#15 Star Wars (1977)

People who didn’t know me back in the day have no idea how deep my “Star Wars” obsession ran. Action figures, posters, dioramas that I commissioned from people with better woodworking skills than me, a life-size Princess Leia in the gold bikini… I was a grade-A dork when it came to “Star Wars.” Which of course makes this blog incredibly difficult to write for two reasons:

1) It is hard to analyze it in any way that I see as fresh or unique

2) When you get right down to it, it’s not a very good movie

But, I will do what I can for the sake of art.

First off, we can’t discuss “Star Wars” without acknowledging that there is an incredibly deep and convoluted world that George Lucas created in his quest to be thorough with these films. 99% of that content never makes it into a “Star Wars” film. Because of this I cannot simply excuse or explain away certain shortcomings this movie has by saying “they explain it better in the book.” A good film adaptation should ALWAYS assume you haven’t read the source materials; especially when said source materials aren’t novels or even comic books but rather a bunch of technical manuals and graphic novels that came out years later.

A lavishly arranged orchestral arrangement (which will be crucial to the film’s entire feel) opens the movie, followed by scrolling text explaining the backstory for the audience. It is done in a descending font that looks almost 3D and seems to disappear into space as the words progress. This is a very interesting and apropos effect given the intergalactic setting of this film, however it is evident that this is just the first of many tactics this film employs simply for what the guys on “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy” would have referred to as “wow factor.” I’m not saying this to be jaded and critical, I’m saying it because everything that is explained in the 3 paragraphs of introduction are discussed at various points later in the movie. You could literally lift this introduction out altogether and not be any more or less confused than you are watching it in its true form. In fact, the introduction probably confused more people than it ever helped understand it given the fact that it inexplicably introduces the movie as “Episode IV” despite no pre-existing installments.

In many ways, “Star Wars” is simply a relocated spaghetti western. The first scenes featuring main characters like Princess Leia (Carrie Fisher) and Darth Vader (David Prowse/James Earl Jones) hearken back to the days of hat color defining a person’s moral standing. Leia is clad in pure white robes, while Vader of course has the menacing black helmet and body armor. Even characters introduced later will adhere to this simplistic yet effective tool. Luke Skywalker (Mark Hamill) wears white and the other bad guys in the evil Imperial Empire rely on emotional association to establish their position. Stormtroopers wear white uniforms with helmets that have thin eye holes not unlike KKK robes and Governor Tarkin (Peter Cushing) rocks an ensemble that clearly, CLEARLY looks like a Nazi dress uniform. We aren’t supposed to know for sure if Han Solo (Harrison Ford) is a good guy or a bad guy, so he wears black AND white. Clever.

I think that covers most of the major visual allegory, so I can comfortably move onto the plot. The Rebels are a well-funded group of militants who are attempting to overthrow the Empire, who are evil seemingly only for the purpose of being evil. Princess Leia, one of the highest leaders in the rebellion, has managed to get ahold of a full blueprint of the Death Star, a space station the Empire is hoping to use to intimidate any non-conformist planets into submission. Before having her starship boarded and being arrested for treason she is able to hide the blueprints in a robot R2-D2, who boards an escape pod with his mechanical life-partner C-3P0 and winds up on the desert planet Tatooine.

“Governor Tarkin, I should have expected to find you holding Vader’s leash. I recognized your foul stench when I was brought onboard.” (Princess Leia, “Star Wars”)

Thankfully it is apparently a remarkably small world because even though they wind up in the possession of Luke Skywalker, he happens to know Obi-Wan Kenobi (Alec Guinness), the guy Leia sent them to unrealistically hoping they would just find their way to him- so they do! As many flaws as I can find with this picture and particularly these Tatooine scenes, I also think the most artistically brilliant shot in the entire movie occurs here. There is no dialogue but Luke stares at the setting dual suns and encapsulates his whole character with his silent frustration. The symphony again kicks in and plays a short swell of music that compliments the scene perfectly. The two suns remind us that the film is set in outer space but the emptiness and wishing for something more Mark Hamill expresses immediately makes it relatable again.

Obi-Wan plants a seed (not in a creepy Noah Cross/Evelyn Cross in “Chinatown” kind of way) in Luke’s mind that he could help the ancient religion of Jedi make a comeback. There are only a few left after Darth Vader “helped hunt down and destroy the Jedi Knights,” making Luke an obvious choice to revive the cause since his father was one of the most powerful Jedis ever as well as one of the ones Vader murdered ;) Luke knows he can’t go because his uncle not only looked down on Jedi-ism but needs him as slave labor on the family farm… what they are farming on a barren desert planet would have been nice to explain but whatevs. Storyline conveniently however, Luke’s uncle and aunt are killed, freeing him up to take off with this mysterious old hermit to join the rebellion.

The introduction of roguish space smuggler Han Solo is one of the film’s finest moments. Obi-Wan and Luke venture to Mos Eisley Spaceport where they search the bars looking for a pilot to take them to the Rebel base. The menagerie of strange creatures and beings they encounter there are really some of the only indicators of the vastness of the George Lucas universe. In a short musical montage a variety of beings both cute and creepy are flashed across the screen. I am not going to name every Snaggletooth, Mufftak and Ponda Baba introduced in this scene to appease Star Wars geeks, and besides most of those characters weren’t properly named until years down the road anyway, so their backstories are pretty irrelevant as it relates to this film, so please forward any complaints about my failure to properly recognize Garindan’s important contribution to the near apprehension of the good guys directly to the round file cabinet I keep under my desk. The other thing that makes this scene so great is the back-and-forth between Harrison Ford and Alec Guinness. The other young members of the cast are WAY out of their league in a movie with veteran stage actors like Guinness and Cushing, so to see one of the younger actors in the film exchange dialogue with one of the pros is a bright spot.

Luke begins to learn the ways of the Jedi, Obi-Wan is killed by Darth Vader- making Luke the last living hope for the Jedi, Luke and Han both rescue Leia and in the process develop a thing for her and Luke blows up the Death Star. Really it is all very simplistic and borrows heavily from many other previously existing genres; particularly westerns as I mentioned before given the well defined “good/evil” concept, the sheer number of shootouts and the mentality that the loners and anti-heroes are the ones who are going to save us all when the expected heroes fail. You don’t have to look very closely to see to see the rip-offs of previous works in “Star Wars.” The scene where Luke returns home to his slaughtered family is directly lifted from “The Searchers,” C-3PO looks suspiciously like Maria from “Metropolis” and there are even heavy allusions to numerous religions scattered all over the movie.

However, what “Star Wars” lacks in originality, it kind of makes up for in special effects pioneering. Contrary to popular belief this wasn’t the movie where all sci-fi stopped looking like “Plan 9 From Outer Space.” As much as I hate it “2001: A Space Odyssey” featured equally impressive space scenes and in terms of scope of the spacecrafts “Close Encounters of the Third Kind” is equal to or greater than this film. What “Star Wars” did change though was detail. The intricacies of the surface of the Death Star, the underside of the Star Destroyer that chases Princess Leia and even the beams from the weapons are really what separate this movie from similar genre films.

And of course, the merchandising frenzy it was able to subsequently create. There is nothing wrong with saying that these films qualified for this list for reasons other than quality of content. “The Jazz Singer” was not a bad film, but there is no way it makes this list were it not for being the first talkie. “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs” was nowhere near as good as “The Secret of NIMH” but it was the first feature-length animated film, so yeah, it belongs here. “Star Wars” came along at the right time and became a cultural phenomenon that very few books, movies or songs could ever dream of. But you’re dreaming if you think this movie is so highly regarded because it’s good.

#16. All about Eve (1950)

News flash- actors are terrible people!

They are catty, narcissistic and self-serving. Of course, this is not something that would come as a surprise to most people, but “All about Eve” not only builds an entire movie around this concept, but insults our intelligence by relying completely on the assumption that we don’t already know this. With its deliberate “fly on the wall” approach which makes sure much of the interaction takes place in dressing rooms and backstage areas, this film seems to fancy itself as some kind of expose piece of investigative reporting. Now, before we get started there is a real chance I hate this movie so much because I feel like it walked away with a lot of the Oscars that “Sunset Boulevard” deserved, but to be fair I didn’t even know they competed against each other til after I watched “All about Eve.” Just putting all my cards on the table now.

There is a right way and a wrong way to do narration; generally I think it is a cop-out altogether but if it is necessary to keep the movie under 3 hours, it should at least be done creatively. “Double Indemnity” gets this right with the tape-recorded confession; I’m loathe to admit it but even “Dances with Wolves” may do it right with the journal entries. With “All about Eve” however, the film just starts off with plain lecture hall narrative that tells us everything in black and white so that there is no room for misinterpretation, or for that matter, on-screen character progression. The narration is done by the character Addison DeWitt, (George Sanders) who is a theater critic who immediately establishes that he has no endearing qualities by talking down to the viewer, implying that everyone who doesn’t know theater is essentially an uncultured buffoon. Even more frustrating is the fact that now we know the person speaking is a writer and he STILL can’t be bothered to be narrating in an interesting context.

DeWitt goes on to explain that we are watching an awards ceremony honoring Eve Harrington (Anne Baxter), the youngest recipient of the award in question. All the main characters are introduced in this drawn-out but somehow still glossed-over manner; Lloyd and Karen Richards (Hugh Marlowe and Celeste Holm) a playwright and his wife, producer Max Fabian (Gregory Ratoff) and a veteran stage actress Margo Channing (Bette Davis). The first inkling we get that there is some conflict in this film between Eve and the other characters is the fact that none of these characters look particularly enthused, or even interested, in the praise-laden speech the award presenter is heaping on Eve.

Once the dreadfully condescending and monotone narration is over and Eve is presented with the award, it seems like the present-time plot may commence. Unfortunately that’s not how this movie works. Instead, like the world’s most boring relay race, the narration duties are simply handed off to Karen. At least this time it advances the story. Karen flashes back several months to her first meeting with Eve; who is essentially a theater groupie who obsessively attends a play Margo is starring in night in and night out. Out of the goodness of her heart Karen brings Eve into the theater to meet Margo, who is her best friend. The scene that sets up the meeting between Eve and her idol Margo firmly establishes the majority of the characters who are “insiders” by the overwhelming approval they show when Margo launches into a tirade about how creepy and pathetic her fans are.

Margo and Lloyd feign compassion by listening to Eve’s backstory, where she explains that she is the poor only child of a farmer, former secretary and war-widow who has since devoted her time to following Margo across the country. Despite the general hateability of all the main characters, their backstage banter is amusing and probably among the best acted in the film. One of the most richly developed characters is also introduced at this point. Bill Sampson (Gary Merrill), Margo’s boyfriend who is also a director who is working in Hollywood as well as legitimate theater, but appears to be disillusioned by both. He and Eve have an incredible exchange where she very passively charms Bill the same way she does Margo, by pumping his ego.

Eve’s flattery earns her a place in Margo’s inner-circle where the only one who seems to distrust Eve and see past her naivety is Margo’s sarcastic, jaded maidservant Birdie (Thelma Ritter). Almost immediately I noticed the similarity between Birdie and Stella, the wisecracking home-health-care nurse in “Rear Window” who, as it turns out was also played by Ritter several years later. Much like Stella, Birdie provides a great deal of comedic cynicism and helps establish the “wisdom from an unlikely source” cliché that we still see today in characters like Idella in “Driving Miss Daisy” or Oscar in “Baby Mama.”

Somewhere between when Bill is introduced and Margo allows Eve to move in with her, Margo assumes the role of narrator; complicating things even further. I don’t think I would have minded this directorial tool nearly as much if it were done in a manner where everyone’s narratives are slightly different until there is one climactic point in the film where they all converge and fall into sync; but alas I think the only reason for the constantly switching narration is that even the director Joseph Mankiewicz realized there was just too much voice-over in this movie so changing the voice every now and then might help alleviate the boredom; it doesn’t.

Eve’s devotion begins to border on creepy, first when Margo catches her trying on one of her stage costumes and later when she arranges a midnight call to Hollywood so Margo can wish Bill a happy birthday right on time, even though Margo doesn’t even know it IS his birthday. Some insightful foreshadowing comes from Birdie who explains to Margo that Eve is not only strangely devoted to Margo, but almost acts as though she is trying to actually BE Margo. Once Margo makes this realization, she has such a hard time convincing everyone around her that it actually causes tension with them. Eve has essentially duped Margo’s entire inner-circle into trusting her, so much so that they all interpret Margo’s suspicion as envy of Eve’s youth and beauty.

“Bill's thirty-two. He looks thirty-two. He looked it five years ago, he'll look it twenty years from now. I hate men.” (Margo Channing, “All about Eve”)

At this point there is supposed to be a dynamic role-reversal, with Margo and Eve trading off the positions of Pro/Antagonist; as it is now evident that Eve has begun to methodically sabotage Margo’s personal life by turning her friends on her, as well as her professional life when she manages to earn a spot as Margo’s understudy. Even though we see Eve’s conniving side, Margo has simply not done enough to make us like her for this transition to occur. Her shabby treatment of Birdie, her vain obsession with age and looks and her borderline insane distrust of Bill all just make me hate her even more than before and realize that her career deserves to be destroyed.

Of course I don’t need to tell you how it all plays out. Eve gets what she wants, causes Margo to miss a performance, fills in, steals the show and wins the adoration of the theater-going public while alienating herself from Margo and everyone in her entourage. Furthermore, DeWitt manages to deconstruct Eve’s entire backstory- she is not a widow, she made up the story about following Margo across the country and she was sleeping with her boss at her last job until he paid her to leave town. In the pre-google days it would have been interesting to explain how he learned all these things about her, however I have to believe that it was just assumed that by this point everyone watching would just be asleep anyway. The film ends with a young wannabe actress sneaking into Eve’s apartment, claiming to adore her and imposing herself into Eve’s life- implying that everything has and will again come full circle, and that Eve is just the next Margo. So even if somehow that bitch Margo has managed to win you over, you can take comfort in knowing Eve will have a similar comeuppance.

There is some sharp dialogue in this film, as well as a few purposely unexplained plot devices that leave many things open for interpretation (Birdie having once been an actress herself, DeWitt seemingly using his influence to nail cheap bimbo actresses etc). Unfortunately, the quest for realism is hindered by the fact that the conversations are too realistic- that is to say they are written like normal banter… with nothing taken out for flow purposes. And this film is entirely dialogue driven- hardly any of the scenes take place outdoors or places where there would be secondary characters or even extras. Just the same people over and over again; and with the exception of Bill and Karen they are all pretty unlikeable.

Thankfully for this film’s legacy, it was set in the Broadway theater community rather than in Hollywood for two huge reasons: 1) it justifies the dramatic overacting by all the primaries but especially Bette Davis and 2) it didn’t anger the Hollywood community the way the far, FAR superior “Sunset Boulevard” did, as a result, it was a much easier pill to swallow as an Oscar movie in 1950 as being a “behind the scenes, unglamorous underbelly expose” picture. If you want to watch a movie that explores the ‘what goes on behind the façade” motif- practically ANY movie would be more entertaining; “A Star is Born,” “Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?” shit even the dreadful “Hollywoodland” was better than this injustice.

#17. The African Queen (1951)

I’ve lived an interesting life;

I rode in a helicopter piloted by a serial killer, spent the day with a significant figure in American history and even made national news and became an ACLU poster-child following a manufactured porn scandal. On a significantly less interesting note, a few years ago I rescued an abandoned kitten, spoiled her and raised her as my own and every time she falls asleep in my lap I realize that taking her in is the best thing I have ever done. Not the most exciting or funniest, not the thing people will remember most about me someday, but the best. The movie “The African Queen” has both Katharine Hepburn and Humphrey Bogart branching out of their cinematic comfort zones and, while it may not be what people remember them for, it is in my estimation the best thing either one of them has ever done. In other words, “The African Queen” is their homeless cat.

While there are traces of Humphrey Bogart’s rubber-stamp character in the role of Charlie (the gruff loner with somewhat self-destructive tendencies) most traces of nobility and bravery are washed away in a sea of gin. In fact, there is a compelling study within the film on the negative effects of alcoholism, whereas in most previous films, drinking is simply glamorized and expected of men. Rather than an anti-hero, Bogart is more like a loser who happens to be capable of a good deed, which is very compelling. On the other hand, Katharine Hepburn makes a huge leap from the sassy socialite character she plays in movies like “Bringing up Baby” and “The Philadelphia Story” to play Rose, a frigid old maid/missionary.

The simple white-fonted opening credits appear and dissolve against a moving scene of a jungle as if the camera is looking up while moving downstream. Once the narrative begins the camera arrives at a stereotypical Africa village, complete with bamboo huts with straw roofs. However, there is also a similarly built but conspicuously out of place traditional-looking Christian church which is filled from front-to-back with primitive looking tribesfolk. Despite their enthusiastic participation in one of the hymns led by Rose’s pastor brother, the natives seem out of place and as if they are not fully understanding of their surroundings. Conversely, the arrival of Charlie on his dilapidated little supply delivery boat, The African Queen, is crude and obvious- with a loud steam whistle blowing over the hymn.

There is an interesting and subtle contrast going on here between Charlie and Rose; she is dressed formally and is generally performing a respectable action whereas Charlie is drunk and carelessly litters in the pristine, untouched jungle. This early comparison is crucial to the development of the dynamic between Charlie and Rose, which will become the focal point of the film. In spite of their obvious differences there are some incredibly understated similarities between the two. For instance, in their own ways they are both encroaching on the native African’s way of life- Charlie by treating them like slaves and Rose by essentially changing their way of life from making them sing hymns and even leave their spears outside the chapel like some kind of coat-check.

The invasion of German soldiers near the outset of World War 1 all but destroys the village and all the natives, as well as Rose’s brother, whose health deteriorates rapidly after the invasion, ultimately killing him. Without her brother and completely dependent on Charlie to get her out of Africa, Rose joins him on the boat and almost immediately voices a plan to essentially suicide bomb a German warship by using The African Queen as a torpedo. Though Charlie is skeptical and not at all enthused about being a hero, he does entertain the idea by acknowledging that the explosives on board the ship would be capable of executing the job.

“I ain't worried, Miss. Gave myself up for dead back where we started” (Charlie Allnut, “The African Queen”)

A nasty cliché in cinema has since been born of the middle part of the movie, the whole “opposites attract” premise. Arguments about bathing situations and sleeping arrangements are reminiscent of the far inferior “It Happened One Night” but innovative in how the characters are forced together by circumstance and far more realistic in the progression of feelings. Also, “Pirates of the Caribbean” could learn a thing or two about the proper way to illustrate a true alcoholic’s reaction to having a woman dispose of his booze. The detoxification and character transition Charlie experiences after Rose forces him to stop drinking does not come quickly or too sharply to make it absurd.

These extended scenes of just Rose and Charlie benefit from the on-location filming far more than you would think. With so much natural background scrolling by as the dialogue unfolds, a green-screen or “Mighty Joe Young” like scenery would have made it laughable and probably unwatchable. Instead, the lively and fresh jungle scenery and occasional shot of real wildlife not only break up the potential monotony of a film with such few characters, but they also make every little obstacle (equipment failure, impassable conditions etc) seem like a far more realistic threat and enhance the intensity of the movie.

At one point the boat is stuck in a densely overgrown patch of vegetation and leech-infested water. Charlie establishes his heroism inadvertently when he tows the broken down ship with his own body through the weeds. As the camera pulls away and upward we see that the obstruction only goes for a short distance, with the river that is their goal being just within reach. The fact that Charlie does not know this implies that he would have towed the ship on his own strength for miles if necessary.

While prepping the conversion of the boat into a torpedo a massive storm erupts, turning the ship over and throwing Rose and Charlie overboard. Charlie is captured and sentenced to death for his attempted attack on the Germans, all the while not knowing if Rose died in the wreck. When she is brought aboard the warship after having also been found by German troops her and Charlie are sentenced to hang together. As a last request they ask to be married- which ends up accidentally buying them time for The African Queen to resurface and drift towards the ship- blowing it up in accordance with the original plan. The most endearing part of this ending is actually the fact that Charlie and Rose DON’T blow up the ship the way they planned. Not everyone has to be a hero, people who are generally losers don’t suddenly pull off major heroics no matter how good their intentions are and the true happy ending is not the destruction of the ship but the fact that these two people have found each other.

It is not easy to pull off a movie that is mostly dialogue driven between two people. It is even less attractive when the two characters are played by actors who are really stretching beyond their comfort zones. Not only do Hepburn and Bogart pull it off, but they completely reinvent themselves in the process. John Huston also deserves a great deal of credit for having the foresight to move this movie off Hollywood backlots and into the African jungle. The authenticity and the scenery could NOT have been pulled off any other way.

#18. Psycho (1960)

Previous to this endeavor I had seen exactly zero films directed by Alfred Hitchcock. Now, after having seen several I have come to the realization that he is one of my favorite filmmakers. However, I also have to say that part of the thrill is lost on me because of how unrealistic the circumstances in his AFI films tend to be. I just don’t see a lot of likelihood in being drugged, kidnapped and framed for murder like in “North by Northwest,” being duped into unwittingly participating in a wife killing like in “Vertigo” and in no universe that I am aware of does elderly Jimmy Stewart get to bang young Grace Kelly ala “Rear Window.” What sets “Psycho” apart from the rest of these films is that, with the exception of the whole amateur familial corpse-preservation storyline, “Psycho” is totally conceivable. I’m not afraid of being attacked by a crop-duster, but I have met a lot of people who remind me of Norman Bates and staying in a shady, off-the-beaten-path motel is a universally recognized creepiness.

The credits are presented with several horizontal lines wiping the names across the screen and wiping them off, which will eventually cleverly transition into a set of venetian blinds (much the same way the graph-effect morphs itself into skyscrapers in “North by Northwest”). Inside the window is a seedy motel room where the lead character Marion Crane (Janet Leigh) has just finished having sex with her boyfriend Sam. Though there is nothing morally objectionable about their relationship, Sam still prefers to keep it discreet because he is divorced. Whether this is an excuse to keep Marion a certain length away or because the motivation he offers (being ashamed that he is too poor to be a husband or even serious boyfriend) is indeed noble is not quite clear, though it seems he is a little more sleazy since every turn in their conversation goes back to sex. What is clear is that Marion desperately wants them to have a future together sooner rather than later.

Needless to say, when the opportunity for her to embezzle $40,000 from her job presents itself, Marion seizes it. Despite the fact that she has just committed grand larceny, Janet Leigh does a remarkable job of illustrating that she is by no means a career criminal or even a bad person, but rather just someone driven to extreme measures by desperation. She stumbles through her escape, is constantly paranoid and generally seems very awkward and confused. Trying to get to Sam in California, Marion is forced to stop for the night at the remote, desolate Bates Motel. Though it is extremely early in the film, the entire segment at the Bates Motel is both incredibly important as well as technically flawless.

From the moment she checks in, there seems to be something creepy about the propreitor Norman Bates (Anthony Perkins). Perhaps it is his awkwardness with women, his love for taxidermy or his unusual doting over his mother- either way it doesn’t feel natural or normal when Norman asks Marion to join him for dinner. In just this short segment, so much foreshadowing and stage-setting occurs; Norman compares Marion to a bird (with several dead birds staring her in the face from the walls) Norman has a conversation with his mother where she chastises him for lusting after Marion and a very ominous yet relatable line where Norman tells her “we all go a little mad sometimes.” While this would normally creep someone out to hear, Marion can’t deny this as, the whole time she has been fleeing Phoenix for California, she has been hearing various voices in her head.

After the unsettling dinner, Marion goes to her room where she seems to have a moment of clarity and appears ready to turn back, face the music and give back the money she stole. In another brilliant use of foreshadowing, Marion starts to undress for her now legendary shower and struts around the room in a black bra and black panties; if there is anything silent films have taught me its that black clothes only ever indicate death. And besides, she was wearing white underwear in the hotel room with Sam so we know she owns other colors.

The brilliance of the shower scene isn’t just the way it is directed; the multiple jumping camera angles, the best use of music in a film probably ever, the strategic way every part of Marion’s body besides her naughty bits are shown, the unsettlingly gruesome stabbing sounds etc- but the sheer irony. The shower is supposed to represent a fresh start or Marion washing away her wrongdoings, instead it proves to be her undoing- it also effectively bookends Marion’s onscreen time by accentuating the point that her worst moments tend to occur in motels.

“A boy’s best friend is his mother…” (Norman Bates, “Psycho”)

Norman destroys the evidence of Marion’s visit and blames the murder on his overbearing mother and the object of the film soon becomes Sam and Marion’s sister Lila’s search for Marion. This is not only interesting because it is a unique take on the murder mystery theme, but also because the primary character winds up having such little screen time in the grand scheme of things. Also, this concept had the potential of being disastrous as it was in “2001: A Space Odyssey” by not having a well-defined protagonist/antagonist struggle, but somehow it still pulls it off.

As the mystery unravels “Psycho” begins to break all sorts of new ground in terms of addressing things in film. Norman suffers from multiple personality disorder and in fact “becomes” his mother, as his real mother has been dead for years- so all the arguing they do, yeah, that’s him fighting with himself essentially. Also, when he takes on the personality of his mother, he dresses accordingly, which isn’t innovative in-and-of-itself for films of that time, I can recall seeing Buster Keaton and Curly Howard doing it prior to 1960, as well as the entire movie “Glen or Glenda?” being focused on it. However in Norman Bates’ case it isn’t for comedic or demeaning purposes, instead it is a sincere exploration of a mental disorder; thus it is handled sensitively all things considered. Also, despite the fact that he has murdered Marion, in the end Norman Bates winds up being a fairly empathetic villain given the fact that he truly has no control over his state; which coincidentally is what makes him such a frightening villain at the same time. I think my favorite aspect of Anthony Perkins’ performance is something that may not even be noticeable, but really helps develop his character is his stammering and mumbling. It is refreshing to hear a character on screen talk like a real person rather than in an unbelievably crisp theatrical dialect.

The title “Psycho” in itself is also a fascinating element of this movie. While it is easy to assume it is a cut and dry reference to Norman and his mental state, its more complicated than that. Marion clearly at least has a mental breakdown of some kind where she abandons logic and accountability by stealing a huge sum of money and planning to take it to her literally and figuratively distant boyfriend. Even Norman’s mother probably had some issues of her own to have such an eerie and gripping post-mortem control over her son. The “Psycho” tag can be appropriately applied to almost anyone in the picture.

“Psycho” may not be my favorite of the Hitchcock films but it is hard to deny it is the most technically sound and most terrifying. The investigation scenes are actually kind of boring and slow the pace of the movie down, and the dynamic between Sam and Lila implies a level of attraction but is never quite explored fully, but if those are the worst things I can name about this movie then I don’t really have much to complain about. If nothing else, I should sing the praises of “Psycho” simply because of how unconventional it is and because of how many (calculated) risks it takes. Even though the “excessive” sex and violence are tame by today’s standards, I would hold this movie side-by-side against any modern slasher flick and it would blow them out of the water.

#19. Chinatown (1974)

Leave it to a sex criminal to make film noir even darker than it already was by introducing incest into the picture.

There is a fine line between intentional homage and plagiarism, and at times Roman Polanski’s “Chinatown” has a hard time not crossing it but there is also so much individuality inserted into the film that by the end nobody can accuse it of being unoriginal.

I think to refer to “Chinatown” as “noir-inspired” or “in the noir style” is unfair to the film. Even though it wasn’t made in the time of the “Production Code” that limited what movies could discus and depict it just follows the style too closely to be considered anything less. The opening credits include the classic Paramount logo and old Broadway fonts while being rolled over speakeasy music. After the lengthy credits a black and white photo pops up onscreen of a man and woman having sex in a park, then flipping between several more shots of the same couple. The effect employed is amazing, as a popping sound proceeds each new image- it isn’t until the camera pans away that we realize it is someone looking at the pictures and the sound is them being discarded rather than a flashbulb slideshow montage as is implied.

I could have almost copy and pasted the first section of my “The Maltese Falcon” and applied it to this entry when describing the introductory scenes of “Chinatown” but I just don’t operate that way. It turns out the person who took the photos is a private investigator named Jake Gittes (Jack Nicholson) and the man examining them is a client who has hired him to confirm that his wife is cheating on him. Not only does this establish exactly what kind of detective Jake is but also what kind of clientele he attracts as the man (Burt Young) explains that he won’t be able to pay for the services rendered right away. Jake’s next client is another noir fixture, the veiled smoking woman of significant means. Though he doesn’t seem interested in the case Jake is shocked to learn that the woman is the wife of Los Angeles’ Water and Power Administrator Hollis Mulwray and she suspects he is having an affair.

Jake nonchalantly starts his investigation by attending an L.A. City Council Meeting where a debate is taking place concerning the building of a dam and threats of a drought are tossed around. There are some interesting but kind of too “in your face” tactics used to date the film in this scene, including Jake perusing a horse racing guide featuring Seabiscuit as well as a large photo of FDR hanging in the Council chambers (of course assuming they are following protocol by having a photo of the sitting President in a government building)- in other words, depression-era. What we gather from the scene is that Mulwray opposes the dam project and supports his argument by back-referencing a previous, similar blunder. Though the farmers who have shown up to voice their support for the dam are irate at his presentation, the pained, guilty look on Mulwray’s face implies that there is more than meets the eye.

In addition to Mulwray’s nerdy appearance and constantly working on Water and Power related issues the film does an excellent job of implying that he probably is honest and decent as well as implying that the politicians who are pushing for the dam project might be crooked. The more blatant way this is done is through dialogue; the mayor pushing for $8,000,000 so insistently, Mulwray making references to having been tricked before etc. But more artistically, there always seems to be water present- suggesting without suggesting that the drought concerns may be unfounded. This is illustrated in little ways such as Jake being soaked by a drain pipe that liberally spews water near an already well watered, ocean-adjacent cove, an always-full water cooler in Jake’s office, the audible splashing of water as one of Jake’s assistants develops photos of Mulwray and the eventual discovery that Mulwray DOES have a mistress who he is spotted with in a rowboat in Echo Park. So much of the film points to an abundance of water without saying a word about it.

And of course what is a good noir detective story without an interesting plot twist; particularly a threat of legal action from Mulwray’s wife Evelyn (Faye Dunaway) who is decidedly NOT the woman who hired him to spy on Mr. Mulwray. Essentially, the woman who initially arrived claiming to be Mrs. Mulwray was just trying to dig up dirt on him- none of which seems to matter much after Mulwray turns up dead; ironically, his body is pulled from a reservoir.

“Isn’t this something? Middle of a drought and the Water Commissioner drowns! Only in L.A.” (Morty the Coroner, “Chinatown”)

With the focus of the investigation now being who would want to defame and/or kill Mulwray, Jake continues to poke around the various beaches and reservoirs in L.A. While talking with local policemen we find out that Jake was an LAPD officer before becoming a detective. One former colleague in particular mentions that he has been transferred out of Chinatown. Though the conversation seems like small talk, Jake’s reaction to just a mention of Chinatown implies that it represents a lot of demons.

Eventually Jake is able to piece together that Mulwray was murdered because he knew too much in relation to the hoarding of the water supply as well as his opposition to funding the dam project but there are still several missing pieces in the puzzle. Evelyn hires Jake to fill in the blanks- many of which can seemingly be explained by Evelyn’s father/Mulwray’s former business partner Noah Cross (John Huston). Not only does Cross seem unwilling to cooperate, he also tries to divert Jake’s attention away from him by hiring him to find Mulwray’s mistress.

The various twists and turns the plot undergoes all end up pointing to one consistent theme; corruption. Political corruption from the officials who are behind the water scam, police corruption as it relates to Jake’s former associates and superiors in Chinatown and moral corruption- even Evelyn admits to having cheated on her husband as well and even begins sleeping with Jake while he is still working for her. After their first sexual encounter, Evelyn pushes Jake into confiding about the skeleton in his closet relation to Chinatown, though all he is willing to divulge is that the place is “bad luck” and that he quit the police force after a woman he was trying to protect (and presumably cared for) was killed. Again harkening back to the theme of corruption.

A lot of big twists and turns all lead to the one big twist and turn; Mulwray’s “mistress” is also Evelyn’s sister… and daughter. I understand that there needed to be some unspeakable darkness in Evelyn’s life, as well as an act that could cement Noah Cross as something more horrible than just a cartoonish corrupt man of power role. Yes this revelation achieves its aim of extreme shock value but it also feels like it’s a little much. More to the point, the scene where Jake beats this startling revelation out of Evelyn is so absurd it is comedic. He slaps her repeatedly until she blurts out the truth to a point that is reminiscent of a Three Stooges film.

Evelyn attempts to take her sister/daughter and escape her incestuous father’s grasp at the end of the film, culminating in a confrontation involving almost all the principle characters on the streets of Chinatown. Jake’s tragic history repeats itself when the police, now revealed to be under the thumb of Noah Cross, shoot Evelyn to death and turn over his daughter/granddaughter to him. Jake is reminded that it is Chinatown and there is nothing he can do. Both implying that nothing can or will ever be done about the corruption and also that Chinatown will continue to represent demons for Jake. This ending is even less satisfactory due to the fact that we now know it is very possible that Noah Cross could have been behind the initial dark incident from Jake’s past.

“Chinatown” kinda writes a check its butt can’t cash by requiring far too much emotion from Faye Dunaway than she is capable of providing, and there are just too many people involved in the shady goings on, which makes it hard to care about the abundance of characters that get trotted across the screen. It does however do a good job of trying everything together in the end, and at least nobody can accuse it of having an oversimplified plot. Ultimately though, what makes “Chinatown” work is the marriage of contemporary violence and sex with perfectly executed modern noir.

I’ve always said there is something special about watching an artist get to be a fan. Bruce Springsteen’s “Seeger Sessions” Tour, the look on Brian Wilson’s face when he performs a Phil Spector song and Roman Polanski getting to show off his love for film history are my Exhibit A, B and C for this case. And I would much rather Polanski commit this interest to film than some of the other things he’s into. I don’t need to be watchin’ no kiddie porn…

#20. One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest (1975)

I’ve always joked that if you want to make an Oscar movie, all you have to do is make sure it is about mental illness or some sort of disability. While there is a good chance Milos Forman’s “One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest” may have been the first major film to test this theory, I don’t believe it deserves the scorn that should come with pioneering this phenomenon. While the film does appear to have an awards-darling agenda (profound personal awakening, tragic deaths abound, humanization of a generally discarded segment of society and a primary antagonist so unspeakably evil that they are literally willing to abuse mentally ill people being the most prominent) I don’t think it necessarily falls into my gross oversimplification the way later movies like “A Beautiful Mind” and “Rain Man” do.

The opening shots that accompany the credits sort of give the feeling of being institutionalized, as they depict vast expanses of Oregonian landscape, but are still peppered with plenty of Oregon’s legendary dreary weather. Also, the resolution of these shots is significantly grainier and blurry than the rest of the film; as if perhaps they are seen from incarcerated eyes. At first, it is unclear as to who the protagonist is going to be, since we first see Randle McMurphy (Jack Nicholson) in a very non-flattering light; an obnoxious, crude statutory rapist. McMurphy is feigning mental illness in an effort to serve a prison sentence in the much more preferable confines of an insane asylum.

My previous experience with the films of Milos Forman is basically limited to “Amadeus” and “Man on the Moon.” Two of my favorite films, but two that center on Mozart and Andy Kaufman respectively- with the main characters’ psychological eccentricities being the main thread that is sewn into the storyline. However, in “One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest” the perspective is much more complex. In the aforementioned two films, the general premise is that the central character is a misunderstood genius and everyone around him is an asshole; whereas in “Cuckoo’s Nest” the main character is, frankly, an asshole but assumes that everyone around him is the asshole. And at first glance, this isn’t a completely baseless theory.

The menagerie of human dregs surrounding McMurphy are, at first glance, the kind of people who you would assume probably belong in a home. Martini (Danny DeVito), a dwarfish sort of developmentally disabled man, Billy (Brad Doriff) a stuttering young outcast who still deathly fears his mother, Taber (Christopher Lloyd) an overgrown bully, Harding, a pretentious and slightly effeminate intellectual who blames his condition on his wife’s infidelity, Cheswick, a man-child who is very easily manipulated and enthralled by anyone who seems to remotely have their act together and Chief, an enormous mute Native American.

What is brilliant about the development of McMurphy’s character is that we are not unrealistically won over by a suddenly acquired sense of goodness or charm; instead it is McMurphy’s sense of humor that wins us over, particularly when directed at the ward’s manipulative head nurse, Nurse Ratched (Louise Fletcher). Her passive-aggressiveness and condescending nature are beyond maddening, particularly when it is revealed that most of the functional men in the ward are voluntarily committed. By entrusting their well being to Nurse Ratched, her abuse of power is especially heinous. McMurphy is outraged at her regimenting of the men’s lives, rationing their personal belongings and relentless badgering to express feelings they may not necessarily have.

The conflict between McMurphy and Nurse Ratched is one of the most creative and unique I’ve ever seen. I especially love the complete reversal of convention; the “good guy” is the violent criminal and the “bad guy” is the supposed Angel of Mercy. Louise Fletcher’s stone-faced demeanor through the entire film is so unique and almost frightening as she is not outwardly hostile, which is so frustrating to the viewer as well as the characters.

It is ultimately this heavy reliance on emotion that makes “Cuckoo’s Nest” a great film rather than a good film. The performances aren’t exceptionally great, Doriff is kind of unbelievably exaggerated in his stammering (though he does have one incredibly powerful scene right before his suicide where he stands up to Nurse Ratched and noticeably loses his stutter as if his act of rebellion represents a curing of his condition) most of the patients don’t have a significant amount of screen time to develop their characters and Jack Nicholson and Christopher Lloyd both play characters very similar to the ones we are used to from them.

“What do you think you are, for Christ's sake, crazy or something? Well, you're not! You're not! You're no crazier than the average asshole out walking around on the streets and that's it!” (R.P. McMurphy “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest”)

The first indication that Ratched is losing control of the patients occurs when McMurphy suggests the patients be allowed to watch the World Series, which she viciously opposes as it interferes with the regiment she has set in place. After placing the matter up for a vote and losing Ratched changes the rules of the deal in order to ensure that there will be no baseball watched by the patients. Rather than taking the bait and engaging her further or even more preferrable to Ratched, accepting it, McMurphy begins to simulate the entire game in a booming announcer voice. Though he is sitting in front of a blank screen and the results are completely fictional, the other patients watch and listen as excitedly as if they were in the stands; an effect that is enhanced even further when the reflection of the screen shows the patients sitting bunched together bleacher-style and cheering.

One of the most intentionally symbolic but unintentionally ludicrous scenes in the film comes when McMurphy is able to hijack a school bus used to transport patients and sneak several of the inmates out of the hospital and on an impromptu fishing trip on the Oregon coast. It is one of the only scenes that takes place outside the hospital and is clearly meant to be representative of freedom and liberation. There is nothing less confining than the concept of the open seas, there is wind conspicuously blowing through the men’s hair and the most important part is that they all enjoy themselves and are fully conscious of the fact that they are rebelling against Nurse Ratched. While McMurphy’s defense of the other inmates has previously been paralleled a self-serving agenda, this scene represents the first time he sees them as equals and “normal” people. It is unfortunate that the sheer absurdity of the notion that McMurphy could have orchestrated escape/boat rental slightly tarnishes a very moving and significant scene.

Nurse Ratched tricks the police and the hospital chief into letting McMurphy stay in her care under the guise of concern for his rehabilitation, though she clearly intends to continue controlling him to the point of submission. However, in many ways she has already lost her battle since, from this point, the patients begin to lose respect for her and focus their attention on McMurphy. They disobey her more brazenly, object more to her rules, laugh at McMurphy’s jibes and generally begin to think for themselves. Even Chief finally admits to McMurphy that he has been faking his condition also and is perfectly cognitive. This admission forces McMurphy to the realization that an escape to Canada is immediately necessary.

As a final gesture of friendship to the other inmates, McMurphy arranges a farewell party complete with booze and women. It is the ultimate act of rebellion against Nurse Ratched, but also the ultimate act of self-sacrifice for McMurphy, as it sets into motion events that ultimate doom his character. Rather than take his free chance to escape he uses the time to show the other patients the meaning of freedom, including seeing to it Billy loses his virginity, which McMurphy firmly believes he should be out doing instead of being institutionalized. When everyone drunkenly passes out when the nursing staff arrives in the morning it is obvious that it is too late for McMurphy to escape.

If I had to pick one scene where symbolism is used to the greatest effect, it is Nurse Ratched’s arrival the morning after the party. Her beloved nurse’s cap has been knocked on the floor and dirtied sometime in the evening; she attempts to muster up dignity and put it back on but it is noticeably sullied. Her subsequent shaming of Billy to the point of suicide makes the patients see her in the same tainted, impure way- thus the defiled nurse’s cap comes to be representative of the nurse herself. Driven to inconsolable madness by Billy’s death McMurphy attacks Nurse Ratched so violently that she is almost killed and he is lobotomized.

Not willing to let McMurphy’s fate be in vain, Chief steps up as the unlikely hero, first by mercy-killing McMurphy, knowing he would not have wanted to go on that way and second by lifting a solid marble wash basin (which McMurphy unsuccessfully attempts to do himself early in the film) and throwing it through the window so he can escape. This ending, and honestly the film as a whole, are a real testament to the romanticism of film. Though McMurphy is dead, Chief has escaped into a world that has no prospects for him, Ratched keeps her job, Billy has died and most of the patients remain in the hospital, the ending somehow uplifting and inspiring, at least for a minute…

#21. The Grapes of Wrath (1940)

I’ve never been a firm believer in the adage “the book is always better than the movie.” Maybe I just come from a different generation as the people who say that; after all my generation is that of Spark Notes, the internet and the DVD. Things that basically encourage streamlining work and finding shortcuts any way we can. Or maybe it is because I grew up reading “The Lord of the Rings” and only realized after the movies came out how dreadfully boring those books really are.

No, you won’t catch me lecturing someone to “read the book” when discussing film adaptations, but anyone who sees “The Grapes of Wrath” should indeed read the book too. Not because it is “better” or “worse” per-se, but because they are two wildly different pieces of work. Going into this project I was incredibly nervous about how much I may or may not like a film based on what is essentially my favorite book; thankfully though, John Ford did right by it; probably the only way you can do right by it- by making it different enough from the source material that it is allowed to be a stand-alone piece instead of something that can be compared side-by-side.

Of course the basic premise is still the same; a family of Depression-Era Oklahoman refugees flee the Dust Bowl for California, lured by promises of good paying work for everyone and all the grapes you can eat. The chief protagonist in an extensive crew of protagonists is Tom Joad (Henry Fonda), a recently paroled son of farm people making his way back home. Along the way he encounters Jim Casey (John Carradine), the pastor who once baptized Tom but is now seemingly crazy or overcome by alcoholism, or both.

The dialogue in the scene where they meet is a good indication as to how abbreviated the film will be, as the conversation is hurried, unnatural and way more summational than would typically make sense. Literally within two lines of the apparent strangers seeing each other the preacher blurts out that he recognizes Tom and that he had baptized him. Within four lines he is lamenting that he has lost his desire to minister. The back and forth between the men is awkward largely because they are given lines that are laced with hillbilly inflection but both actors deliver them with far too refined of accents, though I don’t think I should fault people for being classically trained actors. Without so much as an invite, Casey joins Tom in his voyage home.

A prevailing theme of pessimism rears its head for the first time when the two men reach the Joad homestead which looks to be abandoned. In a shockingly cavalier way Tom surmises that his family is dead; though given the fact that he was serving jail time for essentially killing a man in self-defense, his jadedness is easily excusable. Fortunately, it turns out the Joads haven’t died, rather been evicted, as they learn from a fellow sharecropper Muley. Muley’s narrative effectively condenses events far better than the aforementioned conversation with Tom and Casey; his tale is told with vivid flashbacks of being removed from their land and tractors razing the land. Though the server who delivers the news appears to be human, albeit sterile as he tries to explain the eviction to Muley, the true antagonists are the merciless tractors and bulldozers indiscriminately looming over his former property; the more disturbing when you take into account the fact that Muley reveals that several of his family members are buried on that same land.

The next scene introduces us to the rest of the Joad clan, and in various ways all are shown to be generally likeable characters. Tom’s grandparents are the typical crazy old couple who has been together too long and good-naturedly give each other shit, Uncle John seems to be the optimistic leader and Tom’s parents are nothing but loving and caring. As Tom is reintroduced to his extended family, a sort of running gag ensues with every family member assuming Tom has escaped from prison. The family is in the process of loading up a truck and heading to California for fruit picking jobs with little more than vague assurances from mass-spread flyers advertising work. It is so pathetic it is actually almost comical to see the size of the truck the Joad family expects to pile nearly a dozen people into.

On the eve of their departure, Tom’s mother sifts through her meager possessions to determine what to keep and what to leave behind. The tragedy of this scene is not just the lack of material possessions but also the lack of anything giving her any real identity. A news clipping about Tom, a postcard from New York, a knickknack from an expo in St. Louis she may or may not have gone to. This scene is one of the saddest in any film I have ever seen and is indicative of the plight of the entire Joad family and everyone like them.

Once the Joads pile into the truck and head for California, the movie begins to play out like a really unfortunate game of “The Oregon Trail;” complete with wheels breaking, rations running low and family members dying. Through it all, the Joad family remains optimistic almost to an annoyance. Though it is implied heavily, it is never really said that the reason for this is because their hope is basically all they have. It is clichéd and contrived, but it works for no other reason than because of the fact that the film was made so soon after the Great Depression.

One of the most unnerving aspects of “The Grapes of Wrath” is the shabby treatment the Joad family is subjected to as their trip progresses. Despite the fact that they are inching closer to their goal, the people they encounter are progressively ruder and harsher than the ones before; an obvious foreshadowing as to the unforgiving and ultimately fruitlessness (no pun intended) of their circumstances. In fact, their arrival at the first of many migrant worker camps sees the Joads having to sacrifice even further to feed several of the child inhabitants, despite not even having enough food for themselves- yet another foreshadowing of what kind of despair lies ahead.

“What is these 'Reds' anyway? Every time ya turn around, somebody callin' somebody else a Red. What is these 'Reds' anyway?” (Tom Joad, “The Grapes of Wrath”)

When the prospect of work finally does surface even more foreshadowing comes into play, though this time it is more rooted in morality than mortality. A disgruntled worker who has been in California for significantly longer than the Joads begins to explain worker’s rights to the other residents and even implies that a strike could lead to better wages and working conditions. He is labeled an “agitator” and I think we all know where this is going from here.

A sort of communistic overtone begins to take shape, culminating in the arrival at a government-run socialized work camp, which they first spot as “a light up ahead.” The differences between this camp and the others they encounter are very pronounced. Their sign is professionally made rather than crudely written, the units are painted white and resemble cottages as opposed to shantytowns and they are provided with clean accommodations and running water. The film’s final and primary conflict becomes a showdown between the camp residents, who have all been labeled as “reds” and police infiltrators looking to quash any organization of the laborers. In a scuffle that results in Casey being murdered, Tom again commits a justified murder which results in him realizing he has to leave his family behind. His iconic speech/declaration to his mother is another very synthetic piece of dialogue but it does serve to unmistakably drive home the socialistic agenda of the film; most notably Tom’s reference to everyone representing pieces of “the one big soul that belongs to everybody.” Tom decides to embark on a vague crusade of social justice, all but ensuring his travels will lead him from one doomed situation to the next.

The film ends very open-endedly with the remaining Joads leaving the idyllic government camp behind chasing another prospect of work; though this time it is suggested they will actually get it- though most significantly, the ending appears to be more optimistic simply because it doesn’t even begin to compare to the dark ending of the book. Also, the implication exists that what we have seen the Joad family go through is so terrible that the only reason they wouldn’t show us that happens is because their fates actually turn around. That or unspeakable atrocities await them…

“The Grapes of Wrath” is not a perfect movie, and I can nitpick it to death as far as the dialect and advancement of storyline, but ultimately the film has a very specific point and agenda it tries to make and it pulls it off remarkably and more to the point it seems to be a very ballsy movie to have made at any point in history, let alone the time it was made.