#36. Midnight Cowboy (1969)

“Midnight Cowboy” is either a low-budget Hollywood picture or a big-budget porno flick, I can’t tell.

To be honest, I didn’t think much of it at all when I watched it the first time. It actually made me kind of uncomfortable- like I was watching something I shouldn’t be. I felt like the whole movie was cheap and sleazy and that it was sacrificing legitimate content for taboo and shock value. When I re-watched it in order to find my key points dissect and ultimately tear down I ended up seeing it in an entirely different light. In fact, this is one of the greatest character studies in film and I think it should be mandatory viewing for anyone who wants to go into the mental health profession. There are elements of personality disorders, sexual identity and PTSD that dig deeper into the characters’ psyches than most films would ever bother to go.

Joe Buck (Jon Voight) is a naïve, goofy Texan who dreams of moving to New York to become what he repeatedly describes as “a hustler.” There are some indications as to what he means by this but we don’t find out for sure until he actually arrives there that he really means gigolo. His megalomaniacal delusions are overshadowed only by his almost childlike innocence. Despite the fact that he is going to New York with the intention of whoring himself out, he chews gum and insists on dressing like a ridiculous looking cowboy because his grandmother had encouraged him to as a child. In fact from the look of things Joe never really emotionally or mentally matured beyond that point.

The exploration into Joe’s past is one of the more clever devices the film uses. He doesn’t talk about himself, he doesn’t understand his past in his own mind and he doesn’t have any friends or family to shed light on his past. Rather, he has a series of disturbing flashbacks that are typically triggered at the most inappropriate times. These scenes are all presented as black and white toned jump cuts that are often as quick as blinks.

There seems to be a horrifying undercurrent of sexual exploitation that accompanies many of these flashbacks; inappropriate physical contact with his grandmother, adults openly having sex in front of him as a child and a particularly dark recurring memory of him and his old girlfriend back in Texas being interrupted mid-coitus by a gang of rednecks who appear to rape both of them. His girlfriend “Crazy Annie” is taken away to a mental institution following the traumatic episode which, years later Joe seems to have no comprehension of. He insists that he was so good in bed that she had to be committed; showing not only a complete detachment from reality but also a stunted developmental growth. Also, it goes without saying that due to a lifetime of sexual confusion it is no wonder Joe believes being a male prostitute is a viable living.

In the early scenes leading up to his departure from Texas and during his bus journey to New York the song “Everybody’s Talkin’” by Harry Nilsson accompanies Joe’s travels. Its upbeat tempo and repetitive tone act as almost a mantra for the optimism of his new life. The frequent recurrence of the song borders on silly before suddenly disappearing altogether when Joe realizes the harsh reality of the situation he has gotten himself into. Music conveys emotion in practically every film ever made, but in this particular instance the constant loop of “Everybody’s Talkin’” can also be applied to Joe’s simplistic mental state and lack of cognitive ability to understand or relate to multiple aspects of life.

The first woman Joe successfully manages to bed down is a wealthy Manhattan housewife who winds up hustling Joe by acting so offended by his requests to “talk business” that she cries until HE ends up giving HER money. This is a pivotal scene for many reasons; it shows that Joe is way too naïve to make it on his own, emphasizes how susceptible Joe is to being conned and most importantly, shows that he doesn’t have the cynicism to be an effective hustler.

While trying to collect his bearings at a bar Joe meets a polio-stricken two-bit huckster named Rico Rizzo (Dustin Hoffman), but everyone who speaks to him addresses him as “Ratzo.” Again, Joe shows his complete lack of street smarts by allowing himself to be conned by Rizzo as well, who offers to be his pimp and subsequently sends him on a completely fruitless (no pun intended) lead. Joe wanders the streets after being locked out of his rented room for not paying his rent fantasizing about what he will do to Rizzo should he ever see him again. However, once he does finally see him he winds up taking pity on the pathetic wannabe kingpin- partially out of sympathy for how much of a mess he is but partially out of necessity when Rizzo offers to let the now homeless Joe move in with him.

"Frankly, you're beginning to smell and for a stud in New York, that's a handicap" (Rico Rizzo, "Midnight Cowboy")

Rizzo’s apartment turns out to be a condemned building he has been squatting in. Despite their initial differences the two develop a friendship based on a mutual reliance on each other. Joe needs Rizzo to keep a roof over his head and to teach him basic survival skills and Rizzo needs Joe to cook for him and care for him; particularly his seemingly chronic illness- punctuated by a persistent fatal-sounding cough.

The two men’s relationship changes and develops into a heavily implied homoerotic connection. Rizzo fantasizes about the two of them retreating to Florida together, where they frolic on the beach and con the retirees with street games. There could also be an alternate explanation to this dream sequence that simply revolves around Rizzo being able to engage in physical activity with Joe because his disability has been cured. Conspicuously, in Rizzo’s fantasy Joe is always shirtless and oiled up. His constant taunts that Joe’s cowboy attire is “fag stuff” starts off as playful kidding but evolves into almost envious accusations, with Rizzo always fearful that Joe is “hanging out down on 42nd Street,” which is apparently a euphemism for turning tricks for other men. In fact, there are multiple instances where Joe realizes this will probably be his only choice.

In a bizarre twist of fate, Rizzo’s mysterious illness becomes so bad that Joe is convinced that realizing his fantasy by taking him to Florida is the only thing that will save his life. Desperate to raise as much money for the trip as he can, Joe agrees to pimp himself to an old man he meets in an arcade. When the man changes his mind, Joe snaps and beats him (to death is strongly implied) and robs him of enough money to take a Greyhound to Florida. Even though it is not what he had planned for himself, Joe discovers a newfound happiness at the prospect of doing this favor for Rizzo. He is so rejuvenated in fact that the joyful mantra of “Everybody’s Talkin’” returns, as does Joe’s childlike innocence. He even symbolically trades in his cowboy outfits for bright yellow clothes; and buys Rizzo new clothes too at a stop along the way- something he desperately needs as he is shown earlier stealing coats for warmth and wearing socks that have very little material left.

The ending is heartbreaking and heartwarming at the same time, as Rizzo quietly slips into death in his seat on the bus; but after they have crossed the state line into Florida. Despite the fact that he may or may not even be conscious of his whereabouts, Rizzo does die in Florida, effectively meaning he wasn’t forced to live his entire life in New York City, which he loathes. Joe’s tearful embrace of his dead friend conveys more emotion than all the film’s shouting, suffering and singing combined.

I have never had such an adverse reaction to a film and then managed to completely change my perception of it to such an extreme degree. Two days ago I thought it was poorly directed smut; today I am racking my brain trying to think of a movie with more soul. In fact, and I am loathe to say this because I admire him so much as an actor, but the only thing that brings this film down is Dustin Hoffman’s performance. The Rizzo character is simply too absurd and too overacted to be taken as seriously as he deserves. The voice Hoffman uses is more comedic than method and ends up sounding like a politically incorrect cartoon character.

#37. The Best Years of Our Lives (1946)

Even though I have been a fan of black and white movies for as long as I can remember I just always assumed there were certain types of films that never existed before my lifetime. In this case I am referring to the anti-war film. When I was around 7 years old, movies like “Platoon” and to a lesser extent “Casualties of War” were playing with elevated concepts like a time, place or situation being an antagonist rather than an identifiable person and exploring Shakespearian themes such as a lone moral character in an evil world. Even going all the way back to movies before my lifetime like “The Deer Hunter” or “M*A*S*H” there seemed to be an implication that war films never depicted the horrors of combat pre-Korea.

“The Best Years of Our Lives” is not an anti-war film in the way “All Quiet on the Western Front” is an anti-war film. It doesn’t call the specific mission into question or use first-person battle scenes (in fact it doesn’t use ANY battle scenes) to illustrate the paralyzing effects of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Rather, it deals with the far more personal and unsung subject matter of returning to life after the military and the stigma society places on veterans while hypocritically praising them in the same breath. In a sense, “The Best Years of Our Lives” is darker than those other movies because of the way it attacks the mind, as opposed to gory war films that attack the eyes.

Cinema veteran Frederic March plays World War II veteran Al Stephenson who, while not the leader or commander, is definitely the elder statesman of a trio of returning troops. Fred Derry (Dana Andrews) was a soda-jerk at a drugstore before becoming a proficient bomber pilot and Homer Parish (Harold Russell) is, on the surface, the worst off of the three after having had his hands replaced by prosthetic hooks due to a combat injury.

Their initial homecoming is shown in the back of a taxi as the three men, though returning to the same town, are literally and figuratively going completely separate ways. This sequence would not have worked nearly as well without the incredible performances by even the bit players:

Al rejoins his idealistic suburban family, complete with the “set” of children (son and daughter) and homemaker wife Milly (Myrna Loy). Though they are happy to see him, Al clearly has trouble identifying with his children, particular his daughter Peggy (Teresa Wright). He is welcomed back with open arms and a big promotion to the bank where he had worked prior to the war.

Fred comes home to his wife Marie who seems emotionally unavailable but independent, as she is making a decent wage on her own working at a nightclub, a job that indulges her outgoing tendencies. She doesn’t seem particularly thrilled to see Fred, but also seems more than eager to take him out and parade him around to her other partygoing friends, but even then she makes it clear that she only wants to be seen with him if he is wearing his dress uniform- indicating that she is both shallow and image conscious to a fault. Fred has a difficult time finding a job in the civilian sector where he can apply his military skills and is forced to go back to his old job at the drugstore. The differences in class and social standing are presented in a subtle but brilliant fashion with Al hearing how much more money he will be making with his promotion segueing into Fred being told how little he will be paid.

Homer’s parents try but fail to hide concern and pity for their son the first time they see his hands which not only brings down the happy reunion feel, but makes him seem insecure about them for the first time when his mother breaks down after trying to ignore the handicap. Homer uses his self-consciousness as an excuse to drive an emotional wedge between himself and his fiancée Wilma.

In one particularly painful scene, he is holed up in his parents’ garage practicing his marksmanship as best he can while a group of neighborhood children gossip and snicker about his condition. He finally lets his pain and humiliation rise to the surface by smashing out the windows with his hooks and shouting at the children; not only an out of character moment for the seemingly gentle Homer but also a very real conveyance of emotion. I don’t know if this was even a thought in William Wyler’s mind when he directed this film but I can’t help but notice that when Homer is shown reloading his gun and chambering a round, his disability forces him to have to angle the barrel towards his head. I completely interpreted this shot as a clear indicator that, should he choose to do so, suicide would be a perfectly feasible option for Homer.

“You want to see how the hooks work? Do you want to see the freak? All right, I'll show ya!" (Homer Parish, “The Best Years of Our Lives”)

As bad as Homer’s situation is, it becomes clear as the film unfolds that appearances can be deceiving as Fred and Al struggle with their own unique and less visible demons. Al increasingly shows signs of a drinking problem, most likely brought on as a coping mechanism for his memories of the war but also very possibly an addiction that may have been fostered by time overseas in the military. His drinking begins to creep into his professional and personal life- to the point of almost jeopardizing his job when he openly criticizes his boss at a celebration in his honor put on by his bank.

Al and Fred’s respective disorders overlap when Fred, after a night of drinking with Al, is forced to spend the night at the Stephenson house. Al’s daughter Peggy and Fred show signs of attraction to each other and even have some flirtatious exchanges. When she comes into the guest room the following morning to wake Fred up, she mentions that he had been shouting in his sleep. Though he was obviously suffering from flashbacks, the delicate nature in which it is referenced addresses the serious situation, but does so sensitively. Also, Peggy’s naivety to what was happening with Fred probably accurately mirrors society as a whole’s limited knowledge of “battle fatigue” at the time.

A very complex and human struggle-within-a-struggle emerges when Peggy meets and ends up resenting Fred’s wife Marie. She sees how poorly Marie treats Fred, immediately picks up on her shallow personality and voices her intentions to break up their marriage. Al and Milly, albeit strongly disapprovingly at first, almost seem to become strangely supportive of her objective, with their biggest concern being the potential disappointment Peggy may be setting herself up for. Though in her defense, Peggy recognizes not only the abusive nature of Marie’s treatment of Fred, but also Fred’s emotional fragility which Marie simply refuses to acknowledge.

There are several scenes in the film that quietly illustrate the fraternal bond the three ex-GI’s share (despite not actually having served together) without ever making that redundant concept a theme in the film. They often meet up at the bar Homer’s uncle owns, Al goes back and forth on his feelings towards the relationship that develops between Fred and Peggy but never once questions Fred’s character or intentions. In an almost climactic turning point, Fred loses his job attacking a man who is lecturing Homer on the wrongs of American involvement in World War II. This visceral response also carries an undertone of loyalty on Fred’s part to the war effort in general, considering how badly it has destroyed his own life.

His wife having left him for another soldier, Fred feels he has nothing else to lose and decides to run away from his life. He drops off a box of his war medals with his parents before getting ready to jump on the first military transport flight he can. Up to this point we have had no indication of Fred’s service record other than his seemingly advanced bombing skills. As it turns out he has been given numerous citations including the Distinguished Flying Cross for showing extreme valor while injured and badly bleeding. It is so important that the way we learn these things about Fred is through his parent’s reading his accomplishments off his citations- as it solidifies Fred’s character as someone who does not brag or inflate his own sense of self, not even to a deserved level. His refusal to view himself as a hero only serves to make him more admirable because of his modesty. Also, I don’t doubt there is also a part of Fred that would rather just ignore that chapter of his life altogether.

One of the film’s final scenes is artistically and metaphorically flawless. Fred is wandering around a scrapyard for discarded bombers where there are rows and rows of burnt out planes lined up uniformly to resemble tombstones in a cemetery. He climbs into the cockpit of one of the bombers and finally faces his condition head-on by immersing himself in surroundings that will doubtless bring him right back to the darkest recesses of his mind. He suffers intense flashback while curled up in the familiar surroundings. The duality of the plane’s purpose is stunningly portrayed as the cockpit on one hand seems like a tomb that is sealing him in, but also holds him tightly and provides a sense of comfort that almost gives the impression of a mother’s womb.

The abandoned planes also represent Fred himself. They are former instruments of the military that have been cast aside and outlived their usefulness to regular society. Fred soon realizes that this comparison is even more true, but in a positive way when a work crew foreman finds him and informs him that the planes are not going to be scrapped, but recycled to build homes. Fred seems to emerge from a trance when he realizes that he can create a new life for himself the same way the planes will create new lives and, literally, homes for other people. He is given a job on the work crew and instantly seems as though his soul has been purged.

The three tragic main characters emerge from their dark times and begin to rebuild their lives. Al overcomes his drinking and his marriage to Milly flourishes because of it. Homer finally realizes that Wilma will not leave him because of his disability and the two are married. Fred and Peggy have realistic expectations about the possible financial struggles they will face as a couple, but it is acknowledged that they in fact will be a couple.

The film ends on a light and positive note while simultaneously making sense of its title; the characters are entering into their best years, contrary to what Marie says to Fred earlier in the film, implying that she sacrificed the best years of her life for him. There is a strong theme of redemption, absolution and salvation that runs through this film and, while it may come off as a little corny and idyllic, the “happy ending” vibe succeeds in encouraging hope in spite of dismal circumstances which, while incredibly relevant when the film was released just one year after World War II, but is arguably even more relevant today.

I don’t ask people for favors very often, and I definitely think that if you are reading this blog then I am the one who owes you favors at this point, but I have to make a case here. This film was one of the only ones on this list I hadn’t at least heard of before seeing it. It was a hard movie to find a physical copy of and as it turns out it was one of the best I’ve seen. A movie this incredible should not be allowed to fade from memory the way it has already started to. Please, if you are so inclined I really encourage you to buy this movie or put it in your Netflix queue or watch it when it is on TV so it registers that people are paying attention. If your local library has a copy check it out just to keep the thing in circulation. This is FAR too important a film to be removed from the public consciousness any further.

#38. Double Indemnity (1944)

20th Century Language is a strange thing.

In some cases, severely dated vernacular can hold up really well. Colin Clive’s insane, Victorian-inspired ramblings in “Frankenstein” still sound relatively intimidating and chill-inducing today. Meanwhile, I defy anyone to keep a straight face while listening to Wally tell the Beaver “You gooney kid, dad is gonna be sore at you!” Billy Wilder’s “Double Indemnity” suffers from the latter kind of grammatical handicaps. Fred MacMurray’s constant “Supposing you”s and “Heya Baby”s are the stuff of modern-day parody and I’m relatively sure aren’t even a good representation of the way old-timers used to talk. Removing the language from the equation though, “Double Indemnity” holds up remarkably well- and I believe the ability to stand the test of time is one of the very finest qualities a film can posses.

As I’ve said many times before, I tend to inhabit the darker side of the human condition- so a film about murder, adultery and betrayal is in no way, shape or form a turnoff for me the way that it might be for others. “Double Indemnity” is not only a great piece of film noir but it is every bit as suspenseful as a well-crafted murder mystery. Several films back (“The Apartment”) I commented on how bizarre it was for me to see Fred MacMurray portray anything other than the dad on “My Three Sons.” While I thought his character in “The Apartment” was a departure from that character, his performance as Walter Neff in “Double Indemnity” is a complete 180 degree turn.

The film begins with Neff recklessly driving down the streets of LA before stumbling into his office where he is an insurance salesman. He appears to either be drunk or injured; the confusion of his state is only enhanced when he begins recording an audio confession into an old-time Dictaphone. This sets up a flashback narrative where we see Neff only a short while ago living a relatively mundane life at his pedestrian job. He arrives at the Dietrichson residence to talk about renewing the family car insurance policy. The maid informs him that Mr. Dietrichson is away so Walter must speak with his wife Phyllis (Barbara Stanwyck) whose exaggerated movements, appearance and dress (she is wearing a towel the first time he sees her) all indicate that she is something of a Jezebel.

She begins flirting with Walter very un-subtly (first on the initial visit and later when he returns thinking Mr. Dietrichson will be there) which Walter first seems uncomfortable with but soon starts reciprocating. However his conscience gets the better of him, not when he realizes he is hitting on a married woman, but rather when she brazenly declares she intends to take a life insurance policy out on Mr. Dietrichson without him knowing it. Neff snaps out of his little crush when he realizes the implications of what they are discussing and abruptly leaves. The dialogue in this sequence is some of the most commendable in the film, as the lewdness of Phyllis’ come-ons manage to amplify her whorishness while still remaining well within the strict “moral code” of Hollywood dialogue at the time.

Phyllis stalks Walter at his apartment and again tries to butter him up. She even goes so far as to imply that her husband is abusing her, attempting to win Walter’s sympathy. The metaphoric imagery that is occurring in this scene is particularly noteworthy. As Phyllis cries about her confinement in her marriage, she is sitting in Walter’s tiny confining apartment on a small couch with him. She claims to envy his independence though his own residence is depicted as lonely and very bachelor-like. Not run down or dingy, just very lonely; clearly not the kind of lifestyle she would seriously consider entering into, especially when compared to her wide open, well lit palatial home in the LA suburbs.

Walter and Phyllis trick Mr. Dietrichson into signing an accident insurance policy which contains a “double indemnity” clause; meaning that if he were to die in some sort of freak accident the insurance company would pay double on the policy. That same night Walter strikes up a sort of mentor-like relationship with Mr. Dietrichson’s daughter from a previous marriage, Lola. She confides in him that she is dating Nino, an Italian boy her father doesn’t approve of. Her surprising openness with Walter not only resurfaces again later as an important plot device but also helps cement Walter’s character as a bona-fide creep as he is willing to speak casually with the daughter of the man he is preparing to kill.

Great pains are taken in the details of the murder and of course, since Walter knows the insurance industry so well he is the ideal person to formulate the “perfect crime.” He and Phyllis methodically stage a “train accident” where Walter poses as Mr. Dietrichson and fakes falling off the observation car to his death. In reality they have already killed him and simply leave his body on the tracks. The actual murder is one of the most terrifying homicides ever filmed and the action isn’t even shown. Walter lies in the back seat of the Dietrichson family car and emerges to break his neck while Phyllis drives to the train station; the music and struggling noises indicate exactly what is happening. All the while, Phyllis looks straight ahead, smiling into the camera sadistically as her husband dies.

"Murder is never perfect. Always comes apart sooner or later, and when two people are involved it's usually sooner." (Barton Keyes, "Double Indemnity")

Walter’s narration indicates some very grim foreshadowing when he asserts that even though all his bases are covered and has a secure alibi for the murder he still knows that he will be caught. This fear is only enhanced when his co-worker and almost father-figure Barton Keyes (Edward G. Robinson) who is a claims adjuster, declares his determination to prove that there was foul play involved. The house of cards collapses even further when Lola regales Walter with the tale of how Phyllis entered their lives in the first place; she was the nurse of her ailing mother who eventually killed the original Mrs. Dietrichson in order to move in on her husband and marry into financial security.

One of Walter and Lola’s secretive meetings takes place atop the canyons surrounding the Hollywood Bowl. She drops a bombshell on Walter; Nino and Phyllis have been co-conspirators all along and she suspects he was the one who helped kill her father. While she is dead wrong on the murder theory she turns out to be 100% correct in assuming that her stepmother is secretly dating her boyfriend. There is a wonderful amount of human emotion conveyed in this scene; Lola’s deep sobs, Walter’s thoughtful looks of consideration- everything about this scene is pure heart. I may be speaking from bias because of my own cherished memories of concerts at the Hollywood Bowl, but I stick by my adoration for this scene- which also kicks the conclusion into motion.

Walter confronts Phyllis about her crookedness, her manipulation of him and her relationship with Nino. All of which she more or less confirms before attempting to kill Walter- though she injures him he manages to shoot her at point-blank range, killing her instantly. The narrative then goes back to the beginning confession by Walter. It turns out he is recording the admission for Keyes, feeling he owes him at least that. As he is finishing Keyes walks in on him and mentions that he is bleeding all over the place- confirming that he is injured and not drunk as I mentioned earlier. Though there is something of an emotional unspoken reconciliation between the two men as Walter dies practically in his arms, you don’t feel any sympathy for Walter, despite the fact that he is clearly the protagonist. He wasn’t “conned,” he didn’t succumb to loneliness or desperation, he is sleazy and two-faced. He deceives his best friend, he wins the trust of a very sweet young girl and murders her father and he obsesses on creepy fetishes like Phyllis’ anklet and the thrill of the taboo of their scheme.

There is also a subdued cleverness in the fact that Phyllis is always adorned in accessories and jewelry as well as tops that seem to exaggerate her chest and heavy makeup. Everything about her is superficial and fake- which translates into her character flawlessly. As the other “main character” she too is completely unlovable, making this one of very few films I can think of where you really don’t care about any of the primary characters. In fact, the only time you feel truly gutted or empathetic is seeing the disappointment in Keyes’ eyes when he realizes Walter has tricked him.

You can see so many examples of European expressionist films in “Double Indemnity” such as selective lighting on characters to reflect their personalities and an almost reckless willingness to shoot outdoors and in the dark. Also, there are many elements of the film that are almost directly lifted from Tod Browning’s “Freaks.” However, you can also see devices of filmmaking that have since become staples of multiple genres like letting windows influence the lighting in a room and bad-guy main characters as well. “Double Indemnity” is a brilliant representation of its time simply based on the fact that it really was made at about the half-way point of the advent of the motion picture and present day, and there is just enough borrowed influence and first-time creativity to reflect both extremes.

#39. Dr. Zhivago (1956)

I like my movies long.

I’ve never seen the need for an intermission at a 4 hour movie, I can watch those extended cuts of “The Lord of the Rings” all day long and I am still bitter that Richard Attenborough hasn’t released the 11 hour version of “Chaplin” that he allegedly has in his vaults. In other words, I do not see excessive length as a hindrance by any means... unless it is needless.

Back when I was in the newspaper racket, we used to have an expression: “All filler and no killer.” Essentially what this meant was that we had sent an issue to press that filled up several pages with an abundance of content, but we didn’t necessarily have any significant news to report that week so, while we managed to provide the amount of subject matter we were required to, there was nothing particularly outstanding in said subject matter.

Not that “Dr. Zhivago” is not great subject matter- but if it were one hour shorter it would be twice the film that it already is, and without sacrificing any real content. Of course the problem you encounter when you develop a film that is based on a book, as is the case in “Dr. Zhivago” (it was a Boris Pasternak book first) is that you run the risk of insulting the book and its aficionados by tampering with the original work too much. While I will not claim to have even a pedestrian knowledge of the original text, I can say with some level of confidence that extended sequences of silence and heavy reliance on sprawling pans of landscape probably had less to do with bringing printed descriptions to life as much as they were simply director David Lean’s way of throwing in something visually amazing because even he had to assume he was losing the viewer with some of the sections of drawn out dialogue.

The scale of the production is evident in the film’s earliest shots, showing an expansive dam in the process of being built. A young peasant girl is brought in to speak to a clearly decorated European military General, Yevgraf Zhivago (Alec Guinness) who is searching for his deceased half-brother Yuri’s (Omar Sharif) long lost illegitimate daughter and suggests that he has reason to believe it is her. Though she is reluctant to hear the General’s story, she agrees to listen.

The film then jumps back in time, establishing a complex and time-spanning flashback mode. While this particular narrative tool is not original or unique, the way it is done is. Rather than being simply shown from the perspective of the person doing the narrating, the events are more all-encompassing thus giving Yevgraf a sort of omnipotent understanding of the events. While he does resurface a few times in certain flashback sequences, he is never prominently featured and in fact doesn’t speak at all in any of the “real-time” scenes; only as a narrator. While this may seem pretty unrealistic and unconventional, it really does help the credibility of his narration; as he is unable to interject any personal editorializing and is just as removed from the action as the rest of us.

The bulk of the narrative takes place during the Russian Revolution which of course was largely concurrent with World War 1, though there is brief reference to the fact that Yuri was abandoned by his father; thus his mother’s death while he is still relatively young essentially orphans him. The only worldly possession she is able to leave Yuri is a balalaika (a Russian stringed instrument that I won’t even pretend to know anything more about, given the fact that the extent of my prior knowledge of them lies in a line from the Scorpions song “Wind of Change”). Yuri’s adoptive father stresses the important of artistic exploration during Yuri’s youth and even encourages the boy’s natural talent in poetry. The concept of inherited talent and artistry is a recurring theme in the film and ties in perfectly with the other dominant theme of family.

These two themes intersect again when Yuri strikes up a courtship with Tonya (Geraldine Chaplin), his step-sister by adoption only. Though his true love is his poetry, obligation causes him to follow in his adoptive father’s footsteps and become a surgeon, as this will give him the means to support a family (his plans to marry Tonya are very clearly stated) that he believes his poetry could not provide.

Though his love for Tonya appears to be genuine, Yuri soon crosses paths with a woman named Lara (Julie Christie) when he is called to tend to her mother who has just attempted to commit suicide. Their initial encounter is brief but the two do exchange obvious glances as Yuri tries to save Lara’s mother. This is the first of many chance encounters Yuri and Lara will have over the next several years. The events leading up to the suicide attempt give us a significant background on Lara’s character; and it is not very flattering.

Lara is a very flawed woman. She is engaged to a Soviet revolutionary who is maimed in the process of protesting on behalf of his cause. Her subsequent affair with Komarovsky, a powerful and sadistic lawyer (who is also implied to be involved with Lara’s mother) really speaks to her character in a number of ways. Firstly, the embarrassment to her mother that drives her to suicide, but even more to the point is the suggestion that her attraction to her own fiancé is lessened given his scarred face. While this is never outwardly stated, there is nothing that happens in their relationship to imply any other reason she would cheat. While Komarovsky does turn out to be a manipulative rapist, Lara appears to initially enter into their affair totally willingly.

Lara marries the man she cheated on anyway, he is declared Missing in Action in the war and she (in a rare showing of nobility) becomes a war nurse hoping to seek him out. What she ends up finding is Yuri, again. The two set up a field-expedient hospital and spend the remainder of the war saving lives and silently strengthening their bond. Though they each return to their own separate lives after Russia pulls out of World War 1 they never stop pining over each other. This is significantly more deplorable on Yuri’s part, as he goes back to Tonya, their children and her father. Despite the innumerable debt Yuri owes Tonya’s family, he still actively seeks Lara out in order to pursue an affair with her that he brazenly makes little effort to conceal.

”Wouldn't it have been lovely if we'd met before?” (Lara, “Dr. Zhivago”)

Years later, after all the main characters have (again) been separated, reunited and separated again, Yuri escapes from forced servitude by Communist sympathizers to discover that Tonya and the family have fled to Paris. Tonya also acknowledges in a letter to Yuri that she knows of the affair and genuinely likes Lara, thus making the loss of her husband to her easier to take.

Easily the most breathtaking scene in the entire film (or perhaps any film ever for that matter) occurs when Yuri and Lara seek refuge in the sprawling former home of Tonya’s father that has been seized by the State and since left derelict. The interior and exterior of the home has become blanketed in ice, giving it the appearance of being crystalline. This effect is only enhanced by the opulent architecture and décor of the palace. Overcome with inspiration Yuri furiously dives back into his poetry, writing a series referred to as “The Lara Poems.”

His poems, as well as the counter-revolutionary overtones they bear cause Yuri to fall from favor politically in Russia, but the citizens love them, making Yuri something of a celebrity. However, even after having accomplished every other aim in his life, he still cannot have Lara, who has remarried a Russian officer who has also wound up in the bad graces of the Soviet State and must now go into exile. Despite success as a surgeon and a poet, Yuri finds himself hopeless for the first time and his life reflects this. With Lara entirely out of his reach he loses all will to succeed or even survive. He is a vagrant when he arrives in Moscow where his half-brother has gotten him a job. Once there, he sees Lara on a train and chases after her. She does not notice him and he dies in the street apparently of a heart attack before he is able to be reunited with her. Omar Sharif’s middle-of-the-street heart attack is the worst onscreen death this side of Yoda’s in “Return of the Jedi” and thus does not gut the viewer the way a stellar performance could have.

Yuri’s influence is silently stated by the large turnout for his funeral. It is here that Yevgraf learns from Lara of the existence of her and Yuri’s daughter, though she has resigned herself to the likelihood that the child is long dead given the fact that they had been separated in the chaos of Revolution. In spite of the deaths of both Yuri and eventually Lara, Yevgraf makes it his personal crusade to find the long-lost daughter and hence the story is all tied up with the meeting of the peasant girl at the dam. Yevgraf is convinces she is his long-lost niece but the girl all but refuses to believe it.

The film’s end sort of cheats the viewer out of the option of getting to decide if the girl is or isn’t Yuri and Lara’s child. For starters, he name is “coincidentally” Tonya, a resurfacing of the repeated-to-death theme of the small worldliness and repeated crossing of paths; so much so now that she even has to share the name of someone who represents something of a bridge to Yuri. Also, Yevgraf notices that she carries a balalaika and is proficient in the instrument, all but cementing a third-generation lineage connected to that particular instrument and a genetic gift of artistry. The only thing that could have made this ending more corny would have been if it were actually somehow Yuri’s balalaika.

As hard as I am on this film, I didn’t hate it; there were just several things I didn’t like about it. Technically and artistically it is flawless- so much so that there are not only no wasted shots, but if anything way too many shots. Content is greatly sacrificed for logic or depth of characters. Not only is the constant crossing of paths of so few people in such vast expanses excessive, it is ridiculous. Not unlike “Forrest Gump” good pieces of symbolism and thematic devices are forced down the viewer’s throat so much I actually ended up resenting them.

That said my biggest problem with “Dr. Zhivago” is the seemingly constant immoral activity of the main protagonists. Infidelity in cinema does not have to be sleazy, as is evident in such works as “A Place in the Sun” and “Bringing up Baby” but in the case of this film it is just shameful. Be it Lara’s willingness to cheat on her physically scarred fiancé, or any man she is involved with for that matter, but also Yuri’s callous betrayal of a woman as good as Tonya. The only time I feel anything for Lara is when she is raped by her former lover.

I’ve said many a time that I appreciate flawed protagonists more than goody-two-shoes’ but even I have to draw the line at a woman who consciously enters into an affair with a guy who was (again, implied) to have been involved with her mother. Or a man who takes “the other woman” to his wife’s family home to reside, granted abandoned but skeevy nonetheless. Yuri and Lara’s love is not beautiful and unfortunate like Spencer Tracy’s and Katharine Hepburn’s, it is more like Hugh Grant and Divine Brown’s. Even Tonya, who is a tragic victim, ends up being unlikeable and unrealistic due to her almost accepting attitude towards Yuri’s affair.

There is just so much narrative in this film and so many subplots in this film that I almost get the feeling that the cinematography was done so absurdly well simply to keep the viewer’s attention. And yet, in spite of all the time I am forced to spend with these people, I have no emotional attachment to them the way I do the characters in a film like “Shane” or “All Quiet on the Western Front.” Not only do I not tear up at their deaths like I do Catherine and Heathcliff’s in “Wuthering Heights” I just don’t care at all. Because of this, David Lean inundates us with gorgeous outdoor shots and perfectly designed sets; the presentation is very pretty, but keep in mind “Waterwold” had great special effects too.

If you feel the uncontrollable urge to watch a nearly 4 hour love story set against the backdrop of the Russian Revolution, I would suggest “Reds” instead. You feel a real connection to those characters, the performances are far superior to those in “Zhivago” and the characters are all based on real people. Sure it is nowhere near as neatly wrapped as “Dr. Zhivago” but sometimes in movies heart and soul take precedence over hair and makeup.

#40. North by Northwest (1959)

There are a lot of people out there who can wax idiotic about how some movies are without fault. All day long you can read websites and reference guides talking about how great and flawless certain movies are. In turn, society becomes too complacent in having this attitude that “if all the critics say this movie is great, then it is great and that’s all there is to it.” What you get is a society that is secretly bored to tears sitting through “The English Patient” and “Spartacus” but who all claim they are great movies because they don’t want to lose credibility among other complacent people.

During this little movie blogging adventure of mine I have tried to do something that most people refuse to do when discussing any type of art form; interject some honesty and talk about how I interpret these films rather than how I am expected to interpret them. In some cases it has forced me to be harsh on movies that I really love (“King Kong,” “The Gold Rush” and “Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner” for example) but at least I know I wasn’t just telling people what they wanted to hear. Unfortunately, when it comes to “North by Northwest” I would be grasping at straws to find anything but good things to say about it.

I’ve always heard Alfred Hitchcock referred to as the “Master of Suspense” but hadn’t been able to fully appreciate his gift with the first two films on the list “Vertigo” and “Rear Window.” While those films impressed me and both contained their share of dark and scary moments, I was never on the edge of my seat the way I think I should be for true thriller. “North by Northwest” changed all that. In the other two Hitchcock films I mentioned you have a pretty good idea as to what is going on about halfway through. “N x NW” on the other hand keeps you guessing til the end.

When the iconic MGM Lion showed up on the screen I thought I was going to have to return the TV we just bought (well, ask my wife to return it since she paid for it) because the iconic MGM Lion was all green. As the opening credits roll though, the green color fades to the back and the screen takes the form of an air-traffic control grid or a surveyor’s map- apropos since traveling will become something of a recurring theme in this film. Some very well constructed “hustle and bustle” shots of Manhattan jump around busily like the city itself leading up to the moment where we meet our protagonist Roger Thornhill (Cary Grant).

Roger is a Madison Avenue ad executive who behaves exactly like you would expect a Madison Avenue ad executive to behave; he has a regimented way of life, piles his own bullshit tasks onto his assistant and is generally obnoxious- even going so far as to con a man out of a taxi by telling him his assistant is sick then justifying his actions by saying he did the man a favor by making him feel like a Good Samaritan. Yet for all his bullying and domineering, Roger is clearly still very powerless over his mother, who he repeatedly mentions both having to check in with and take to the theater that night.

His plans are sidetracked however after a case of mistaken identity. When drinking with some associates, Roger is abducted by a pair of generic goons who believe he is a man named Mr. Kaplan. Given the fact that he is most certainly NOT Kaplan (in fact, we will later find out there IS no Mr. Kaplan) the attempts to interrogate Roger do not yield very good results. Frustrated, the stooges give up and decide to kill him and make it look like an accident by pouring industrial quantities of bourbon into him, putting him in the driver’s seat of a car and stranding him on a treacherous Oceanside highway. Throughout the film it is implied that Roger has a drinking problem and as a result I think it is subtly implied that Roger survives this drive because he has driven drunk more than once in his life. There are some excellent point-of-view shots of the car careening down the highway and narrowly missing other cars, bicyclists and of course rocky drop-offs which make this scene thrilling and even a little scary.

“I'm an advertising man, not a red herring. I've got a job, a secretary, a mother, two ex-wives and several bartenders that depend upon me, and I don't intend to disappoint them all by getting myself "slightly" killed!” (Roger Thornhill, “North by Northwest”)

Embarrassed by his subsequent DUI, angry that his name has been dragged through the mud and most of all looking for validation Roger begins an exhaustive search for the truth that leads him back to the house where he was interrogated, the hotel where he was kidnapped and eventually the United Nations Headquarters in search of the man he has been led to believe is his captor. Instead, he is a respected UN delegate- leaving Roger confused and back at square one.

The inept assassins who have followed Roger to the UN Headquarters fail again at trying to eradicate him by throwing a knife that ends up killing the delegate instead. This does end up being fortuitous for the bumbling villains as it appears Roger murdered the delegate and is now a bona-fide fugitive. A stunning aerial shot hundreds of feet above the UN Headquarters shows a tiny speck that is Roger running towards a waiting taxi. This shot by itself is packed with artistry; not only suggesting the insignificance of Roger Thornhill in the grand scheme of the planned series of events but it also signifies how Roger has literally stumbled into something so much bigger than himself and all the while enhancing the repeated theme of pursuit and travel.

After Roger makes his big escape the focus shifts to a meeting of what appears to be some sort of US Intelligence Agency. They discuss the remarkable luck their organization has found in Thornhill. Their conversation explains the entire scenario from the first third-person perspective we are able to see up to this point. The men who abducted Roger were foreign spies attempting to smuggle important microfilms containing Government documents to an unnamed country; though with all the references to espionage and national security there is no doubt at least some Cold War implication is there. Since Roger is not their actual secret agent, he serves as a real-life decoy, which the made up Mr. Kaplan was meant to be all along. With shocking detachment the group unanimously decides that, for the greater good, Roger must be the fall guy.

While fleeing for Chicago on a train, Roger runs into Eve Kendall (Eva Marie Saint) who knowingly shelters him from authorities but is secretly working for the foreign agents- or so it seems. As it turns out she is actually the secret agent the US authorities referred to earlier posing as a conspirator and the girlfriend of Vandamm, the leader of the foreign spy contingent. This is a device that seems to be a calling-card of sorts for Hitchcock- the blonde total package female heroine. Eve’s overtly glamorous outfits and double-entendre-laden exchanges with Roger on the train are almost enough to suggest a level of objectification bordering on misogyny. However, her eventual acts of courage and frankly badassedness, all make her character quite progressive and almost a sort of precursor to the Angelina Jolie-type modern female action hero. Despite the fact that there is an age difference between Eva Marie Saint and Cary Grant that teeters on creepy, their chemistry onscreen is undeniable.

As legendary and recognized as the “crop-duster” sequence has become (Roger is sent to a remote Midwestern field where the goons are waiting for him in a circling biplane) it is much less intense than it is comical. Not comical because it is badly filmed, it is filmed very technically advanced, but comical because the wannabe assassins STILL fail to do the job. Instead, the plane winds up crashing into a tanker-truck and blowing up. Yet another scenario where the film should have ended there but instead Roger skates by again.

A multitude of twists and turns set the stage for the climactic finale at Mt. Rushmore. Roger finally learns the whole truth and decides to embrace his “Mr. Kaplan” role in order to save the microfilm as well as Eve. The image of Eve and Roger dangling off Mt. Rushmore while being shot at is enough to make anyone afraid of heights and even though they are the good guys, there is a real feeling that they may not make it out alive. By the end of the film, all the major forms of domestic travel have been utilized; planes, trains and automobiles. Also, the ironic inclusion of so many notable American landmarks (Grand Central Station, UN Headquarters, Mt. Rushmore etc) does not go unnoticed in a film with such boldly stated Cold War overtones.

As I mentioned before from a technical standpoint as well as a character and content standpoint “N x NW” is incredibly daring. The stronger female lead, the cinematography and the blatantly overt sexual references to name a few. However what stuck out with me the most was the concept of the everyman being able to step up and be a hero. Roger Thornhill is not physically imposing, nor does he intentionally defy death, but rather he falls ass-backwards into good fortune and in the process manages to do some heroic things. Also the staggering incompetence of the people out to kill him not only add comic relief but also make the subject matter seem less absurd. These are not criminal masterminds and Roger is not a superhero. He’s just a drunk with an awful parent who still manages to make good.

Maybe there is hope for Mel Gibson yet!