Happy Birthday Groucho Marx

 

                                                                 The Marx Brothers

The first thing which disappears when men are turning a country in to a totalitarian state is comedy and comics. Because we are laughed at, I don’t think people really understand how essential we are to their sanity. Groucho Marx

In this quote, Julius Marx - aka Groucho – suggests that comedy is a serious business, both for its potential to dilute the power of influential people, and its ability to wrench us from our draconian lives in to a realm of hysterical freedom. And no one was better at cutting folks down a peg or two and getting away with it so delightfully as the Marx Brothers.

As Joe Adamson points out in his book on the Marx Brothers films*, writing about comedy is a dubious and potentially dangerous project, carrying with it the threat of destroying what it purports to celebrate. He indeed criticises the films vociferously, albeit with a constant thread of respect for the stars themselves. Personally, I believe The Marx Brothers were the funniest and most talented comedic group to exist on this planet and, although these movies were from a very long time ago, it is truly timeless, very silly and very clever entertainment. They are described chronologically as below however, I have highlighted potential good ones to start with for first timers. Enjoy.

 

The Cocoanuts (1929)

A creaky start but bear with because it eases in to classic Marx Brothers soon enough. Highlights are Harpo generally - little moments like him inexplicably ‘rowing’ his way out of a scene, motormouth Groucho, and Chico’s “Why a duck?” Also, the Brothers in fancy dress and Harpo’s grimaces of disdain at a bunch of boring speeches. The statuesque Margaret Dumont is tormented by the boys from this first movie and intermittently onwards, providing just the right amount of pomposity and outrage to be the perfect foil in every Marx Brothers outing she played in.

Animal Crackers (1930)

As good as they ever did but even better. Highlights are Harpo shooting at clocks, birds and high-class ladies’ hats in his underwear, Groucho’s beautiful dancing and reluctant wooing of rich women and party attending, as well as Chico’s piani-playing disrupted by Harpo and derided by Groucho, on top of jokes and idiocy so bad as to cause intense agonies in Groucho. Margaret Dumont highlight is wrestling with Harpo before settling down to a ridiculously played game of bridge.

Monkey Business (1931)

*A good place to start!*  - My personal favourite. Monkey Business stands out as pure, unadulterated Marx Brothers, barely interrupted by musical interludes or side stories and featuring the four as themselves rather than characters. The pace and energy whipcracks from the start and even the love story is kept concise with Zeppo as hero. The film opens with a perfect scenario for fast-paced troublemaking – one on board a fancy cruise liner with the brothers as stowaways. They cause just as much trouble on land but save the day after a ferocious roll in a haybarn. The first of two to feature Thelma Todd as a slinky blonde who excites the amorous attentions of Groucho.

 

Horse Feathers (1932)

This one takes quite a time to get going, but from Harpo and Chico’s disastrous attempt at kidnapping to a haphazard football game, it ends up a very Marx Brothers riot. In fact, it’s as if the film begins as a fairly routine playing out of classic vaudeville but eventually remembers it’s a film and erupts out of its confines. As such, the magic of editing displays more fulsomely the joys of Harpo and Chico sawing themselves through floors and the spectacle of a garbage chariot galloping the brothers through a college football game to touch-down.

Duck Soup (1933)

*A good place to start!*  Not so well received at the time - causing the Brothers to jump ship to MGM and change tack - but since reclaimed by intellectual types as arguably their greatest, most complete achievement. Now considered a timeless political satire, it also features some of their best comedy that doesn’t have anything to do with world leaders who are tyrannical buffoons (although that is gleefully excellent), namely the famous mirror sequence and Groucho getting to know Harpo via his tattoos – totally weird and completely hilarious.

A Night at the Opera (1935)

*A good place to start!*  The point where the mischievous Marxes were somewhat tamed for the mainstream, something considered intolerable for purists. However, for others and those who love them unconditionally, this new era required little patience to ride out the straight bits in time for the irrepressible and unchanged nonsense that continued. Either way, A Night at the Opera still competes with Duck Soup as their highest rated and, as is often the case, the best scenes are side tracks and have very little to do with the plot at all. In another one famously known as the stateroom scene, an interlude of extreme inconvenience occurs when Groucho’s ridiculously small room on a cruise ship (yes, a cruise ship again) becomes ludicrous when lots of people enter it. According to Adamson, making Marx Brothers movies was never an easy process, and provided headaches for anyone trying to do a proper job, sensibly. There was also a lot of laughter involved too though, and this is revealed in the genuine joy on the faces of children surrounding Chico playing piano in his originally inimitable way. Another highlight is a scene when the renegades run rings around a detective by moving furniture from one room to another, and the sabotage of an opera performance in the finale is impressively acrobatic from Harpo and pleasingly anarchic generally.

A Day at the Races (1937)

Although considered a letdown after A Night at the Opera, there are some very special moments in this one. It might seem regrettable not to exploit the original idea more fully - sending up the current obsession at the time with Freudian treatments that unleashed a cavalcade of quacks – but we have to live with the fact that numerous rewrites ended up with Groucho as a horse doctor posing as a human doctor to not really link horse racing with a sanitarium. Nevertheless, the boys do get to torture the ever game Margaret Dumont in a medical examination scene alongside other hilarious highlights: Groucho tormenting his adversary – ‘Mr Whitm-o-o-ore!’ - via telecommunication; Chico and Harpo preventing Groucho’s corruption at the hands of a blonde floozy via such methods as dressing like Sherlock Holmes and wallpapering overzealously; Harpo’s pretence as a grand concert pianist that results in a spectacular destruction of the instrument, rebirth as a harp and his concluding catapult in to an artificial lake after over-spinning his stool. Again, the finale rewards any patience needed in a hard-working demonstration of concerted chaos when the heroes ensure that their best horse wins. Of special note is the Gabriel scene – depending on your personal viewpoint, it’s patronising and then offensive; or on the other hand, an impressive showcase of black American talent, including some of the most exhilarating and eye-popping lindy hop you could hope for on film, ending with a hilarious punchline that mocks the practice of blackface rather than endorses it…

Room Service (1938)

The worst one? Adamson points out that this is not really a Marx Brothers film at all in that it was conceived as a play without them and someone had the bright idea of shoehorning them in to it and putting it on film. There are some nice gags around how to escape from paying a hotel bill and some madness involving a turkey, but overall, it’s a tough watch for diehards only. Harpo rescues it as he often does, just by being his sweet self and injecting humorous chaos in to even the limpest of scenarios.

At the Circus (1939)

Imperfect but a far stronger return to form after Room Service, even if the romantic couple are appalling and in it too much, and there is a pointless repeat of the Gabriel scene from A Day at the Races that is offensive. Some unmissable sequences though, including Groucho’s song and dance tribute to Lydia the Tattooed Lady, and the interrogation of a Little Person who is actually a chain-smoking child. The finale also has its merits – Harpo on an ostrich; Groucho holding off Margaret Dumont’s posh guests while a circus is set up in her garden and the classy composer she hired is sent floating in to the sea. It then slips in to not wholly unfunny farce when a ‘gorilla’ runs rampage and Dumont ends up on the end of a trapeze chain gang.

Go West (1940)

Groucho charges this one on to make a ride as bumpy as the stagecoach he takes a hitch on as watchable as possible, helping it to moments that make it worth the effort, most of all the spectacular train scene at the finale. His spoof of the standard sexy saloon/nightclub singer routine is good, with Groucho moving tables to keep himself relevant to Lulubelle’s attentions and antagonising the sorrowful old booze hound cliché. The boring lovers seem positively hostile that their bids for stardom are burdened by Marxes, and the Native American scene reaches new heights of cringey stereotyping. However, in the same scene is a particularly beautiful solo from Harpo, who fashions his instrument from a loom no less. A talking point is the argument that the brothers were tamed to the point of loser-dom during the MGM years - a counterpoint is that, here for example, their very failure to achieve the machismo of standard western genre behaviour is confirmation of themselves as contrary outsiders of the mainstream, even while working within it – ‘gunslinging’ has never been feebler or sillier.

The Big Store (1941)

The last film for MGM is slickly produced if fundamentally flawed, although the Marxes are as watchable as ever when not smothered by the daft straight story it’s built on. The beginning kicks off well with Groucho and Harpo introduced as the sole two members of a shammy detective agency, busier cooking breakfasts in their desks than any actual business, and the finale kicks us back out with a crazed chase through the titular department store - including on roller skates, an anarchic and cartoonish extension of Chaplin’s antics in the same setting in Modern Times. It otherwise fails to exploit the potential of the situation, but as always there are side issues that are very funny, like Groucho’s hideously shedding fur coat and motor car with problems. ‘Tenement Symphony’ is a sickly song even if with the good intentions of paying tribute to the working-class background of an up-and-coming smoothy singer, as well as alluding to a subtext of the Brothers’ own roots, but Chico and Harpo’s piano duet is a delight. Indeed, the latter is a good example of something special about the Marxes – sheer individual talent and well-rehearsed routines combined with the familiarity of familial bonds – overall, there is always a sense of the common rancour between siblings reconciled by brotherly love, which is then de-sentimentalised by their expertise as entertainers, keen advocacy of irony and shared fondness for gleeful rebellion.

A Night in Casablanca (1946)

Probably the funniest thing about A Night in Casablanca is the exchange of letters between Groucho and Warner Brothers with regards to the film’s title. WBs were antsy about the use of the place name, accusing the MBs of infringing copyright (a Humphrey Bogart movie you might have heard of and that was made just 2 years previously). Nil desperandum though - Groucho’s ripostes wore them down and the king of nonsense set the straight guys straight. As for the film, it passes the time inoffensively just not uproariously. Very little stands out and for a Marx Brothers movie featuring Nazis, it seems like a missed opportunity to really stick it to ‘em. However, highlights are Harpo’s shoe shining technique and the brothers ‘helping’ the Nazis pack their suitcases. The slinky femme fatale – whose cigarette holder is long but not as long as Harpo’s – has a vaguely interesting character journey, and the romantic couple are headed up by B movie actor Charles Drake and are two of the least annoying in an MB movie. The finale is a mildly amusing but sputtering aeroplane scene, especially as compared to the raucous and inventive hilarity of the train scene in Go West which it half-heartedly apes.

Love Happy (1949)

Actually, this might be the worst one, and probably not even worthy of diehards. The magic of the Marxes is threadbare here, with Harpo featuring heavily as the film was indeed intended to revolve around him, but even so his usual brilliance is seriously diluted. It’s a missed opportunity to showcase his surrealistic mime poetry as Chaplin (the original tramp clown) had been able to create for himself in more sentimental fashion. In fact, the enforced sentimentalism that occurs here renders Harpo a bit weird and even creepy at times, robbed as he is of his trademark vagabond verve. Ironically, commercialism provides the stand out scene in the film - the product of a very early example of product placement, brought in because the producer was running out of cash, Harpo leaps from one neon advertising sign to another as he escapes his enemies in a sequence suggestive of what could have been with a more assertive premise, one that would have exploited the visual over hokey plots and complete lack of verbal wit. Groucho, for whom we would normally rely on for the latter is largely absent, other than a pointless detective role that voiceovers a story no one cares about. Even more pointless is a very early and brief appearance from Marilyn Monroe who slinks in and out of a scene as a sexpot. Again, even Marilyn diehards needn’t waste their time. Chico is dreadful and all in all it’s a tale of wasted talent – it also features Paul Valentine who was excellent in classic film noir Out of the Past, and Vera-Ellen, an exceptional dancer and one of the stars of Gene Kelly’s On the Town and blockbuster White Christmas. Sadly, a symptom of the Hollywood machine was that while it provided silver screen wonders, it also had a habit of wildly mismanaging them.

 

The Marx Brothers have never been in a picture as wonderful as they are. - Cecilia Ager

 

This might be true, however, even the lousiest Marx Brothers film makes me laugh and each one is a record of the unique talents and twitchy camaraderie of 3 - sometimes 4 – brothers with wit to spare and a delightful embrace of anarchy and antagonism that we are woefully short of in this day and age. And although they were increasingly tamed through the MGM years, they were always inimitable enough not to be entirely smothered and, in fact, even in some of the worst ones, their moments of anarchic brilliance arguably shine through even more when placed in and amongst the slog of some very bang average to offensive mediocrity.

In Hannah and Her Sisters, Woody Allen’s existential crisis is brought to an end when he walks in to a movie theatre and watches Duck Soup. Countering his desperate pursuit for a meaning to life, he realises that life is worth living just for these experiences more than anything else. In fact, one of my own many existential crises was soothed when I myself sat down and watched Duck Soup for a severalth time on my 40^th birthday. [And whaddya know, Groucho had the same birthday as me]. Ultimately, I strongly urge anyone to watch these crazy, talented wise/dumbasses poke fun at a stupid world and maybe it will bring meaning to you too. Give me Marx Brothers after-world, so I can laugh eternally.

 

 

*Groucho, Harpo, Chico and sometimes Zeppo by Joe Adamson 1973

 

 

 

Summertime (1955)

 

Summertime (1955)

Director: David Lean

Stars: Katherine Hepburn, Rossano Brazzi

Although some Kate Hepburn fans may be disappointed by this foray in to middle aged melodrama, it is arguably one of the star’s bravest moves, surrendering herself as she does to a character so removed from her usually strident and uncompromising image. Always an intelligent adventuress, Hepburn perhaps recognised at this point, she could lay down the weapons needed to fight her way through the old Hollywood system, and instead now negotiate her way through the nuances of later life in a modern world with different complexities. And not such an about turn either when considering her eminently successful performance in The African Queen as a comparable virgin on the path to a different kind of enlightenment.

Released the same year as All That Heaven Allows, Hepburn is more brittle jittery than Jane Wyman’s dignified melancholy in Douglas Sirk’s masterclass of middle-class American repression, but both women become involved in romances with captivating men that are compromised by prejudice. In this case, the prejudice involved is the heroine’s own, convinced as she is that her would-be paramour is a cynical digger of tourist romance. As it turns out, she is arguably the one guilty of exploitation, as ultimately the ‘exotic’ antique dealer is the one that really falls whereas her engagement is ultimately more of an adventure in self-discovery. A chance for middle aged romance nevertheless, and with it a break from housebound sexlessness and walled up emotion to discover passion and a new life that breaks with middle class expectations. And nobody depicts lovers wrenched apart by public transport better than David Lean.

Beetlejuice Beetlejuice (2024)

 

Beetlejuice Beetlejuice (2024)

Director: Tim Burton

Stars: Michael Keaton, Winona Ryder, Catherine O’Hara

Short Review, no spoilers

The exhumation of a beloved film is a tough task – especially when more than three decades have passed - but mostly Beetlejuice Beetlejuice is very successful and very funny. Surprisingly grislier than the first, it’s pleasingly true to the characters and dark wit of the original and overall a joy, if slightly overloaded at times.

Full Review (spoilers)

Frighteningly, this sequel arrives 36 years after the first and wonderfully original Beetlejuice, so the fact that it is so loyal in tone and the performances so rewarding is impressive. Ironically it means that the film is quite fresh, adopting as it does its characteristic flippancy towards the theme of death and general embrace of things ‘strange and unusual.’ Micheal Keaton gamely dons the black and white suit again and musters the mania to bring the grottily loveable Beetlejuice back in to our sanitised world, and he’s even more disgusting than before. Touchingly though, he still holds a candle for Lydia and, like it or not, she and stepmother Delia are unable to prevent his resurrection back in to their lives. In fact, for all their grimacing complaints, it always seems to be this grubby king of chaos that is needed when all else is lost.

Women are enjoyably pushed forward in to the action but without contrivance. Catherine O’Hara embraces the wonderfully awful Delia again like an old glove, and there is a nice chemistry between her and Winona Ryder’s Lydia, like a resigned acceptance between chalk and cheese relations. Ironically Lydia is having motherly struggles of her own with daughter Astrid – Jenny Ortega who, like Ryder before her, manages to play the grumpy teenager in sympathetic fashion. And there is a very clever twist in terms of Astrid’s love interest, a charming young lad with old-fashioned interests.

Another twist in meta terms is the representation of original character Charles Deetz – in a reversal of the recent AI controversy of conjuring up actors who are deceased, the character is made dead to cover for the living actor, Jeffrey Jones. Rather than recast, eliminate a well-loved character or, as above, design an AI doppelganger, the filmmakers honour the character’s memory in true Beetlejuice style by wittily including him as a blood-spurting, headless ghost.

Minor complaints are that some parts were a tad underwritten and thrown in, such as Monica Bellucci as Beetlejuice’s ex, who is excellent in terms of spectacle but ultimately not a great deal more than a prop. A bit more Beetlejuice would have been nice, while Willem Defoe is disappointing and Justin Theroux doesn’t fully hit the mark. Overall though, a very enjoyable ride and respectful sequel.

The Wedding Singer (1998)

 

The Wedding Singer (1998)

Director: Frank Coraci

Stars: Adam Sandler, Drew Barrymore

Short Review

The Wedding Singer was ahead of its time as possibly the first film to look back at the horror of the 80s, but does so in such a sweet and funny way as to bring a happy closure to those haunted by the big hair and tacky clothes of that era. All round it’s a perfect romantic comedy with universal appeal, and also the first pairing of Adam Sandler and Drew Barrymore in what would continue to be a winning combination.

Full Review

Although it followed Happy Gilmore and Billy Madison, The Wedding Singer was less an Adam Sandler vehicle and more a product of a very successful collaboration. With a script in place by old buddy Tim Herlihy, apparently Drew Barrymore pursued Sandler and the role vociferously and once secured, recommended Carrie Fisher as script doctor, something which clearly aided the authentic balancing of male/female characterisations. Moreover, it would be the first instance of what would prove to be a consistently well-played chemistry between Sandler and Barrymore, with both on the cusp of a new era of super stardom.

Essentially, it’s a sweet story and although loaded with 80s signifiers, this is arguably the icing on a [wedding…] cake that reflects as much about 1998 as anything. For one, it critiques greed and yuppiedom, with flashy materialism out and a grungier, more down to earth ethos in. Judging by online comments today, it is actually now seen as odd that one era should be so different to one only 13 years previously, however this sadly just confirms the stalling and stagnation of cultural activity and production that we have fallen in to in recent times. The fact is, post-war 20^th century decades were all very different from each other in a constant wave of change. Perhaps 1998 is even a sea change year itself, a peak of daft romance and care-free optimism before the darkness set in - The Wedding Singer, Furbys, the year Google was invented, Brad and Jennifer before Brad and Angelina …

As for the film itself though, it wears its kitsch trappings with ironic obviousness, with characters who dress like Madonna and Michael Jackson, but it is also a heartfelt romcom and a rare one with appeal for men and women. There are supporting oddities in Sandler-esque fashion, including cameos from Steve Buscemi, Alexis Arquette and Jon Lovitz that add to its idiosyncratic charm, and an excellently emotionally damaged Cure-inspired song performed by Sandler himself. Even Billy Idol shows up at the end looking virtually like he did in the 80s so saving money on prosthetics.

Perfect for Valentine’s, The Wedding Singer has wide ranging appeal and happily looks to be standing the test of time.

Anora (2024)

 

Anora (2024)

Director: Sean Baker

Stars: Mikey Madison, Mark Eydelshteyn, Karren Karagulian, Yura Borisov

Short Review, no spoilers

A modern romance Sean Baker style, meaning that Anora is funny, edgy and features compelling characters from the margins of society. Mikey Madison is excellent as the titular heroine, balancing the coquettishness of a successful sex worker with the toughness of a feisty lady up against it in a similar vein to the remarkable Bria Vinaite in Baker’s The Florida Project. A particularly well-rounded film from this exciting director, there’s a maturing of style without losing any of his signature wit and playfulness.

Full Review (spoilers)

Unusually for a director whose vision is so strikingly original, Baker essentially takes the premise of Pretty Woman for the setup of Anora – hooker meets super rich dude, rich dude is so impressed with her talents he hires her for a week, hooker and rich dude fall in love. Cinder-fuckin-rella is even referenced, however, this is no derivative tedious remake, but an arch update that takes the story and moves it away from the fantastically sentimental ending of the Julia Roberts blockbuster.

Irony is introduced from the start, with Gary Barlow anthemically vocalising the prospect of ‘the greatest day of our lives’ to the visuals of lap dancers writhing and pounding away slow motion on punter’s groins in a night club. We go on to see Anora at work, deftly attracting and satisfying customers, glamorously attired and hair shimmering in stark contrast to her more vulnerable-looking body wrapped up against the cold after her shift. Small touches like this are what make a Sean Baker film, showing bold characters in all their guises, including in their bleaker states without ever being condescending.

The turning point is when Anora’s Russian heritage comes in handy for a rich, young client, the daft and delighted Ivan who seems unable to believe his luck. After a coy request for a date outside of the club, Anora arrives at his pad and the combination of an easy attitude to casual sex and his boyish exuberance makes the whole thing seem perfectly innocent, endearing almost. Anora takes it in her stride but cheerily takes him up on his offer of a week of being his girlfriend, and so the love affair begins. Like the frequent fornication and raunchy performative grinding, drugs and partying are just a part of the carefree lifestyle that Anora joins Ivan and his friends in, although these are the kind of kids who can also take a private plane to Las Vegas on a whim. Very cleverly however, Ivan is depicted as a wide-eyed innocent in opposition to the stereotype of a sneering elitist, indulging himself in the sweet shop his pals work in and video games like a typical youth, so when streetwise Anora falls for him, it seems like an understandable possibility. She giggles at his rabbit humping style of love-making and rapid completion, and is even kindly superior when she tries to tutor him. Why not leave a tough life behind and accept the proposal of an immature but seemingly sweet natured son of an oligarch?

Apart from one jealous bitch, Anora’s colleagues are happy for her and it really does seem like a Cinderella story as she takes off for her new life. Here however, is where Pretty Woman ends and Baker world takes over. Just as the newly weds are settling in to married life, Ivan’s outraged mother and the panic-stricken guardians that were supposed to be supervising Ivan in his parents’ absence come crashing in to the fairy tale. A turning point again, this one unexpected, as Prince Charming scampers away at the prospect of his parents coming home, abandoning a bewildered Anora to deal with 3 bodyguard oafs on her own. Baker isn’t afraid of a bit of slapstick and indulges in it wholeheartedly here, as Anora brings out her broad Brooklyn mouth big time, flings out wild accusations of rape and violence, and hilariously beats the shit out of her apparent kidnappers. One frantic, one sheepish, Toros – played by Karren Karagulian, a familiar face from Baker’s debut Tangerine - is called in from a baptism to deal with this unholy mess.

In the midst of all the madness is a hooded, vaguely brutish looking guy named Igor. Entering the fray of the second act, he’s seemingly a bystander in what becomes a chaotic mission to locate Ivan and get the marriage ‘annulled’, dragging poor Anora along to participate in the dissolution of the fairy tale she’s experienced for 5 minutes. However, Igor very slowly begins to grow in to the film and in to Anora’s eyeline – whether she likes it or not – repeatedly and consistently finding small ways to defend her and offer support. Played with sensitivity by Yura Borisov, Igor’s emergence in to a character of significance, an unexpected hero, occurs in such a slow, organic way as to be almost imperceptible. He even acts as emotional punch bag for the beleaguered Anora, withstanding her relentless hostility as she throws slings and arrows at him in her otherwise powerless state.

For a director so engaged in slices of raw real life, Baker is no slouch when it comes to aesthetics and symbolism. In terms of costume, Anora’s blue dress when she embarks on her journey with Ivan is a combination of the same shade of pure blue as the Disney Cinderella gown and the tight, half-blue number worn by Julia Roberts at the same moment of meeting Prince Charming in Pretty Woman. A red scarf is emblematic of Anora’s journey with Igor – it is first used to gag her in the ‘kidnapping’ scene, then offered by Igor as warmth when they are out searching for Ivan, and then as a symbol of defiance when Anora throws it back at its owner, the cruel stepmother type that is Ivan’s mother.

As in his previous films, America is a pointed backdrop to the failure and suffering of Baker’s heroes. A US flag figures prominently in the background as Toros rants at Armenian-American youths for being disrespectful and caring about nothing other than their new sneakers. The irony and hypocrisy of fairy tales gone astray in a country that has capitalised on them looms large in The Florida Project as well as in Anora. Baker’s target is clearly his own back-yard, however his criticisms with regards to unfairness and complacency could easily apply to other nations of the western world.

And it is clearly a system that Baker criticises rather than people. In a noticeable refusal to tar all Russians with Putin influenced characteristics of arch villainy, even the henchmen are just doing their job in bumbling fashion rather than with cruel brutality. And Anora’s ultimate saviour is a humble Russian who speaks broken English but understands what it means to care.

By the final scene, the film literally flips the Pretty Woman scenario on its head. In both, the set-up is a car is parked outside the building where the princess/hooker lives. However, in Pretty Woman it’s a bright, spring-like day whereas in Anora its cold and snowing. In Pretty Woman, Richard Gere is rescuing Julia Roberts, whereas Igor is taking Anora back to her slum. Edward (Gere) climbs up to Vivien (Roberts) but Anora waits for Igor to come down to her. Igor would seem to have far less to offer the princess – merely a place to stay at his grandma’s – but his care is genuine, something Anora still struggles to comprehend. She tries to give him what she thinks he wants in return when she straddles him right there in the car, but as the quietly erotic scene plays out, a makeshift effort at controlling a situation after so much of being tossed around gives way to vulnerability – Anora finally crumbles in to a safe place to cry, Igor’s arms.

Edward and Anora are comparable in that the happy ending can only be achieved by both overcoming their repression and denial, and in both cases, it is arguably a problem that arises out of their opposing social situations. Edward is a frosty cutthroat administrator from a stuffy, upper-class background, whereas Anora’s armour is the result of being a street tough escort who then has to deal with something even worse when she is degraded by the family of her apparent saviour. Pretty Woman features a degree of happily levelling up – Edward’s apparent superiority ends up looking superficial next to Vivien’s emotional experience and courage to take risks, and so they couple in relatively easy fashion at the end. No such lessons are learned by the spoiled rich kid that was to be Anora’s prince, but perhaps in a more modern and gratifying fairy tale ending, Anora loses the superficial prince and gains a true one through good fortune and fate – that doesn’t rely on filthy lucre - rather than from just being a charming and spunky date. As such, Anora finds a safe place to fall rather than a triumphant place to gloat.

An Albert Lewin Tribute – on the anniversary of his birth – 23rd September 1894

 

A Hollywood man with unusual dedication to intellectualism and the arts, Albert Lewin wrote more than directed, but his 6 completed films as director betray a pleasingly antagonistic thorn that pushed through philosophical, painterly, literary, spiritual and archaeological themes right under the noses of strict studio types to achieve some highly original and fascinating work.

The Moon and Sixpence (1942)

An astounding debut and as perfect a piece of filmmaking as Lewin achieved alongside The Private Affairs of Bel Ami, both of which star silky voiced George Sanders, although his performance here is particularly brilliant. In both he is cast as ‘the unmitigated cad’, a character type that he would become indelibly linked with throughout his career and life and, as Strickland the stockbroker who leaves his wife and child to become a painter (based on Somerset Maugham’s loose depiction of Paul Gaugin), he certainly earns the reputation with his utterly callous disregard for all humanity – especially women. The film is bookended by text that tentatively defends the unleashing of such an unabashedly amoral character as a hero but, as would continue to be the case with Lewin protagonists, there is far more complexity at hand than the controversial behaviours and statements would simplistically bind them to. Sanders performs this complexity beautifully, with the depths of his talent revealed in the moments when Strickland finds his very Lewin form of redemption – true love is his unexpected salvation and is seen in his expression, a softening, along with regret and fear at the prospect of losing something that finally means something to him.

The Picture of Dorian Gray (1945)

A wonderful adaptation and Lewin’s darkest film, the director continued to push through scandalous events and characters in to mainstream cinema in a manner that may well have delighted Oscar Wilde. Hurd Hatfield is chilling as the icily beautiful Dorian and George Sanders appears again as the cad (Lord Wotton), but this time as one whose self-satisfaction is tolerated in a high society populated by other individuals who are not much better. Regrettably for Dorian and his victims, the young man adopts Wotton’s philosophy of pursuing self pleasure at all costs and obsession with the armour of youth against consequences for one’s actions, to the point that a painting absorbs his corruption while he engages in wicked deeds and remains visibly youthful – and therefore superficially innocent to those around him. The titular painting is revealed in all its horror in colour, and an excellent representation of Wilde’s dastardly vision of human corruption it is. This would be one of many recurring motifs, seen before in The Moon and Sixpence and after in The Private Affairs of Bel Ami. Significant also is the destruction of painted artworks, linking indelibly the power of art with life and death.

The Private Affairs of Bel Ami (1947)

Perhaps Lewin’s most flawless filmic construction, The Private Affairs of Bel Ami is a delight, even as it once again features a ‘hero’ whose actions are relentlessly condemnable. Sanders is our dreadful man again, but continues to be compelling enough to capture our attention and even dare us to pity him in the end. This is owed as much however, to the clever and captivating women around him as anything, who fall in love with him, tolerate him and hate him in his journey to assert himself with power, influence and wealth in late 19th century Paris. Angela Lansbury reappears from The Picture of Dorian Gray and is phenomenal as Clodette, a witty, beautiful and whole-hearted woman who would be Bel Ami’s salvation if he wasn’t so greedy and ambitious as to not allow himself to accept it – before it’s too late.

Pandora and the Flying Dutchman (1951)

Beautiful, mystical, sensuous madness sumptuously photographed by Jack Cardiff, Pandora and the Flying Dutchman is a beguiling artefact of movie history and what could be done with a 1950s screen goddess and a darkly romantic surreal fantasy. Although seemingly a leap from the elaborate parlour games, wicked male objects of desire, and black and white photography of Lewin’s first three films, the lavish Technicolor and mystical women that would mark the difference between them and his latter three are minor diversions from what would still clearly be an autueristic continuance. Entering 1950s Hollywood with a colourful and passionate bang there are nevertheless recognisable themes of love, fate and death uniting to guide our flawed characters to their inevitable destiny. Again a painted portrait and it’s ‘destruction’ features, and although Lewin was accused of overly wordy dialogue, his love of silent film is in effect. This we understand better when we consider his use of voiceover narration, an element employed to allow visuals to play out uninterrupted and to provide significant depth to the actors’ performances.

Saadia (1953)

Superficially, Saadia could be mistaken for standard Hollywood fare, revolving as it does around a love triangle and episodes of adventure in an exotic land, but this is perhaps more to do with the foregrounding of certain elements against the original wishes of Lewin. More interesting are the finer details, recurring themes from Lewin’s previous films, and the regrettably diminished part of a sorceress who has a disturbing obsession with the lead character. This part was cut down by the studio to foreground the love triangle, leaving the film unbalanced in terms of plot and character. As a result, the views of the two male characters hold sway when they otherwise would have provided an interestingly repressed counterpoint to the feverish and startling performance by Wanda Rotha as Fatima the sorceress, and also Rita Gam’s charismatic turn as Saadia, whose bravery and skill that is directly related to her Berber heritage is as crucial to events as the French doctor’s medicine and the Caid’s power as a respected local authority. Patience is required for some of the stilted performances and dialogue, but it is well worth seeing for another spirited and inspiring female performance, some beguilingly beautiful cinematography, and authentic celebration of traditional Moroccan culture. It also features a resolution to romantic complications that, without compromising Lewin’s sensitivity to complex human relations, is more happily worked through.

The Living Idol (1957)

Lewin’s latter films have been regrettably dismissed, even by his fans and the man himself. However, Saadia and The Living Idol are not nearly so bad – at the least, they continue to be intriguingly unusual diversions from the norm, and they are in fact quite entertaining and feature Lewin’s characteristic attention to female characters that are vulnerable to outside forces but that demonstrate great fortitude and resilience in the face of it. As in his previous films, there are two characters that debate and tussle over one realm that would appear to deal solely with the emotional and fantastical, the selfish and the willful, against the pragmatic, the scientific and the political, while meanwhile in their midst is one who brings it all together through their very being, unintentionally or deliberately. All are pawns (chess and marionettes are other consistent recurring motifs), but Juanita shares with Strickland, Dorian, Bel Ami, Pandora and Saadia the proof of natural – or supernatural? – beings that are propelled upon a journey of destiny, linked to art, symbolism and culture that is universal, if realised in seemingly unique ways. Juanita is guided to repeat the rituals of her ancestors in order to face her demons, much as she and others repeat the actions of former Lewin characters, uniting a fascinating little group of films that deserve more attention than they have been assigned.

Conclusion - Lewin’s sometimes seemingly flippant address to what is deemed most serious in life – predominantly death – was occasionally dismissed as an irony that let down the profound points he was trying to integrate in to his Hollywood films. I would argue that in misunderstanding the style, the point is inevitably misunderstood. Lewin addressed the inevitability of death, as well as the complacent value placed in life, and linked it to the power of the visual and to objects loaded with symbolism. He also depicted some of the most passionate tributes to love ever seen on screen, which in itself would appear to counter any argument that he was only dispassionately ironic. Instead, one of the many things that Lewin seemed to understand, was that appreciation of love and life in its deepest sense could perhaps only be truly understood by its momentous place next to the triviality of death.

The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou (2004)

 

The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou (2004)

Director: Wes Anderson

Stars: Bill Murray, Owen Wilson, Anjelica Huston, Cate Blanchett, Willem Dafoe

Short Review, no spoilers

Wry postmodern kitsch is the dressing over a fond and nostalgic tribute to awe-inspired TV childhood memory, as Wes Anderson presents a flawed American version of oceanographer Jacques Cousteau in the character of Steve Zissou. Zissou also has fans and a legacy but one that is as rusty and in danger of sinking for good as the Belafonte research vessel he and his crew use to career from one rickety adventure to another. 20 years old now and worthy of an anniversary celebration.

Full Review (spoilers)

Diversity of public opinion is an important thing however, sometimes the way in which it is divided is like a space oddity. For one who has never been a member of the Wes Anderson fan club, this critic is nevertheless a long-time lover of his 2004 film The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou starring Bill Murray. This apparently flies in the faces of those normally more dedicated to Anderson output, with The Life Aquatic tending to be the least favoured and ugly duckling of his oeuvre. Stranger still though, what alienates this critic from appreciating Anderson’s style generally appears to correspond exactly with what Anderson fans don’t like about The Life Aquatic, namely that the film is burdened with arch, mannered acting and a style of whimsical idiosyncrasy that is at best, hard to get, and at worst, annoying. Aquatic has been accused of having no heart (?!), and yet this is precisely what I think sets it apart.

Even Anderson regular Owen Wilson is gently likeable in a performance that works well with Murray’s - as Ned, the potentially long-lost son of Zissou, and half of a relationship that is strangely affecting and ultimately even heartbreaking. Likewise is Ned’s romance with Cate Blanchett’s Jane - another actor I have admittedly struggled to warm to until her turn in Todd Haynes’ beautiful film, Carol - and there are yet more deftly performed layers brought to bear by Anjelica Huston, her usual dignified and subtly complex self in a role that hovers over all of the above and guides what goes on between them. Here we can see the point of large, all-star casts performing an intricate family set-up – actors successfully playing their parts in a complex menagerie of related people – and less so a predictable roll call that looks impressive on a movie poster.

The ever-versatile Willem Dafoe is hilarious in a rare comedy role, and Bill Murray’s performance is a key one in his renaissance of the late 20^th century and in to the early 2000s. This era saw Murray as more nuanced and less obvious; here he is the fool but one situated as a post hippy Reaganite, a human hangover of a crossover period and now left for dust. But for all his outdated flaws, Zissou is himself – maybe a pot-smoking relic who can’t understand why journalist Jane won’t go to bed with him, but nevertheless endearing, even inspirational, in his fallibility.

Overall, The Life Aquatic is a comedy with touches of dry wit balanced with colours of retro and genuine sentiment, set design of creative and loving detail, and action that features some surprising adventures. Oh and a sublime soundtrack of David Bowie sung in Portuguese.