Ian McKellen’s Most Vile RICHARD III

[1995, Richard Loncraine Dir., Stars: Ian McKellen, Annette Bening, Kristin Scott Thomas, Jim Broadbent, Nigel Hawthorne, Edward Hardwicke and Robert Downey Jr.]

            Shakespeare does not always translate well to film. For every successful cinematic treatment of the Bard’s work, there are perhaps a dozen or more critical and commercial failures. Shakespeare’s language is dated for today’s audience; complex and hard to follow, with many monologues too long to fit into modern cinematic pacing. Still, there have been, and will continue to be, successful adaptations to the big screen. Back in the 1990’s, Kenneth Branagh was ruler of the roost when it came to Shakespearean cinema. However, there was one adaptation in 1995 that did not come from his hand – Ian McKellen’s Richard III. Even though this film was directed by Richard Loncraine (The Haunting of Julia, Brimstone & Treacle), McKellen was the true creative force behind this incredible re-imagining of the tragedy of Richard of Gloucester. It was he that adapted the script and turned in a truly outstanding performance as the title character.

            For those unfamiliar with this popular piece, Richard III tells the story of the deformed youngest son of the House of York, who schemes, murders and manipulates his way into a short-lived possession of the Crown. The story begins with one of the most stirring of Shakespeare’s soliloquys – “Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this son of York...” – which both hails the ending of a bloody civil war and preambles Richard’s own dastardly plans to usurp his eldest brother and claim the crown for his own.  What follows is a convoluted journey from obscurity to notoriety for Richard, fueled by his ambition and masked by his perceived goodness.

            Whether Richard’s hunch-backed and palsied physique is an outer representation of his inner ugliness, or the cause of his sociopathic nature, is certainly open to debate. Suffice it to say, by Richard’s own justification his devious plotting is brought about by the gnawing knowledge that one such as he is built more for war than for the tender pleasures of peace.

            Ian McKellen, best known today for his much-lauded portrayal of the wizard Gandalf in Peter Jackson’s Tolkien films, penned his version of Richard III while portraying Richard in a touring production of the play. I don’t know whose idea it was to place this controversial account of 15^th century British upheaval in a 1930’s setting, McKellen’s or director Loncraine’s, but the inspiration was an undeniable flash of genius. In the 1930’s, Europe was a hotbed of burgeoning dictatorships, from Franco to Hitler to Stalin; a fitting environment for the likes of Richard of Gloucester. Also, Shakespeare’s intricate iambic pentameter verses do not seem terribly out of place in what many consider the last decade of the “old world.” Taken together, McKellen and Loncraine’s shared vision makes Richard III not only accessible to a modern audience, but engaging as well as strangely fun.

As mentioned, McKellen’s performance was brilliant, as it had to be: he is the focal point of this film and carries the weight of Shakespeare’s darkest character fiercely. It is creepy to watch McKellen so adept at performing tasks with his crippled character’s one good hand, from lighting a cigarette to opening a bottle of gin. Each obsessively precise movement is an eerie reminder of the man’s life-long afflictions (It’s easy to imagine that during the touring production, the man labored long and hard honing the skill of using only his right hand). To anyone who has seen the Lord Of The Rings movies, it’s no great discovery that McKellen has an extremely expressive face, capable of delicately conveying a kaleidoscopic range of emotions in quick succession. This venerable actor utilizes his gift in Richard III to project a smarmy-yet-passionate interpretation of Shakespeare’s most eloquent villain. Richard habitually concludes long monologues of lies with a smirking aside through the fourth wall, letting us, the audience, share in the fun he has in playing his game of thrones. Perfect timing, perfect delivery, McKellen’s performance in my mind easily outshines Olivier’s from 1955.

This film features many noteworthy performances from what was at the time the very cream of the British theater. Kristin Scott-Thomas portrays the Lady Anne, widow of Edward, the Earl of Westminster (whom Richard killed in combat), as a woman whose heartbreak and loss have left her in intense despair. Jim Broadbent plays Buckingham, Richard’s co-conspirator but eventual victim, as a grinning, lackey charlatan, for whom it is hard to muster sympathy when his come-uppance arrives. Maggie Smith is a strong and embittered Duchess of York -- Richard’s mother -- the only person unafraid of the deviant usurper king and the only person who can reach what is left of his twisted heart. Annette Bening delivers what is perhaps the most haunting line of this picture – “Where are my children?!” – when she confronts Richard with the holy fury of a mother with little left to lose. Nigel Hawthorne, Edward Hardwicke and Robert Downey Jr. round out the cast, to name but a few other fine talents, but really everyone who “carried a spear” in this production deserves high praise for their amazing work.

While large action set-pieces were never Shakespeare’s thing (how could they be? He wrote plays to be performed on a small stage in Tudor London!), this version of Richard III still packs some remarkable, sometimes even graphic scenes and locations. From the garish morgue where Kristin Scott Thomas deliver’s Lady Anne’s lament over her husband’s corpse to the final battle at Battersea Power Station, there truly is some striking imagery. These visuals not only keep us engaged, but lend this film the epic scope that this story demands.

Earlier this year, the remains of a man believed to be Richard III were unearthed in a Leicester parking lot. While historical accounts from the era are spotty at best, there are some who believe the true Richard of Gloucester has been given the dirty end of the stick by popular culture -- including in Shakespeare’s play. (It might be worth mentioning, too, that when the Bard penned his script, the ruling British monarch at the time, Elizabeth I, was the granddaughter of the man who took the crown from Richard). This recent archeological find, however, presents us with some curious evidence of Richard’s persona. Not only is the spine of the skeleton twisted, but collateral damage to the remains suggests that when Richard was killed he was given humiliating post-mortem injuries as well. Whatever sort of man Richard was in truth, those who took his life and his crown really hated him.

In this production, as in the great play, Richard is thwarted when his evil comes to light among his family and the other aristocracy. This is presented with swinging jazz-era style. Richard falls to his death at the Battle of Bosworth Field, filmed at the iconic, art deco Battersea Power Station -- best known as the image on the cover of Pink Floyd’s album, “Animals.” The music playing, however, isn’t that of Floyd, but Al Jolson, merrily singing of being on top of the world. We watch Richard descend fittingly into a fiery hell, waving goodbye to us, his audience, and smiling, no regrets. From start to finish, Richard III is cinematic gold, and well worthy of its “cult classic” status.

[“Richard III” is currently available through Netflix on DVD and in some regions as On Demand video. Also, the original 1995 trailer for this film is available on YouTube, should you wish to view it before adding this feature to your watch list.]

Remembering Wim Wenders' Wings of Desire (a.k.a. Der Himmel über Berlin)

(1987, Wim Wenders Dir., Stars: Bruno Ganz, Solveig Dommartin, Otto Sander, Curt Bois, and Peter Falk in a special appearance as himself.)

I remember the first time I watched Wings of Desire in 1989. I had no idea what I was getting myself into that night. It was a VHS rental from Blockbuster (Remember Blockbuster? For that matter, remember VHS?). The film had been chosen strictly because it “looked” interesting and the cover had a girl riding a trapeze. I watched the video twice that night in awe, and by morning it had replaced 2001: A Space Odyssey as my favorite film. Like 2001, Wings of Desire is one of a handful of films I feel can be considered serious works of art.

This film opens with a monologue considering the views of an enigmatic “child;” their desires and habits. This mysterious young soul is revisited throughout the course of the film. Perhaps this concept refers to the “child” of God. Alternatively, in a more general sense, the “child” is all of us, singularly and collectively -- wishing, as many of us did in our youth, that our personal river of time would flow faster and the puddle of our lives in eternity would be an ocean.

Wim Wenders draws us into his vision of angels in the skies over Berlin, in much the same way as his angels are drawn into our world. The traumas of birth, growth and death resound within the first ten minutes, as we voyeuristically listen in on the thoughts and everyday lives of various citizens of Germany’s capital city. Such is the existence of angels, Damiel and Cassiel (Bruno Ganz and Otto Sander, respectively) and their kind: unseen, non-corporeal, witnesses of life and time’s passing, but nothing more. Damiel wants to join the world, though; to feel cold and stub his toe, to get ink on his fingers from a newspaper and be excited by a meal; even lie through his teeth -- all for the life experience!

Damiel’s decision to “fall” into the river of time and become mortal is made resolute after he discovers Marion (Solveig Dommartin). Damiel and Marion’s story is one of unabashed romanticism at its best and works perfectly. As a trapeze artist, Marion is a woman whose every physical motion is poetic and precariously balanced; the very embodiment of beauty in physical existence. But in observing Marion’s life, Damiel comes to understand that she, too, is at a crossroads. With her circus closing for the season, Marion is being set adrift in Berlin, a fate that doesn’t frighten her, but doesn’t roll off her back as easily as it had in the past.

Peter Falk (best remembered as TV’s rumpled detective, Columbo) makes a great, fun cameo in this film, playing himself. However, in the world of Wenders’ film, Falk is more than himself; he is a “fallen” angel as well. Falk chose to surrender eternity and become human in the late fifties, but still feels the presence of his old compańeros. Falk wishes the angels would join him in the physical world, to experience the simple pleasures of corporeal existence.

Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds make a surprising cameo in this film, as well; performing in the bar where Damiel and Marion finally meet in the flesh. This much-anticipated scene is truly elevated by the prelude of Nick Cave and his crew performing a raw, live rendition of “From Her to Eternity.”

Damiel is let off lightly in confronting the woman for whom he surrendered eternity to be with: Marion does all the talking! It is almost impossible to describe the layered intensity of Marion’s monologue. Having grown older, she finally feels alone, and this loneliness somehow completes her as a person. She is tired of coincidences in her life; things have now become serious. Breaking the forth wall, but addressing Damiel, Marion invites us to become a part of her world; part of the art on the screen. She and Damiel represent more than just themselves; they incarnate everything...and people around the world, she tells us, await the answer of whether or not they will be together in that moment -- the moment that becomes real and therefore eternal itself.

It’s absolutely stirring cinema and the film’s emotional, spiritual and physical climax. The very thought of Solveig Dommartin’s performance in this scene leaves me breathless just thinking of it!

Besides the sweetly basic main story of Damiel and Marion, Wings of Desire walks a piano wire-thin tightrope between art film and straightforward narrative, and does so with a skillful balance worthy of any circus. Thoughts on life and death, not only of people, but of cities and eras, are explored.

Some of the most remarkable scenes in Wings of Desire take place in the Staatsbibliothek, Tiergarten, Berlin – one of the city’s largest libraries. These scenes are presented with a haunting collage of sound reminiscent of the Monolith music from Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey. Here, angels gather where the peace and quiet affords them the best environment to listen to people’s thoughts.

It is in this library that Cassiel, Damiel’s angelic best friend, discovers the elderly Storyteller (Curt Bois) reflecting upon his life and the changes he’s seen, changes in the city and in its people. People used to sit in circles listening intently to stories; now they sit alone -- no longer listening and not even facing each other. Cassiel monitors the Storyteller as he wanders vacant lots of overgrown rubble and discarded furniture. In these scenes, the Storyteller recalls places of his youth long gone.

In the late-1980’s, when Wings of Desire was made, vast stretches of Berlin were still flattened from allied bombing during the 2^nd World War decades earlier. The ignoble “Berlin Wall” was still standing then, too; dividing the city into Eastern and Western Berlin, another reminder of the war. These locations are shown in a very offhand fashion, as is occasional stock footage of Berlin during the war and its devastation. Even the movie that Peter Falk is supposedly filming is a WWII period piece. I believe, for Wim Wenders and his generation, the legacy of the Nazis is one to be acknowledged, but also detached from and disowned. The general sense I got was that the sins of the fatherland should perhaps not necessarily be handed down to the children. The river of time flows on; people change, societies can change as well.

In visualizing his ethereal subject matter, Wenders switches effortlessly between black-and-white and color cinematography. The angels’ disconnected, spiritual world is presented with flat, yet warm, black-and-white images. The richly living world of Marion and all humanity is shown in vivid color. Wenders plays these two formats off of each other with subtlety and purpose, building upon his symbolism as any good filmmaker ought to be able to do. In the end, Damiel is shown helping Marion with her acrobatic exercises in color, but in a corner of the screen is an unobtrusive circle of black and white where Cassiel sits, the silent heavenly observer.

Wings of Desire did spawn a sequel, Faraway, So Close (1993). This film followed the post-fall adventures of Cassiel, as he helps Damiel and Marion, along with some of Marion’s circus performer friends, to rescue their daughter from some Euro-trash baddies. Unfortunately, Wenders’ follow-up, while fun in its own way, simply didn’t capture the magic of his previous work.

Similarly, later in the 1990’s, a U.S. version of this film was made retitled City of Angels, starring Meg Ryan and Nicholas Cage. In this flimsy re-imagining of Wenders’ work, the spiritual romance is replaced by Hollywood schmaltz and the depth of the themes Wenders explored is lost completely! For example, City of Angels presents Meg Ryan as a heart surgeon as opposed to a trapeze artist, who becomes the object of angel Nicholas Cage’s affection. A “heart” doctor – get it? Pathetic. Sandlot symbolism is no replacement for honest art.

There is a distressing epilogue to the story of Wings of Desire. In 2007, the very lovely and talented actress, Solveig Dommartin, who played Marion, died at the age of 45. I feel it is important to bring this up because she was too young to die when she did, and as evidenced by her work in this film, too talented to be forgotten. I can think of no other actress who might have breathed life into Marion with such effortless grace and accessibility. Mlle. Dommartin left behind a small collection of films, the best of which she made with Wim Wenders. When I get a chance I’ll track them down, view them and review them here.

After watching Wings of Desire for the first time in years, it was easy for me to remember why I love it – to me it’s a near perfect film. It has romance, drama, humor, and a spirituality that speaks to not only the human condition but what we can all do about that condition insofar as how we affect our own lives. This is an art film you can enjoy without feeling like some intellectual prat who dresses in all black and dreams of really good cappuccino. I remember the first time I watched Wings of Desire in my subterranean apartment in 1989. I think you’ll remember where and when you first watch it too.

 

[“Wings of Desire” is currently available through Netflix on DVD, and at Hulu for instant streaming. The Criterion Collection has released a Blu-Ray of this film, and this is available on Amazon. Select scenes are also available on YouTube, should you wish to preview Wenders’ masterpiece before adding it to your library or Netflix queue.]

Taxi Driver – Isolation in the City

           I grew up in New York City in the 1970’s, so “Taxi Driver,” along with a few select Woody Allen films, really takes me back. Locations, fashions, even the grain structure of this film remind me of a simpler time in my life. A time, ironically, that was distinctly dark for America -- when the Vietnam War and Watergate were current events, not vague historical memories. Sentimentality aside, Martin Scorsese’s 1976 film is a stark reflection of the troubled era in which it was made. The general themes of interpersonal alienation and societal decay were obvious hallmarks of the 1970’s even to my child’s mind; they are the very core of “Taxi Driver.”

            Alfred Hitchcock once suggested that a film is little more than a collection of good scenes tied together by some kind of plot. If you’re looking for a cohesive plot in “Taxi Driver,” let me warn you now to not even try. This film is a two-hour long character sketch of Travis Bickle (Robert De Niro), a discharged Marine and Vietnam vet, drifting from day to day, each blurring into the next, as he drives his taxi anonymously in New York City. It’s easier to isolate oneself in a crowded room than at a small table with three strangers, and Travis successfully isolates himself in the massively-populated city to the point of psychosis.

Narration from Travis is monotone, very matter-of-fact, yet holds disturbing undertones of seething at the filth and depravity of the world beyond his cab’s windows. Travis is an island unto himself, a loner in the big city who keeps even his few cabbie friends at arm’s length. Travis knows something is wrong with him; he gets headaches and worries about stomach cancer as he journals his thoughts. Travis pops unexplained pills while living his solitary existence in a tiny apartment, drinking beer, watching TV and practicing with his impressive assortment of handguns. At one point Travis practices drawing on potential enemies in front of a mirror and we are treated to the most memorable scenes of 70’s cinema as Travis delivers the now iconic line: “Are you talk’n to me?”

For a time Travis is taken with a lovely and equally lonely political campaign worker named Betsy (Cybil Shepherd), but this obsession only leads to the world’s worst first date. [Psst - Hey Travis, here’s a tip – save the X-Rated films for the third date, maybe forth.] Travis assembles his arsenal as he slowly descends into his new obsession, killing the Presidential candidate for whom Betsy works. Fortunately, Travis’s plans are foiled when he is recognized by secret service men at a rally and is forced to flee.

Finally, Travis focuses on an attempt to save Iris (Jodie Foster), a 12 year-old prostitute he has come to know. In a blood bath of bullets and knives, Travis goes to war against Iris’s pimp and Mafioso handlers, emerging the victor.

In a very real way, Travis Bickle is a textbook anti-hero. He’s not terribly likeable, and it goes without saying that he is not just flawed but certifiably insane – but in the end, we can’t help cheering on his liberation of Iris. Even Betsy reaches out to him again in the final scenes after reading of his exploits in the news. But Travis drives away from Betsy after comp’ing her taxi fare. With a manic look in his eyes, he sets off again under neon lights, past the cheap hotels and dive bars that infest the city floor.

According to the IMDb, apparently Paul Schrader’s script for “Taxi Driver” was an autobiographical reflection of a particularly lonely and dejected period of his life; a shame for him. But Schrader’s script was sharp, tight and above all, human, despite the insanity of his central character. Given Travis’s narration and the unadorned credibility of the other characters and their interactions, it’s no wonder Schrader was nominated for the 1976 WGA (Writer’s Guild of America) Award for Best Drama Written Directly for the Screen.

The visual style Scorsese exhibits in this film is simple and yet complex, like an intense Miles Davis jam. There are no terribly extreme camera angles, nor blatant cinematic symbolism, yet Scorsese’s images are thoughtful and I never got the feeling anything was shown by happenstance. Scenes in “Taxi Driver” are played out with a dramatic accompanying score by the late Bernhard Herrman, coupled with brilliant work from trumpet soloist Uan Rasey. The overall experience is one that evokes memories of the great film noir era of the 1930’s & 40’s.

All the actors who participated in this film deserve high praise from their naturally affecting performances. Robert De Niro made his name creating Travis Bickle, a man who could go from innocent charisma to disturbing in a hair’s breadth. Cybil Shepherd played Betsy with a bland charm but had me genuinely concerned for her going out with Travis. Peter Boyle realized Travis’s friend and fellow cabbie, Wizard, with a crude, salt-of-the-earth manner that shows why Mr. Boyle was one of the premier character actors of his generation. Harvey Keitel played Sport, Iris’s pimp, with a smarmy cool that seemed disturbingly natural to him. Albert Brooks performed Betsy’s co-worker on the campaign, Tom, a vanilla type of guy with humor and drab likeability. Last but not least was the 12 year old Jodie Foster as the pre-teen prostitute, Iris. What can I say? The kid garnered an Academy Award nomination for her performance. Foster made Iris both a vulnerable, abused soul and a street smart hooker, yet never lets us forget she was really just a kid. Impressive work for 6^th grader! Even Scorsese himself turned in a strong performance as a unhinged husband in the back of Travis’s cab one night. However, Scorsese’s best performance was undoubtedly the one he gave behind the camera, where he shepherded an incredibly talented cast through Schrader’s phenomenal script to create such a visceral success.

 “Taxi Driver” is a film that can easily hold its ground today among the grittier works of Quentin Tarantino, Guy Ritchie and even Danny Boyle (remember “Trainspotting”?) – All of whom, I’m sure, owe Mr. Scorsese a great debt for his influence on their styles. Still, this is by no means a film everyone will enjoy. It pulls no punches in its portrayal of Travis’s descent from isolation into madness and never compromises the integrity of its dark subject matter. Also, it sadly drags in places because of its meandering character study structure. Today, Times Square in Manhattan is akin to Disney World; a family friendly tourist spot along with Rockefeller Center, Broadway and Radio City Music Hall. If you want to see New York City in the 1970’s, when people were disenchanted, disheartened and groping for any kind of redemption, watch Martin Scorsese’s “Taxi Driver”... But try not to see it alone. Yeah, I’m talkin’ to you!

The Definitive – 2001: A Space Odyssey

(1968, Stanley Kubrick Dir., Stars: Keir Dullea, Gary Lockwood, William Sylvester & Leonard Rossiter w/Daniel Richter as “Moon-Watcher” and Douglas Rain providing the voice of the HAL-9000.)

            There are a handful of motion pictures I believe truly qualify as works of art, films that have not only deeply impacted our culture but have risen above the entertainment medium. Stanley Kubrick’s 1968 science fiction offering “2001: A Space Odyssey” is one such picture. According to the IMDb, in 1965 Stanley Kubrick had dinner with author Arthur C. Clarke and expressed his desire to make the “proverbial good-science fiction movie”. Starting with “The Sentinel”, a short story Clarke had written years earlier, Kubrick went on to produce a film that reset the standard -- not only for science fiction but for films that sought to explore Humanity’s place in the universe.

            The story of “2001: A Space Odyssey” spans eons of history in observing Humanity’s relationship with a mysterious black, rectangular structure now popularly known as “The Monolith.” At “The Dawn of Man”, simian proto-humans wake one morning to discover the Monolith set squarely in their world. Above the Monolith, the sun and the moon are aligned... Not long after this, Humanity’s first tool is improvised when the thigh bone of a pig is first perceived as a club. This club not only leads to Humanity’s domination over animals, but over his fellows in a watering hole skirmish! In one of the most celebrated juxtapositions in cinema, the thigh-bone club is thrown victoriously into the sky where a jump-cut millions of years into the future replaces the bone with an orbital nuclear missile platform at the turn of the 21^st century.

As a space plane docks with an immense, rotating space station the audience hears the silky strains of Johann Strauss II’s waltz “By the Beautiful Blue Danube.” Here we are treated to a technological ballet performed within precise mathematical parameters against a backdrop of planet Earth’s organic beauty. Through secret meetings among top impresarios we learn that a Monolith has been discovered on the moon. This is Humanity’s first hard evidence of life beyond the planet Earth and this discovery is kept secret. To everyone’s shock when the Monolith is touched it sends a powerful radio burst to the planet Jupiter. There is a banal coolness to the white-room lives of the Kubrick’s characters in this brave new world -- even when a man calls his young daughter there is sweetness but little warmth in his voice. It seems in this vision that Humanity has spent all of its passion in perfecting technology and reaching into space, but has lost touch with those intangible qualities that make us human.

Once again, we flash-forward - but only 18 months this time - to existential life aboard the Jupiter-bound US space craft Discovery. Astronauts Dave Bowman and Frank Poole (Keir Dullea & Gary Lockwood, respectively) live like hyper-clean test animals in the giant hamster wheel of the Discovery’s interior. Frank jogs in the wheel while Dave pursues more thoughtful distractions like drawing and playing chess against the ship’s main computer – arguably the mind of the ship itself – the HAL-9000. Almost immediately HAL displays nervous, paranoid suspicions and curiosities. This is a sharp contrast to the significantly-detached Dave and Frank, two men who can be emotionally 10,000 miles apart while sitting side by side eating a meal and watching the same TV program on separate screens. When HAL is proved wrong in his assessment of a failing component of the Discovery, Dave and Frank are forced to consider disconnecting the computer. HAL learns of their intentions and reveals a keen sense of self-preservation, which ultimately leads him to kill Frank in a preemptive move. (It would seem our “tools” not only become as smart as we are, but just as deadly when threatened!) After HAL abandons Dave outside the Discovery, Dave has no choice but to brave the bone-chilling vacuum of space without his helmet to re-enter the ship through a manual air-lock. Once aboard, Dave disconnects HAL’s higher electronic brain functions with an almost preternatural calm. Here, finally, we hear a bit of old Humanity as HAL’s fearful, dying words become the most emotionally evocative of the whole film: “Dave – Stop – Stop Dave – Will you stop? – Dave – I’m afraid – My mind is going – I can feel it --”

            Alone in space, a sole survivor, Dave journeys into another, giant Monolith discovered orbiting Jupiter - a Monolith in complete alignment not only with Jupiter and the Sun, but all of Jupiter’s moons as well. And so, having come full-circle, we are at a new pivot point in Humanity’s history. Once drawn into the other-worldly Monolith, Dave evolves into “The Star Child;” musing over a shining blue planet, generally considered to be Earth, though there are no direct visual indications regarding which planet it is before him. This “Star Child” drifts thoughtfully over the blue world, ultimately turning his eyes out towards us, the audience... either to consider us or to challenge us to join him in his thoughts; in his world; to take the next big step in our own evolution.

                        It’s fair, if not necessary, to say that the science fiction genre - on film at least - can be seen in two periods: pre-“2001” and post-“2001.” Compare spaceships pre-“2001,” when their hulls were smooth, such as on the United Planets Cruiser C-57D in “Forbidden Planet,” to spaceships post-“2001,” when suddenly the hulls became cluttered with bits and pieces that all seemed, inexplicably, necessary and real as on the Millennium Falcon from “Star Wars” or the Nostromo in “Alien.” What happened? “2001: A Space Odyssey.” This film re-wrote the book for the genre’s visual standards. We can’t take the model-making as “2001”’s only achievement, though, for after 1968 it became clear that science fiction was no longer a B-Movie genre; merely a fun timewaster for the kids at matinees and teens at drive-ins. Science fiction on film came of age with “2001,” paving the way for serious films such as “The Andromeda Strain,” “Blade Runner” and more recently “Moon” and “The Matrix” franchise - the sorts of films that not only take us to other worlds... but asked us to examine, thoughtfully, our own.

Obviously, Kubrick and Clarke’s vision of “2001” was well off-base, as we now know in the second decade of the 21^st Century. Still though, this is a science fiction film from the 1960’s that hides its age well (any image from this near-silent film could easily be framed and hung on a wall today and hold its relevance far better than any of its contemporaries). Sure, the Space Stewardesses’ costumes are a bit “60’s funky,” as are the men’s suits; and no, Pan Am no longer exists... but the visuals of “2001: A Space Odyssey” display such incredible craftsmanship in the photographic science of filmmaking that I doubt we could really do any better with today’s CGI tech. If we do, someday, have giant space stations and daily flights beyond our atmosphere, I’m guessing they’ll look a lot more like Kubrick’s vessels than George Lucas’ or Gene Roddenberry’s.

After seeing “2001: A Space Odyssey” for the first time, a person might spend hours deciphering the film’s visual and musical symbolism or trying to fathom the deepest meaning of the Monolith. Whether or not the Monolith represents some truly ancient civilization seeding the universe with intelligent life or if it is a straight-forward allegory for those moments when “the stars align” and great leaps in evolution or thought are made - or both - is more than open to conjecture. A person could easily fill an entire library with the articles and books available that analyze the meaning of the Monolith and still lack certainty. That’s cool, because the real power of Stanley Kubrick’s artistic achievement with “2001: A Space Odyssey” is this: You may never understand it all, but you’ll always want to...

[“2001: A Space Odyssey” is currently available through Netflix in both DVD and Blu-Ray formats. Select scenes are also available on YouTube, should you wish to preview this great masterpiece before adding it to your queue.]

A Forgotten Classic: East of Eden

(1955, Elia Kazan Dir., Stars: James Dean, Raymond Massey, Julie Harris, David Davolos, Jo Van fleet & Burl Ives)

     Elia Kazan’s 1955 production “East of Eden” is remembered by most as the big screen debut of legend James Dean, the only film Dean made that was released before his untimely death in 1955. But before I fall into the all-too-easy trap of relating to “East of Eden” as strictly a James Dean picture let’s remember that when this film was made, Elia Kazan was a widely respected and bankable director, John Steinbeck – whose novel this film is based upon – was a Pulitzer Prize-winning author, and James Dean was nobody. “East of Eden” would be one of Warner Bros. biggest films in 1955, and it would have nothing to do with Dean... At least, that’s what people were thinking at that time.

Paul Osborn’s Oscar-nominated script, depicting primarily the final third of Steinbeck’s novel, is a subtly layered and thinly veiled re-telling of the Biblical story of Cain and Abel. Set in 1917 Monterrey County two brothers, Cal (James Dean) and Aron (David Davalos) Trask, vie for the affections of their father Adam (Raymond Massey) as well as Aron’s girlfriend Abra (Julie Harris), who cannot help an innocent but undeniable chemistry with Cal. “East of Eden’s” plot is sprawling, at once simple yet complex and thematically rich as Cal seeks the origins of his wild restlessness in his estranged mother, Kate (Jo Van Fleet), while simultaneously seeking his pious father’s love and approval. Lies, envy and rejection eventually bring Cal to force Aron to confront the truth of their mother’s life and less-than-immaculate circumstances. The Trask family is brought to ruin, but in those ruins the seeds of understanding and love are sown in the end.

The role of Cal would become the template for all of Dean’s future roles, all both of them: untamed, brooding, misunderstood, confused by his own feelings along with those of the people around him and consequently alienated. As said above, though, lest we forget “East of Eden” was never intended to be solely a James Dean film, we must consider the other fine actors and their performances. Jo Van Fleet garnered an Academy Award for her portrayal of Kate, a business savvy whorehouse Madame who like her son Cal balked at Adam’s controlling righteousness. Raymond Massey, who portrays Adam, does so with a vulnerable humanity, bringing dimension a character who could so have easily been dismissed as upright and uptight. (Fun Factoid: According to the IMDb, in order to help Massey get into character showing the animosity between Cal and Adam, James Dean made a constant pain in the ass of himself to the elder actor!) Julie Harris’s Abra is a charming sweetheart but also a young woman of keen understanding, the only one who ever attempts to relate to Cal on his own painful level. Even Burl Ives, best known to most nowadays as narrator Sam the Snowman in the Rankin-Bass holiday special “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer”, delivers as the folksy yet wise Sam the Sheriff. Sam is the only voice of reason or authority to ever talk “with” Cal, and not “to” him.

     While some could arguably accuse Elia Kazan of style abuse from the number of askew Dutch angles employed, there is no denying that “East of Eden” is pure 1950s cinema at its best. Photographed in ultra-wide Cinemascope I remember seeing this film when it was re-released to theaters in the 1980s; I sat forward in my seat cradling my chin in my hands and looking in awe from one side of the screen to the other, incapable of taking it all in at once! This film’s imagery is powerful with vibrant but natural colors (filmed in Warner-color, not the garish opulence of Technicolor) and possessing depths of unobtrusive symbolism that are the hallmark of a great visual story teller. In the first scene between Cal, Aron and Abra, Cal remains an obscure figure lurking behind willow branches, a man of primal emotion as opposed to the more saintly and civilized Aron who walks in the sun carrying his and Abra’s schoolbooks. Much later in the film Abra runs to comfort a heart-broken Cal who has taken refuge under the branches of a willow tree; it is there that they kiss for the first time and surrender to the natural feelings both were denying for fear of hurting Aron. Brilliant. Simple. Kazan’s use of the willows is only one example his skillful craftsmanship in “East of Eden”, yet the allegory is unassuming enough not to confound the casual movie watcher.

     If pushed I’d have to admit that “East of Eden” is not a great film, but it is a damned good one! It is a film that everyone – not just James Dean fans – should see at least once; a classic work well worthy of appreciation and memory.

     [“East of Eden” is available through Netflix. Also, at the time of this writing there are select scenes and the film’s original theatrical trailer available on YouTube should you wish to get a taste of this film before committing it to your watch list.]