#32. The Godfather (1972)*

*Note: I have reversed the orders of “The Godfather” and “The Godfather Part II” until I have completed the final entry. Since I am watching the films in ascending order I felt it wouldn’t be appropriate to for me to watch “The Godfather II” which is the film that is supposed to go in this spot before watching “The Godfather” for obvious reasons. Basically I am assuming that these films are best watched in order just in case they are convoluted enough that I can’t just pop one of the sequels in and be able to follow everything that is going on (I’m looking at you “Police Academy”). For the sake of preservation, after I have watched and blogged about “The Godfather II” I will reverse the orders of the films back to their original positions on the list.
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I have always been made to feel like something of an outsider (perhaps rightfully so) for never having seen “The Godfather.” I always knew that certain references in pop culture involving decapitated horses and the implication that you should only ask an Italian for a favor if his daughter is getting married were direct references to this film, though that was about the depth of my knowledge of this series. Though I have endured endless ridicule for calling myself a cinephile who hadn’t seen “The Godfather,” I ultimately feel fortunate to have gotten to see this film for the first time at an age where my comprehension level is developed enough that I can not only understand, but appreciate it properly.

Also, it is almost a fitting position for me to be in- being such an outsider, as Francis Ford Coppola directs the film in such a way that the viewer is very aware that they are an outsider. There are whispered conversations that are never explained, discussions that occur behind closed doors and lengthy periods of dialogue which, though subtitled sometimes, still make the English speaking viewer feel as if they don’t belong. It is an ingenious artistic tool that reinforces this recurring theme to striking effect.

From the very first time we see the chief character, mafia don Vito Corleone (Marlon Brando) he is shrouded in darkness. Sitting behind a desk in some sort of dimly lit home office, he listens as a cavalcade of associates, friends and hangers-on ask for varying but generally selfish favors because, as his adopted son Tom (Robert Duvall) explains, “No Sicilian can refuse a request on his daughter’s wedding day.” This scene initially seems bizarre for numerous reasons, primarily the irony that Vito is filmed in such a depressing looking setting on what is supposed to be a joyous occasion and also because those of us who aren’t up on our Mafioso customs will probably be a little puzzled by this sequence.

However, what ends up resulting is some of the most dynamic character development I have ever seen. There is so much complexity given to Vito’s character in these early scenes and the resulting transition scene illustrating the carrying out of one of the favors that give incredible insight into his persona with surprisingly little screen-time. Despite the fact that we are supposed to understand that he is obviously capable of violent crime, this point is underscored when he orders the brutal beheading of a film producer’s $600,000 horse after he refuses to give a role to Vito’s godson. However, in the same breath his level of loyalty and love for those close to him makes him so human and compassionate that he has to be seen as a generally “good” man; particularly when he forgivingly agrees to carry out another favor for a man who makes his request casually and disrespectfully.

Having an opening involving a wedding is also an advantageous way to introduce the extended Corleone family in a practical and timely manner. In little, innovative ways we get a general understanding of the personalities of each character just from their actions and demeanor. Sonny Corleone (James Caan) is the heir-apparent to the family business and is a very typical older son- his introductory scenes include temperamental exchanges with FBI agents and him crassly bangning another wedding guest during the reception. Michael Corleone (Al Pacino) on the other hand exudes all the characteristics of a black sheep; he sits far away from everyone else, wears a military dress uniform, speaks in clear English rather than the heavy Italian dialect and his girlfriend Kay (Diane Keaton) appears to be the only non-Italian person at the ceremony. He also speaks of the family business rather judgmentally and insists that he is not part of it. The other Corleone son, Fredo, is simply fidgety and meek- indicating that he is weak and sort of weasely.

“My father made him an offer he couldn’t refuse… Luca Brasi held a gun to his head and my father assured him that either his brains or his signature would be on the contract. That’s a true story… That’s my family Kay, that’s not me.” (Michael Corleone, “The Godfather”)

Though Tom mentions in passing to Vito that the Senator and all the local judges have sent gifts to the wedding (implying that he has them in his pocket and explaining why his operations are able to continue) we again see that Vito is a man of integrity when he emphatically refuses to buy into a drug-trafficking venture led by another of the mafia families and recommended to him by Sonny. Ironically Vito’s principles ultimately lead to his downfall as the angry drug-runners pump him full of lead, hoping that Vito’s death will leave Sonny in charge of the family business and get the deal off the ground again; reiterating the contrast between old-school Vito and unscrupulous Sonny.

Though Vito does survive the assassination attempt (barely) he is incapacitated, leaving Tom, Sonny and Michael in charge of the family business. After it is revealed that a crooked police captain is in cahoots with a member of the rival family, a meeting is arranged where Michael can kill both of them under the guise of a truce talk. In terms of intensity and a complete shift in character this scene may be the finest in the film. The drama slowly builds as Michael searches the restaurant bathroom for a pre-planted gun and it is oddly settling when he finds it. When he returns to the table the buildup to the shootings is almost unbearable- at which point Coppola chooses to throw in the noise of a loud screeching train outside-which still isn’t able to drown out the sound of the gunshots as he carries out the plan.

A sort of “second act” slows the pace of the movie slightly as Michael flees to Sicily to hide out while the now full-blown mafia war erupts. I have reason to believe that the scenes taking place in Sicily may not be 100% true accounts of what happens as, contrary to the rest of the movie, they are shot with a constant ethereal light and are crossfaded in and out the way a dream sequence is done rather than just a standard dissolve or wipe transition. It is also during this somewhat laborious middle portion where Vito is finally able to leave the hospital and return home and attempt to clean up the mess his sons have made of the order of things. Despite the fact that his relationship with Kay is depicted as relatively serious, Michel meets, courts and marries a young Sicilian girl who ends up being collateral damage in an assassination attempt on Michael gone wrong as the Corleone’s house of cards begins to topple. Sonny is killed (I don’t mean Alexander Hamilton killed; we’re talking Tupac Shakur killed) after he is sold out by the man his sister marries in the opening sequence.

Already near death Vito desperately calls a meeting of all the organized crime syndicates in an effort to restore peace. While an emotional truce is reached, the viewer as well as Vito himself, seem to understand that the promises are empty and that things are not going to end well. Vito’s retirement from the family business is painful to watch as his health deteriorates and he transitions into the role of a grandfather to Michael and Kay’s child (oh yeah, Michael comes back from Sicily after his wife is killed, goes after Kay, she marries him only somewhat reluctantly despite knowing he is in the mafia and that he bailed on her for years in the meantime; I know, right? I said the same thing). Vito is practically harmless, gentle and affectionate and even trades in his ominous black suits for Mr. Rogers-esque cardigan sweaters. Meanwhile Michael begins flexing his muscle in every aspect he can- it almost seems like the death of the old school Corleone family plays itself out in the physical form of Vito, his life-force slipping away as the business goes further and further away from its roots, culminating with his quiet, peaceful death in the backyard.

In what I can only refer to as a “Figure-Eight-of-Life” sequence, because circle of life doesn’t begin to describe it, the movie reaches its artistic zenith. From Vito’s death springs the life of his daughter’s newborn son. Michael agrees to be the child’s Godfather, representing a rebirth of his character and role; born of the death of his own father. As the baptism ceremony takes place we see several hits carried out, almost undoubtedly ordered by Michael himself, against Corleone family “enemies.” Some are shotgunned in an elevator, one is getting a massage when a hitman shoots him right through the eye of his glasses, another is trapped in a revolving door before he is gunned down and yet another is in mid-coitus when his assailants barge in and turn him into a human clay pigeon.

The genius in the way these deaths are shown harkens back to the point I made earlier about the viewer being an outsider and, for lack of a better word, sheltered to some extent from the horrors of these murders. The men in the elevator are shot off-camera, the one who takes it in the eye has the broken glass from his lens shielding us from seeing the most excessive of the gore, as does the broken glass in the revolving door, while the man who was having sex is never shown as more than a lump under a sheet. The telltale sign that Michael is pulling the strings though is the fact that in between each death the camera cuts back to him at the baptism renouncing another evil each time.

The final orders of business are the eliminations of longtime family friend-gone-turncoat Salvatore (Abe Vigoda) and Carlo, the brother-in-law who set Sonny up to be killed. Tom, acting on Michael’s orders, sends Salvatore to his death in an almost affectionate way with a friendly conversation and again, the act itself going unseen. Conversely, Michael makes a personal appearance for Carlo’s death- leading him to believe he is putting him on a plane to Las Vegas. Once Carlo is lured into a chauffer-driven car (and a false sense of security) he is strangled from the backseat. With his last signs of life Carlo kicks out the windshield of the car, once again shielding us from the actual murder with broken glass.

In the end, we realize that in-and-out-of-the-storyline Kay represents all of us; assuming the deeds committed are ugly, but never really allowed to see for ourselves. She was the outsider in the beginning of the movie, being the only one at the wedding with no mafia connections. She has no real deep knowledge of what happened in Michael’s life while he was exiled and, as is illustrated in the final shot, is literally “shut out” when Michael holds a meeting with several goons who look at her unapologetically before closing the door on her.

I won’t beat a dead horse (pun very much intended) and harp too much on how the middle part may or may not have made the film unnecessarily long because I think it was mostly essential for depicting both the passage of time and just how wrong things have been able to go once Vito is out of the picture. And sure there are as many holes in the narrative as there are in Sonny’s body, but all that aside, the unprecedented level of character development, the ability to sustain technical and thematic elements throughout the entire film and the amount of subtlety that is actually present in a movie that has the potential to be so unsubtle all more than absolve “The Godfather” of a few harmless cinematic sins.

#33. High Noon (1952)

Something tells me that people who enjoy traditional westerns day probably don’t think much of “High Noon.” Not that I am generalizing, but I think people tend to watch westerns for the same reason people watch slasher flicks or “Jackass” movies; there is a specific formula about them that appeals to the viewer, for some people its cheesy gore or wasabi snorting, for others its gunfights and anti-heroes. “High Noon” doesn’t really subscribe to a lot of the contrivances of its genre; it is psychological instead of primal and there is an almost preachy level of social commentary going on rather than the two-dimensional undeveloped cowboy characters we are used to.

A dialogue-les opening shows an entire town cowering at the arrival of three men on horses passing through the streets to a train station. The reactions of the townspeople make it obvious that their presence spells impending doom, but just to drive the point home the camera strays away from the three riders and pans up to an empty sky where a buzzard symbolically passes overhead.

Switching dramatic gears the mood becomes much lighter as the action focuses on the wedding of Will Kane (Gary Cooper) and his new wife Amy (Grace Kelly). Thanks to some conveniently placed dialogue by the reveling townspeople we learn that Kane is the town marshal but will be turning in his badge to become a pacifist out of respect for Amy’s Quaker beliefs. Kane’s motivation to leave is hastened by the fact that the three men at the train station are waiting for Frank Miller, a killer who Kane had put away years earlier to arrive to exact his revenge.

In the past, I have criticized Quentin Tarantino’s filmmaking style because I don’t like the non-linear storytelling; on the other hand “High Noon” is just the opposite- it depicts all the events in real time. This unique device is cleverly unleashed in two key scenes; where Kane first learns Miller will arrive at noon and the camera zooms in on the nearest clock and again minutes later when Kane’s ex girlfriend Helen Ramirez learns of Kane’s fate and worriedly looks at the clock in her room and only a few minutes have elapsed since the last time. From this point in the movie clocks and time will become a constant theme, every few minutes a new one is zeroed in on, building tension as noon draws eerily closer.

Though it does leave something of a question mark hovering over the story, I like how they never explain why Miller was pardoned and is able to now be coming after Kane because the fact is it doesn’t matter; knowing the reason does not help Kane one way or the other. While fleeing town with Amy, Kane comes to the realization that he has just left the town without a marshal. Rather than worrying about his own well being but not willing to leave the town unprotected against Miller and his gang, he selflessly turns back despite Amy’s protests.

“Why must you be so stupid? Have you forgotten what he is? Have you forgotten what he's done to people? Have your forgotten that he's crazy? Don't you remember when he sat in that chair and said, 'You'll never hang me. I'll come back. I'll kill you, Will Kane. I swear it, I'll kill you.’” (Judge Mettrick, “High Noon”)

As it turns out it isn’t Kane’s heroism or his ego that threaten to be his undoing but rather his incorrect assumption that the people back in town have a spine. Rather than being able to round up a posse to protect the town, Kane finds that everyone that is left of the legal structure has resigned out of sheer cowardice. The remainder of the film reflects one disappointment after another for Kane as Amy declares she will leave him if he doesn’t flee town, efforts to round up special constables prove to be fruitless when the townsfolk claim to support him but refuse to take up his cause or flat out tell him they despise him for killing the liquor and whores business as town marshal.

This represents a really unique paradigm in storytelling and seems almost allegoric of what was happening in America at the time this film was made. Suburbanization was destroying the sense of community by picket fences becoming more of a means of shutting people out than keeping kids in. The Cold War created an “I’ve got mine” mentality by making people so paranoid that loyalty and moral obligation took a backseat to self preservation. There is even something to be said for the possibility that the townsfolk in “High Noon” represent the underbelly of Hollywood at the time where you could call someone a peer but fail to stick up for them when the chips are down (Hollywood’s betrayal of Charlie Chaplin comes to mind). Regardless of what Fred Zinnemann was trying to say with this film, there is something darkly “real” about the fact that the everyman couldn’t be trusted to do the right thing and it is a very bold statement to make such a sweeping generalization about the majority.

In order to create some kind of conflict in the hour-plus leading up to the showdown at noon, a subplot is introduced that centers largely around jealousy. A hotel worker who has no respect for Kane informs Amy that Helen, who is by all indication a prostitute, used to be his lover. This breeds a sort of mutual rivalry between them based on nothing more than simple human nature- Amy is envious of their past, Helen clearly still harbors feelings for Kane but the two are cordial to each other. However, her newest suitor is also the Interim Deputy Sherriff who is envious of Kane both for his past involvement with Helen as well as his level of courage- their exchanges are not so cordial and result in a fistfight in a barn.

The irony is also not lost on me that the people who are supposed to be upstanding citizens are the ones who are most eager to turn their backs on Kane; the judge, the supposed law, every single person in the church he visits in his recruiting efforts. Meanwhile, the “lowlife whore” is the only one who calls out the rest of the citizens for their cowardice. So much so that she sells her stake in the hotel and leaves town in disgust. Rounding out the dramatic twists of irony is the fact that pacifist Quaker Amy ends up actively participating in the gun battle that none of the men will.

Perhaps the most symbolic and decidedly un-western aspect of the film though comes after the climactic gunfight when Kane is surrounded by the cowardly residents who, only when Miller and his gang are dead have any interest in being seen near him. Rather than call them all out, shoot them dead in the streets or refer to them as “yella-bellied” in a Duke-esque voice, he simply looks at them with pure disdain and tosses his badge in the dirt. There are a lot of similarities between Kane’s quiet dignity and the saintly patience of Atticus Finch in the last movie I blogged that all manifests itself in this one scene.

Though I do have a few minor problems with some of the aspects of the film’s execution (the real-time thing is cool and totally creative, but obviously leads to the need for some filler material, the subplot with Helen never feels right and Gary Cooper is an old man and Grace Kelly looks like a teenager) “High Noon” is very intelligent and innovative. Given my negative reaction to movies like “The Wild Bunch” and “Unforgiven” and my embracing of more lofty and soulful westerns like “Shane” and “Stagecoach” it is no wonder why I am able to say, with nothing but affection, that “High Noon” is very, very much the antithesis of a western.

#34. To Kill a Mockingbird (1962)

What can I say about “To Kill a Mockingbird” that hasn’t already been said?

I suppose I could discuss the differences/similarities between the movie and the book, but I made my rules very clear from the beginning when I started this project; I have to remove myself from any prior knowledge I may have of the production of the film or any possible source material and evaluate it solely on its merit as a movie. And besides, I already did that assignment in the 9th grade and I’ve long since thrown that paper out.

The story is told in flashback mode, which can always be tricky to execute. However the most unique thing about the way this film pulls it off is that it is told by the narrator but without the hindsight of age and wisdom interjected. Rather, the narrator does little more than put the viewer inside her head while she describes the events as she saw them at the time. Jean Louise “Scout” Finch (Mary Badham) is the tomboy daughter of a respected but kindly-almost-to-a-fault lawyer, Atticus Finch(Gregory Peck). In addition to his demanding day job, Atticus is also a widower who is trying to instill the best values he can into his daughter and her older brother Jem.

Although Atticus wants more for his children than their impoverished, Depression-era Southern town can offer, he is never condescending or somehow “above” his surroundings. Early on in the film it is made clear that he has been donating his services to at least one local resident out of charity. He also goes to great lengths to make sure his children understand, whether it is true or not, that they are poor as well. Though there is evidence to the contrary (they own their home, Atticus drives a fairly nice car and they are apparently able to employ a housekeeper) Atticus assures Scout and Jem that they are in no way, shape or form “better” than any of the other townspeople. Part of what makes the storytelling method original lies in the crystal clear comprehension by the viewer that Atticus is in many ways the protagonist, despite the fact that Scout’s is the lone perspective.

Atticus’ values, no matter how well-intended, do lead to trouble for his whole family though when he accepts the opportunity to represent Tom Robinson, an obviously falsely accused black man of raping a white woman, Mayella Ewell, the daughter of the town drunk Bob Ewell, much to the outrage of the still segregated town. Atticus’ life, as well as his children’s lives, are all threatened at some point by various ass-backwards residents. Though Atticus is dismissive of allegations that he is a “nigger lover” it is evident that civil rights are indeed close to his heart; be it in his willingness to travel directly into the black community to visit with Tom’s family, the way his black housekeeper Calpurnia is recognized more as a member of his family than mere hired help or the one time we truly see him reprimand Scout after he use of the word “nigger.”

While this is pretty intense subject matter considering the relative young ages of the children, there is a fantastic subplot that both underscores the primary narrative as well as allows Scout and Jem the opportunity to experience life as children and observe it with the appropriate level of innocence and imagination. The neighborhood’s dirty little secret is Arthur “Boo” Radley (Robert Duvall) who lives in a boarded up house and is the subject of as much loose gossip from the adults as the children. Various disturbing tales of what goes on inside the Radley home have been circulated, building Boo up to be a mysterious creature who is just real enough to exist but rarely seen; much the same way a child imagines a boogeyman or a monster in the closet; and the mere implication of his presence evokes a concurrent level of fear and curiosity in Scout and Jem. When Scout winds up on the porch of the Radley house a simple and intentionally stereotypical horror film-like music plays, the beat resembling the heartbeat of a frightened child. Yet, on another occasion when the children discover Boo has been leaving little gifts for them in the knothole of his tree the concertina music aptly reflects their childlike wonderment.

By leaps and bounds though, the most effective and innovative way the film depicts the events as being seen through the eyes of Scout is by having several camera angles that are shot from a lower perspective, often looking up. Another scene where this tool is implemented to great effect is during Tom Robinson’s trial. Scout and Jem are sitting in the “blacks” balcony of the segregated courthouse looking down on the proceedings of the trial. Scout sits with her legs dangling through the balcony rails showing not only the events down below but the rails obstructing the view like prison bars- lending the shot’s artistry to both a foreshadowing of Tom’s future as well as the more symbolic metaphor of how even the people who are supposed to be “free” still view the world as if they are jailed.

“You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view... Until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it.” (Atticus Finch, “To Kill a Mockingbird”)

Much of the, possibly accidental, cleverness of “To Kill a Mockingbird” lies in the fact that the adult characters themselves don’t really develop all that much- but since Scout is growing up and developing herself but would not be able to notice these advancements within herself, they are instead depicted as changes to the other characters. Though Atticus has always had a natural ability to shoot, the kids don’t see this side of him until he is forced to shoot a rabid dog that is terrorizing the town. Though this is really one of the least “noble” of Atticus’ actions when compared to the rest of the film, in a child’s eyes, this very archaic display is seen as a godlike act of courage, and the level of the kids’ respect for him as well as their interest in the trial increases exponentially.

No film is entirely without flaw and there are certain aspects of “To Kill a Mockingbird” that do bother me. Though it does defiantly address pre-civil rights movement race relations head-on, there is still a heavy level of idealism. People just like Atticus Finch met grisly fates when they attempted to do the right thing in the Jim Crow south. Viola Liuzzo, Paul Guihard and Bruce Klunder represent far more real consequences of the dangers of being considered a race traitor. Were it not for the inclusion of a scene where the townspeople attempt to lynch Tom Robinson before he is able to go to trial I would question the film’s credibility on the subject altogether.

However, I can also understand the importance of the approach “To Kill a Mockingbird” does take. The theme and the essence of the story, not to mention the title itself all revolve around the concept of innocence; literal and figurative. The limbo period the children are stuck between in light of their father’s actions and the robbing of their innocence, the obvious innocence of Tom Robinson, the heavy implication that Bob Ewell has been raping his own daughter and thus taking her proverbial innocence, the unfair persecution of Boo Radley who’s level of wrongdoing or even mental capacity are never confirmed. There are numerous takes on the concept of innocence but they are all very powerful and predominant.

Of course, I can’t accurately comment on this film without discussing Gregory Peck’s performance as Atticus Finch. His refined diction in a film filled with southern drawls elevates him above all the other characters in a very non-arrogant way. His refusal to sink to the level of his dissidents no matter how much he is antagonized give the character an almost ethereal presence bordering on the type of character you would read about in religious text. In an era in film where you weren’t a man unless you were John Wayne getting into a gunfight with Robert Duvall or Rock Hudson beating the piss out of James Dean, Gregory Peck totally redefines the leading man by not having a love interest or a climactic duel, but instead staring down the barrel of a far more ominous type of doom and for a far more noble cause.

#35. It Happened One Night (1934)

Don’t take me for some woman hater when you read this.

I was raised almost exclusively by my mother because my dad worked on the road, I loathe misogyny in films even back when it was the norm and I can school pretty much anyone at “Sex and the City” trivia- so it has nothing to do with a gender bias, but here it is. I hate most romantic comedies because of the unrealistic expectations they place on men.

Romantic comedies make women think that irresponsible and emotionally impulsive men are desirable. We are supposed to ignore things like consequences and interrupt their weddings and have enough available credit to fly across the country on a whim just to stop them from making a bad choice. In chick flick world it is totally okay and, in fact, romantic to pursue people who are already married as long as you can somehow “prove” you love the person more than their spouse. Worse yet we are supposed to mangle our faces and develop receding hairlines so we can look like John Cusack while doing so. I have always wondered who I should kick in the nuts for creating these expectations: Hugh Grant? Garry Marshall? Jennifer Aniston? Nope, turns out it’s Frank Capra.

For unleashing “It Happened One Night” on the world, Frank Capra has done the unforgivable. Sure there had been romantic comedies prior to this film, but this one in particular seems to be the root of the genre as we know it now; the opposites attract motif, the zany misadventures that lead the two main characters to strange places where comedic things can happen to them that a normal storyline can’t allow for, even the rich girl/poor guy dead horse- all these things owe a great debt to and can be blamed on Frank Capra. The same way “North by Northwest” explored the themes of travel, escape and no restriction- “It Happened One Night” damn near destroyed them.

Right out of the gate we discover that this will be a class-based story as an obviously rich family argues onboard a yacht. The daughter, Ellie Andrews (Claudette Colbert) is throwing a temper tantrum over the fact that her father has just essentially kidnapped her after learning that she had married a man of questionable nobility. They go to great pains to explain that this act has occurred before the marriage has been able to be consummated (the Production Code of the early 30’s left a black eye on cinema, pushing morality into films that relied on a certain absence of morals for the plot to work). I don’t think anyone bought this in the 30’s and we clearly don’t buy it today. I have no problem suspending disbelief when I am watching a fantasy or horror film, but this sort of absurdity has no place in a film that is set in present times with normal, human characters. Yet we are still to believe that the two eloped but haven’t had a chance to get freaky yet, which Ellie’s father is banking on so that the marriage can be quickly annulled and forgotten.

Ellie is defiant and of course madly in love with this guy she hardly knows so she escapes her father’s custody by jumping off the side of the yacht and swimming safely to shore. From there she plans to take a bus to New York to be reunited with her new husband. Another passenger on the bus is a predatory reporter named Peter (Clark Gable) whose defiant attitude towards his editor has recently gotten him fired. He opportunistically jumps on the chance to exploit Ellie’s status as a celebutante by exchanging exclusivity rights to her story in exchange for his help in getting to New York due to the fact that she demonstrates in several small ways that she is unable to take care of herself on a cross-country endeavor.

Ellie is self aware enough to know that she has to accept the offer and, despite her first impression of the roguish Peter it doesn’t take long at all for her to start responding to his dark humor and sarcastic ways. Their adventures lead them to various roadblocks; missing their bus, attempted theft of their luggage and having to share a room in a boarding house to name a few. There are several attempts to make the plot work but still stay within the guidelines of the Breen Offices who enforced Hollywood’s moral code and it is painfully obvious that this is what is happening, which takes away a lot of the enjoyment and spontaneous, open-road spirit that should come from such a film.

“He despises everything about me. He says that I'm spoiled and selfish and pampered and thoroughly insincere… And he blames you for everything that's wrong with me. He says you, you raised me stupidly. Oh, he’s marvelous!” (Ellie Andrews “It Happened One Night”)

One segment in particular where this is evident happens when Ellie and Peter are forced to sleep in the same room because they can only afford rent for one. Ellie expresses some objection to rooming with a man who isn’t her husband, especially when Peter starts undressing and she sees him bare-chested. Peter compromises by creating a crudely erected wall separating them with a clothesline and some fabric and referring to it as The Walls of Jericho with snide piety. Rather than taking the artistic approach and seizing on the opportunity to thumb his nose at the Breen Offices for stifling his creativity by sneaking in a double-entendre-laden exchange that could be taken to be completely clean when confronted with it (see the Egg-Cooking Sequence in Tod Browning’s “Freaks”) Capra, for the most part, circumvents controversy.

However, in the same breath, this film borders on risqué and winds up suffering from a sort of identity crisis. In the shared room scene we see Ellie undressing and even hanging her underthings on the clothesline and at one point Peter even symbolically slaps Ellie on the ass. It is admirable in some respects but mostly just confusing how the narrative jumps back and forth between ridiculously contorting the story to conform to standards of “decency” and depicting some things that would even be considered shocking by today’s standards (at least to the Pat Robertson types). Please pick an angle and stay with it!

Near the end of their journey a misunderstanding leads to Ellie think Peter has abandoned her and plans to cash in on the reward that her father is now offering for information leading to her return when in fact he is trying to secure enough money for his exclusive story so that he can have a respectable nest egg with which to ask Ellie to marry him. She relays her heartbreak once she is reunited with her father who, when he meets Peter face to face discovers that he is in love with her too and their parting of ways was a horrible miscommunication.

Of course we get our happy ending when Ellie’s father straightens out the mess, pays off the husband to go away and encourages his daughter to run off with Peter. So, in case you’re not keeping score; her father disapproves of her rushing into marriage with a strange man whom he will likely have to support with his money who has a dubious background. After great expense and hassle he gives his blessing for her to rush into marriage with a strange man whom he will likely have to support with his money who has a dubious background… Again, where is the continuity?

One of my biggest complaints with this movie is what I perceive to be sheer confusion as to what direction they wanted to take Ellie’s character. Though she is clearly meant to be less independent than she believes she is, she does display an ability to find creative solutions to problems; particularly the scene where Ellie and Peter are hitchhiking unsuccessfully until she hikes up her skirt and exposes her leg to a passing male motorist. Ellie, who has previously displayed little-to-no street smarts, suddenly has the ability to make something out of nothing. In many films this would represent a turning point for the character, as she would be developing and learning self-reliance, but not only does she remain relatively helpless after this, but it is a shame that the potential to create a strong female lead is degraded by what seems to be a self-awareness that her usefulness ends with her sexuality.

I understand the need for fantastic stories in film during the Great Depression. The horror and suspense genres took off at this time and gave people an excellent means of escapism. However, in the case of “It Happened One Night” it almost feels condescending. As opposed to fantasy films that removed people from the hardship and tragedy of the real world, this film seems to just flaunt an opulent lifestyle in the faces of people for whom this was not a realistic or attainable way of life. Even though there is a prevalent “money can’t buy happiness” thread sewn into the storyline, I can’t help but feel like this subject shouldn’t have even been brought up at all if Capra cared at all about taking people’s minds off the economic climate at the time.

Overall, if you want a great, insightful film that explores the separation of the classes, rich heiresses marrying for love rather than money or prestige, curt working class men putting spoiled princesses in their place and sleazy reporters who wind up falling in love with the women they are trying to exploit pass this film by and watch the far, far superior “The Philadelphia Story” instead. I would say I have no idea how this film won as many Oscars as it did, but then I did some research and learned that there were only about 3 nominees in most of the categories.

#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.