become the prime suspect. His neighbor Laurel (Gloria
Grahame) speaks to the police on Dixon’s behalf. Dixon and Laurel soon strike
up a relationship, but as Dixon’s violent tendencies begin to shine, and as
their relationship sours as a result, Laurel begins to seriously wonder about
Dixon’s innocence.
Late ‘40s/early ‘50s film noir
has never been much of my thing. I’ve always appreciated the aesthetics as well
as the audacity of common film noir themes for the time, but I suppose you
could say I’ve been somewhat spoiled by modern film. The filmmaking style of that
whole era has never resonated with me much, but I tend to put my personal
preferences aside these days, and I must say that I really enjoyed In a Lonely Place. I award most of its
credit to being so bold, to explore such a man as unstable as Dixon, but how
could that possibly work without the alluringly dangerous charisma of Humphrey
Bogart? I’ve always had a soft spot for Bogart, and I think this just might be
my favorite performance of his. On a side note; I swear that nobody has ever
looked so cool smoking a cigarette like he does.
The only thing I really didn’t
care too much for is the shift in character focus as the film goes on. In the
former half, we focus on Dixon and him crumbling under the pressure of being
suspected for murder – a fortuitous move for a film of this era, and I was really into it. About half-way through
the film, though, the film shifts focus on Laurel and her uncertainty of Dixon,
which is where the film becomes a more traditional film noir mystery, and the
film kind of stumbled because of this – I think the film could have been much
more interesting if it was exclusively concerned with Dixon (hell, the mystery
would still be there). Other than that, the production design all-around is
very typical of the era – nothing bad, but nothing spectacular either. All that
said, though, this was still a fantastic film all around.
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