Here to Stay.

The greatest film ever made turns 70 today.
Join me in the celebration by clicking on the picture to read a piece I wrote about it.

There's No Place Like Oz.

Seventy years ago "The Wizard of Oz" was released theatrically in the United States. It's quite probable that people back then had no idea how iconic this film would become.
On the surface it was yet another glossy studio product featuring rising movie stars, bold special effects and that marvelous, rarely used, thing called Technicolor.
Contrary to what one might guess, the movie wasn't a box-office success upon release (it grossed over $16 million-$3 million of which were domestic- which are nothing compared to "Gone With the Wind"'s $400 million worldwide gross-unadjusted for inflation), in fact it took MGM a decade to make profit out of the film.
But can the influence of Oz be measured strictly in economic terms? I think not.
The film has become so beloved that people give for granted that it was always a "classic".
This excerpt from TIME Magazine shows us otherwise:

"Metro put $3,000,000 into The Wizard of Oz, left out only the kitchen stove. Its tornado rivals Sam Goldwyn's The Hurricane. Its final sequence is as sentimental as Little Women. Its Singer Midgets, most publicized of all the picture's cast, go through their paces with the bored, sophisticated air of slightly evil children." TIME Magazine August 21, 1939

If that's not a bad review-at least not ecstatic-then I don't know what is.
A lot has been said about this movie, books, essays and reviews-oh my!- have been written that cover every little aspect of production up until the urban legends and curses surrounding this mythical movie.
The point in my tribute therefore won't be to cover things that have been said before or to reisntate the obvious, but actually to share the effect "Oz" has had on me as a film viewer.
The film has the sort of magic that makes people gasp and blink, even in the times of CGI, and its special quality for re-examination and re-interpretation are what has kept it alive for seventy years.
Only a decade after their scathing review TIME were already taking it back:
"The Wizard of Oz (M-G-M), dusted off and reissued, proves that true wizardry, whether in books or on the screen, is ageless." TIME Magazine May 9, 1949

Not many films become classics so fast right? Because even if the Wizard had no real magical powers to aid Dorothy and her friends, the movie has held a mysterious enchantment over all of us who have seen it and love it.
I can't recall the first time I saw it, but I remember I was dumbstruck by the colors; the vibrant, almost surreal tones that explode upon the land of Oz.
Even back then, I must've been eight or less, I knew that this wasn't the kind of movies I could pay to go see in the theater.
The colors, while real-as opposed to Black & White-weren't natural, there was something fascinating about them.
Years later my father asked me to watch the movie with him. I remember feeling bored and restless at the black and white sequences-I had no idea what sepia was so B&W got the job done-I asked and asked why was the movie like that.
He told me to wait and see.
The one thing I had clear about it is that I'd seen it in color, could it have been that I dreamed that? So as my head turned and turned about my memories of "Oz" then all of a sudden Dorothy opened the door upon landing on Oz...it was the first time I saw movie magic.
After that I was hooked.
I watch "Oz" at least once a year now, more if I feel like I need it. I say need it because like in the title song, the movie has become a safe haven of sorts for me, I know that watching Judy Garland sing, Ray Bolger, Bert Lahr and Jack Haley accompany her and Billie Burke casting her protection over them there is nothing on the planet that can go wrong or hurt me-not even the Wicked Witch of the West!.
A few years ago TBS was airing the movie over Thanksgiving weekend, I made it a habit to watch it the four consecutive times it was broadcast and never seemed to get enough of it.
It's interesting to note that this might have been the first movie that defined the television era since it was through TV that many not only came to know it, but also to love it.
Thanks to television the film was granted a second chance, in a way creating cult for movies. It's kinda weird to imagine this as a cult film huh?
Through the years though the influences of "Oz" have become essential in pop culture and also in my life.
I'm sure not a single day goes by when I don't mention this movie. To not know "The Wizard of Oz" is to ignore one of the sources of constant cinematic pleasure and merriment.
References to it pop in places as unsurprising as "Gilmore Girls"-which made a habit of squeezing the last drop of pop culture in everything-to Tarkovsky's "Stalker"(which to this day I believe is a remake of sorts of the 1939 masterpiece).
Stoners owe great trips to this film and so does Pink Floyd, Baz Luhrmann's misunderstood epic "Australia" was also greatly inspired by this film and several "Sex and the City" episodes brim with Carrie Bradshaw-esque updates on the "Oz" quotes.
I could go on and on talking about why "The Wizard of Oz" is so important in my life (and believe me it doesn't even involve all the GLBT points) but for now I'd rather go watch it for the umpteenth time...
May "Oz" live for a million more years and light up people's imaginations the way it did with mine.

Snuck Up On and Stole [His Life].

Henry King's 1939 film "Jesse James" may not be very mentioned in the pantheon of great Westerns, might be the fact that other more notorious films were made that year which have "stolen its thunder" so to speak, or maybe because it's not groundbreaking overall. But in all its right it features one of the greatest scenes in the genre. One so full of tension, impending doom and so much visual richness that it really has to be seen to be believed.

Jesse James (Tyrone Power) has returned home after more than five years and has decided to move to California with his wife (Nancy Kelly) and son (Johnny Russell).
As he's packing, he receives a visit from his old friend Robert Ford (John Carradine) and his brother Charles (Charles Tannen). They come to inform him that his brother Frank James (Henry Fonda) is putting together the gang for one last heist.
Anyone who knows their history (or saw the movie with Casey Affleck) knows where this is heading...

As Jesse begins to ponder if he should go back for one last job, the mood becomes somber and we see his wife sobbing and staring out the window.

Just as Jesse's eyes sparkle with the idea of one last job, we listen to his son yell from outside, calling him. Jesse stand sup and approaches the door.

Charley reminds him that he's wearing his pistols and can't come out like that. For a moment we wish he wouldn't get rid of them (which forces us to question why is it that we root for Jesse James if we're reminded all the time that he's a criminal).
He obviously takes them off and goes outside to help his little boy.

He asks the bigger kids to treat the five year old with more care.

"We didn't hurt him Mr Howard" says one of them (they all ignore they're in the presence of the legendary James) "we just killed him. That's part of the game"

"He's like Jesse James" he adds..."he's gotta die!"

Little Jesse plays along and dies.

Upon, literally, watching his own death Jesse reflects.

In the space of about three frames he comes to terms with his entire life of wrongdoings (in the name of justice? Revenge? It makes no difference now).
Power was never the most expressive of actors, but in this scene he musters so much emotion and "life" that he convinces you he was better than he ever would be again.
Is it his own doing or the inevitability thrown upon his character?
The children leave and he picks up his son.
He enters the house, gunless.
Robert Ford awaits.

Bela, Boris. Boris, Bela.

While Watching "Intermezzo"...

Many things caught my attention, including the fact that it's a remake made only three years after the original one was made in Sweden.
"Intermezzo" has Lesliw Howard play Holger Brandt a world famous violinist who falls in love with his daughter's (Ann Todd) piano teacher Anita Hoffman (Ingrid Bergman)
Apparently Hollywood loved the remakes even back then. Fortunately though that isn't what makes the film memorable, among other things it has...


A superb, almost vanguardist, use of editing.
During one key scene the ice floating on the river announcing the end of winter suddenly turns into a sky filled with clouds (spring).
The interplay of sounds, dialogues and the striking beauty of the images would've made any Russian film theorist feel proud of Hollywood.

It features the American debut of the incredible Ingrid Bergman, who was only 24 back then and was reprising her role from the Swedish version of the film.
For being her first English speaking role she is fantastic (watch how she created her classy accent in this film) and throughout the whole movie she looks stunning.

The costumes by Irene and Travis Banton are perhaps some of the best ever created for Ms. Bergman. The column dress she wears above is stunning and made her look incredibly sexy while remaining elegant and appropriate for a concert pianist.
The belts become a leitmotif in her wardrobe (constricting guilt perhaps?) that flatter her figure and make her even more goddess-y.

She is also aided by cinematographer Gregg Toland who according to Hollywood lore was reprimanded by producer David O. Selznick who asked him why did Bergman appear so "ghastly" in his version, when she looked so beautiful in the Swedish one.
Toland replied how in Sweden she wasn't forced to wear so much makeup and Selznick obviously made them redo all her scenes with a more natural look.
The result is what became Bergman's signature look: a sort of divine aura made enigmatic by the fact that her divinity looks attainable.
Leslie Howard's character tells Bergman "you don't look real in this light".
It's as if the line was made to compliment Toland's breathtaking work.

Bergman and Howard learned how to play their instruments for the film, but of course them being geniuses in the screenplay their thespian abilities limited them to learn basic techniques to make them appear convincing onscreen.
Bergman is all fire and passion (even when the velocity camera tricks become too obvious some times).

Howard, who wasn't as good an actor as he thought, had a little more work done. His difficult violin scenes involved two professional players holding and playing the instrument for him. This is why they're made in closeups.

"Intermezzo" is a rather short feature length film, even for the era. It's only about seventy minutes long and one would wonder how they make the emotional impact work in such limited time.
The answer lies in its wonderful use of symbolism, metaphors and altogether visual economy.
The image above conveys the moment when the leads realize they have fallen in love and without a single obvious line of dialogue we come to understand it, as we do with many other situations in the film.

Upon watching her touch her husband's instrument (read that as you wish) Holger's wife (Edna Best) understand Anita's role in his life.

A romantic scene gives way to a wonderfully realized, melancholic goodbye. Notice how we only see their faces reflected in the antique shop, as if their love was also some sort of luxury only to be contemplated through a glass.

Holger's daughter listens to her father play on the radio. He has left their house and his presence (as noted by the picture) has left a great emptiness in his little girl.
The juxtaposition of the radio and the picture (both representations of parenthood gone missing) are only the more heartbreaking after seeing how the characters move around them.
Todd and Best are fantastic in these scenes.

And if there is something of particular notice about "Intermezzo" is how perhaps it's not only the weepy, melodramatic story many seem to think of, but is in fact an ode to masculinity.
When the film begins and we meet Holger's son Eric (Douglas Scott) his father first tells him that he can no longer kiss him (like he did his wife and daughter) and proceeds to shake his hand, establishing a distance between them that reaffirms their roles as males in society, but completely forgets their emotional (blood?) bonds.
Later his daughter calls her brother "stupid" to which Anita replies "he's a boy" as if to negate the preceding statement. Can men do no wrong in this society?
Eric disappears throughout most of the film as it's obvious that Holger's devotion is towards women. When he leaves his house and goes to France he befriends a little girl (Marie Flynn) who reminds him of his own daughter.

It is only upon his return to Sweden, and after tragedy strikes, that Holger finally reaches out to his son confessing "it is I who needs you now".
Can it be that all along Eric has been a representation of Holger himself? Was his rejection of his son a symbol of how he chose to deal with his midlife crisis without any responsibilites towards his role as a "man"?
By acknowledging that he needs his son, perhpas he's saying that he needs to become what others expected him to be (his son still is "fresh" and has made no wrong turns or big mistake sin his life, one can assume).
This notion of Eric's importance to the plot and to Holger's catharsis is suggested during one of his short scenes where he asks his father if he can go watch a movie.
He had asked his mother to interced for him offscreen and when he reminds her she tells him she'd forgotten all about it.
It's as if the movie is denying itself its actual central theme as well and trying to pass off as just another romantic drama.

Pink Champagne and Skyscrapers.

"It's the nearest thing to heaven we have in New York"
- Terry McKay (Irene Dunne) referring to the Empire State

What's the measure of a great movie? Perhaps the fact that after a million viewings it still has a huge effect on the viewer.
If so, then Leo McCarey's "Love Affair" can be counted among the greats. The story is quite known; French playboy Michel (Charles Boyer) meets American singer Terry (Dunne) on a cruise ship. They are both in relationships but end up falling in love.
Before docking in New York City they agree to tie up their affairs and meet six months later atop the Empire State.
They never do.
The film was later remade by McCarey in 1957 starring Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr, by Warren Beatty in 1994 (in what happened to be Katharine Hepburn's last film role) and served as inspiration for 1993's "Sleepless in Seattle". Which is why even if you haven't seen the original one, there's at least some measure in which the story will seem very familiar.
And it's this very element that makes the 1939 version the more vulnerable in terms of believability.
It's easy to see how the film moves contrivedly, working towards a melodramatic crescendo, almost as if the first hour or so had been merely a McGuffin of sorts.
It's also quite clear how McCarey threw in every element that would guarantee the film would move the audience in some way or another (cute little singing orphans, a wise foreign widow living in a French paradise, catchy songs...).
Watching the film it's impossible not to notice these things, especially if you know your film history and genres well.
What isn't as obvious is that regardless of these things, the film's eventual melodramatic finale works; more than that, it will put a lump in your throat you never saw coming.
Much is owed to the charming lead actors. Boyer, who more often than not came off as smarmy and odd (the "Gaslight" effect maybe?) is absolutely enchanting here, his scenes with his grandmother (played by Maria Ouspenskaya who with one scene got herself an Academy Award nomination) are magical and tender.
Dunne, practically steals the show with her poised dignity and seducing pride. As an audience member you'll wonder why her character makes some of the choices she does, but Dunne makes her best effort to make even the craziest decisions seem like the best.
But 70 years after it was made perhaps what makes this film, and its subsequent incarnations classic, is how it subverts stereotypical genre expectations.
"Love Affair" is considered by many to be one of the ultimate chick flicks ever made and it might be so, but as history has proved, "chick flick" is almost a derogative term most of the time.
Upon hearing those words we're expected to see women (both on and off the screen) crying for no reason, going after ridiculous promises of love, suffering out of some sort of pleasure and overall being puppets of a chauvinistic play where they don't make any choices.
A strong headed feminist would say that pictures like this only serve to subjugate the role of woman in society, but if they bothered to look closer they would be in awe of how in fact it's the importance of women that drives the entire film.
Not just in terms of plot twists and turns (although that might be a case as well) but as a more subtle underscore, like some sort of Freudian ghost.
Here we come to realize that Michel's life for example has become absolutely dependant on the place of the women in his life.
He comes to his grandmother after having his heart broken and upon not finding her there goes straight to her chapel dedicated to the Virgin Mary.
It's also the women who give the man a purpose in life. His love for Terry forces him to leave his old ways and look for a real profession to make him worthy of her.
They work like the muses in Greek mythology pushing the hero forward in his journey. It might be that he's the one taking advantage out of them, but once the curtain falls who do we remember the most?

- This begins a series of posts dedicated to celebrating 1939.
I'd decided to start it at the beginning of the year, but then managed to procrastinate and was inspired by Oscar to do so again.