Directed by Primo Zeglio. Written by Fede Arnaud, Alberto Liberati, and Primo Zeglio. Based on the novel by Emilio Salgari
Related reviews:
Here I was all set to open this review by talking about how great of a lead Lex Barker is. As Count Enrico di Ventimiglia, son of the long dead Red Pirate, he cuts a tall, dashing figure with a sharp gaze and a charming grin. Famous for playing Tarzan, he has a solid physicality that drives the action forward when he's flashing a blade or swinging on a rope, but he also has a touch of class that wears the frills and buckles of 17th century aristocracy quite well. This is a man of lineage, but who devotes himself to going to sea with the men under his rule and fighting alongside them. When he needs to be prim and proper, he is, and when he needs to get down and dirty, watch out. Barker is a great adventure leading man, a chiseled charmer who gets the girl, foils his foes, and wins vengeance for his betrayed father. I'd recommend the film for his performance alone... but now I read this was shortly after he allegedly spent three years raping the young daughter of his then wife, Lana Turner. It doesn't undo the great work he does on screen, but it sure dampens my enjoyment of the sight of him quite a bit.
So why don't we instead talk about the leading lady, Sylvia Lopez as Carmen di Montelimar. The sister-in-law of the local Marquis (Fanfulla), she finds herself in the midst of not one, but two family dramas. First, there's the mysterious man, Count Ventimiglia, who showed her and her shipmates kindness and respect after sacking her vessel to catch a single traitorous man. He's intriguing, he charms her time and again, yet realistic doubts arise as evidence is planted that makes him seem to be the culprit behind crimes committed against her. To her credit, she doesn't give into her passions and trust him with a swoon - she stands up to him and even turns on him at a major point, following the evidence until its validity can be disproved. Secondly, she's dealing with her brother, Miguel (Luciano Marin), a captain of the guard whose smitten with and wants to marry her handmaiden, Neala (Vira Silenti), who is then kidnapped by the Marquis who wants to marry the girl himself because she's secretly the heir to the throne and treasures of one of the native kingdoms. Oh, and she's the long-lost half-sister of Count Ventimiglia, which brings all the pieces together. There a lot of plot here, but Carmen takes it all in a firm stride, trusting her own intelligence and instinct, and never giving in to the cheap plotting of easy emotions. She meets the love of her life, but heaven help him when he looks guilty of kidnapping her friend. She's captured and tortured by the Marquis, but she never gives into his flogging and fights back until the very end. Sylvia Lopez is wonderful, and even if Rex Smith makes your stomach turn, it's worth watching for the charm of her... oh, Sylvia Lopez had leukemia at the time this was shot and died less than half a year later? Geez, this film can't catch a break. You know what, though? It's still worth it as a legacy role for Lopez as she really does do a fine job. Even though I now wish she'd bit Lex Barker's tongue off every time he slipped it in her mouth.
So. We've got two leads who anchor a wonderful film, but each brings with them the baggage of hindsight: one for what he did leading up to this, the other for her fate soon after. How does the rest of the film hold up? Surprisingly well. To start with the weaknesses, this film is very blandly and cheaply shot. The costumes and sets are nice and lush - likely stock pieces already lying around the Cinecitta lot from more elaborate productions - but no matter now lovely the scenery on display, it's shot at very stiff, basic angles that flatten it out and fail to capture much of the energy we're getting from the script, the actors, the music... pretty much every other aspect of the film. Especially the music. Oh, the music. Rollicking and exciting and melodic. Great adventure stuff. But I digress. One of the problems with evaluating the cinematography is it was shot in 2.35, but the only copy available - a very basic and grainy DV-R from Something Weird * - is a 4:3 pan & scan transfer, with several shots where a visible scan shows the original full width of the frame. That said, I stand by my criticism that it feels very cheap, with each of the main sword fights being little more than a single shot with maybe a few feet of tracking, which takes all the half decent choreography and doesn't do anything to accentuate it. And in the opening pirate ship battle, all we see are the decks of the two ships, never at the same time (likely the same set dressed twice) and a mere two brief stock shots of boats on the water to try to give us scale. It doesn't work. It's not cinematic, instead feeling little more than a televised stage play. There's a couple moments where we're out on real mountain roads with galloping horses or a nice moment where we push into a ballroom filled with puffy gowns and powdered wigs, and it must be pointed out that all of the scenes are very well staged, but the way things are filmed is painfully basic and mediocre.
[* This isn't a knock against Something Weird as it's likely the best version that's available out there for them to use, and their print-on-demand release is fitting, appreciated, and recommended.]
The other major problem is that this is a really damn convoluted story. Ventimiglia needs to find the Marquis' henchman so he can find the Marquis so he can find his sister. The sister is in love with her mistress' brother, but is kidnapped by her mistress' brother-in-law, who killed the hero's father and who's sister-in-law - we're back to the mistress - is now the love interest of Ventimiglia. There's so many twists and turns and false identities and manipulations and betrayals and bonds and rescues and kidnappings... oh, and there's that looming group of native delegates who want to make the sister their queen even though she doesn't know her mother was herself a queen, who married a pirate, who was killed by the mistress' brother-in-law.
See what I mean?
And then we get to the supporting roles. In my review of the book, you'll see I mentioned that most of the story was stolen by Count Ventimiglia's right-hand-man Mendoza and a castle guard named Don Barrejo who later joins their ranks. The third member of their bunch, Don Hercules, has been dropped from this adaptation, but Mendoza and Barrejo are present and accounted for, and Saro Urzi and Roberto Paoletti do equally admirable jobs bringing their roles to life. This Mendoza is a little too plump to convince in the middle of a sword fight, but he's got a strong pair of hitting hands, a dependable gleam in his eyes, and a great delivery that always sells his one-liners. There's even a fantastic scene where he and the Count corner an evil aristocrat and, while the Count goes into interrogation mode, Mendoza knocks off the man's wig, then pulls out a knife, casually cutting off one lock of the man's real hair after another, until he finally grabs the man's ear and readies it for the next slice. Paoletti's Barrejo, as in the book, is an unassuming walk-on role at first, but then we see his boisterous energy and skill with a blade, best demonstrated when he charms his dance hall lover while cleaning her establishment of drunken snobs, one blade whack or comical spill at a time. The chemistry between these two is wonderful, and while I'm a little bummed their screen time is limited, I'm not complaining because they're now servicing the plot of Ventimiglia instead of shoving it in the shadows while they steal the spotlight for a routine.
Comparing the film even more to the book, it's quite fascinating how faithful of an adaptation this is at times, how loose at others. The climax is mostly original, with other parts from the book picked out and rearranged to the point where the centerpiece of the novel is now the film's opening and the novel's opening is now the film's centerpiece. As convoluted as I mentioned the plot to be, it's actually far more involving than the book, keeping the focus on the Count instead of his men, and while the book was plotted with broad incidental strokes, this is more of an intricate web. Things feel far richer in this take, far more captivating and interesting. There's deeper connections to these people which give their choices and the consequences far more weight than the fun but ultimately light swashbuckling of the novel. Also, much of the book's troubling ethical grey zone is no longer present. The people the Count is fighting against truly are despicable, traitorous foes who betrayed his father instead of merely condemning him for legitimate crimes. The reality of piracy is shown as mercenaries the Count is forced to hire attempt to rape and pillage against his orders, with the Count holding himself and his crew to a higher, more noble standard, and stepping between the traditional pirates and their would be victims. This is a man who isn't wicked or destructive. He's taking risks and breaking the law, but never to a point of going against his conscience. And other than the assault on the ship in the opening, he doesn't sack entire populations to get his way. His gang is much smaller than in the book, operating more through tricks, stealth, and assumed identities than sheer overwhelming force. The only other place they attack as a group is the Marquis' evil fortress of insidious doom and torture implements for the big finale, and it's hard to feel bad about any losses that came as a result there.
I went into this film not expecting much, but I was pleasantly surprised. It's not a lost classic, but it is a clever, intelligent, exciting film that, despite some weak photography and moments of confusion, is filled with energy, colorful characters, and a complex web of relationships. It's funny, it's dramatic, it's romantic, it's sweeping. It takes a flawed but rousing book and turns it into an equally rousing and a bit less flawed movie, and I really recommend tracking it down, especially for old swashbuckler fans. And don't let the English dub of the only available version hold you back, because all of the uncredited voice actors gave it their all with personality and distinction, and the adapted dialogue, credited to a Polly Stevens, is sharp, witty, and absolutely nails the energy of the rest of the film.
Now if only I weren't still lingering on the alleged off screen acts of Lex Barker who, if truly guilty, should have had his genitals chewed off and flung back at him by Tarzan's friendly little helper, Cheetah.
Showing posts with label Sergio Leone. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sergio Leone. Show all posts
February 6, 2012
January 13, 2012
The Nun's Story (film)
1959 film. Directed by Fred Zinnemann. Written by Robert Anderson. Based on the novel by Kathryn Hulme.
Related Reviews:
Nuns are a fascinating breed of individual. Dedicating themselves to absolute obedience and piety in the face of their god, they live quiet yet rigorous lives where they flow through their services in a clockwork fashion of near anonymity. It's an unusual life. As both the book and film state, it's unnatural as it goes against human impulses and will in the face of absolute devotion. It's not a life for everyone.
Which brings us to Sister Luke (Audrey Hepburn), formerly Gabrielle van der Mal, a young Belgian woman who entered the convent to escape a failed engagement and, hopefully, to become a nurse in the Congo missionaries. It's a choice she's made peace with and most of her family, while a bit hesitant, is strongly supportive as she enters the convent with high hopes. As with the book, the film is a window into this world as we see the rituals, the initiations and mental tests, the gradual training that turn women into nuns. Personal bonds are frowned upon, culminating when Luke and another sister are reprimanded for seeking each other's console, the last incident of which is the other woman deciding to leave the sisterhood. Like any institution, there is a weeding out process, but it's never done with malice, just an odd sense of practical inevitability. "You can lie to your sisters, but you can never lie to god or to yourself." If people stay, they flourish and contribute. If they leave, the order moves on.
This isn't a film about faith or god, it's about the people who have faith and the institution they've organized around it. It's an old order, one that's built its rules and foundations over centuries. The film captures this sense in its quiet grace and dignity, but also captures the sadness and sacrifice, and even acknowledges the fallibility of a human run organization as different convents have slightly different ways of doing things. One Reverend Mother asks Sister Luke to fail an exam just to keep a struggling sister from feeling bad for not doing as well. Another says that was the wrong request to make as that would have deprived society of Luke's skills as a nurse. It's instances like these, or others where she's told to feel guilt and regret over actions that she doesn't see as wrong, that start to eat at her and make her question the life she's chosen for herself. It's only in giving herself to this organization that she finds her independence.
Audrey Hepburn is a legend for a reason, and she continues to demonstrate it here. She perfectly balances the fragility and strength of Sister Luke as she goes through the training, bounces from house to house, becomes a skilled nurse in bloody surgeries, is violently assaulted, and arrives in the Congo so fiercely dedicated to help, only to spend half her time there recovering from tuberculosis. All of the other nuns are portrayed by fantastic character actors - Edith Evans, Peggy Ashcroft, Beatrice Straight, Patricia Collinge, Rosalie Crutchley, the list goes on - but they float by, disappearing and reappearing, and we never really know who these characters are beyond what little we can make of their actions and personalities in the moment. That's not a complaint, merely the truth of being a nun.
Zinneman's direction of this film is meticulous, intelligent, and sweepingly intimate as he keeps the various chapters of Sister Luke's life flowing in and out of one another. Religion is a huge part of the picture, but he never sentimentalizes it, merely treating it as an aspect of the people involved. We see them pray, recite, and prostrate themselves before crosses, but in a way that's merely witnessing them in their chosen practice, without either support or judgment. Its very analytical in a way, stepping back to show us the bare facts of this life, then pushing in on Sister Luke as we see the meaning and lessons and questions she takes from each event. Even when Sister Luke starts to break away and challenge the views around her, it doesn't treat them judgmentally, nor does she. It's merely a lifestyle that's increasingly at odds with her individual life. And there's a beautiful framing device of her hair as it's cut before disappearing beneath the habit of a full fledged sister, where it remains unseen for around 90 minutes or so until that second skin is peeled away and the changed color of the hair finally hits us with how many years have passed in Sister Luke's life.
There's other great touches, like a sudden murder, the serenely horrific treatment of screaming mental patients, a climactic confessional, the meetings with Sister Luke's father (the steady Dean Jagger), recognition of Sister Luke's genuine skills and will being dismissed as pride, a visit to a genuine leper village, Peter Finch as a brusque doctor who challenges Sister Luke to rise above her own imposed limitations, the gradual onset of WWII through explosions and gunfire that suddenly aren't so distant, the brief motif of a gold pen, or the final moment, equally haunting and inspiring, as Gabrielle sets out to the next unwritten chapter of her life.
This is a bit rambly, but that's because it's hard to find something to say when everything is so damn well made. The Nun's story was nominated for eight Academy Awards back in the day, and it deserved every single one of them. With they exception of a few moments in the Congo where it's a little too "look at these savage natives, thank goodness we white folk made their lives so much better", I'd go so far as to call it a perfect film. Y'know what, no, I'll go ahead and call it perfect as those moments, while questionable, have the same honest ring as questionable moments of convent life, so they may very well have been intentional as a bit of commentary. I don't know.
This film works. It's a masterpiece. It needs to be seen. Seriously, go see it now. Go. Yes, you. Watch it!
Related Reviews:
Nuns are a fascinating breed of individual. Dedicating themselves to absolute obedience and piety in the face of their god, they live quiet yet rigorous lives where they flow through their services in a clockwork fashion of near anonymity. It's an unusual life. As both the book and film state, it's unnatural as it goes against human impulses and will in the face of absolute devotion. It's not a life for everyone.
Which brings us to Sister Luke (Audrey Hepburn), formerly Gabrielle van der Mal, a young Belgian woman who entered the convent to escape a failed engagement and, hopefully, to become a nurse in the Congo missionaries. It's a choice she's made peace with and most of her family, while a bit hesitant, is strongly supportive as she enters the convent with high hopes. As with the book, the film is a window into this world as we see the rituals, the initiations and mental tests, the gradual training that turn women into nuns. Personal bonds are frowned upon, culminating when Luke and another sister are reprimanded for seeking each other's console, the last incident of which is the other woman deciding to leave the sisterhood. Like any institution, there is a weeding out process, but it's never done with malice, just an odd sense of practical inevitability. "You can lie to your sisters, but you can never lie to god or to yourself." If people stay, they flourish and contribute. If they leave, the order moves on.
This isn't a film about faith or god, it's about the people who have faith and the institution they've organized around it. It's an old order, one that's built its rules and foundations over centuries. The film captures this sense in its quiet grace and dignity, but also captures the sadness and sacrifice, and even acknowledges the fallibility of a human run organization as different convents have slightly different ways of doing things. One Reverend Mother asks Sister Luke to fail an exam just to keep a struggling sister from feeling bad for not doing as well. Another says that was the wrong request to make as that would have deprived society of Luke's skills as a nurse. It's instances like these, or others where she's told to feel guilt and regret over actions that she doesn't see as wrong, that start to eat at her and make her question the life she's chosen for herself. It's only in giving herself to this organization that she finds her independence.
Audrey Hepburn is a legend for a reason, and she continues to demonstrate it here. She perfectly balances the fragility and strength of Sister Luke as she goes through the training, bounces from house to house, becomes a skilled nurse in bloody surgeries, is violently assaulted, and arrives in the Congo so fiercely dedicated to help, only to spend half her time there recovering from tuberculosis. All of the other nuns are portrayed by fantastic character actors - Edith Evans, Peggy Ashcroft, Beatrice Straight, Patricia Collinge, Rosalie Crutchley, the list goes on - but they float by, disappearing and reappearing, and we never really know who these characters are beyond what little we can make of their actions and personalities in the moment. That's not a complaint, merely the truth of being a nun.
Zinneman's direction of this film is meticulous, intelligent, and sweepingly intimate as he keeps the various chapters of Sister Luke's life flowing in and out of one another. Religion is a huge part of the picture, but he never sentimentalizes it, merely treating it as an aspect of the people involved. We see them pray, recite, and prostrate themselves before crosses, but in a way that's merely witnessing them in their chosen practice, without either support or judgment. Its very analytical in a way, stepping back to show us the bare facts of this life, then pushing in on Sister Luke as we see the meaning and lessons and questions she takes from each event. Even when Sister Luke starts to break away and challenge the views around her, it doesn't treat them judgmentally, nor does she. It's merely a lifestyle that's increasingly at odds with her individual life. And there's a beautiful framing device of her hair as it's cut before disappearing beneath the habit of a full fledged sister, where it remains unseen for around 90 minutes or so until that second skin is peeled away and the changed color of the hair finally hits us with how many years have passed in Sister Luke's life.
There's other great touches, like a sudden murder, the serenely horrific treatment of screaming mental patients, a climactic confessional, the meetings with Sister Luke's father (the steady Dean Jagger), recognition of Sister Luke's genuine skills and will being dismissed as pride, a visit to a genuine leper village, Peter Finch as a brusque doctor who challenges Sister Luke to rise above her own imposed limitations, the gradual onset of WWII through explosions and gunfire that suddenly aren't so distant, the brief motif of a gold pen, or the final moment, equally haunting and inspiring, as Gabrielle sets out to the next unwritten chapter of her life.
This is a bit rambly, but that's because it's hard to find something to say when everything is so damn well made. The Nun's story was nominated for eight Academy Awards back in the day, and it deserved every single one of them. With they exception of a few moments in the Congo where it's a little too "look at these savage natives, thank goodness we white folk made their lives so much better", I'd go so far as to call it a perfect film. Y'know what, no, I'll go ahead and call it perfect as those moments, while questionable, have the same honest ring as questionable moments of convent life, so they may very well have been intentional as a bit of commentary. I don't know.
This film works. It's a masterpiece. It needs to be seen. Seriously, go see it now. Go. Yes, you. Watch it!
August 18, 2010
Aphrodite, Goddess of Love
1958 film
directed by Mario Bonnard
written by Alberto Manca, Mario Bonnard, Sergio Leone, Mario di Nardo, Ugo Moretti
I was only able to find a crappy VHS print with so-so subtitles, so let me see if I've got this right.... The unseen Emperor Nero wants to build a new canal in Corinth, so he outsources the job to an equally erratic regent named Antigono (Ivo Garrani), who decides the best way to do the job is to evacuate and burn down a stretch of farmlands. His soldiers pull the people out of their rightful homes and "compensate" them with some loose change, all the while raising their taxes and enslaving anyone who complains. Some things happen and it all leads to a famine and plague which cuts through the class divisions, all of which is blamed on the token targets of Roman persecution: the Christians. In other words, it's a token B knockoff of previous successes like FABIOLA and QUO VADIS, with your star-crossed romance, depraved dictator, soldiers up and down the streets, big crowds, and Christians being burned on stakes that the poorly aligned trick shots fully reveal are actually about 10 feet behind the flaming pyres.
What sets this apart is that it's largely told through the point of view of two women. Lerna (Isabelle Corey), the daughter of a priest, is captured and enslaved when her town of uprooted farmers launches a brutally suppressed riot. While in the slave quarters, she befriends the striking Diala (Irene Tunc), a daughter of lavish wealth who was sold into slavery when her father was screwed out of everything he owned. As time goes by and circumstances change, they stick together. Lerna stays quiet and hidden, dividing time between her daily duties and evening trips to the hidden caves where her people hold their ceremonies. Diala, the ultimate femme fatale, uses her beauty, shrewd intelligence, and a seductive dance (check out the obvious ballet double when they cut to the wide shots) to charm her way up the political food chain, becoming the favorite of one slave master after another, and then the concubine and eventual second wife of Antigono himself. Even then, Lerna is by her side as her most trusted servant.
Ah, but where would we be without conflict as the inevitable man comes between them. Demetrio (Anthony Steffen) is a master sculptor prized by both the people and their rulers. Commissioned to make a sculpture of the primary local goddess, Aphrodite, Demetrio finds his model in the form of Diala. But even as his skilled hands shape the luscious curves of her body in stone, he finds his attention drawn elsewhere for the face ... to the innocent and soulful gaze of Lerna. Diala is spurned, Lerna faces a choice, Demetrio begins the process of conversion, Antigono doesn't like any of this, yada yada. You can see where it goes from here.
This is not a bad movie, but nor is it a good one. The story is cliched up the wazoo, but decently executed with bonus points for a bit of a different approach. And there's solid moments in there, like Lerna's father being pelted with stones by the people he's trying to save from a massacre of their own making, or the reveal of the divide within Demetrio's sculpture, or the quiet way the plague works up the food chain, or the rise and fall of Nero taking place entirely off screen as we see how it affected peripheral territories, or the great character of Tomoro (John Kitzmiller), a warrior slave who gradually becomes a big brother of sorts to both women, leaving him with a tough choice by the time the climax rolls around.
But it's just so "been there, done that". FABIOLA hit theaters in 1949, and this was only one of countless toga epics which followed, and there's nothing there to set it apart. The story? As I said, the approach is interesting, but it constantly drops into the same old beats. The acting? There wasn't a bad performance in the flick, but nothing jumped off the screen. I've never seen any of these actors before and I can't say any of them were memorable enough that I'd recognize them a second time around. The direction? Basic workman style, with flat shots and tired staging. Visuals? The stock studio costumes and sets are as impressive as ever, as are a few quick crowds, but it's just so lifelessly filmed. The music? Rousing at the right time and romantic when needed, but forgettable.
I think that's the best word right there: forgettable. Though the writing has a decent flourish now and then, this is nothing more than a B effort to capitalize on the toga fever that was sweeping the A marquees. In the end, everything in this film has been done better elsewhere and not a single element rises above the average. No need to bother.
(trailer)
(internet movie database)
directed by Mario Bonnard
written by Alberto Manca, Mario Bonnard, Sergio Leone, Mario di Nardo, Ugo Moretti
I was only able to find a crappy VHS print with so-so subtitles, so let me see if I've got this right.... The unseen Emperor Nero wants to build a new canal in Corinth, so he outsources the job to an equally erratic regent named Antigono (Ivo Garrani), who decides the best way to do the job is to evacuate and burn down a stretch of farmlands. His soldiers pull the people out of their rightful homes and "compensate" them with some loose change, all the while raising their taxes and enslaving anyone who complains. Some things happen and it all leads to a famine and plague which cuts through the class divisions, all of which is blamed on the token targets of Roman persecution: the Christians. In other words, it's a token B knockoff of previous successes like FABIOLA and QUO VADIS, with your star-crossed romance, depraved dictator, soldiers up and down the streets, big crowds, and Christians being burned on stakes that the poorly aligned trick shots fully reveal are actually about 10 feet behind the flaming pyres.
What sets this apart is that it's largely told through the point of view of two women. Lerna (Isabelle Corey), the daughter of a priest, is captured and enslaved when her town of uprooted farmers launches a brutally suppressed riot. While in the slave quarters, she befriends the striking Diala (Irene Tunc), a daughter of lavish wealth who was sold into slavery when her father was screwed out of everything he owned. As time goes by and circumstances change, they stick together. Lerna stays quiet and hidden, dividing time between her daily duties and evening trips to the hidden caves where her people hold their ceremonies. Diala, the ultimate femme fatale, uses her beauty, shrewd intelligence, and a seductive dance (check out the obvious ballet double when they cut to the wide shots) to charm her way up the political food chain, becoming the favorite of one slave master after another, and then the concubine and eventual second wife of Antigono himself. Even then, Lerna is by her side as her most trusted servant.
Ah, but where would we be without conflict as the inevitable man comes between them. Demetrio (Anthony Steffen) is a master sculptor prized by both the people and their rulers. Commissioned to make a sculpture of the primary local goddess, Aphrodite, Demetrio finds his model in the form of Diala. But even as his skilled hands shape the luscious curves of her body in stone, he finds his attention drawn elsewhere for the face ... to the innocent and soulful gaze of Lerna. Diala is spurned, Lerna faces a choice, Demetrio begins the process of conversion, Antigono doesn't like any of this, yada yada. You can see where it goes from here.
This is not a bad movie, but nor is it a good one. The story is cliched up the wazoo, but decently executed with bonus points for a bit of a different approach. And there's solid moments in there, like Lerna's father being pelted with stones by the people he's trying to save from a massacre of their own making, or the reveal of the divide within Demetrio's sculpture, or the quiet way the plague works up the food chain, or the rise and fall of Nero taking place entirely off screen as we see how it affected peripheral territories, or the great character of Tomoro (John Kitzmiller), a warrior slave who gradually becomes a big brother of sorts to both women, leaving him with a tough choice by the time the climax rolls around.
But it's just so "been there, done that". FABIOLA hit theaters in 1949, and this was only one of countless toga epics which followed, and there's nothing there to set it apart. The story? As I said, the approach is interesting, but it constantly drops into the same old beats. The acting? There wasn't a bad performance in the flick, but nothing jumped off the screen. I've never seen any of these actors before and I can't say any of them were memorable enough that I'd recognize them a second time around. The direction? Basic workman style, with flat shots and tired staging. Visuals? The stock studio costumes and sets are as impressive as ever, as are a few quick crowds, but it's just so lifelessly filmed. The music? Rousing at the right time and romantic when needed, but forgettable.
I think that's the best word right there: forgettable. Though the writing has a decent flourish now and then, this is nothing more than a B effort to capitalize on the toga fever that was sweeping the A marquees. In the end, everything in this film has been done better elsewhere and not a single element rises above the average. No need to bother.
(trailer)
(internet movie database)
August 13, 2010
Helen of Troy
1956 film
directed by Robert Wise
written by N. Richard Nash, John Twist, Hugh Gray
based on the poem THE ILIAD by Homer
Let me start off by saying that I hate THE ILIAD. Culturally and historically, it's a work of major importance and I totally get that, but reading it made my brain hurt. There's no consistent narrative, the characters are all over the place, scenes of great power and scope are intercut with sequences of ridiculous actions and motivations, and let's not get started on the gods constantly swooping in and out of things (and I'd also mention that it has no beginning or end, but that's not its fault as it's the only surviving volume of a larger saga). I know, I know, it's an ancient work and shouldn't be held to modern standards, but its sister tale, THE ODYSSEY, is a rich and flowing story with solid structure and genuine character development, and not only fits those modern standards, but holds up as a better example of them than many a modern book.
That said, there is a fantastic story in there. While discussing peace in neighboring lands, Prince Paris of Troy (dashing Jacques Sernas) meets and instantly falls for the beautiful Helen (Rossana Podesta, whose striking face fits the bill). Though she initially resists her growing attraction, Helen ends up taking off with Paris for his homeland, which her husband, King Menelaus of Sparta (the quietly fierce Niall MacGinnis), really doesn't appreciate. Rounding up allied kings and "the greatest army ever known", he sets out to tear down the impenetrable walls of Troy.
This is a bit of a loose adaptation, with important figures like Hector (stony Harry Andrews), Achilles (lean yet shockingly formidable Stanley Baker), and Agamemnon (quietly scheming Robert Douglas) pushed into supporting roles so that Paris, Helen, and Menelaus can have the spotlight, a choice which I found to be both bold and refreshing. All the important stuff is there - Hector is the heir apparent, Achilles all cock and ego (great moment where he just stands there without flinching as arrows bounce off his armor), Agamemnon milking the humiliation of his brother Menelaus as an excuse to launch a raid on the richest kingdom in the lands - we just don't linger on any of it; and as these parts have been so richly explored in other adaptations, nothing feels lost. There are some additions to the story that are odd, like a new, third Prince of Troy, the war-hungry Polydorus (Robert Brown, acting as forgettable as his character), who serves absolutely no purpose before dying at the midpoint. More successful is the expanded first act in which Paris is swept off his boat and sneaks around Sparta as introductions are made, motives explored, and plans set in motion. Because of this, the Trojan War itself doesn't kick in until around the half-way point, but the scale and toll of the battle is captured so well that it works just fine. After all, this isn't the story of the war, but the doomed romance that made such a conflict inevitable.
I don't think this would work nearly as well in the hands of anyone but Robert Wise. As an editor, the man is a master of pace, using moments to build scenes and scenes to build a story, and knows just when to push past and when to draw out. He has incredible control as every moment of this films hits in precisely the right way. Take, for instance, our first sight of the attacking fleet. It's night. The people of Troy line the waterfront balconies of their city. Paris and Helen are called up to stand alongside the concerned and angry King Priam (the always dependable Sir Cedric Hardwicke). They look out on the sea as the torches of a thousand ships fill the horizon. We cut out to those very ships as drums beat out a rhythm for the oarsmen, and Achilles, Agamemnon, and Ulysses (the precise and witty Torin Thatcher) gaze hungrily at their approaching target. We cut back to the balcony. Priam turns and casts a cold glare at Helen. "The face that launched a thousand ships."
It speaks not only to the skill of Wise, but the group of seasoned screenwriters that such a line can be pulled off. While there are a few moments that feel a little forced, like the opening storm that strands Paris or a huge drunken party at the feet of that fateful wooden horse (the creation of which they execute very well, by the way; not many adaptations do), I was surprised at the sharpness of the writing, particularly the central romance. These are two people who can't not love one another, even as reason tells them that everything they know would be better off if they just stayed apart. Every arrow that strikes home, every body that takes a sword, every pyre that clouds the sky is a constant reminder of the consequences of their romance, and yet they get to a point where it's no longer possible to turn away. This is a very, very hard relationship to pull off without it feeling like total fluff (QUO VADIS), but the attraction is immediate (not just physically, but intellectually; something often missed), the chemistry undeniable, and the situations naturally evolving to that point of no return. And a lot of credit is due to the Italian actors Sernas and Podesta. Far from mere pretty faces in empty parts, they fully become these complex characters trapped on a road to tragedy. And points to whoever did the dubbing of their dialogue. It was flawless.
I was really, really impressed with this film. I shouldn't have doubted Wise, but this can be tricky material to pull off. Yet as I think not only of the authentic romance and the honesty of its crushing consequences, but of the spectacularly detailed sets and costumes and the talented cast and the vibrant score and that army of thousands of fully dressed extras with swords and armor and catapults and even four actual on-location battle towers, I'm blown away by just how well he did.
However, about those fake beards....
(trailer)
(purchase)
(wikipedia)
(internet movie database)
directed by Robert Wise
written by N. Richard Nash, John Twist, Hugh Gray
based on the poem THE ILIAD by Homer
Let me start off by saying that I hate THE ILIAD. Culturally and historically, it's a work of major importance and I totally get that, but reading it made my brain hurt. There's no consistent narrative, the characters are all over the place, scenes of great power and scope are intercut with sequences of ridiculous actions and motivations, and let's not get started on the gods constantly swooping in and out of things (and I'd also mention that it has no beginning or end, but that's not its fault as it's the only surviving volume of a larger saga). I know, I know, it's an ancient work and shouldn't be held to modern standards, but its sister tale, THE ODYSSEY, is a rich and flowing story with solid structure and genuine character development, and not only fits those modern standards, but holds up as a better example of them than many a modern book.
That said, there is a fantastic story in there. While discussing peace in neighboring lands, Prince Paris of Troy (dashing Jacques Sernas) meets and instantly falls for the beautiful Helen (Rossana Podesta, whose striking face fits the bill). Though she initially resists her growing attraction, Helen ends up taking off with Paris for his homeland, which her husband, King Menelaus of Sparta (the quietly fierce Niall MacGinnis), really doesn't appreciate. Rounding up allied kings and "the greatest army ever known", he sets out to tear down the impenetrable walls of Troy.
This is a bit of a loose adaptation, with important figures like Hector (stony Harry Andrews), Achilles (lean yet shockingly formidable Stanley Baker), and Agamemnon (quietly scheming Robert Douglas) pushed into supporting roles so that Paris, Helen, and Menelaus can have the spotlight, a choice which I found to be both bold and refreshing. All the important stuff is there - Hector is the heir apparent, Achilles all cock and ego (great moment where he just stands there without flinching as arrows bounce off his armor), Agamemnon milking the humiliation of his brother Menelaus as an excuse to launch a raid on the richest kingdom in the lands - we just don't linger on any of it; and as these parts have been so richly explored in other adaptations, nothing feels lost. There are some additions to the story that are odd, like a new, third Prince of Troy, the war-hungry Polydorus (Robert Brown, acting as forgettable as his character), who serves absolutely no purpose before dying at the midpoint. More successful is the expanded first act in which Paris is swept off his boat and sneaks around Sparta as introductions are made, motives explored, and plans set in motion. Because of this, the Trojan War itself doesn't kick in until around the half-way point, but the scale and toll of the battle is captured so well that it works just fine. After all, this isn't the story of the war, but the doomed romance that made such a conflict inevitable.
I don't think this would work nearly as well in the hands of anyone but Robert Wise. As an editor, the man is a master of pace, using moments to build scenes and scenes to build a story, and knows just when to push past and when to draw out. He has incredible control as every moment of this films hits in precisely the right way. Take, for instance, our first sight of the attacking fleet. It's night. The people of Troy line the waterfront balconies of their city. Paris and Helen are called up to stand alongside the concerned and angry King Priam (the always dependable Sir Cedric Hardwicke). They look out on the sea as the torches of a thousand ships fill the horizon. We cut out to those very ships as drums beat out a rhythm for the oarsmen, and Achilles, Agamemnon, and Ulysses (the precise and witty Torin Thatcher) gaze hungrily at their approaching target. We cut back to the balcony. Priam turns and casts a cold glare at Helen. "The face that launched a thousand ships."
It speaks not only to the skill of Wise, but the group of seasoned screenwriters that such a line can be pulled off. While there are a few moments that feel a little forced, like the opening storm that strands Paris or a huge drunken party at the feet of that fateful wooden horse (the creation of which they execute very well, by the way; not many adaptations do), I was surprised at the sharpness of the writing, particularly the central romance. These are two people who can't not love one another, even as reason tells them that everything they know would be better off if they just stayed apart. Every arrow that strikes home, every body that takes a sword, every pyre that clouds the sky is a constant reminder of the consequences of their romance, and yet they get to a point where it's no longer possible to turn away. This is a very, very hard relationship to pull off without it feeling like total fluff (QUO VADIS), but the attraction is immediate (not just physically, but intellectually; something often missed), the chemistry undeniable, and the situations naturally evolving to that point of no return. And a lot of credit is due to the Italian actors Sernas and Podesta. Far from mere pretty faces in empty parts, they fully become these complex characters trapped on a road to tragedy. And points to whoever did the dubbing of their dialogue. It was flawless.
I was really, really impressed with this film. I shouldn't have doubted Wise, but this can be tricky material to pull off. Yet as I think not only of the authentic romance and the honesty of its crushing consequences, but of the spectacularly detailed sets and costumes and the talented cast and the vibrant score and that army of thousands of fully dressed extras with swords and armor and catapults and even four actual on-location battle towers, I'm blown away by just how well he did.
However, about those fake beards....
(trailer)
(purchase)
(wikipedia)
(internet movie database)
August 7, 2010
Quo Vadis
1951 film
directed by Mervyn LeRoy
written by S.N. Behrman, Sonya Levien, John Lee Mahin, Hugh Gray
based on the novel by Henryk Sienkiewicz
(my review of the 1895 novel)
(my review of the 1948 screenplay)
It started with a book. An absolutely fantastic book full of riches and complexity and thought. It became a screenplay. A good, solid, worthy adaptation. Now, it's a film. An entertaining yet ultimately disappointing example of a typical Hollywood Spectacle.
The central point of the story, as is Hollywood tradition, is the epic romance. Marcus Vinicius (Robert Taylor) is a Roman Centurion, proud of the conquests he's achieved for his emperor. Lygia (Deborah Kerr) is a foreign princess, captured as a young child, adopted and educated in a quiet country estate. She's a Christian, he is not. She promotes peace and compassion, he bloodshed and fear tactics. While I'm glad they kept the novel's central conceit of Vinicius starting out as an antagonist of sorts, only gradually coming to love the inner Lygia after a period of lusting over and trying to capture her body, so much of the philosophical conflict of the book is lost that it now has all the depth of a Fabio romance painting.
And why does Lygia love Vinicius? Honestly, why? In the book, she saw good within and had to constantly search and dig in order to bring it to the forefront. Here, no good is present in his predatory behavior and talk of bloody victory; she just likes him because he's handsome. She wants to save him, cure him of the cancerous decadence of Nero's Rome, that much I understand, but without the sliver of good for her to dig for, I don't understand the draw?
The two leads don't help matters. At all. Though he sucks in the gut and throws a spring in his step, Taylor is a little long in the tooth to play Vinicious, who's ego and impulsiveness were written for a man in the youthful stretch of his 20s. His "manly" posturing and barking delivery only punctuate his miscasting. Kerr is bizarre and all over the place as Lygia. An incomparable beauty, she certainly looks the part, but her constantly staring eyes have all the depth of a porcelain doll, and when she opens her mouth, this odd fluttery, breathy delivery constantly leaves me in confusion.
In fact, the acting overall is largely either forgettable or completely off, which is a shame given the promising roles. Pompaea is the wife of Nero, the true poison behind his increasingly lethal fangs, but Patricia Laffan tries too hard to be sexy while her eyes are scrunched up in a way that makes it seem like she just caught whiff of a fart. Eunice is a slave girl infatuated with her master, who chips at his heart to the point where he loves her as an equal, but Marina Berti plays her like a teen groupie who just snagged a back stage pass. Tigellinus is the leader of the Praetorian Guard, the brutal hand of Nero who constantly pushes the emperor to punish the populace into submission, but Ralph Truman is so flat and forgettable that he never once backs up the threat of his actions.
The worst is Finley Currie as the Apostle Peter. Not only has the script gone through a few more changes since the draft I reviewed, adding some ridiculous heavy-handed miracles to what should be grounded and real events, but Currie takes what was a genuinely inspirational and towering figure on the page and brings him to life with all the dignity and grace of a department store Santa Claus. It's ridiculous.
And I think this speaks to the broader problem that is director LeRoy. I haven't seen many of his films and can't talk for his broader career, but the direction here is little more than hack work. I know it's an old movie, but it's practically drowned to death in a style that, while clean, never rises above the quality of a workman. In what's come to be termed "tv directing" he sticks to the basic formula of "master shot, medium shot, medium shot, closeup (don't forget the soft focus lens), medium shot, dissolve". It's clean and keeps everything moving at a steady pace, but it's boring and does nothing to liven up the material. What I read in the script slowly draws you into huge sequences as the emotions of crowds gradually boil to an epic moment. Here, he just lines everybody up, shoots a reel, and moves on to whatever's next. And it's not just the script. The stunningly massive sets and intricate costumes scream for the attention they deserve, but LeRoy's camera hovers over them like a slideshow from grandpa's vacation. Miklos Rozsa's sweeping score is packed full of emotion and the clash of beliefs, but is brushed away like a buzzing gnat by the flatness of what it's there to support.
But that's not to say it's a bad movie. It's painfully mediocre, but it moves along at a steady pace, sports some great design work, and still tells a thrilling tale. And there are some good moments in there. The springiness of Taylor's performance many not work for the character, but he's great when he gets to kick into some action. The model work used for the burning of Rome, while obvious, is really well used as the camera lingers over unimaginable devastation. The punishment in the Arena of the unjustly accused accused Christians is powerful and surprisingly brutal, especially as they unite in song before gradually giving way to screams on burning crucifixes. And the climactic battle between Lygia's giant bodyguard Ursus (charmingly played by heavy-weight boxer Buddy Baer) and a frothing bull is marvelously executed.
And there's two performances that rise above the others. Leo Genn as Petronius and Peter Ustinov as Emperor Nero himself. The two are eternally bound to one another, yet represent diametric opposites of the iconic Roman male: both enjoy wealth and luxury, but Petronius is civilized and intelligent, approaching situations with wit and grace, whereas Nero is pompous and decadent, manically searching for new amusements. One comes to appreciate the citizens of his homeland, the other loathes them from the start. Furthering the divide, Genn is absolute subtlety as the charming Petronius, always watching, always listening for the right place to slip in, while Ustinov is a volcano jolting from lazy flows to gushing explosions. It's impossible to take your eyes off either one when they're on screen, which makes the frequent scenes they share delightfully tricky to soak in.
In the end, it's not a bad movie, just a letdown. A few years earlier, the draft of the screenplay that I read was to be directed by John Huston with Gregory Peck and Elizabeth Taylor in the lead roles. With the best two features of the final incarnation, Genn and Ustinov, also being the result of Huston's casting, one can only image the film that would have resulted. It might not have had as much spectacle, but I'm sure it would have been smarter. As it is, what we're left with is typical Hollywood.
(trailer)
(purchase)
(purchase)
(wikipedia)
(internet movie database)
directed by Mervyn LeRoy
written by S.N. Behrman, Sonya Levien, John Lee Mahin, Hugh Gray
based on the novel by Henryk Sienkiewicz
(my review of the 1895 novel)
(my review of the 1948 screenplay)
It started with a book. An absolutely fantastic book full of riches and complexity and thought. It became a screenplay. A good, solid, worthy adaptation. Now, it's a film. An entertaining yet ultimately disappointing example of a typical Hollywood Spectacle.
The central point of the story, as is Hollywood tradition, is the epic romance. Marcus Vinicius (Robert Taylor) is a Roman Centurion, proud of the conquests he's achieved for his emperor. Lygia (Deborah Kerr) is a foreign princess, captured as a young child, adopted and educated in a quiet country estate. She's a Christian, he is not. She promotes peace and compassion, he bloodshed and fear tactics. While I'm glad they kept the novel's central conceit of Vinicius starting out as an antagonist of sorts, only gradually coming to love the inner Lygia after a period of lusting over and trying to capture her body, so much of the philosophical conflict of the book is lost that it now has all the depth of a Fabio romance painting.
And why does Lygia love Vinicius? Honestly, why? In the book, she saw good within and had to constantly search and dig in order to bring it to the forefront. Here, no good is present in his predatory behavior and talk of bloody victory; she just likes him because he's handsome. She wants to save him, cure him of the cancerous decadence of Nero's Rome, that much I understand, but without the sliver of good for her to dig for, I don't understand the draw?
The two leads don't help matters. At all. Though he sucks in the gut and throws a spring in his step, Taylor is a little long in the tooth to play Vinicious, who's ego and impulsiveness were written for a man in the youthful stretch of his 20s. His "manly" posturing and barking delivery only punctuate his miscasting. Kerr is bizarre and all over the place as Lygia. An incomparable beauty, she certainly looks the part, but her constantly staring eyes have all the depth of a porcelain doll, and when she opens her mouth, this odd fluttery, breathy delivery constantly leaves me in confusion.
In fact, the acting overall is largely either forgettable or completely off, which is a shame given the promising roles. Pompaea is the wife of Nero, the true poison behind his increasingly lethal fangs, but Patricia Laffan tries too hard to be sexy while her eyes are scrunched up in a way that makes it seem like she just caught whiff of a fart. Eunice is a slave girl infatuated with her master, who chips at his heart to the point where he loves her as an equal, but Marina Berti plays her like a teen groupie who just snagged a back stage pass. Tigellinus is the leader of the Praetorian Guard, the brutal hand of Nero who constantly pushes the emperor to punish the populace into submission, but Ralph Truman is so flat and forgettable that he never once backs up the threat of his actions.
The worst is Finley Currie as the Apostle Peter. Not only has the script gone through a few more changes since the draft I reviewed, adding some ridiculous heavy-handed miracles to what should be grounded and real events, but Currie takes what was a genuinely inspirational and towering figure on the page and brings him to life with all the dignity and grace of a department store Santa Claus. It's ridiculous.
And I think this speaks to the broader problem that is director LeRoy. I haven't seen many of his films and can't talk for his broader career, but the direction here is little more than hack work. I know it's an old movie, but it's practically drowned to death in a style that, while clean, never rises above the quality of a workman. In what's come to be termed "tv directing" he sticks to the basic formula of "master shot, medium shot, medium shot, closeup (don't forget the soft focus lens), medium shot, dissolve". It's clean and keeps everything moving at a steady pace, but it's boring and does nothing to liven up the material. What I read in the script slowly draws you into huge sequences as the emotions of crowds gradually boil to an epic moment. Here, he just lines everybody up, shoots a reel, and moves on to whatever's next. And it's not just the script. The stunningly massive sets and intricate costumes scream for the attention they deserve, but LeRoy's camera hovers over them like a slideshow from grandpa's vacation. Miklos Rozsa's sweeping score is packed full of emotion and the clash of beliefs, but is brushed away like a buzzing gnat by the flatness of what it's there to support.
But that's not to say it's a bad movie. It's painfully mediocre, but it moves along at a steady pace, sports some great design work, and still tells a thrilling tale. And there are some good moments in there. The springiness of Taylor's performance many not work for the character, but he's great when he gets to kick into some action. The model work used for the burning of Rome, while obvious, is really well used as the camera lingers over unimaginable devastation. The punishment in the Arena of the unjustly accused accused Christians is powerful and surprisingly brutal, especially as they unite in song before gradually giving way to screams on burning crucifixes. And the climactic battle between Lygia's giant bodyguard Ursus (charmingly played by heavy-weight boxer Buddy Baer) and a frothing bull is marvelously executed.
And there's two performances that rise above the others. Leo Genn as Petronius and Peter Ustinov as Emperor Nero himself. The two are eternally bound to one another, yet represent diametric opposites of the iconic Roman male: both enjoy wealth and luxury, but Petronius is civilized and intelligent, approaching situations with wit and grace, whereas Nero is pompous and decadent, manically searching for new amusements. One comes to appreciate the citizens of his homeland, the other loathes them from the start. Furthering the divide, Genn is absolute subtlety as the charming Petronius, always watching, always listening for the right place to slip in, while Ustinov is a volcano jolting from lazy flows to gushing explosions. It's impossible to take your eyes off either one when they're on screen, which makes the frequent scenes they share delightfully tricky to soak in.
In the end, it's not a bad movie, just a letdown. A few years earlier, the draft of the screenplay that I read was to be directed by John Huston with Gregory Peck and Elizabeth Taylor in the lead roles. With the best two features of the final incarnation, Genn and Ustinov, also being the result of Huston's casting, one can only image the film that would have resulted. It might not have had as much spectacle, but I'm sure it would have been smarter. As it is, what we're left with is typical Hollywood.
(trailer)
(purchase)
(purchase)
(wikipedia)
(internet movie database)
May 28, 2010
Il Trovatore
1949 film
directed by Carmine Gallone
based on the play by Antonio Garcia Gutierrez
and the opera by Giuseppe Verdi, Salvadore Commarano, Leone Emanuele Bardare
Carmine Gallone was starting to become a bit old-fashioned as a filmmaker in the time immediately following WWII, but he wasn't a pioneer of early Italian cinema for nothing ... as this film kinda sorta shows. His first work of this era wasn't so much an adaptation of Verdi's RIGOLETTO as it was a filmed staging which brought the cameras into the opera house and captured the actual actors, costumes, sets, even the orchestra. It was well done, but looked like what it was: a cheap way to put a big story on the screen in a time when all the film studios had been bombed to rubble. While the film of this review, made just three years later, starts in much the same way - an opening shot of the orchestra warming up with an overture beneath the credits, then holding on the stage as the curtains open - it quickly shows just how rapidly the industry rebuilt itself. Taking the actors out to actual castles among lush, rolling fields, we get a true sense of scope as 15th century armies who were only heard about on the stage are shown in full combat, and two lovers pull into an embrace beneath a bright sky filled with vibrant clouds.
And yet, in Gallone fashion, it doesn't always work. Up front, we're given a prologue that gathers up backstory spread throughout the first half of the opera and lets us clearly see what would otherwise be described. It all looks marvelous as huge crowds gather for the burning of a witch or a four-way joust between fully armored knights on horseback, but it messes with the structure of the work. Character introductions aren't as strong because they come before they should. Context is dropped because we don't have the element of hindsight. Worst of all, the songs in which they were described have been completely cut and replaced with a narrator and scripted dialogue for the actors which, while not badly executed, does feel jarring in what's supposed to be an opera. And it's not like Gallone didn't know he could just flashback to these things as they play under the songs, because he does use that trick to great effect at a few key points later on. That said, though, it's not unwatchable by any means. Just a bit disappointing.
And then there's the story. I agree that it's a classic opera and is filled with many unforgettable pieces of music, but it's hardly a masterpiece as an over-convoluted back story drops into the hands of lunkheaded personalities. You've got your two rivals, Count di Luna (Enzo Mascherini) and troubadour knight Manrico (Gino Sinimberghi), opposing leaders in the armies of feuding princes in 15th century Spain, and you've got the glamorous cipher of a love interest, Leonora (Vittorina Colonello), who fires the lust in both their loins. There could be a decent, if not exactly original, tale here as their struggle for her affections reflect and are reflected by the clashing of their armies, but that all takes a backstage to the convoluted history. A long time ago, you see, The Count's father had ordered the execution of a gypsy woman. In return, this woman's daughter (Gianna Pederzini) kidnapped the Count's brother, killed her own son (a completely ridiculous twist), and raised the young hostage into Manrico, the troubadour knight. So, yes, it's a battle between brothers, a twist revealed to all in the end just as everybody but the Count dies in the wake of big songs. Why don't I like it? One reason is that Verdi's idea of having his characters express their feelings is for them to latch onto key phrases that they simultaneously bark over and over and over again, just like a 5-year-old in a toy store, until they're either dragged off the screen or told what they wanted to hear. Another is the ending, which is so blatantly, ridiculously tragic that it feels like the writers (I haven't read the original play) came up with the most depressing finale they could conceive, then just worked backwards from there.
But Gallone and his cast and crew do a decent job with what they're given. Despite the structural problems mentioned above, and being a little behind the ways in his shooting and editing style (feels more like a movie from the 30s), Gallone does stage things quite well. Leonora getting dressed for a wedding as Manrico and his troops race on horseback to stop her. Manrico's foster-mother checking beneath the helmets of slain soldiers on a battlefield as she searches for her son. A woman hiding in the shadows of a dungeon as a passing line of white monks slowly pray for the souls of those to be executed the next morning. It's all very nicely done, and ably supported by a cast of genuine opera singers who give dynamic and charismatic performances that perfectly fit the screen without being too over the top, even as they're bellowing their hearts out. And the best is Mascherini as Count di Luna. In what could have been a sneering villain, he makes his character what the man is: the genuine tragic lead of the story. He tries his best to serve his forces and his Prince, and all he truly longs for is the hand of Leonora, but he keeps suffering and loosing due to the interference of everyone else. The choices of his father and prince. The vengeance of the gypsy's daughter. The appearance of Manrico. The strayed attentions of Leonora. The whole world is working against him, and when he fights back, he loses even more.
So, no, it's most certainly not a bad movie. I have problems with the story and some of the execution, but it's still very watchable, even rousing at times. However, as the only version available is a VHS without subtitles, I'm not sure who to recommend it for. Not many film historians would be interested due to it being a minor release that was already dated in comparison to other contemporary works. Casual film goers might be lost without a translation and, hey, not everybody likes opera. Even those who do have a taste for Verdi may be put off by the way several of his songs have either been trimmed or fully removed. It's a tough sell all around.
(purchase)
(wikipedia for opera)
(internet movie database)
directed by Carmine Gallone
based on the play by Antonio Garcia Gutierrez
and the opera by Giuseppe Verdi, Salvadore Commarano, Leone Emanuele Bardare
Carmine Gallone was starting to become a bit old-fashioned as a filmmaker in the time immediately following WWII, but he wasn't a pioneer of early Italian cinema for nothing ... as this film kinda sorta shows. His first work of this era wasn't so much an adaptation of Verdi's RIGOLETTO as it was a filmed staging which brought the cameras into the opera house and captured the actual actors, costumes, sets, even the orchestra. It was well done, but looked like what it was: a cheap way to put a big story on the screen in a time when all the film studios had been bombed to rubble. While the film of this review, made just three years later, starts in much the same way - an opening shot of the orchestra warming up with an overture beneath the credits, then holding on the stage as the curtains open - it quickly shows just how rapidly the industry rebuilt itself. Taking the actors out to actual castles among lush, rolling fields, we get a true sense of scope as 15th century armies who were only heard about on the stage are shown in full combat, and two lovers pull into an embrace beneath a bright sky filled with vibrant clouds.
And yet, in Gallone fashion, it doesn't always work. Up front, we're given a prologue that gathers up backstory spread throughout the first half of the opera and lets us clearly see what would otherwise be described. It all looks marvelous as huge crowds gather for the burning of a witch or a four-way joust between fully armored knights on horseback, but it messes with the structure of the work. Character introductions aren't as strong because they come before they should. Context is dropped because we don't have the element of hindsight. Worst of all, the songs in which they were described have been completely cut and replaced with a narrator and scripted dialogue for the actors which, while not badly executed, does feel jarring in what's supposed to be an opera. And it's not like Gallone didn't know he could just flashback to these things as they play under the songs, because he does use that trick to great effect at a few key points later on. That said, though, it's not unwatchable by any means. Just a bit disappointing.
And then there's the story. I agree that it's a classic opera and is filled with many unforgettable pieces of music, but it's hardly a masterpiece as an over-convoluted back story drops into the hands of lunkheaded personalities. You've got your two rivals, Count di Luna (Enzo Mascherini) and troubadour knight Manrico (Gino Sinimberghi), opposing leaders in the armies of feuding princes in 15th century Spain, and you've got the glamorous cipher of a love interest, Leonora (Vittorina Colonello), who fires the lust in both their loins. There could be a decent, if not exactly original, tale here as their struggle for her affections reflect and are reflected by the clashing of their armies, but that all takes a backstage to the convoluted history. A long time ago, you see, The Count's father had ordered the execution of a gypsy woman. In return, this woman's daughter (Gianna Pederzini) kidnapped the Count's brother, killed her own son (a completely ridiculous twist), and raised the young hostage into Manrico, the troubadour knight. So, yes, it's a battle between brothers, a twist revealed to all in the end just as everybody but the Count dies in the wake of big songs. Why don't I like it? One reason is that Verdi's idea of having his characters express their feelings is for them to latch onto key phrases that they simultaneously bark over and over and over again, just like a 5-year-old in a toy store, until they're either dragged off the screen or told what they wanted to hear. Another is the ending, which is so blatantly, ridiculously tragic that it feels like the writers (I haven't read the original play) came up with the most depressing finale they could conceive, then just worked backwards from there.
But Gallone and his cast and crew do a decent job with what they're given. Despite the structural problems mentioned above, and being a little behind the ways in his shooting and editing style (feels more like a movie from the 30s), Gallone does stage things quite well. Leonora getting dressed for a wedding as Manrico and his troops race on horseback to stop her. Manrico's foster-mother checking beneath the helmets of slain soldiers on a battlefield as she searches for her son. A woman hiding in the shadows of a dungeon as a passing line of white monks slowly pray for the souls of those to be executed the next morning. It's all very nicely done, and ably supported by a cast of genuine opera singers who give dynamic and charismatic performances that perfectly fit the screen without being too over the top, even as they're bellowing their hearts out. And the best is Mascherini as Count di Luna. In what could have been a sneering villain, he makes his character what the man is: the genuine tragic lead of the story. He tries his best to serve his forces and his Prince, and all he truly longs for is the hand of Leonora, but he keeps suffering and loosing due to the interference of everyone else. The choices of his father and prince. The vengeance of the gypsy's daughter. The appearance of Manrico. The strayed attentions of Leonora. The whole world is working against him, and when he fights back, he loses even more.
So, no, it's most certainly not a bad movie. I have problems with the story and some of the execution, but it's still very watchable, even rousing at times. However, as the only version available is a VHS without subtitles, I'm not sure who to recommend it for. Not many film historians would be interested due to it being a minor release that was already dated in comparison to other contemporary works. Casual film goers might be lost without a translation and, hey, not everybody likes opera. Even those who do have a taste for Verdi may be put off by the way several of his songs have either been trimmed or fully removed. It's a tough sell all around.
(purchase)
(wikipedia for opera)
(internet movie database)
May 12, 2010
Fabiola
1949 film
directed by Alessandro Blasetti
based on the novel by Cardinal Nicholas Wiseman
written by Alessandro Blasetti, Mario Chiari, Diego Fabbri, Jean-Georges Auriol, Antonio Pietrangeli, Cesare Zavattini, Emilio Cecchi, Vitaliano Brancati, Corrado Pavolini, Lionello De Felice, Alberto Vecchietti, Umberto Barbaro, Suso Checchi d'Amico, Renato Castellani
(my review of the 1854 novel, from which this is based)
Story
Things have changed in Rome under the rule of Constantine. Laws have already been put in place outlawing the persecution of any foreign religions and word is starting to spread that the emperor is now considering a personal conversion to Christianity and will outlaw slavery itself. Some see this as the light of a new day, or as empty politics, or as something that won't have much of a profound effect at all, but many feel it's a genuine threat. Why change things? Why stir the pot? Why was the way of their fathers' day so bad?
In the middle of these events are two men. One is Senator Fabius, a wealthy patron who embraces his Christian servants and proudly dreams of a future of liberty and peace. The other is Fulvius, a prelate left in charge during an extended (and unexplained) foreign trip on Constantine's part. He wants things to stay as they were and feels the best way to change the emperor's mind is to lead a public uprising against the blooming religion. So he hatches a plan ...
Before you know it, Fabius is struck dead and Christians are not only blamed for that crime, but for further profaning the gods of Rome by using a statue as a weapon. Charges rise on both sides, and it all builds to a mass persecution culminating in the bloody arena.
Recommended?
Yes.
This was one of, if not the, first big studio period epics made in Italy following the devastation of the war and, thanks to joint funding (and a handful of headlining stars) from France and a director already famous for epics made under Mussolini's reign, they came out of the gate hard and strong. The open air studio lots and richly textured costumes are fantastic and lively, far more so than they'd be over the years as hundreds of cheaper knockoffs would reuse them. From Fabius's gallant party, to the public streets, to a horrific arena draped with dozens of dead or dying people, everything feels both theatrical and real, as though it truly had been lived in since ancient times.
And the direction. Wow. Though his career was somewhat marred by his propagandist efforts, Blasetti is a genuinely gifted filmmaker who creates lyrical, flowing scenes. Take, for instance, the introduction of Fabiola, the title character and daughter of Fabius who I'll explore in a moment. First glimpsed while sleeping freely on a beach, almost like a gift the heavens just birthed to us, Fabiola (played by the instantly captivating Michèle Morgan), is next seen in a garden, standing so perfectly amongst statues that it's not until she moves that we know she's not one of them.
And he sure doesn't skimp on the action. As I've mentioned, the big climax in the arena is an absolute carnival of carnage. People nailed to beams, burned or flayed alive, screaming as packs of lions set in. It's brutal, it's shocking, it's perfectly photographed, but what's most important is that it's meaningful. This isn't violence that's supposed to make us smile in glee as we hand over our bucks for a ticket to exploitation, it's something that genuinely makes us cringe, makes us question in anger how it's come to this, makes us wince for the people we've come to know over the last hour. And as heroes take up the weapons of gladiators for a final fight, the well-choreographed struggle feels like a real last proud act of desperation instead of the trope it would become.
As I've stated on this site before, I'm not a fan of Cardinal Wiseman's original novel, which I found to be naive, generalistic, and just plain stupid in its views. Here, Blasetti and his squadron of writers, among whom were the top talents of the time, really made the material sing. While it does establish many Swords & Sandals tropes and it veers even farther from the historical record than Wiseman's misinterpretation, it makes for an altogether stronger story. Here, it's not a world where all Christians are good and all Pagans are bad, it's all about genuine humans and politics and resources and the personal threat one feels when they're told what they believe is wrong.
Let's look at a pair of characters that make things more ambiguous. In the book, Fulvius was a loving father, but his drunken partying and Pagan ways made him lazy and thoughtless. Here (ably played by Michel Simon), he still throws back many a drink and stages one hell of a party, but his robust speeches against greed and tyranny are in interesting, colorful, real contrast against his own appearance as a well-fed man lounging on a throne with a rich little dog in his arms. Another is Sira, played by Elisa Cegani. While the Fabiola of the books had two opposing servants, one a kind and penitent Christian, the other a backstabbing occultist, here they're masterfully combined into a single individual. Sira starts as a soothsaying Egyptian who casts bad fortunes and accusations at people she simply doesn't like, but she later starts doubting herself when she's confronted by the genuine innocents her words have condemned. Though she largely disappears in the second half, it's a great setup and fully represents the more complex and mature take these people have on the material.
Which then brings us to Fabiola. As in the book, she starts out a bit of a rich snob who eventually comes to understand and care for the repressed minority. The interesting change is that she no longer converts just to be closer to a Christ she suddenly believes in. No, it's more that her youthful naivete is crushed by her father's death and she finds herself questioning the intentions of the people she thought were her father's friends, especially when they start using his murder as a symbol for ideas the man would valiantly oppose in life.
Even then, the characters who do fully represent the opposing dynamics of the book are really nicely handled. Sebastian (the handsome but largely forgettable Massimo Girotti) is a public leader in the army and a private leader in the church, who eventually martyrs himself when ordered to persecute his own people. There, he was a largely empty character painted with such glory that he became ridiculous, but here he's been trimmed down to a supporting role, showing up just enough to make an initial presence, then going out in a genuinely moving and inspiring way that has less to do with accepting Christ as it does promoting peace and liberty.
On the other side is Fulvius, the conniving prelate left in charge of an Empire he's increasingly at odds with. We know he'll eventually suffer upon Contantine's return, but one can relate to his desire to manipulate, to work back the kingdom he now finds himself at the reins of. As played by the deliciously severe Louis Salou, what could have been a typical sneering villain is instead a man who sees the catastrophic effects such sweeping changes will have on an empire he's entirely comfortable with.
However ...
The biggest problem with the film is that they felt the need to invent a completely new character and actually make him the lead. A gladiator sent to Rome on a secret mission from Constantine (we never really find out for what), the oddly named Rual initially hides his Christianity in an attempt to get ingrained amongst Fulvius's posse. But that plot thread never really goes anywhere, so he eventually rises up as a lunkheaded leader of the Christians following Sebastian's demise. Dropping an everyman into events isn't a bad idea, but he's just so poorly glued in here and pushes all the major players back into secondary positions. Much of this plot could easily have been reworked to headline Sebastian and Fabiola without compromising their historical traditions.
And Henri Vidal's performance doesn't help. He's certainly got an impressive physique and charismatic leading man looks, but he just won't stop moving. Approaching the character of Rual as a hyperactive spaz, he's constantly flexing and bounding his way through what should be thoughtful scenes, and even kisses with the rapid smack of a woodpecker.
Probably the biggest strike against the movie, and it's genuine, is that the only version available is an English dub that's been cut by over an hour. I actually found the dub itself (written by Marc Connelly, Fred Pressberger, and Forrest Izard) to be of a much higher quality than many of the era, but hacking an entire hour out of a film is never a benefit. They struggle so hard to cover the gaps with sporadic narration, but it's not only delivered by a voice that should be accompanied by a "gee whiz" kid named Timmy who asks obvious questions, but there's a lot of obvious gaps it never even tries to cover as characters like Sira just totally drop out of the narrative or Rual goes from imprisoned to free to imprisoned to free.
Conclusion
The lead is a stapled-on lunkhead and the only available cut has lost an hour, but it's a rousing and watchable predecessor to the Swords & Sandals movement that's still much more thoughtful, intelligent, and just plain well made than a good majority of what followed.
(purchase)
(wikipedia)
(internet movie database)
directed by Alessandro Blasetti
based on the novel by Cardinal Nicholas Wiseman
written by Alessandro Blasetti, Mario Chiari, Diego Fabbri, Jean-Georges Auriol, Antonio Pietrangeli, Cesare Zavattini, Emilio Cecchi, Vitaliano Brancati, Corrado Pavolini, Lionello De Felice, Alberto Vecchietti, Umberto Barbaro, Suso Checchi d'Amico, Renato Castellani
(my review of the 1854 novel, from which this is based)
Story
Things have changed in Rome under the rule of Constantine. Laws have already been put in place outlawing the persecution of any foreign religions and word is starting to spread that the emperor is now considering a personal conversion to Christianity and will outlaw slavery itself. Some see this as the light of a new day, or as empty politics, or as something that won't have much of a profound effect at all, but many feel it's a genuine threat. Why change things? Why stir the pot? Why was the way of their fathers' day so bad?
In the middle of these events are two men. One is Senator Fabius, a wealthy patron who embraces his Christian servants and proudly dreams of a future of liberty and peace. The other is Fulvius, a prelate left in charge during an extended (and unexplained) foreign trip on Constantine's part. He wants things to stay as they were and feels the best way to change the emperor's mind is to lead a public uprising against the blooming religion. So he hatches a plan ...
Before you know it, Fabius is struck dead and Christians are not only blamed for that crime, but for further profaning the gods of Rome by using a statue as a weapon. Charges rise on both sides, and it all builds to a mass persecution culminating in the bloody arena.
Recommended?
Yes.
This was one of, if not the, first big studio period epics made in Italy following the devastation of the war and, thanks to joint funding (and a handful of headlining stars) from France and a director already famous for epics made under Mussolini's reign, they came out of the gate hard and strong. The open air studio lots and richly textured costumes are fantastic and lively, far more so than they'd be over the years as hundreds of cheaper knockoffs would reuse them. From Fabius's gallant party, to the public streets, to a horrific arena draped with dozens of dead or dying people, everything feels both theatrical and real, as though it truly had been lived in since ancient times.
And the direction. Wow. Though his career was somewhat marred by his propagandist efforts, Blasetti is a genuinely gifted filmmaker who creates lyrical, flowing scenes. Take, for instance, the introduction of Fabiola, the title character and daughter of Fabius who I'll explore in a moment. First glimpsed while sleeping freely on a beach, almost like a gift the heavens just birthed to us, Fabiola (played by the instantly captivating Michèle Morgan), is next seen in a garden, standing so perfectly amongst statues that it's not until she moves that we know she's not one of them.
And he sure doesn't skimp on the action. As I've mentioned, the big climax in the arena is an absolute carnival of carnage. People nailed to beams, burned or flayed alive, screaming as packs of lions set in. It's brutal, it's shocking, it's perfectly photographed, but what's most important is that it's meaningful. This isn't violence that's supposed to make us smile in glee as we hand over our bucks for a ticket to exploitation, it's something that genuinely makes us cringe, makes us question in anger how it's come to this, makes us wince for the people we've come to know over the last hour. And as heroes take up the weapons of gladiators for a final fight, the well-choreographed struggle feels like a real last proud act of desperation instead of the trope it would become.
As I've stated on this site before, I'm not a fan of Cardinal Wiseman's original novel, which I found to be naive, generalistic, and just plain stupid in its views. Here, Blasetti and his squadron of writers, among whom were the top talents of the time, really made the material sing. While it does establish many Swords & Sandals tropes and it veers even farther from the historical record than Wiseman's misinterpretation, it makes for an altogether stronger story. Here, it's not a world where all Christians are good and all Pagans are bad, it's all about genuine humans and politics and resources and the personal threat one feels when they're told what they believe is wrong.
Let's look at a pair of characters that make things more ambiguous. In the book, Fulvius was a loving father, but his drunken partying and Pagan ways made him lazy and thoughtless. Here (ably played by Michel Simon), he still throws back many a drink and stages one hell of a party, but his robust speeches against greed and tyranny are in interesting, colorful, real contrast against his own appearance as a well-fed man lounging on a throne with a rich little dog in his arms. Another is Sira, played by Elisa Cegani. While the Fabiola of the books had two opposing servants, one a kind and penitent Christian, the other a backstabbing occultist, here they're masterfully combined into a single individual. Sira starts as a soothsaying Egyptian who casts bad fortunes and accusations at people she simply doesn't like, but she later starts doubting herself when she's confronted by the genuine innocents her words have condemned. Though she largely disappears in the second half, it's a great setup and fully represents the more complex and mature take these people have on the material.
Which then brings us to Fabiola. As in the book, she starts out a bit of a rich snob who eventually comes to understand and care for the repressed minority. The interesting change is that she no longer converts just to be closer to a Christ she suddenly believes in. No, it's more that her youthful naivete is crushed by her father's death and she finds herself questioning the intentions of the people she thought were her father's friends, especially when they start using his murder as a symbol for ideas the man would valiantly oppose in life.
Even then, the characters who do fully represent the opposing dynamics of the book are really nicely handled. Sebastian (the handsome but largely forgettable Massimo Girotti) is a public leader in the army and a private leader in the church, who eventually martyrs himself when ordered to persecute his own people. There, he was a largely empty character painted with such glory that he became ridiculous, but here he's been trimmed down to a supporting role, showing up just enough to make an initial presence, then going out in a genuinely moving and inspiring way that has less to do with accepting Christ as it does promoting peace and liberty.
On the other side is Fulvius, the conniving prelate left in charge of an Empire he's increasingly at odds with. We know he'll eventually suffer upon Contantine's return, but one can relate to his desire to manipulate, to work back the kingdom he now finds himself at the reins of. As played by the deliciously severe Louis Salou, what could have been a typical sneering villain is instead a man who sees the catastrophic effects such sweeping changes will have on an empire he's entirely comfortable with.
However ...
The biggest problem with the film is that they felt the need to invent a completely new character and actually make him the lead. A gladiator sent to Rome on a secret mission from Constantine (we never really find out for what), the oddly named Rual initially hides his Christianity in an attempt to get ingrained amongst Fulvius's posse. But that plot thread never really goes anywhere, so he eventually rises up as a lunkheaded leader of the Christians following Sebastian's demise. Dropping an everyman into events isn't a bad idea, but he's just so poorly glued in here and pushes all the major players back into secondary positions. Much of this plot could easily have been reworked to headline Sebastian and Fabiola without compromising their historical traditions.
And Henri Vidal's performance doesn't help. He's certainly got an impressive physique and charismatic leading man looks, but he just won't stop moving. Approaching the character of Rual as a hyperactive spaz, he's constantly flexing and bounding his way through what should be thoughtful scenes, and even kisses with the rapid smack of a woodpecker.
Probably the biggest strike against the movie, and it's genuine, is that the only version available is an English dub that's been cut by over an hour. I actually found the dub itself (written by Marc Connelly, Fred Pressberger, and Forrest Izard) to be of a much higher quality than many of the era, but hacking an entire hour out of a film is never a benefit. They struggle so hard to cover the gaps with sporadic narration, but it's not only delivered by a voice that should be accompanied by a "gee whiz" kid named Timmy who asks obvious questions, but there's a lot of obvious gaps it never even tries to cover as characters like Sira just totally drop out of the narrative or Rual goes from imprisoned to free to imprisoned to free.
Conclusion
The lead is a stapled-on lunkhead and the only available cut has lost an hour, but it's a rousing and watchable predecessor to the Swords & Sandals movement that's still much more thoughtful, intelligent, and just plain well made than a good majority of what followed.
(purchase)
(wikipedia)
(internet movie database)
April 9, 2010
Bicycle Thieves
1948 film
directed by Vittorio De Sica
written by Cesare Zavattini, Suso Cecchi d'Amico, Vittorio De Sica, Oreste Biancoli, Adolfo Franci, Gerardo Guerrieri
based on the novel by Luigi Bartolini
(my review of the 1946 novel from which this is based)
Right from the start, De Sica proves himself a clever filmmaker. The title tells us that thieves will steal a bicycle, so he teases us, building anticipation as one moment follows another where our lead character, Antonio Ricci (Lamberto Maggiorani), is forced to leave his bike unattended while his attention is drawn or he's called aside for a minute. Every time he does, our eyes are on the vulnerable vehicle, until the actual act itself, where we see the thieves coming as they lay a trap and spring. It's marvelous, masterful filmmaking on display.
And unlike the book, we care about the bicycle's fate. There, it was one of several owned by a prissy playboy intellectual who cut everything around him down with cynicism. Here, Antonio is a married father of two who finally scores an all-too-rare job in the economic depression that is post-WWII Italy, and the bicycle is a necessary requirement of his job: going from corner to corner, pasting new posters over layers of old ones. He's a genuinely honest, genuinely good fellow, so we feel his anger, we feel his desperation, we feel the gears of right and wrong start grinding against one another when, at a point near the end, he notices a bicycle left unattended on an empty street and starts the inner debate.
But the film doesn't end there with improvements upon the literature. While the book was a wasteland of lies and greed, there is genuine hope here. People gather at churches and help feed, clothe, and shave one another. Antonio's wife (piercing Lianella Carell) doesn't give a second thought before bundling up the linens to pay off a family debt. His friends (led by Gino Saltamerenda) give up part of their working day to fruitlessly search amongst thousands of bikes and parts in the black market. And his young son (the simultaneously innocent and mature Enzo Staiola) constantly tags by his father's side; even when the two have a squabble and put a visible distance between themselves, young Bruno still keeps pace with his father, offering a held hand when needed. But, alas, hope never overcomes all, and there is a proper air of genuine crushing reality that always lingers before it pushes itself to the stage. And the director once again shows his skill when things that seem like obvious movie setups (the friends will keep looking, the boy points out a distinct dent in the frame) never get the chance to pay off, not because they're forgotten, but because reality just doesn't work that way.
This film is rightfully held up as a fine example of the neorealist movement that spread across Europe after the studios suffered greatly from the war and depression that followed. As with others of the style, it deals with quiet, human stories, filmed cheaply on location with casts primarily consisting of amateurs. The lead himself, Maggiorani, was a factory worker who stumbled into the film business when this production cost him his job. He perfectly fits the image of the everyday man of this era, with a gaunt, underfed frame, the strong hands of a laborer, and eyes that are intelligent and hopeful, yet shaded with bouts of desperation.
And it's all put together beautifully by actor-turned-director De Sica. He knows how to build a scene, fill it with distinct people, and fluidly work the camera and editing to tell it to near perfection. Just look at the moment where Antonio finally confronts the thief, who leads his pursuer to the steps of his own home where his neighbors slowly swarm around the accuser, shouting that they know the criminal is a good boy, and how dare Antonio say such slanderous things, and he should listen to the mother shouting from the upstairs window that her child's record is clean. De Sica keeps us right near the eye level of Antonio as all avenues of escape and victory are shut tight and the situation goes from annoying to overwhelming to frightening.
This truly is a masterpiece. Now, yes, there are a few tiny arguments one could make about convenient plot points that casually drop out of the sky (Antonio randomly stumbles across the thief not once, but twice), and there is the occasional moment where the actors betray their amateur origins, but I don't care, and I'm sure most would agree. It's a marvelous work, deep and personal, yet broadly accessible and appealing.
(trailer)
(purchase)
(wikipedia)
(internet movie database)
directed by Vittorio De Sica
written by Cesare Zavattini, Suso Cecchi d'Amico, Vittorio De Sica, Oreste Biancoli, Adolfo Franci, Gerardo Guerrieri
based on the novel by Luigi Bartolini
(my review of the 1946 novel from which this is based)
Right from the start, De Sica proves himself a clever filmmaker. The title tells us that thieves will steal a bicycle, so he teases us, building anticipation as one moment follows another where our lead character, Antonio Ricci (Lamberto Maggiorani), is forced to leave his bike unattended while his attention is drawn or he's called aside for a minute. Every time he does, our eyes are on the vulnerable vehicle, until the actual act itself, where we see the thieves coming as they lay a trap and spring. It's marvelous, masterful filmmaking on display.
And unlike the book, we care about the bicycle's fate. There, it was one of several owned by a prissy playboy intellectual who cut everything around him down with cynicism. Here, Antonio is a married father of two who finally scores an all-too-rare job in the economic depression that is post-WWII Italy, and the bicycle is a necessary requirement of his job: going from corner to corner, pasting new posters over layers of old ones. He's a genuinely honest, genuinely good fellow, so we feel his anger, we feel his desperation, we feel the gears of right and wrong start grinding against one another when, at a point near the end, he notices a bicycle left unattended on an empty street and starts the inner debate.
But the film doesn't end there with improvements upon the literature. While the book was a wasteland of lies and greed, there is genuine hope here. People gather at churches and help feed, clothe, and shave one another. Antonio's wife (piercing Lianella Carell) doesn't give a second thought before bundling up the linens to pay off a family debt. His friends (led by Gino Saltamerenda) give up part of their working day to fruitlessly search amongst thousands of bikes and parts in the black market. And his young son (the simultaneously innocent and mature Enzo Staiola) constantly tags by his father's side; even when the two have a squabble and put a visible distance between themselves, young Bruno still keeps pace with his father, offering a held hand when needed. But, alas, hope never overcomes all, and there is a proper air of genuine crushing reality that always lingers before it pushes itself to the stage. And the director once again shows his skill when things that seem like obvious movie setups (the friends will keep looking, the boy points out a distinct dent in the frame) never get the chance to pay off, not because they're forgotten, but because reality just doesn't work that way.
This film is rightfully held up as a fine example of the neorealist movement that spread across Europe after the studios suffered greatly from the war and depression that followed. As with others of the style, it deals with quiet, human stories, filmed cheaply on location with casts primarily consisting of amateurs. The lead himself, Maggiorani, was a factory worker who stumbled into the film business when this production cost him his job. He perfectly fits the image of the everyday man of this era, with a gaunt, underfed frame, the strong hands of a laborer, and eyes that are intelligent and hopeful, yet shaded with bouts of desperation.
And it's all put together beautifully by actor-turned-director De Sica. He knows how to build a scene, fill it with distinct people, and fluidly work the camera and editing to tell it to near perfection. Just look at the moment where Antonio finally confronts the thief, who leads his pursuer to the steps of his own home where his neighbors slowly swarm around the accuser, shouting that they know the criminal is a good boy, and how dare Antonio say such slanderous things, and he should listen to the mother shouting from the upstairs window that her child's record is clean. De Sica keeps us right near the eye level of Antonio as all avenues of escape and victory are shut tight and the situation goes from annoying to overwhelming to frightening.
This truly is a masterpiece. Now, yes, there are a few tiny arguments one could make about convenient plot points that casually drop out of the sky (Antonio randomly stumbles across the thief not once, but twice), and there is the occasional moment where the actors betray their amateur origins, but I don't care, and I'm sure most would agree. It's a marvelous work, deep and personal, yet broadly accessible and appealing.
(trailer)
(purchase)
(wikipedia)
(internet movie database)
March 24, 2010
Rigoletto
1946 film
directed by Carmine Gallone
based on the play THE KING'S FOOL by Victor Hugo
and the opera by Giuseppe Verdi and Francesco Maria Piave
(1832 play - THE KING'S FOOL)
In his attempt to adapt Hugo's play to the Italian opera, Verdi came to discover just how unpopular a title it was amongst ruling parties. Nobody wanted to stage something where the king was an immoral, womanizing villain who led people down dark paths of sex and murder, so a back and forth began with censors that eventually allowed the production to be made. Albeit, with changes. The ruling monarch would now be a Duke, and his aged jester - whose daughter's innocence would be robbed in a malicious prank aimed at the prankster - would be called Rigoletto.
Being a complete layman when it comes to opera, I can't fairly get into details about singing ranges or song compositions, other than to say it was all nice and melodic and perfectly enhanced the story while driving it ever forward. However, I feel I can say a few things about the adaptation.
One of the main censorship issues is the stripping of much of the play's frank sexuality. Gone is the Duke sweeping from woman to woman during an opening ball. Gone is the open acknowledgement that he'd gone well beyond initial flirts with the wives and daughters of his angry court. Gone even is a clarification of a major shock in the middle that's meant to drive us through the dark second half. With it missing, much of where the tale goes feels nonsensical and extreme as bloody vengeance is sought for an act that either now didn't happen, or didn't go as far as it originally did. Once again, it's not clarified.
And in pulling up small moments to make into show numbers, some of the broader sweeps of the story are compressed in a way that make the play's genuine flaws more obvious, but without the great words of Hugo to gently push over them. An exiled old man who delivers a thematic curse? He was unnecessary there and is purely stapled on here. An assassin that plays a major part later on but is introduced rather haphazardly? The way he now just walks up to people and says "Got anyone you need me to kill?" is reckless nonsense that has me wondering what he's still doing on the street. A brutal, unforgettable sacrifice? Questionable there, rings totally hollow here. An ambiguously open finale? Feels entirely like the leadup to a non-existent final act.
But this isn't to say it's bad. A lot of the good stuff from the play is still great here, but what didn't work works even less, and some changes render the entire piece somewhat meaningless.
That's the opera, though, so let's move on to the broader film. Gallone, a famous director in the early years of Italian cinema, must have been a Verdi fan because he not only adapted several of the composer's works to the big screen, but even did a biopic of the man himself. Since many films back then were largely comparable to plays in their staging and design, it makes sense that he simply uses the actors, costumes, sets, and the very stage of the opera itself to make the movie, just ditching the audience and bringing his camera up with the actors. It works beautifully, the quiet yet precise cinematography showing off the huge, multi-tiered sets, which hold dozens of actors, each clad in meticulously textured and detailed outfits, all against lush, deep, partially animated backdrops.
The problem is the acting. As they pour forth from their talented diaphragms, most of the performers just stiffly drift from one pose to another with fixed expressions and little in the way of actual acting. I'm sure it sells just fine on a stage when seen from a distance, but this is the cinema, and once you put those people in medium-shots and close-ups, it feels hollow and forced. Even the able performers Mario Filippeschi, as the charming yet dastardly duke, and Marcella Govoni, as the jester's tragically innocent daughter, while they do slip some subtle flourishes in, painfully lack charisma when the camera nestles in tight.
The exception, however, is Tito Gobbi in the title role of Rigoletto the jester, who proves why he's a legend of the Italian stage. Even as he sinks into the necessary portrait poses, he's constantly moving, with an expressive face that's simultaneously subtle and broad, and dancing hands that search out business with his clothes or props or the arms of another actor. He truly lights up the screen, and when he laughs or cries, your emotions are right there with him.
It's an interesting film, one that should appeal to fans of opera, but I don't know that it would much interest anyone else, particularly with the story now lacking the ferocity of the punches Hugo gave it.
(clip of the famous song "La donna e mobile (How Fickle Women Are)")
(read)
(purchase)
(wikipedia)
(internet movie database)
directed by Carmine Gallone
based on the play THE KING'S FOOL by Victor Hugo
and the opera by Giuseppe Verdi and Francesco Maria Piave
(1832 play - THE KING'S FOOL)
In his attempt to adapt Hugo's play to the Italian opera, Verdi came to discover just how unpopular a title it was amongst ruling parties. Nobody wanted to stage something where the king was an immoral, womanizing villain who led people down dark paths of sex and murder, so a back and forth began with censors that eventually allowed the production to be made. Albeit, with changes. The ruling monarch would now be a Duke, and his aged jester - whose daughter's innocence would be robbed in a malicious prank aimed at the prankster - would be called Rigoletto.
Being a complete layman when it comes to opera, I can't fairly get into details about singing ranges or song compositions, other than to say it was all nice and melodic and perfectly enhanced the story while driving it ever forward. However, I feel I can say a few things about the adaptation.
One of the main censorship issues is the stripping of much of the play's frank sexuality. Gone is the Duke sweeping from woman to woman during an opening ball. Gone is the open acknowledgement that he'd gone well beyond initial flirts with the wives and daughters of his angry court. Gone even is a clarification of a major shock in the middle that's meant to drive us through the dark second half. With it missing, much of where the tale goes feels nonsensical and extreme as bloody vengeance is sought for an act that either now didn't happen, or didn't go as far as it originally did. Once again, it's not clarified.
And in pulling up small moments to make into show numbers, some of the broader sweeps of the story are compressed in a way that make the play's genuine flaws more obvious, but without the great words of Hugo to gently push over them. An exiled old man who delivers a thematic curse? He was unnecessary there and is purely stapled on here. An assassin that plays a major part later on but is introduced rather haphazardly? The way he now just walks up to people and says "Got anyone you need me to kill?" is reckless nonsense that has me wondering what he's still doing on the street. A brutal, unforgettable sacrifice? Questionable there, rings totally hollow here. An ambiguously open finale? Feels entirely like the leadup to a non-existent final act.
But this isn't to say it's bad. A lot of the good stuff from the play is still great here, but what didn't work works even less, and some changes render the entire piece somewhat meaningless.
That's the opera, though, so let's move on to the broader film. Gallone, a famous director in the early years of Italian cinema, must have been a Verdi fan because he not only adapted several of the composer's works to the big screen, but even did a biopic of the man himself. Since many films back then were largely comparable to plays in their staging and design, it makes sense that he simply uses the actors, costumes, sets, and the very stage of the opera itself to make the movie, just ditching the audience and bringing his camera up with the actors. It works beautifully, the quiet yet precise cinematography showing off the huge, multi-tiered sets, which hold dozens of actors, each clad in meticulously textured and detailed outfits, all against lush, deep, partially animated backdrops.
The problem is the acting. As they pour forth from their talented diaphragms, most of the performers just stiffly drift from one pose to another with fixed expressions and little in the way of actual acting. I'm sure it sells just fine on a stage when seen from a distance, but this is the cinema, and once you put those people in medium-shots and close-ups, it feels hollow and forced. Even the able performers Mario Filippeschi, as the charming yet dastardly duke, and Marcella Govoni, as the jester's tragically innocent daughter, while they do slip some subtle flourishes in, painfully lack charisma when the camera nestles in tight.
The exception, however, is Tito Gobbi in the title role of Rigoletto the jester, who proves why he's a legend of the Italian stage. Even as he sinks into the necessary portrait poses, he's constantly moving, with an expressive face that's simultaneously subtle and broad, and dancing hands that search out business with his clothes or props or the arms of another actor. He truly lights up the screen, and when he laughs or cries, your emotions are right there with him.
It's an interesting film, one that should appeal to fans of opera, but I don't know that it would much interest anyone else, particularly with the story now lacking the ferocity of the punches Hugo gave it.
(clip of the famous song "La donna e mobile (How Fickle Women Are)")
(read)
(purchase)
(wikipedia)
(internet movie database)
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