Day 15: Samurai II: Duel at Ichijoji Temple (1955)
“Samurai II: Duel at Ichijoji Temple” is a far more action packed film then it’s predecessor “Samurai I: Musashi Miyamoto” but, surprisingly enough, the film’s main theme is that of putting down your sword to become more whole through acts of nonviolence. Working as the second act of the three film trilogy, “Samurai II” does it’s job well. It not only moves the plot forward at an ever heightening pace, but also allows us to dive deeper into the minds of our characters and react when their situations grow both promising and bleak.
In this second installment of the “Samurai” story, our hero Musashi (formally known as Takezo) has been traveling for several years, gaining a reputation as a master swordsmen. But, after a close but victorious duel, a wise old man confronts him and declares that he is too strong to yet be considered a Samurai. Confused by the old man’s words, Musashi continues on his way until finally returning home to Kyoto, where his love Otsu waits.
But Musashi has not arrived to reunite with his loved one. First, he must duel Seijuro Yoshioka, the teacher of the region’s finest school of fencing. You see, Seijuro wants to wed Akemi, the daughter of Oko, from the first film, but finds she only loves Musashi. Though Musashi has no interest in Akemi, it is for his honor he must duel the jealous teacher. But Seijuro is a coward through and through and sends eighty of his school’s disciples to ambush Musashi at Ichijoji Temple. With his foes hot on his heels, Musashi will have to remember the words of that wise old man and find the true strength of a Samurai to lay his sword down.
In “Samurai II: Duel at Ichijoji Temple,” we find an older, more mature, Musashi, who, though not as wild as his former self, is still seeking the true path of a Samurai. He has been a rogue nomad, moving about the country looking for fights to prove himself but, what he has failed to realize, is that a true Samurai never looks for a battle, but only picks up his sword when their is no other choice. His enemy in the film, Seijuro Yoshioka, is living in direct opposition to the true Samurai way- teaching his fencing students how to ambush and turing them into nothing but undisciplined thugs. Through this conflict of views, we, as Musashi, seek for what the true Samurai way is.
It is this aspect of the story that makes it both a great film and an excellent second part of the trilogy. We are now seeing Musashi grow from a simple warrior to a Samurai, which leads him to battle, not bandits and ruffians as in the first film, but trained fellow warriors. We have already watch this great fighter transform from a violent hothead to a person of quiet introspection. What awaits us in the third film? Hopefully Musashi finally becoming what he truly desires- a Samurai.
To find out more about “Samurai II: Duel at Ichijoji Temple,” check out Criterion’s page here.
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Day 14: Samurai I: Musashi Miyamoto (1954)
“Samurai I: Musashi Miyamoto” is the first in the epic three-part “Samurai” adaptation of the novel “Musashi” by Eiji Yoshikawa- itself loosely based on the actual life of famous Japanese swordsman Musashi Miyamoto. A sweeping and beautiful tale, this first installment will be followed in the next two days by its other parts, creating the first trilogy watched during the Criterion Summer and, while it is hard to make a judgment on a singular film that plays as act one to a much larger story, I certainly can understand why Criterion has decided to release all three of these gems of Japanese cinema.
Part one of the “Samurai” trilogy takes place in the Sengoku period of Japanese history, the early 1600′s, where civil war has broke out and unrest runs rampant in the land. After retreating in the battle of Sekigahara, friends Takezo (Toshirō Mifune, of “Seven Samurai” fame) and Matahachi (Rentaro Mikuni) seek shelter to tend their wounds before returning home to Matahachi’s fiancé, Otsu. Finding refuge in a farmhouse owned by a widow named Oku and her daughter, the pair’s plans suddenly change as Oku seduces Matachaci and they flee, leaving Takezo to journey home alone with the shame of losing his friend on his mind.
When he finally returns to his village and tells Matahachi’s mother that her son lives, she refuses to believe him and Takezo is arrested for treason. His life on the line, Takezo has no family who will take his side and only finds a defender in a Buddhist priest, who tells the village he can use his methods to straighten the young warrior out. With that, Takezo soon finds himself hanging from a tree by the waist as a way to break him of his will. Days go by and the only compassion he finds is in Otsu, who, one night, frees him from his bounds and helps him escape. From there, a journey of self discovery begins and Takezo will gain the Samurai name Musashi Miyamoto but at the price of his new love Otsu.
Rarely does one feel satisfied with simply the first act of a story, but “Samurai I: Musashi Miyamoto” is a wonderful film that takes its time and allows the story to grow on you in a way that very few films these days do. Never are we rushed into understanding that Takezo is the hero. In fact, at the start, our first emotional connection comes from a scene between Matahachi and Otsu and it is Takezo who convinces Matahachi to leave his love and go to war. Throughout the film we are set up to feel as Otsu- to despise Takezo for getting in the way, and later, when Matachachi shows his true colors and abandons Otsu, to relate once again, feeling a sense of betrayal. Just like this young Japanese maiden, we grow to see the human behind Takezo’s hard exterior and fall for him as our hero.
“Samurai I: Musashi Miyamoto” is a a love story for the ages set up against a backdrop of civil war, which has lead many to compare it to “Gone with the Wind” and I would tend to agree. And much like its southern cousin, “Samurai found praise worldwide, even garnering the Oscar for best foreign film in 1955. If “Samurai I: Musashi Miyamoto” is any indication to the quality and story craft of its next two installments, then I am truly excited to follow Musashi and see where his adventures take him.
To learn more about, “Samurai I: Musashi Miyamoto,” check out Criterion’s page here.
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Day 13: The Silence of the Lambs (1991)
“The Silence of the Lambs” is a masterful mash-up of gothic horror and police procedural, chilling the spine with tense editing, intimate camera work, and career making performances by Anthony Hopkins and Jodie Foster. With a keen sense for suspense, director Jonathan Demme delivers a terrify tale that tends to bypass many of the thriller cliches in an attempt to go somewhere deeper- somewhere more personal. It is in this more personal atmosphere that the film grabs at its audience, never letting them go. It takes our need to relate, in this case with Foster’s Clarice Starling, and uses it against us. For the more vulnerable she becomes the more vulnerable we become.
In the film, Jack Crawford (Scott Glenn) of the FBI’s Behaviour Science Unit pulls ace student Clarice Starling (Foster) from her academy training so she may assist in the ongoing investigation of the serial killer Buffalo Bill- a sadistic being who murders and skins young woman. Starling’s job is simple yet filled with complexity as she is tasked with interviewing incarcerated master killer Hannibal Lecter, who eats his victims, in order to hopefully gain a better insight or possibly the identity of Buffalo Bill. But when the evil Lecter takes a personal interest in Clarice and the trail for Buffalo Bill grows hotter by the day, it will be a battle of wits to see who winds up on top and even left alive.
“The Silence of the Lambs,” as I’ve mentioned before, is a thriller that attempts to go in a deeper more personal direction than many of its genre peers and, in this instance, it shines a magnifying glass on the role of females in law enforcement, society, and even film. Upon its release, there were many in the feminist movement who scolded the film for its killing and mutilation of woman. Notable feminist and women’s rights advocate Betty Friedan stated, in an interview with Playboy magazine of all things, ”I thought it was absolutely outrageous that “The Silence of the Lambs” won four Oscars…I’m not saying that the movie shouldn’t have been shown. I’m not denying the movie was an artistic triumph, but it was about the evisceration, the skinning alive of women. That is what I find offensive. Not the Playboy centerfold.”
But what Ms. Friedan, and many of her ilk, seem to ignore is the triumphant rise of Clarice Starling in the film from a starting point of loneliness, isolation, and humiliation. At the very beginning of the film we find Starling running a fitness course by herself, away from the rest of the predominantly male academy. Later, it is hinted that Starling might have been picked by Crawford to interview Lecter simply because her womanly ways might woo the killer into a false sense of security and, directly after her meeting with Lecter, another inmate hurls a handful of his seamen in her face. At this point, it can not get any more humiliating for Clarice and, oddly enough, the only person truly on her side is Lecter.
As the story progresses, we find that, as Amy Taubin puts it in a Criterion essay on the film, ”Clarice’s mission is not to marry the prince but to rescue the maiden,” which, in this case, Buffalo Bill has suffering in a pit in his basement. As Clarice grows closer to her goal, the jeers of local policemen, the chagrin of Lecter’s male doctor, and even the playful offer of a date from a professor helping in the case all work to hinder Clarice as being seen as a serious investigator, but, never the less, Clarice overcomes all these obsticles in her search for Buffalo Bill and even gains the respect of Lector, who considers her too interesting to kill.
“The Silence of the Lambs” is truly one of the scariest films of all time and this is so expertly accomplished because we grow to care for our heroine and hope she rises above the obstacles that are put in her way by both herself and others. It’s this level of humanism that makes Clarice so relatable and the very lack of the same that marks Lecter as one of the worst (and yet most interesting) souls in all of cinema.
For more on “The Silence of the Lambs,” check out Criterion’s page here.
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Day 12: This is Spinal Tap (1984)
“This is Spinal Tap,” directed by Rob Reiner (or should I say Marty DeBergi?) and starring Christopher Guest, Michael McKean, and Harry Shearer, is probably the first real “cult” movie I’ve watch during the Criterion Summer and it definitely deserves its statues. Defying the normal aesthetics of a fictional film by blending in the techniques of a documentary, “Spinal Tap” has become the staple for a whole new hybrid of comedy- the mockumentary. With its dry wit and lack of mugging to the camera, Reiner and friends developed a style all its own, which, in its first release, baffled and confused many- including some closest to the rock music industry.
“This is Spinal Tap” records the travels and tribulations of the British rock band, “Spinal Tap,” featuring David St. Hubbins (McKean), Derek Smalls (Shearer) and Nigel Tufnel (Guest), who go about their United States comeback tour in a tailspin to failure. From the very beginning, trouble brews as touring dates get canceled and the record company debates releasing their new album, “Smell the Glove,” altogether. On top of that, egos get a hold in the group and fighting grows regular when Hubbin’s girlfriend, Jeanine, takes charge of their entire tour- having them play at an air force base and in front of half-filled areas. For Nigel, it’s the last straw and he abandons the group, leaving them sans a lead guitarist. With a bleak future for their music in sight, Hubbins and Smalls will have to crank it up to eleven if they plan to play another day and unite once again with Nigel through what has always made them what they are- rock-an-roll.
Upon it’s release, “This is Spinal Tap” was only a moderate success, leaving many in the audience, as one would expect, confused by the concept. Even with cameos by the likes of Dana Carvey and Billy Crystal, a number of people thought the fictional band real and the film itself an actual documentary. Reiner once admitted, “when ”Spinal Tap” initially came out, everybody thought it was a real band…the reason it did go over everybody’s head was that it was very close to home.” And close to home it was for several prominent figures in the rock industry.
It’s said that several huge rockstars found the material so relatable that they couldn’t find the humor in the band’s predicaments. For the members of “Black Sabbath,” getting lost back stage while trying to find their audience was common and, when witnessed in “Spinal Tap,” they could only nod their heads in understanding. Glenn Danzig, a former member of “The Mistfits,” once even said, ”When I first saw Spinal Tap, I was like, ‘Hey, this is my old band.’”
For some artists, “Spinal Tap” was considered a tragic tale that epitomized, for them, what had become of the music industry. It’s said that Tom Waits cried after watching it, as did U2′s The Edge, who was quoted as saying, ”I didn’t laugh, I cried, because it summed up what a brainless swamp big-label rock music had become.” In fact, soon after the film’s release, its title gained verb statues for times when a band took themselves too seriously or had an incident resembling something in the film. Henry Rollins once called a 1986 concert by metal band “Venom” “so Spinal Tap” and R.E.M.’s Mike Mills described their early tours the same way- even to the point where they played an air force base.
Although first received with confusion, “This is Spinal Tap” has went on to be considered one of the greatest comedies of all time not to mention a direct influence on such programs as Ricky Gervais’s “The Office” and Christopher Guest’s own mockumentaries “Waiting for Guffman,”Best in Show,” and “A Mighty Wind.” But, probably the most surreal result of the film’s success is that “Spinal Tap” is now an actual band, with the film’s actors having recorded two albums and been on tour. Rock on.
To find out more about “This is Spinal Tap,” check out Criterion’s page here.
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Day 11: The Seventh Seal (1957)
Ingmar Bergman’s masterpiece “The Seventh Seal” is a deeply stirring look at man’s search for faith in God and how we must all deal with the gravity of our impending deaths. With a keen use of metaphor, Bergman not only forces his characters to think upon their demise but literally confront death as it stands before them in human form. They must talk with him, reason with him, and, in the end, follow him to their life’s conclusion. Though heavy in its subject matter, Bergman gives us a beautiful portrait of mankind’s mortality and, through it, we can better understand how to enjoy the time we have.
In the “The Seventh Seal,” Antonius Block, a disillusioned Knight, returns from the Crusades to find his homeland of Sweden ravaged by the black plague. As he and his Squire journey to his castle, Block is confronted by Death, who plans to take him away. Instead of accepting his fate, the knight challenges the apparition to a game of chess where, if he wins, he is allowed to live. Death accepts and, as Block continues on his journey, the two periodically continue to play.
As the quest to his castle continues, Block and his Squire meet up with Mia (Mary in English) and Jof (Joseph), a family troupe of actors, who move about the country with their small child Mikael, as well as a host of other travelers, all seeking refuge from the horrible plague, which sweeps their nation. It is through these people and his conversations with Death that Block hopes to find answers to his questions about life, death, and God’s existence before his game of chess comes to a close.
Within Bergman’s film, two very distinct themes are represented- death and God’s existence. With death, Bergman uses visual imagery and the actual presence of death as a character to give us a more tangible idea of what goes on in our minds as we contemplate our own demise. In fact, the very idea of Death playing chess with a mortal stems from a painting by Albertus Pictor created in the same time period the film takes place. It is an ancient concept that death is a game we are born to lose and, during the devastating black plague, this was very much a real truth. It should be noted that Bergman himself was no stranger to death. At the age of six, he would help move corpses from the Royal Hospital Sophiahemmet, where his father was chaplain, to the mortuary.
]The theme of man searching for God’s existence resides at the core of Max von Sydow’s Antonius Block, but an even stronger example of this theme lies in the film’s title. The phrase, “The Seventh Seal” originates from the Book of Revelation in a passage on the end of times- ”And when the Lamb had opened the seventh seal, there was silence in heaven about the space of half an hour” (Revelation 8:1). It is this silence that concerns Block. At one point in the film, while conversing with Mia and Jof, he states,”Faith is a torment – did you know that? It is like loving someone who is out there in the darkness but never appears, no matter how loudly you call.” Even when Block asks Death, “Why should He hide himself in a mist of half-spoken promises and unseen miracles?” the reaper holds no reply. It seems in the film that God’s reasons baffle all, both of this world and beyond it.
Ingmar Bergman’s “The Seventh Seal” is an impacting tale, asking many deep questions, but giving few answers. This is certainly Bergman’s intention. We must answer these questions for ourselves and only then will we find true peace when confronted with the end of our time.
To learn more about, “The Seventh Seal,” check out Criterion’s page here.
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Day 10: Walkabout (1971)
Nicolas Roeg’s “Walkabout” is a leisurely paced tale depicting both the similarities and differences between our modernized civilization and the untamed world beyond our city limits. In the film, the culture clash takes place in Australia, a country with areas still uninhabited to this day, and, through a very simple story, we are given the full scope of the “land down under” as well as plea to appreciate, as Jack London once stated, the call of the wild.
“Walkabout” follows the journey of a teenage girl and her younger brother, who find themselves lost in the Australian outback after their father drives them out for a picnic but then subsequently sets their car on fire and kills himself. Now lost, the two wander the desert, unsure if they will ever make contact with society again. Fortunately, their lives are saved by an Aborigine in the midst of his walkabout- a six month period of isolated survival where a tribe boy becomes a man, and soon the three set off on a trek to find civilization while forming a bound that will overcome the communication barrier, which lives between them.
Before directing, Roeg was a cinematographer on such films as “Fahrenheit 451″ and “A Funny Thing Happend on the Way to the Forum” and here he pushes his skills to the limits, giving us a gorgeous, almost still life, look at the Australian wilderness. But the shots are not simply put in for visual effect. In every instance, Roeg is conveying a very specific sense of imagery to either evoke a certain mood or to signify a comparison/contrast between the shots being intercut.
From the very beginning of the film, we are shown a carefully arranged collage of shots in the busy city of Adelaide, but, as people go about and cars move down the crammed roads, a didgeridoo warbles over the film. It is this contrasting mix of old tribal music with the steel and concrete modernization of city life that help us realize we still live in a jungle, just simply one we’ve constructed.
Later, as the two children suffer in the heat of the desert, Roeg uses the same idea of intercut shots to give us a sense of danger approaching the children. Shots of a cow skeleton and a lizard eating one of its own flash onto the screen as children grow weaker on their journey, giving the audience an understanding of what happens when the clutches of the wild grab onto the unprepared.
One of Roeg’s best intercuts is when the Aborigine hunts. As he brings down a kangaroo and strikes it in the head with a club, a “civilized” scene of a butcher cutting kangaroo meat into thick slices is intercut. Once again, as the Aborigine kills and disembowels a rabbit, we watch the butcher imitate the action. It is this interconnected relationship between shots that helps signify a very specific point- we are all the same.
“Walkabout” is a beautiful movie where the the collision of Australia’s ancient outback and burgeoning cityscape give us a reason to pause and contemplate the what actually separates different cultures and what could possibly be done to bring them together.
To learn more about “Walkabout,” check out Criterion’s page here.
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Day 9: Hard Boiled (1992)
“Hard Boiled,” our second John Woo / Chow Yun-fat action film of the “Criterion Summer,” is truly an action movie as art. Though the plot and characters are relateable and engaging, the true star of this picture is the very ferocity of the action, as guns blaze and explosions rise high into the air. Now, most of the time, action for action’s sake is mind numbing at best and a trivial attempt at escapism, but, with “Hard Boiled,” Woo brings a level of genuine inventiveness and expertise to the scenes, keeping the audience well beyond the edge of their seats. Never do we know what’s around the corner and the creativity in which our heroes blast their way from point A to point B can sometimes be only defined as gleefully absurd.
In “Hard Boiled,” Inspector “Tequila” Yuen (Yun-fat) is heavily pursuing a gun smuggling syndicate, who have killed his partner. Though he’s hot on their trail, his vengeful mindset ends up in the way of his duty and the higher brass in his department strip him of the case. But what Tequila doesn’t understand is that his investigation has put Tony, an undercover officer already deep in the syndicate’s chain of command, in danger and, as he continues snooping around, the two will eventually have to join forces if they ever will bring the whole syndicate to its knees.
As I’ve said before, there can’t be enough praise for “Hard Boiled’s” over the top action, but, what solidifies the film as a staple of its genre is its third act. Taking place in a hospital run by the syndicate’s leader, the law confronts the mobsters in a battle that can only be described as “explosion-palooza.” But, with all great things, this scene was some of the hardest work for both the film’s cast and crew.
Of the 123 days of shooting “Hard Boiled,” the hospital scene took 40 of them and was so time consuming that the crew, at one point, worked for almost four days straight. At the centerpiece of the scene, Woo and his crew constructed a five minute one take shot that followed Tequila and Tony as they fought their way between two floors of the hospital. The kicker is that Woo only had one floor to shoot on. To accomplish his insane task, he had our heroes eventually enter an elevator for twenty seconds to reach the next floor and, in that small amount of time, had his crew change the entire set so the elevator could open once again to a “new floor” and the firefight could continue. And if that isn’t impressive enough, it’s rumored that the crew had only one take to accomplish the scene.
As you might expect, in scenes of violence such as these, an actual danger is present for the actors and, in “Hard Boiled,” it was no different. A great example of this is when Chow Yun-fat was supposed to run down an exploding wing of the hospital, just barely making it to safety. After one take, Woo didn’t find the danger to Yun-fat’s Tequila at the level he desired and so, after having the charges reset, he took a try at triggering the explosives himself. What occurred next would be remembered by all on set that day, especially Yun-fat. Seconds after Woo said action, he activated the explosives, nearly incinerating his actor, who barely made it through the hallway and out of the scene. At cut, Yun-fat ran to the producers proclaiming, “John’s trying to kill me! John’s trying to kill me!” and, when Woo went to apologizes, he realized how close he might have come. The back of Yun-fat’s head and his coat had literally been singed by the explosives.
While maybe not the deepest of films, there is certainly a sense of artistry in how Woo can film and edit a roaring gun battle and, for any fan of a good old shoot’em up, “Hard Boiled” is one not to be missed!
To learn more about, “Hard Boiled,” check out Criterion’s page here.
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Day 8: The Killer (1989)
John Woo’s “The Killer” is a tragic story of what happens when morals play a hand in the business of murder. With a heartfelt script, an energetic editing style, and a very poignant use of symbolism, Woo delivers an action film chock full of knock-down-drag-out gun battles but never lets them overtake the real heart of the story- something most films of that genre do all too often.
In “The Killer,” actor Chow Yun-fat plays Ah Jong, a Hong Kong assassin on a job for the criminal organization, “The Triad.” But, when a hit goes sour, Ah Jong ends up in a blazing fire fight and, though he survives, he also blinds a young nightclub singer named Jenny (Sally Yeh) with the muzzle flash from his pistol.
Feeling responsible for the now almost blind singer and, as an act of redemption and later love, Ah Jong takes one last hit so he can cash in the money for a sight-saving corneal transplant for Jenny. What the assassin doesn’t count on is the betrayal of the Triad, who now want him dead, and a hound dog of police detective (Danny Lee) hot on his trail.
What Woo masterfully accomplishes with this piece is a sense of growing tension both through tight editing and story beats. With the editing, Woo cuts closer and closer into his characters as the moment builds and makes the audience beg for the release. In other instances, Woo, in his now classic style, slows the motion down so we can fully understand the magnitude of what is about to happen, making it all the more exciting when it occurs.
With the story beats, Woo, who was also the film’s screenwriter, has a great way of layering the tension. Just before Ah Jong gets out of a fix, his problem only gets worse. For example, after a long dangerous boat chase, Ah Jong escapes and makes a run for it on a beach, where he encounters a little girl playing in the sand. Immediately, the next shot shows a mobster hiding in the bushes, his gun pointed at Ah Jong and the girl. Now, if the mobster had his sights on Ah Jong alone, that would be enough to keep the tension flowing, but Woo wants to up our fears and get to us on a personal level, hence the little girl in the sand.
Woo has established himself as a great director, not just by his action sequences, but also for the sense of symbolism he puts in his films. “The Killer” is no different. In this film, two items are used to make distinctions between Ah Jong and the police detective. In the very first scene, we find Ah Jong finding solace in a church while gazing up at a cross, the universal symbol of sacrifice and redemption. For the detective, a shot of a statue of General Kwan, an ancient warrior of bravery and loyalty, is shown as a centerpiece in the police office and directly proceeds our first encounter with the detective.
John Woo’s “The Killer” is great example of action done right. It may have its hand on the trigger, but its feet stay firmly in place at the story’s emotional core.
To learn more about “The Killer,” check out Criterion’s page here.
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Day 7: A Night to Remember (1958)
The sinking of the White Star Line’s R.M.S. Titanic was a tragedy of international proportions- a bleak reminder that, no matter what age, gender, class, or nationality, the sea takes no prisoners, even when mankind believes itself to be “unsinkable”. In a “A Night to Remember,” director Roy Lord Baker, producer William MacQuitty, and writer Eric Ambler deliver an almost minute by minute account of that terrible night, relying heavily on research found in author Walter Lord’s book of the same name.
For Baker, MaQuitty, and Ambler, this film was a chance to set the record straight. Five years before, 20th Century Fox had released “Titanic,” starring Barbara Stanwyck, a depiction of the tragedy that had failed miserably to give an accurate account of both the evening’s events and the passengers on board. It had relied instead on fictional characters to move its story forward, putting the wide range of actual interesting people from the event in supporting roles at best. For “A Night to Remember,” it was a goal from day one to do the story better justice. In fact, for producer MacQuitty, it was a personal quest. At the age of six, he had watched the actual “Titanic” launch from it’s port in Belfast, never to return again.
In “A Night to Remember,” the story bounces back and forth from several prominent figures from the voyage- Second Officer Charles Lightoller, ships architect Thomas Andrews and even passengers like the “unsinkable” Molly Brown. Though some fictitious characters are used, their purpose is simple- to give us a generalized idea of how certain groups reacted to the ship and its sinking. In fact, this is what the film ultimately is about. Even with all the accuracy and maritime mumbo jumbo, it never really makes the film about the ship. Instead it uses the sinking as a catalyst to see how a collage of different outlooks and backgrounds will react to death- some facing it with dignity, others with panic, and even some with a shrug.
But the beautifully written script is not all that makes the film a classic. The directing and pace in which the story unfolds is a slow burn, adding a great amount of tension to a plot we all are probably familiar with before the opening credits even role. In fact, “A Night to Remember” uses the common knowledge of the ship’s demise to frustrate the audience. We know it’s going to sink, but, as we watch the characters go about their final hours of life in ignorance, we want to scream at them to pay attention. A great example of this is a scene in the wireless room of the Titanic, where a communiqué about the upcoming ice flow is mistakenly shuffled into an old pile of telegraphs and stuck on a paper spear- appropriately foreshadowing the ship’s future.
Since I was a child, I have loved the story and lore of the R.M.S. Titanic and “A Night to Remember” truly honors the reality of what occurred in those icy waters and the heroes that grew out from it. It is a voyage not to be missed.
To learn more about “A Night to Remember,” check out Criterion’s page here.
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Day 6: Beauty and the Beast (1946)
Oh, the magnificence of a fairy tale. Brought to us by the brillant French filmmaker and poet Jean Cocteau, this retelling of the classic “Beauty and the Beast” is a wonder to behold. Though we have all heard the tale, most likely thanks to Disney’s animated version, this film was the first notable adaptation and one that, in some ways, added very distinct elements to the story we tell now.
Once upon a time, as they say, there was a beautiful and hardworking French maiden named Belle, who lived with her elderly father, brother, and two spoiled sisters. Though the family was once well off, they have hit hard times and only Belle is dutiful enough to take care of her poor father. But tragedy strikes once again as Belle’s father becomes lost in the woods and stumbles upon the castle of the Beast, a terribly hideous individual, who accuses the old man of stealing a rose from his garden- an action which sentence is death. Belle’s father pleads for mercy and the Beast speaks of one alternative- the man can allow one of his daughters to take his place and live with the Beast forever.
Burdened by this choice, the old man returns home on one of the Beast’s horses and confides the tale in his family. Belle, ever the honorable daughter, volunteers for the task, shocking both her loved ones and a handsome suitor named Avenant. Wasting no time, Belle rides the horse back to the castle and encounters the Beast, who she at first holds an aversion but later warms to. As Belle and the Beast’s relationship grows, she is soon allowed to return home and visit her ill father, under the stipulation that she returns to the castle in one week’s time, as the Beast’s heart will break and he will die of grief if she does not. Though Belle fully intends to return to the Beast, her conniving sisters and jealous suitor have other ideas in mind and plot to steal the Beast’s riches and slay him once and for all.
What is amazing about this film version of “Beauty and the Beast” is how wondrously grand everything appears to be. From the film’s photography, which Cocteau wanted to be reminiscent of the “soft gleam of hand-polished old silver,” to the costumes and makeup, both elegant on Belle and horrifying on the Beast, every detail of the story seems to be almost gently painted to the screen- like a storybook on celluloid.
But what is even more fantastical then the fairy tale itself is how the film was ever made in the first place. Emerging from the horrors of World War Two, France was crippled, a former shell of its once great self, and everything necessary for living, much less creating an epic fantasy film, was in short supply. Cocteau himself was receiving care packages from friends abroad and once, when he fell ill, was treated with American penicillin to be brought back to health. But it is in these times of crisis that people need entertained the most, something Cocteau was well aware of, and so, defying all reason, the film was produced and made with anything the crew could get their hands on. As they filmed, old cameras jammed up, lenses began to flaw, and no two batches of film shot were alike, which is one of the reasons the film’s texture seems to subtly change from scene to scene. Even the glorious costumes, made by designer Christian Bérard, were crafted with very little choice in fabrics.
This was film at its most improvised but, it was because of this that the cast and crew put their whole heart into the project. It’s said that the mood on set was always one of teamwork. Whether it be grips concocting solutions to the most complex of problems or actors traveling from a full day of theatre to perform a single scene, they all knew that, in the still lingering shadow of war, their simple tale of fantasy would shine a bright light back on the faces of the still grieving French people and give them a reason to smile.
And so it did. “Beauty and the Beast” was a hit, both with its audience and critics. Bosley Crowther of the New York Times called it a ”fanciful poem given full articulation on the screen” and, to this day, it is regarded as one of the most beautiful and well told fairy tale films of all time. In the very least you could say it lived happily ever after.
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