What Was The Last Movie You Watched?

[Fading Fast]

Fast Life from 1932 with William Haines, Madge Evans, Cliff Edwards and Arthur Byron


In typical precode fashion, MGM packed a lot of story into Fast Life, a short-runtime tale of love and speedboat racing. But since it never settled on one style, the movie feels bumpy and inconsistent.

Male lead William Haines plays it camp all the way, while female lead Madge Evans acts as if she's in a regular romcom. Directors Harry A. Pollard and Sam Wood either couldn't or didn't try to get the actors on the same stylistic page.

At the opening, Haines, with his "goofy" sidekick, played by Cliff Edwards, plans to leave the Navy. They want to make their fortune selling Haines' new engine design for a speedboat. Being camp, though, we first see Haines' new engine blow up the admiral's personal boat.

Haines, now fully out of the Navy, has a meet-cute with the daughter, played by Madge Evans, of an owner, played by Arthur Byron, of a boat manufacturer. Yet obnoxious Haines kinda sorta alienates her. Evans still likes him, but she won't admit it. It's that old storyline.

Haines, whose confidence in his charm greatly exceeds his charm, pushes his way into Byron's office. We soon learn Byron is about to lose his business to the bank. Haines boldly promises to save Byron, "The Skipper," by winning an international speedboat race for him.

The last piece of the puzzle is Evans' fiancé, played by Conrad Nagel, who projects a polished upper-crust manner but is really a scheming bootlegger. He wants The Skipper's business to fail so that he can take it over and marry his daughter.

With the setup, the movie is a typical Depression era story of the underdog, Haines, trying to save a good man's business and a good man's daughter from a scheming fiancée. For most of the movie, Haines is "misunderstood" by Evans and dismissed by the rich and powerful.

The wrinkle in this one is that Evans' father, The Skipper, never wavers in his support of Haines; whereas, in most of these stories, the pretty girl's father dislikes the "bounder."

It all comes down to one climactic boat-race scene with Haines driving the Skipper's boat, which has Haines' new, but untested, engine in it. If Haines wins, the Skipper's business will be saved.

If you've never seen one of these movies, you might feel a little suspense at the end, but even if you guess the outcome, the boat race is surprisingly good drama for a 1932 movie. The ending is never really in doubt, but it's still a reasonably fun race and finish.

The problem isn't the wash-rinse-repeat story, which Hallmark even today uses a version of for every fifth movie it makes; the problem is that Haines plays it slapstick all the way, while everyone else plays it as a lighthearted romcom.

Slapstick is fine if you enjoy it, and Haines is quite good at it, but it doesn't work when the other actors, except for Edwards, aren't in slapstick mode. Evans, in particular, other than in a scene or moment here or there, plays it as an easy-going drama.

Evans is so adorable and likable that you can almost enjoy the movie despite its mismatched styles, as she's cute as heck and quite adept at balancing comedy and drama in a romance. She was a 1930s Meg Ryan well before there was a 1990s Meg Ryan.

For us today, Fast Life also has some neat 1930s history as Prohibition is still the law of the land. In practice, this means everyone is drinking bootleg booze in the open, while bootlegging is still a huge business that the police seem to only half-heartedly pursue.

Plus, the boat-race scenes and on-location shots of Catalina Island are time-travel heaven, with the rich looking like they stepped out of a 1980s Ralph Lauren ad, while all the wooden Chris-Craft boats are museum worthy today.

For fans of precode movies and these stars, it's worth watching, but for the rest, the movie's inharmonious styles make it a slog at times. Still, you can always just enjoy Madge Evans, who even sports a wet bathing suit in a few scenes, which amps up the oomph factor.

 

[Trenchfriend]

Le Sauvage (1975).

Catherine Deneuve, 31/32 years old.

 

[Harp]

Le Sauvage (1975).

Catherine Deneuve, 31/32 years old.

Catherine est la belle fleur de ma coeur.

 

[Fading Fast]

A Canterbury Tale (1944) with Sheila Sim, Eric Portman, John Sweet, and Dennis Price


What would a WWII homefront propaganda movie that riffs on Chaucer's The Canterbury Tales, has no fighting, a silly plot, and features a real American GI untrained in acting playing one of the leads look like — asked no one ever. But that's the movie they made in A Canterbury Tale.

And it's a charmer – as long as you let it be. Specifically, it's a paean to a way of English farming and village life that would disappear after the war, as England realized it needed to modernize its food supply chain. But for one last great spark, the country is fighting for very old England.

Three modern day "pilgrims" – a land girl and war widow, played by Sheila Sim; an American sergeant, played by real GI John Sweet; and a British sergeant, played by Dennis Price – on their way to Canterbury are waylaid for a night in the nearby (fictitious) village of Chillingbourne.

Arriving in the evening during a blackout, Sim gets "attacked" by the "glueman," a mysterious figure who puts glue in women's hair (it's arduous to wash out). Soon, the three, who just met, agree to stay on for the weekend to try to solve the mystery that has perplexed the town.

Centering the trio's time in Chillingbourne is a local magistrate and farmer, played by Eric Portman, who is also the area's unofficial but quite enthusiastic historian. His lecture series provides ballast to their visit, the British troops stationed nearby, and Portman's passion.

That's the plot, and it is not a particularly engaging one, but it is also not the point of this Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger written, produced, and directed effort. This famous duo only used this quirky plot to showcase the charm, fortitude, and history of the English countryside.

Much is made of the historical echo to the medieval pilgrimages made to Canterbury, the site of Thomas Becket's 1170 martyrdom. For a country presently fighting and dying for its freedom, a reminder of its long and glorious past is smart and sincere propaganda.

Canterbury itself incurred extensive destruction from German air raids in 1942, but the stunning Cathedral thankfully only sustained minor damage. In the last act, when the trio finally arrives in Canterbury, the Cathedral, which centers the climax, is beautifully and lovingly filmed.

If there is a standout among the four leads – the three modern day pilgrims and Portman – it would be Sim who, mourning the loss of her pilot fiancé, became a "land girl" (a young city woman who went out to work the farms with the men away fighting) to "do her part."

She's like an English Deanna Durbin – off the charts on the adorable scale in her cute land-girl outfit and with her inherent love of the countryside, farms, and forests. Having been "glued," she wants to catch the "glue man," but you also sense she just wants to do something good.

Sweet is here to represent the unaware, a bit awkward, and a bit loud American who doesn't care that much about English culture or history until it begins to seep in. Then he and England start to bond in a genuine way. You don't have to think hard to see the point.

Price plays the inveterate Londoner annoyed that he has to be in the countryside until, like Sweet, he begins to see it as the heart and soul of "merry old England." There's a nice scene of him realizing a personal dream in Canterbury Cathedral that you'll want to see fresh.

Portman is the oddest character and may be more a symbol than a real person. At times he's almost a ghostly figure flickering in and out of scenes or speaking as if he's part of the history he likes talking about. He could be England's past coming to say, "I'm worth fighting for."

All this only works because of that elusive screen quality: charm. From the opening narration of Chaucer's verse, to the air raid wardens politely checking blackout curtains, to the entire Cathedral singing "Onward, Christian Soldiers," the warmth of England washes over you.

Shot in gorgeous black and white and filmed with reverence — corn shocks, a famous Cathedral, children playing in a stream, and a farmer's wife calling the family into supper all say, "I'm here, I'm proud, and I'm worth saving."

A Canterbury Tale could have been a half hour shorter, and nothing from the story would have been lost. However, some of the loving footage would have been cut, and you can see Powell and Pressburger thinking: no, we won't cut; we want England to see all of this.

Propaganda movies are viewed with skepticism today, in our very cynical times. But a country fighting for its existence isn't going to put out "balanced" movies that show the German point of view. It will, instead, put out a movie like A Canterbury Tale.

Today, the film serves as a time capsule of a country at war, while also capturing a historical monument – a famous Cathedral – serving as a symbol of fortitude. Go into the picture with an open and forgiving mind, and its charm will win you over.

 

[Fading Fast]

The Devil's Circus (1926) with Norma Shearer, Charles Emmett Mack, John Miljan, and Carmel Myers


Silent films are of course movies, but they use a different style – a different "language" – than "talkies" to tell their tales. A language that for modern audiences is often a bridge too far, but if you traverse it, there are excellent films waiting on the other side.

The Devil's Circus is one of those excellent films, but beyond the "language" gap, there is a cultural gap as this religiously symbolic movie would speak to a heavily Christian 1920s country much more than our secular and cynical one today.

A pious farm girl, played by Norma Shearer, arrives alone in the city one night and is taken in by a pickpocket played by Charles Emmett Mack. He assumes she'll be "easy," but after some tussling, he treats her with respect when she stays over for want of a vacant hotel room.

Now living together, their relationship grows despite his agnosticism and her devout Christianity. But she doesn't know he's a thief until he's injured in a heist, comes home, and confesses to her just before the police arrive.

It's off to jail for him and circus work for her, which brings her to the attention of the circus' handsome, smarmy lion tamer, played by John Miljan. Miljan's jealous and wound-too-tight wife, played by Carmel Myers, rightly is angry at Miljan, but she blames innocent Shearer too.

There's a brutal scene coming that you'll want to see fresh – you'll know it when you get there – but pay attention to the camera angles and cuts, as they serve in place of the spoken words and verbal expressions of emotion a silent film cannot convey.

Act II ends with a lot of drama – trapeze artists performing with roaring lions underneath – that you'll also want to see fresh, but just as that crisis hits, WWI breaks out with a Dalíesque cut to a devil, played by the film's director, Benjamin Christensen, pulling strings above the world.

Act III begins at the end of the war, with everyone shattered, scattered, and trying to find their footing. A few coincidences and a lot of heavy writing later and the film ends on a message of faith, or does it? Maybe it's faith or maybe it's subversive – Christensen lets you decide.

Being a different language of moviemaking, the acting style of silent movies is naturally different and often mocked today. Yet, in fairness, the medium drove the style as if you can't speak, you have to emote demonstratively or, well, you just stand there and convey nothing.

On that score, Shearer, Mack, and Myers are all very good, but Miljan is a touch better as he emotes a bit less and conveys a bit more. Shearer, though, has that one thing you can't beg, borrow, or steal – the screen presence of a star. The camera just loves her.

For fans of talking pictures, it's a treat to see her at only twenty-four, of course, with that always wild hair, looking younger than she does even in her precodes, let alone her well-known 1939 movie The Women.

After a bit, you kinda forget you're watching a silent movie and, as you do in any good story – in any medium – you start to care about the characters. You want Shearer to find happiness; Miljan and Myers to get what they deserve; and Mack to stick with his attempt at reforming.

If you're new (ish) to silent movies, the repetitive accompanying piano music (it can be organ music too) will either irk you or flow by innocuously, but it takes some getting used to. Also, you'll wish they had used more title cards to tell more of the story, but that's a modern thing too.

There are two philosophies at play in The Devil's Circus that have little currency today. The first is a devout Christianity that believes in an active God and an active devil driving a stark line between right and wrong.

The second philosophy – a familiar one to a 1920s audience but an alien one to us today – is a 19th-century Romanticism that believes in transcendental, not transactional, love. A belief that true love between a man and woman is worth fighting and dying for because it is eternal.

In the West, Christianity today is a forgiving faith to help people deal with life's struggles, but back in the earlier 20th century it had a harder edge that judged right and wrong. Conversely, Romantics believed love was a force for good all its own and not a swipe right thing.

Silent films, like most unfamiliar art forms, require you to learn a bit about them and their times to truly appreciate them, but there is an incredible touch to the past if you're willing to do that. The Devil's Circus is a pretty good place to start for that connection to an earlier era.

 

[Harp]

View attachment 779415
A Canterbury Tale (1944) with Sheila Sim, Eric Portman, John Sweet, and Dennis Price


What would a WWII homefront propaganda movie that riffs on Chaucer's The Canterbury Tales, has no fighting, a silly plot, and features a real American GI untrained in acting playing one of the leads look like — asked no one ever. But that's the movie they made in A Canterbury Tale.

And it's a charmer – as long as you let it be. Specifically, it's a paean to a way of English farming and village life that would disappear after the war, as England realized it needed to modernize its food supply chain. But for one last great spark, the country is fighting for very old England.

Three modern day "pilgrims" – a land girl and war widow, played by Sheila Sim; an American sergeant, played by real GI John Sweet; and a British sergeant, played by Dennis Price – on their way to Canterbury are waylaid for a night in the nearby (fictitious) village of Chillingbourne.

Arriving in the evening during a blackout, Sim gets "attacked" by the "glueman," a mysterious figure who puts glue in women's hair (it's arduous to wash out). Soon, the three, who just met, agree to stay on for the weekend to try to solve the mystery that has perplexed the town.

Centering the trio's time in Chillingbourne is a local magistrate and farmer, played by Eric Portman, who is also the area's unofficial but quite enthusiastic historian. His lecture series provides ballast to their visit, the British troops stationed nearby, and Portman's passion.

That's the plot, and it is not a particularly engaging one, but it is also not the point of this Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger written, produced, and directed effort. This famous duo only used this quirky plot to showcase the charm, fortitude, and history of the English countryside.

Much is made of the historical echo to the medieval pilgrimages made to Canterbury, the site of Thomas Becket's 1170 martyrdom. For a country presently fighting and dying for its freedom, a reminder of its long and glorious past is smart and sincere propaganda.

Canterbury itself incurred extensive destruction from German air raids in 1942, but the stunning Cathedral thankfully only sustained minor damage. In the last act, when the trio finally arrives in Canterbury, the Cathedral, which centers the climax, is beautifully and lovingly filmed.

If there is a standout among the four leads – the three modern day pilgrims and Portman – it would be Sim who, mourning the loss of her pilot fiancé, became a "land girl" (a young city woman who went out to work the farms with the men away fighting) to "do her part."

She's like an English Deanna Durbin – off the charts on the adorable scale in her cute land-girl outfit and with her inherent love of the countryside, farms, and forests. Having been "glued," she wants to catch the "glue man," but you also sense she just wants to do something good.

Sweet is here to represent the unaware, a bit awkward, and a bit loud American who doesn't care that much about English culture or history until it begins to seep in. Then he and England start to bond in a genuine way. You don't have to think hard to see the point.

Price plays the inveterate Londoner annoyed that he has to be in the countryside until, like Sweet, he begins to see it as the heart and soul of "merry old England." There's a nice scene of him realizing a personal dream in Canterbury Cathedral that you'll want to see fresh.

Portman is the oddest character and may be more a symbol than a real person. At times he's almost a ghostly figure flickering in and out of scenes or speaking as if he's part of the history he likes talking about. He could be England's past coming to say, "I'm worth fighting for."

All this only works because of that elusive screen quality: charm. From the opening narration of Chaucer's verse, to the air raid wardens politely checking blackout curtains, to the entire Cathedral singing "Onward, Christian Soldiers," the warmth of England washes over you.

Shot in gorgeous black and white and filmed with reverence — corn shocks, a famous Cathedral, children playing in a stream, and a farmer's wife calling the family into supper all say, "I'm here, I'm proud, and I'm worth saving."

A Canterbury Tale could have been a half hour shorter, and nothing from the story would have been lost. However, some of the loving footage would have been cut, and you can see Powell and Pressburger thinking: no, we won't cut; we want England to see all of this.

Propaganda movies are viewed with skepticism today, in our very cynical times. But a country fighting for its existence isn't going to put out "balanced" movies that show the German point of view. It will, instead, put out a movie like A Canterbury Tale.

Today, the film serves as a time capsule of a country at war, while also capturing a historical monument – a famous Cathedral – serving as a symbol of fortitude. Go into the picture with an open and forgiving mind, and its charm will win you over.

View attachment 779413
View attachment 779414

The noble buildings and the branching green
Where Emily the radiant and serene
Went pausing in her walk and roaming on.--The Canterbury Tales; The Knight's Tale

British cinema armed lavish historic and constrained hardscrabble plot foci does alright for itself.

 

[Fading Fast]

Bonjour Tristesse (1958) with Jean Seberg, David Niven, Deborah Kerr, and Mylène Demongeot


Bonjour Tristesse was panned by the critics upon release, but has since been "reevaluated," as it should be, because it's a pretty, fun, poignant picture that's enjoyable if you don't make the mistakes contemporary critics did and take it too seriously.

Jean Seberg (whose picture is in the dictionary next to "gamine") plays a spirited party girl spending the summer on the Riviera with her widowed and equally spirited father, played by David Niven. Niven's girl of the moment, played by Mylène Demongeot, is along for this summer's ride.

Theirs is a lovely house on the water, where the three drink, sun, swim, play, go to fancy restaurants, and pamper their hangovers and occasional sunburns. Demongeot is closer in age to Seberg, so they are also friends, while Niven floats along enjoying his sybaritic lifestyle.

It's so pretty, it's stupid: the house is large, open, and overlooks beautiful blue water. Everyone dresses in gorgeous "casual" summer clothes by day and elegant attire by night. It's wonderfully laid back, appealing, and comfortable; you only wish you were there.

You also only wish you had the relationship Seberg has with Niven. It's the "we are best friends but still maintain a marginal parent-daughter overlay" relationship that every father-daughter combination wants, but few achieve.

There'd be no story, though, if something didn't threaten their happy little world, so enters a friend of Niven's deceased wife, played by Deborah Kerr. She is pretty, closer in age to Niven, a successful fashion designer, and more serious than Niven and Seberg combined.

Kerr comes to visit, which causes a little room reshuffling as they can't have Niven and Demongeot sleeping together with Kerr under the same roof, but other than being a bit more adult-like, things tick along nicely at first. Then, stupid Niven gets an itch to sleep with Kerr.

He has to shuffle Demongeot out of the picture, which he does with Seberg's help – it's not nice, but men often do not nice things for s*x – and now it's just the three of them. Kerr then starts imposing more discipline on Seberg, especially when she and Niven get engaged.

These are some of the movie's money scenes, as Kerr isn't dictatorial, just a sturdier parent than Niven. Seberg is willing to bend a bit as she knows a little discipline wouldn't hurt them, but when Kerr tries to crimp Seberg's rolling-in-the-hay activities, she's gone too far.

Seberg hits on a plan to undermine Kerr and break up the pending nuptials, which requires an unaware Niven to play along, which he does because it means more casual s*x for him. The rest you'll want to see fresh, but it is quite an unexpected ending.

With Seberg – playing a nice but spoiled seventeen year old – narrating and running around in shorts, a bathing suit, or a revealing dress with her lithe, nubile body and gamine cropped hair, this is her movie, and she carries it with impressive confidence for a twenty-years-old.

Directed by Otto Preminger, the beautiful Technicolor Riviera sequences are punctuated by black and white scenes set after the summer. In those scenes, in voice-over narration, Seberg comments on what she and her father learned – or not – from their experience with Kerr.

It's an attempt to make a fun, almost frivolous movie deeper, which probably turned off the critics, but those scenes have aged well. Our culture has moved so far past most of this mattering that it's easier to take it all in as a harmless mid-century morality play.

You also take in a lot of acting talent. Niven is so good as the carefree dad that you forget he's playing a role. The same for Seberg, who'll remind you of a lot of spoiled seventeen year olds. Kerr is equally good in the hardest role as she travels a brutal emotional arc.

Bonjour Tristesse is well-done, polished fluff. Critics tend to hate polished fluff as it flies too close to a lot of the more serious stuff they like to intellectualize about. But if you don't have to prove your mental acumen by the movies you like, this is a fun one that has aged really well, with a sun-drenched Mediterranean aesthetic that fans of The Talented Mr Ripley (1999) will immediately recognize.

 

[Harp]

^ A sense that author Patricia Highsmith could have penned this film script, and cast Deborah Kerr
for magic spellbound femininity mixed moral ***ual tension impress thought reading this excellent
summary. Few women of cinema had such command with credibile innate discipline to hold moment
balanced sense and sensuous in equal measure.

 

[Judgmentalist]

The last movie I watched was Nuremburg, which I thought was pretty solid. Haven't gotten to the theater to see Project Hail Mary yet. That was one I wanted to see in theater, not sure if I'll get it done.

 

[Fading Fast]

Girl Crazy (1932) with Bert Wheeler, Robert Woolsey, Eddie Quillan, and Arline Judge


Girl Crazy is the first of three Hollywood adaptations of a play by the same name, with popular songs by George and Ira Gershwin. As is Hollywood’s wont, RKO bought the popular play for this 1932 version and then made substantial changes to the story and characters.

RKO Studios turned the play into a vehicle for its number-one in-house comedy team of Bert Wheeler and Robert Woolsey, whose comedy was of the vaudeville-slapstick variety that was still reasonably popular but even waning in the early 1930s.

While there is a plot, the movie is more a series of comedy sketches held together by the thin thread of the story RKO left intact. That thread starts with a father sending his "girl-crazy" son out west to run the family ranch so that the boy will be away from the temptations of the city.

The son, played by Eddie Quillan, having no intention of giving up women, wine, and song, plans to turn the ranch into a dude ranch, so he sends east for showgirls and a "gambling operator," played by Woolsey.

The first half of the movie is putting those pieces in place in a slapstick/screwball fashion, which includes Woolsey and his wife (they bicker but love each other) taking a cab, driven by Wheeler, from Chicago to Arizona.

After a bunch of screwball and "zany" mishaps on the way, where Woolsey does his usual deadpan response to "crazy," they arrive in "Custerville –" the western town that just shot its sheriff to show its "lawlessness." Good grief.

None of this is taken too seriously. Neither is the second half of this hour-long movie, which feels longer, where Quillan falls for the cute local postmistress, played by Arline Judge, and everyone else fights over money, women, and any other stupid thing they can come up with.

If you like seeing people get hit over the head repeatedly with objects that would kill them in real life or people chasing each other here and there, or men – mainly Woolsey, hitting on women with cheesy Catskill pickup lines – then this is the movie for you.

If you like nonsensical conversations where "tough" cowboys are outwitted by effete easterners with snark as the easterners – mainly Woolsey, again – keep half-winking at the camera, then this is also the movie for you.

History argues this brand of comedy was popular – there were other slapstick comedians (see W. C. Fields for a more talented version) – but not so much so that it could save this mess of a picture, which, according to Wikipedia, lost money because (checks notes) it's an awful movie.

It’s hard to summarize the second half other than to say the action eventually shifts to Mexico. Here, all the same things happen, with Quillan and Judge’s romance as, in theory, the centering conflict that needs to be resolved – but you won’t really care.

About ten years later, MGM would turn the same play into a good movie starring Mickey Rooney, Judy Garland and the Gershwin Brothers' music (this '32 version kept a few of the songs, but you won't notice them much amidst the crazy).

Wheeler and Woolsey must have made the studio money, or RKO wouldn't have kept making their movies: Hollywood is funny that way. All one can make of Girl Crazy is that their formula of comedy didn't translate well to this play, which after all, was a musical in the first place.

Why RKO bought a musical for a not-song-and-dance vaudeville team is one of those Tinseltown mysteries that has no good answer. Why people ever thought Wheeler and Woolsey were funny is also one of those mysteries that has no good answer.

 

[LizzieMaine]

W&W were as good as their material, which in this particular case, was not suited to them at all. When it was, as with "Peach O' Reno," also from 1932, or "Diplomaniacs," from 1933, they could acquit themselves if not as well as the Marx Brothers, then at least maybe the Marx Out Of Town Cousins. They were, believe it or not, RKO's biggest moneymakers for most of the thirties.

 

[Fading Fast]

King Solomon's Mines (1950) with Stewart Granger, Deborah Kerr, and Richard Carlson


Thank God they filmed in Africa as that turned this good action-romance movie into an incredible travelogue of Africa at a time when there was not a lot of film footage from that continent, nor had many Americans or Europeans visited it.

King Solomon's Mines thus became an engaging movie and informative documentary rolled into one – one that influenced films for decades to come, but is it a good movie on its own? Yes, it is a good story, with engaging characters but, to be fair, a thin plot and an only okay ending.

The on-location filming combined with stars Stewart Granger, Deborah Kerr, and Richard Carlson – and many Africans employed not only as extras but as key characters along the way – gives the picture an authenticity that is quite unusual for the time.

Add into that mix, Oscar-winning color cinematography by Robert Surtees, and the picture is a visual treat of African landscapes: thick jungles, wide open deserts, mountain vistas, powerful rivers and falls – and an incredible array of animals, with some scary-sized insects.

It starts when Kerr, playing the wife of a man who went missing in Africa eighteen months ago, tries to hire a noted safari guide, played by Granger, who initially wants no part of the search until Kerr dangles enough money in front of him – it's always good to know where you stand.

It doesn't help that Kerr's husband was following a four-hundred-year-old map through all but uncharted parts of Africa to the supposed riches of King Solomon's diamond mines. Still, with Kerr's brother, Carlson in tow, and several African "bearers," off they go to find her husband.

For Kerr, it's an external journey with all the excitement and danger that brings, but also an internal one as her marriage was not a good one. Maybe, though, she thinks, finding your lost husband makes up for not being a good wife (heads turn to the philosophers).

All the things we've become used to seeing in these types of movies happen: Kerr has to learn to wear the right clothes, not the pretty ones, cut her hair short, do what the experienced people say to do, and bathe when the opportunity presents itself.

Being the 1950s, Granger rescues Kerr a few times and she cries into his shoulder, but she also shows grit, determination, an ability to learn and adjust, and an iron will to match Granger's or anyone else's. She's an impressive example of girl power, 1950s style.

Granger plays to type too as the world-weary guide who is gruff but kind, strategically courageous, and whose moral north star is reasonably well set. Under his leadership, sandstorms, hostile natives, wild animals, and challenging terrain will all be surmounted.

Along the way, he and Kerr will go from dislike, to grudging respect, to "if she wasn't married we'd be ripping each other's clothes off," which is about where they're at when they get close to the mines and learning the fate of her husband.

It would take someone familiar with African tribes and customs from that era to confirm this, but the approach to the African culture seems respectful and authentic. There's a modern, "it's different, not better or worse" tone that again reminds us the past was not black and white.

The scenes where the competing factions within a tribe meet and select a process for picking the tribe's king are outstanding storytelling within a story – you'll want to see the outcome, and you will.

The plot is the plot – a search for Kerr's lost husband – with the "surprise" being that Kerr discovers much about herself along the way: (cliché alert) she traveled as far internally as she did externally. Granger, too, maybe discovers a few things about himself.

Watch for the scene where Kerr comes clean to Granger about her marriage and the real reason she bullied everyone into this trip. It's impressive acting that will help you to understand why she had a long and successful career in an unforgiving business.

Carlson serves as a confidant to both Kerr and Granger, but quickly you realize he's there to be a chaperone, not because they need him, but because the Motion Picture Production Code wouldn't have allowed an unmarried man and woman to romp around Africa together otherwise.

Even before CGI killed any realism or sense of awe in action movies, modern special effects going back to the 1980s had surpassed anything seen here, but that is no longer a bug but a feature, as you can watch these types of movies as almost believable adventures.

King Solomon's Mines is a good movie, an outstanding travelogue, and, now, an incredible time capsule of mid-century Hollywood and mid-century Africa. It is the antidote to those burned out by the over-the-top noise and visual assault of modern action-adventure movies.

 

[Harp]

^ Granger caught my notice when cast in The Virginian/The Men From Shiloh as a retired
British Army colonel who bought Shiloh ranch. Liked Granger's having his act together portrayal, but hadn't
seen him anywhere else other than in North To Alaska with John Wayne. I'll look for this, which I've heard
of, and Deborah Kerr is a favorite leading lady whom always stirs the drink.

 

[LukeST]

A man for all seasons (1966).

Been on my list for a long time and finally got to it.

Paul Scofields performance was excellent in my view.
Nice turn from a young John Hurt as the slimy Richard Rich.

 

[Harp]

Scho

A man for all seasons (1966).

Been on my list for a long time and finally got to it.

Paul Scofields performance was excellent in my view.
Nice turn from a young John Hurt as the slimy Richard Rich.

Schofield was excellent as More. And Robert Shaw stole the show as Henry VIII.
Susanna York also proved a stunner performance.

 

[Harp]

Addendum^ Speaking of More: I once attended a corporate staff conference held at a downtown
Chicago hotel during winter; afterwards, dressed in a Gloverall toggle, suitably scarfed but without
homburg as the Gloverall brand is reminiscent British martial heritage, I hailed a cab for LaSalle Street
Station and the Rock Island Blue Isle 17.30 express run out to Chicago's Beverly district.

The cabbie was Lebanese and remarked his English Literature Beirut University baccalaureate before launching tirade against the USA because Americans ''definitely are unread, they never read.'' With arrival station,
I pulled More's The Four Last Things out from a Gloverall side pocket and scribbled my email address across
inside cover page, inviting a restaurant dinner meet to discuss literature, law, or philosophy sometime.
He was somewhat taken aback, and said he thought I was Irish...well, I am but a few generations removed
the old sod.... He never replied.

 

[LukeST]

Addendum^ Speaking of More: I once attended a corporate staff conference held at a downtown
Chicago hotel during winter; afterwards, dressed in a Gloverall toggle, suitably scarfed but without
homburg as the Gloverall brand is reminiscent British martial heritage, I hailed a cab for LaSalle Street
Station and the Rock Island Blue Isle 17.30 express run out to Chicago's Beverly district.

The cabbie was Lebanese and remarked his English Literature Beirut University baccalaureate before launching tirade against the USA because Americans ''definitely are unread, they never read.'' With arrival station,
I pulled More's The Four Last Things out from a Gloverall side pocket and scribbled my email address across
inside cover page, inviting a restaurant dinner meet to discuss literature, law, or philosophy sometime.
He was somewhat taken aback, and said he thought I was Irish...well, I am but a few generations removed
the old sod.... He never replied.

That is an interesting story, and a cautionary tale against prejudice based on nationality (something that all too many are guilty of from time to time).

I have not personally gone much further than More's more ubiquitous Utopia, but you have inspired me to dig a little deeper!

 

[Harp]

I have not personally gone much further than More's more ubiquitous Utopia, but you have inspired me to dig a little deeper!

I find More a Middle Age intrigue; constrained the times in which he lived and wrote,
but a tad dry, style and stylus attenuated Sixteenth Century England. What I do find fascinating
about More is his inherent conviction as testified against Henry Tudor; reminiscent Cicero against Cataline and Boethius with Theodoric. Their works are readily available. Boethius' Consolation of Philosophy and Cicero's Basic Works published
by the Modern Library College Editions are essential reading for proper understanding of More and the age
that held him like a vise.

 

[Fading Fast]

Quick Change (1990) with Bill Murray, Geena Davis, Jason Robards, and Randy Quaid


Quick Change is an early 1990s heist-comedy mashup that works because it feels like a movie, not a video game, not a wannabe work of art, and not a political message. It's the Shakespeare of movies: "To thine own self be true."

Bill Murray stars as a bank robber dressed as a clown who, very early on, holds up a Manhattan bank, takes hostages, and negotiates for his escape in a reasonably tense heist scene. Jason Robards plays the chief of the NYPD taking charge of the hostage crisis.

Robards is about to retire from the force and run for political office, but having failed to capture a mob boss he's chased for years, his otherwise admirable record is marred. But right now, he's got hostages to rescue and a clown to catch or he risks becoming a joke – and unelectable.

Murray, along with his accomplices, played by Geena Davis and Randy Quaid, in a nifty move you'll want to see fresh, makes it out of the bank with the money, but now they have to get out of the city, with Robards putting much of the force behind stopping them.

The real obstacle to getting out proves not to be Robards as much as 1990s New York City itself, which in parts is still an all-but-lawless wasteland of burned-out buildings, roving gangs, and crumbling infrastructure.

Murray and his crew encounter everything from road crews to street violence to mob hangouts, which make getting to the airport with the money a series of frustrations that range from the absurd to the outright deadly.

Eventually, it all comes down to what these movies always come down to: the last-second mad dash by the good and bad guys to the airport, where Murray and crew will either escape, or Robards will rescue his career...or a deus ex machina will reshuffle the deck.

All of this exaggerated chaos works because Murray and his supporting cast are just that good. Born in improv and comedy sketches, Murray's comedic skills are on full display, especially his understated reaction to total chaos and his talent for lying on the fly.

Look for Murray's response to the tenant with a g*n or the mob boss questioning his gangster bonafides for Murray at his low-key, cool best. The same can be said of Davis, as when called upon, she is calm in a crisis. Watch for the scene when she exits the plane's lavatory.

Quaid is here more for comic relief as the guy is really too nervous to be a criminal, so Murray and Davis each spend a lot of time bucking him up. While Quaid overplays it a few times, in general, his buffoonery is fun, not grating.

Robards is equally impressive and shows you why his career spanned seven decades. Lesser actors fade in scenes opposite Murray, but if anything, both he and Murray seem better when acting opposite each other.

The other star in all this is New York City itself. Manhattan is a cleaner post-1970s collage of business power and street energy, but the outer boroughs – where much of Murray's attempted getaway takes place – still have one foot in the decay, chaos, and abandonment of the 1970s.

There is also a secondary story about Murray and Davis, who plan to live on a tropical island with the money, starting to see cracks in their romantic relationship as the getaway encounters one problem after another.

Davis, more than Murray, owns these romantic scenes. He's oblivious to her concerns because he's fully focused on getting away with the money. She is more into him than the money, until she realizes he might be more into excitement than her. It's a bit forced but an okay conflict.

Escaping to live on a tropical island with the bank's money is a MacGuffin that you're not even sure Murray and crew really believe in. It's the 1990s equivalent of one out of every two 1940s film noir criminal trying to "get to Mexico with the money." It's the same silly escape MacGuffin.

If Hollywood's vaunted studio system, which fully died somewhere in the second half of the 1960s, had survived and evolved with the times, it would have produced a movie like this: one happy to just be an engaging and entertaining film made on a reasonable, not insane budget.

It's fun to watch a movie like Quick Change and realize that it is closer in kinship to the movies of the 1950s than the 2020s because movies have become over-engineered, over-directed, and special-effects extravaganzas that forgot what a movie at its core is (or should be): a good story.

 

[Harp]

^ Reading the last several paragraphs of this perceptive take on the film industry itself as distinct
reminiscence from this, or any particular movie, I started thinking of Dead Poets Society, starring the
late great Robin Williams. I believe the film was financed out- of-country entirely by either Australian or New Zealand entity; so, shoestring shot, it's strictly pro, no dithering political angst paean nor other asinine bromide
thespian indulgence. Just stuck script, school, and stuff of legendary scribble. And it worked.

Yesterday, came across a YouTube commentary about a prominent actor's lament the resultant commercial cost wrought grapes of wrath thespian ad hoc mouthing that shall not be openly stated here. However, implicit arrogance spake said actor, wrapped naivety, cast against his rumored Epstein Isle ***ual sojourn listing,
absolutely floored me. And Mouse House and other studio dishevelment consequence portend more careful project pruning of what scripts get green lighted for production. Why actors cannot simply punch studio clock in-and-out, stick to script, and shut the coitus up on matters irrelevant beyond ken and Barbie are beyond paying public nod.
Life ain't fair and it's a shame already.