WordPlay - Language, Culture, Media, and Meaning

The Best Musical Ever Made That You'll Never See

Back in 1959, when I was all of 13, Samuel Goldwyn produced a mega-movie version of George Gershwin's opera Porgy and Bess. The casting was sensational. Sidney Poitier was Porgy, Dorothy Dandridge played Bess, Sammy Davis, Jr. was terrificl as Sportin' Life ("It Ain't Necessarily So"), Brock Peters was the villainous Crown  (two years later he was equally effective as the victim of a racist accusation of rape in "To Kill a Mickingbird"), Pearl Bailey had the large secondary role of Maria, and an actress as lovely and talented as Diahann Carroll relegated to the minor part of Clara. Goldwyn didn't stint, either on production details or music. He dubbed the actors who couldn't sing (Poitier, Peters, and, surprisingly Dorothea Dandridge, who could sing, but whose voice wasn't right for Bess). and gave the responsibility for musical supervision and orchestration to Andre Previn, then at the height of his reputation as a film composer and arranger. The sets were lavish but spot on, not overblown in the manner of musicals a decade or so later.

I was fairly impressionable, then as now, so much so that the movie overwhelmed me. I have never forgotten it, particularly Sidney Poitier as Porgy. It was a superb performance, even in the details. A little vignette from early in the film is still with me. Porgy is playing craps with the other guys and rolls a three, a hard point. The other players laugh. Porgy/Poitier picks up the dice, cradles them, and  croons to them, eyes half-closed -

Dey is the mornin' and the evenin' stars,

An' jes you watch 'em rise and shine,

for this poor beggar.

which of course they do - a gorgeous recitative by Gershwin, and the audience knows right then just how much poetry dwells in this man's soul. Poitier did the scene beautifully.

I bought the LP shortly afterward, which became a staple of our household. I think the picture made one appearance on national television in the early 60's. But if you want to see this movie masterpiece on DVD or even VHS, or hear the soundtrack . . . . forget it. Neither the film nor the soundtrack has been released since that one television showing. Neither has ever been released to home viewing, either on tape or DVD. The soundtrack has never been issued on cd. If you want to hear the performances I'm so enthusiastic about, you'll have to track down one of the ancient vinyl records. There is no digital version, nor is there likely to be at any time in the near future. 

So why is that? 

For years I thought the problem was the racial presentation, which was dignified, but realistic, as to the poverty and squalor of Catfish Row - a little off-putting in terms of how these matters came to be viewed in the 60's and beyond.  My understanding is that Sidney Poitier, who was a committed activist, agonized over accepting the role. I could not disagree more strongly with his reservations. His 'Porgy' epitomized a strong, gentle masculinity in a way that completely transcended race, as much a paradigm and model as Gary Cooper's lawman in 'High Noon' or - in a negative sense - Sean Connery's James Bond. It also exhibited a model of unconditional love of unmatched beauty and tenderness, in the form of Porgy's devotion to Bess. (You learn as you go through life that is a much greater blessing to be able to bestow such feelings on another than to receive them. But that's a subject for another day.) So holding back the movie for reasons of racial sensitivity seemed to me to be political correctness taken to unmatched level of absurdity.

However, it turns out that my naive assumption was dead wrong. Racial attitudes, good or bad, have nothing to do with the withholding of the film. The actual reasons have to do with artistic integrity - and it is here that the tale begins.  

The problem is evidently the extreme unhappiness the representatives of the estates of George and Ira Gerhswin, and the novelist Dubose Heyward, have with the deviations in the movie from the opera as staged. Just to note one obvious change, Goldwyn eliminated nearly all of the operatic recitative in favor of spoken dialog. The arias are removed from the orchstral context and boldly staged as numbers., The work is presented as a musical, not an opera.

If these were the reasons for the Gershwin discontent, they seemed to me in all candor to be somewhat churlish. Porgy and Bess was presented on Broadway as a musical in the mid-40's. The famous songs are frequently recorded by all performers of all styles in varied (and sometimes very bad) arrangements. So why an insistence on musical purity with this one particular movie? It was not until I read Alex Ross's immensely entertaining account of Twentieth-century music, The Rest is Noise, that I came to a glimmer of - well, if not entirely sympathy, at least understanding.

Ross did not confine his narrative to the classical tradition, but included popular music as well, and included quite a bit about Gershwin. In particular, he recounted the European trip Gershwin took in 1928, in which he met all the German modernists, including Alban Berg, heard Berg's ultra modern opera Wozzeck, and was mightily impressed. Ross then remarks that the influence of this modernism can be heard throughout Porgy.

Though I am no musicologist, I found this observation incredible. The soundtrack recording that I knew so well certainly is a long, long way from modern opera. Although I possessed several recordings of Porgy and Bess as opera, I was not really familiar with any of them. I decided to become acquainted with the operatic version, choosing Simon Rattle's Glyndebourne Festival Recording.

This turned into something of a revelation, as the accuracy of Ross's insight became instantly apparent - and with it, a perception of the possible rationale for the objections of the Gershwin estate to Goldwyn's presentation. You don't have to listen to the operatic Porgy and Bess for ten minutes to realize that it is no folk opera. The orchestral texture shows directly and unambiguously the influence of the European modernists that Gershwin visited and respected. Individual passages, excerpted and stripped of lyric and dramatic context, could be presented as samples from Wozzeck or Shostakovich's Lady Macbeth of Mtensk (which debuted in 1935 at the Met, two years before Porgy, and which Gershwin must have heard.) At the very least, it's a long, long way from the musical idiom of the movie.

In this YouTube age, I can demonstrate exactly what I mean.  In the story, Bess turns to Porgy when Crown, the brute that she is with, flees for his life after murdering  one of the other players in that crap game I mentioned. To her surpose, she discovers a surpassing gentleness of a kind she had never experienced, falls deeply in love, and gains acceptance into from the other residents of Catfish Row. She accompanies the church goers to a social outing on an island, on which Crown is unfortunately hiding. He kidnaps her, and subjects her to several days of physical and sexual abuse. Finally, she escapes and stumbles back to Catfish Row, feverish, more dead than alive. Porgy nurses her tenderly back to health. The duet linked below takes place at that point in the drama. The first link is to the movie version. Here it is (without apologies for the scratches and static - this music has never been released digitally and the vinyl albums available are closing in on 50 years of age):

15 I Luvs You, Porgy

Reminding one and all that I am not a musicologist, I'll do my best. The selection begins with a figure the lower register evocative of the first declaration of love of Porgy and Bess. Woodwinds then play a reminiscence of Bess's savage duet with Crown (another great piece), echoed by the violins, but without any strength, evoking Bess's feeble, helpless state. The figure is continued by the entire string section, then a pale, wan figure woodwind indicates the ordeal she has been through. A violin then takes up the signature theme from the first, great declaration of love between the two ("Bess, You Is My Woman Now"). The melody is carried forward by a subtle arrangement in the strings, and then a modulation brings the piece to the point at which Bess enters, with one of the most beautiful vocal lines George Gershwin or anyone else ever wrote. The highest praise that can be given to Ira Gershwin is that his lyric does justice to the melody.

Great stuff, but compare now the way in which Gershwin himself orchestrated the same moment, this from the recording I mentioned:

Download 20 I Wants to Stay Here

No lush orchestral prelude here - the core of the duet arises after ordinary recitative. As for the orchestration, I'm not even going to try. Suffice it to say that if you listen to the orchestral texture without reference to the vocal line, the echoes of Berg, Shostakovich, and the rest of the 20th Century lads are not too hard to hear - and this in a comparatively lyrical part of the score. The whole affect of the authentic setting is far more spare and less emotional than the motion picture soundtrack. Whatever may be said of preferences and comparisons - we'll get to those in a second - whatever is in the movie ain't Gershwin - at lest, not 100 percent, true and true, undiluted Gershwin.  

Which may account for why the estates of George and Ira Gershwin, and Dubose Heyward, have blocked release of the film.

But which does not necessarily answer the question of which version is superior. I suppose if authenticity were to be adopted as a knee-jerk reflexive criteria, the operatic version wins without a murmur. But hold the phone for a second. The orchestrator and arranger of the soundtrack was Andre Previn, perhaps not a Gershwin, but arguably even a better musician technically than George Gershwin, and then at the top of his cinematic game. To my way of thinking, his arrangement has distilled the essence of the large emotions in play, Bess's helpless desperation and Porgy's protectiveness, far more effectively than the operatic score. There is a place for interpretation in the musical universe. That's why interpreters exist. Andre Previn would certainly not be the first who understood the essence of a composition better than the original composer.

Perhaps it's simply a matter of performance. Whether it's Andre Previn or the singers (probably both), the soundtrack seems to me to be warmer and more natural than the opera. I don't know the name of the singer who dubbed Bess, but the Porgy is Robert McFerrin (as a point of trivial interest, the father of the 'don't worry, be happy' composer/singer) who is nothing less than superb, as the emotional tone moves from reassurance to anger (at Crown) to unconditional love. The opera seems to be somewhat stilted in comparison.

Or maybe it's simple familiarity. I heard the soundtrack first, that's the one I prefer. That's the way it usually happens.

 The ultimate bottom line in my view has nothing to do with preferences or authenticity or any high falutin aesthetic theory. The bottom line to me is that Goldwyn's Porgy and Bess is a tremendously effective movie that has quite a bit to say about the human condition. I wish the Gershwin estates would relent. The movie deserves to be seen - and heard. 

  

Three Movies About Unique Subjects

    Movies have been made about every conceivable subject and in every conceivable style - love, hate, war, peace, life, death, music and art, horticulture and agriculture, straight narrative, flashback, experimental, the works.  But I'll give you three movies that (in my not-so-humble opinion) are absolutely unique in terms of the subject matter they address. 

   1. The Hustler. There are all kinds of movies about winning and losing, the agony of victory and the ecstasy of defeat, in just about every kind of sporting activity. But The Hustler is the only movie I know about the actual process of winning, i.e.,  of gaining and keeping the mindset necessary to master the art of winning. Let me apologize in advance for something - a large part of that art consists of alterations in attitude and self-awareness subtle to the point of being subliminal, and for that reason difficult to describe in concrete language. So if some of what follows sounds a little ersatz and flat, bear with me.  

    Early in the movie, Fast Eddy loses, to Fats at pool and to others in the larger aspects of life, because he literally doesn't know how to win. He has an appreciation of his own enormous talent, but none at all of what it is he really wants or how to obtain it. The theme of the picture is established with some brilliance in the prologue, in which - while en route to the big meeting with Fats - Eddie executes an ordinary hustle with a panache that is absolutely unnecessary and even dangerous. The object of the exercise should be to leave the suckers in ignorance of the fact that they've been hustled. Eddie doesn't understand that. He delights in showing off his brilliance in a way that actually endangers the real object of the game. That's the point of departure for the plot.

    In the first big meeting with Fats, Eddie easily establishes himself as the superior player. But he is too callow and immature to set the limits, i.e., he knows how to play the game, but doesn't understand the constraints of the game itself. 'The game isn't over until Fats SAYS it is!' he declares, ridiculously - and of course Fats will not say any such thing until he can claim victory. (A note to all gamblers and particularly poker players - if you don't quit at some point when you're ahead, the only possible way to quit is when you're behind. An inarguable, gruesome point of common sense and mathematical fact.) 

  The basic movement of the picture is the story of Eddie acquiring (at significant personal cost) the perspective and maturity, the mindset, necessary to prevail.  The second (and final) encounter with Fats is deliberately anti-climactic and perfunctory - Eddie knows now who he is, what he intends to prove (much more than superior skill at rotation pool), and - above all - what the limit of the game actually is, what winning actually means. He's learned how to win, and become a mensch in the bargain.    

    The Hustler thus stands as a unique picture. (By the way, I disliked the sequel made some 25 years later, 'The Color of Money', as much as I liked the first. There is no way that the Eddie Felson who emerges at the end of The Hustler emerges as the Eddie Felson of the sequel. No way.)      

    2. All That Jazz.  Life and death are of course the staple of all drama, maybe even a universal theme, the ultimate subject of all. But All That Jazz is the only one I know that is actually about the process of dying. The most vivid scenes in the picture, the musical numbers set in the hospital and themed around open-heart surgery, are the ones that stay with the audience, and rightly so. But, as with The Hustler, the theme is consistent throughout. Thus, the first dialog in the movie is a colloquy between the hero (Joe Gideon, the alter ego of the director, Bob Fosse) and a lovely Lady in White who turns out to be Death herself. The picture goes on from there. 

     I could discuss any number points of interest that illustrate the point, but I'll stick to just one. Intercut throughout the movie are scenes of Gideon doing an endless edit of a comedian doing a bit based on the discussions of Elizabeth Kubler-Ross on the various psychological stages of dying. (The picture-within-a-picture is entitled 'The Comedian', obviously referencing - in this autobiographical movie - Fosse's picture 'Lenny'.) The subplot is interesting in its own right, but it simultaneously provides an ongoing rumination about the death process, becoming more acute and focused as the edits become sharper and better. They form a counterpoint for the increasing debilitation of the hero. His eyes become redder, his cough becomes heavier, his discussions with the Lady in White become more intimate. All That Jazz may be the most thanatophiliac movie ever made.

    The star scenes, the ones that every one remembers, are the ones in the last third of the movie, when Gideon is hospitalized. It is a near-certainty that no one else will ever stage a musical number based on open heart surgery. The most unsettling scene, in my opinion, is the one in which Gideon, having escaped from his hospital room, comes across an elderly woman, bedridden and moribund, and impulsively mounts the bed and gives her an impassionate soul kiss. That shook me up immensely the first time I saw it. It is a truism, of course that the inevitable decline of the body is matched by a decline in passion, but that was the first time I saw the fact starkly dramatized. It occurred to me, then and now,  that maybe the worst part of aging might be the frustration of remaining passionate while the flesh weakens and then deserts. Do not go gentle into that good night, Dylan Thomas advised. Maybe that's the exact ungentleness he meant. If so, like a lot of good advice, there's a lot more edginess in it than you'd think at first.

    The movie ends with the hero metaphorically in the arms of the Lady in White, and corporeally in a body bag. The picture has moved vector-like towards that conclusion from its very first frame to the last syllable of its recorded time. There are a lot of movies that feature death as a theme or event, but All That Jazz is the only one I know that is about dying.

    3. Lust, Caution. I have a number of Chinese friends and acquaintances. To a man and woman, they admire Ang Lee and his accomplishments as a filmmaker. To a man and woman, they all  agreed that Ang Lee had lost his mind with the movie Lust, Caution. The reason is the notorious bedroom scenes, which go to verge of hard core porn and maybe beyond.

    The critics were not as shocked as my friends, but many had problems with this picture. The reason, stated in more than one review, was the coldness and distance of the hero and heroine. Talk about missing the point! There are ten zillion movies about love, in all its varieties, but Lust, Caution is the only one I know that's about lust. The picture is absolutely faithful to its title.

    The famous scenes are not at all erotic, but actually rather off-putting. They are edgy, ugly, angry encounters, laced with violence and raw hatred. The couple at the center are physically attracted to each other, no question - but they are also locked into a relationship based on mutual contempt and self-loathing. A nearly murderous intensity runs throughout everything they do. This is passion, to be sure, but it is not love - the opposite, in fact, lust in action, as the poet would say.   

    If the movie was only concerned with sexual combustibility, and the hero and heroine matchstick people, it would not be worth writing about. But that's not the case. Both hero and heroine are complex, intelligent individuals, who deserve better - it's the war, the occupation, and the compulsion of larger moral duties that ensnare them.  Although their relationship is lust-based, it is as complicated and multi-dimensional as any love story.  The picture is long, and plot driven - a story of wartime intrigue and spy melodrama. The story moves slowy, logically,and consistently toward the point of departure at which this sort of destructive affair is possible for person who might have deserved better.

     The ending of this movie is extraordinary. The climax turns on the first unambiguously loving act done by either character, which act leads to disaster for both. The action is emotionally and dramatically appropriate, but why the character does what is done is next to impossible to articulate in any but the largest terms. (My apologies for being so vague, but this is essential plot stuff.) Events follow quickly thereafter, leading to one of the most complex denouements in all film, in terms of the variety of emotions it evokes. It's next to impossible to describe in full - there is literally too much to say.

    If I haven't been clear, let me be so now. Lust, Caution is a masterpiece, likely the best picture Ang Lee has ever made (which is really saying something), and one of the greatest in the canon. (While in this mode of unrestrained enthusiasm, let me say that the score by Alexandre Desplat is absolutely superb, haunting and completely appropriate.) That said, it does have a flaw. Those famous notorious scenes are somewhat miscalculated by the genius director. They go on much too long and in too much detail. They are so extremely explicit, so far beyond the normal pale, that they distort the larger movement of the picture. The first time I saw the movie, I was frankly rattled, and a little embarrassed to be viewing this stuff in mixed company. I watched the rest of the movie waiting for another shoe to drop, and for that reason missed a lot of nuance. But I had a sense there was more, much more to it, and went back to it when it came out on blu-ray. Once inured to the shock scenes, I discovered the masterpiece I have described here.

    It would be a shame if the explicit scenes were too offputting, because Lust, Caution is actually a relationship movie, very much the work of the director of Eat, Drink, Man, Woman, Sense and Sensibility, and Brokeback Mountain. There are very few persons of  romantic implication, particularly women, who would not be touched and moved by this story.

   

   

   

Truly Guilty Pleasures

Lots of moviegoers talk about 'guilty pleasures' that are not all that guilty, i.e., movies that actually have some reputation in certain circles. But I'll give you four that are truly guilty, that you might like on one these hot summer nights.

1. Radioland Murders (1994). This offbeat homage to screwball comedy was produced by George Lucas, and almlost universally despised by the critics. The conventional wisdom is that it has the same place in Lucas' career that '1941' has in Spielberg's. The plot takes place in 1939, on the evening that a Chicago radio station (clearly modeled after WGN) is about to go national. The station is going to showcase all of its programs. The major sponsor announces that he hates all the scripts, which have to be rewritten while the show is in progress. Meanwhile, homicides keep occurring. The picture includes bows to all the famous radio drama prototypes, as well as radio music - Spike Jones, the Andrew Sisters, Gene Autry - the works. The picture was widely denounced as sophomoric in the extreme, and just plain silly in parts.

So what are its redeeming features? It is by miles the fastest paced movie I have ever seen in my life. It makes the Marx Brothers look like they're walking in molasses. The plot takes off in the opening credits and does not slow down for two hours. (In fact, I think that is one of the reasons the critics disliked it so much - on the big screen, the pace of action would been numbing.) Although it IS silly, it is also great fun, with any number of good gags. The musical numbers are superb. The overall affect is wonderfully energizing.

Seond, it looks terrific on a reasonably sized TV. The cast is first rate, and manages to convery most of the jokes as they fly by. A good movie for a late, hot night, if you can focus your attention. My daughters and I had great fun with it.

2. The Escape Artist (1982). I am probably the only Bootie who thinks of Emily and Zooey Deschanel first as the daughters of Caleb Deschanel. Father Deschanel is a world class cinematographer, who won an Oscar for 'The Black Stallion' and (I think) 'Cold Mountain'. 'The Escape Artist' is the only picture he ever directed, one of the last movies done at Zoetrope Studios for Coppola. The picture chronicles the adventures of what can only be called a magic prodigy - a teen-age sleight-of-hand wizard - in a corrupt town. The movie has all sorts of problens. For one thing, the scene designer couldn't decide whether the action took place in the 30's or 50's or some time in between. The casting is positively weird, with Joan Hackett and Desi Arnez in their last roles.

But I don't know anyone who doesn't like this movie. The hero's use of his repertoire to escape from one tight spot after another is fascinating. The score, by Georges Delerue, is absolutely terrific and deserved a better fate. (The picture got a cup of coffee in limited release in 1982, and promptly disappeared.) With all its obvious flaws, a truly haunting movie.

3. Mack the Knife (1979). At least the first two are on DVD. Good luck in even finding this one. I saw it on laser disc years ago. It is the Globus Brothers version of 'Threepenny Opera' and came in for the usual round of denunciations on the grounds of sacrilege. But the truth is that the Threepenny Opera isn't all that good, apart from the songs, and this movie is actully quite good. It starred Raul Julia (who is also in 'Escape Artist'), Julia Mignenes, Richard Harris,  and Roger Daltrey as a street singer who provides narration of the action in the form of versions of 'Mack the Knife' written for the movie. No matter what the critics thought, the production values are really good, Julia is superb, and the movie is actually very solid.

4. Return to Oz (1985). This picture is cheating a little. Although it was the most universally despised movie of the 80's, it has won support and a following over the years. An amalgam of the second and third OZ books, it is far darker than the MGM musical, a sin that the contemporary critics in 1985 were unable to forgive. They were particularly incensed that Dorothy is snatched away to Oz as she is about to undergo a quack electroshock procedure circa 1890.

However, what they overlooked is that this version of Oz is actually much closer to Baum's books than the musical. More to the point, both my daughters when younger vastly preferred THIS Oz to the musical - and I have heard the same thing universally from parents whose children have seen both. It's an odd thing - the light-as-air musical with the color and funny costumes is actually the adult movie, while the dark and sombre movie is the kids' version.

In any case, it's an awfully good movie, that both children and grandchildren will enjoy. Another great score, this one by David Shire.

Some Movie Reviews

A little break. I see a great many movies, almost everything. The Christmas (aka Oscar) season this year has been particularly good. Some capsule reviews.

The pick of the litter in my utterly subjective opinion are (in alphabetical order) Frost/Nixon, The Reader, and Slumdog Millionaire. The reason is that these are the most complex of all the movies on which I am going to comment. I do see an enormous number of them, to the extent that anything remotely formulaic or even straightforward has two strikes against it. None of these three movies could in anyway be called simple or straightforward.

The source of the complexity in Frost/Nixon is, as one might expect, the character of Richard Nixon. The trailers to this movie really didn't do it justice. It looked like it was going to be The Trial and Conviction of Richard Nixon as Conducted by David Frost. I have no special love for Nixon, but resurrecting these old liberal bete noires for another hearty round of condemnation leaves me cold. (This was a big problem for me with Good Night and Good Luck a few years back. Joe McCarthy died 51 years ago. Enough.) But the picture is not at all a demonization of Nixon - rather, an exploration of an unusually complex human being. As magnificently portrayed by Frank Langella (my front runner for the Best Actor), he possesses a definite wintry charm, a lot of pride, a lot of guilt, a lot of ambition, and a huge chip on his shoulder. Watching these different aspects of Nixon's character play out in various permutations is what gives the movie its fascination. The ensemble cast, both English and American, is excellent.

The complexity of The Reader can be illustrated most simply with the observation that the title is ambiguous as to which character is meant. The story begins in 1958, when a 35 year old woman (Kate Winslet) begins an affair with a 15 year old boy (played as a youth by David Kross, as an adult by Ralph Fiennes). Not the least of the achievements of the movie is that the evolution of the relationship, from a simple physical attraction to a genuine (if a little unusual) love relationship, is shown naturally and convincingly. The boy grows up and becomes a law student. He encounters the woman again, as one of the accused at a trial of SS guards. Her guilt is never at issue, though the degree of culpability certainly is. His reaction to the revelations at trial is the central theme of his life and the movie.

Those critics who have disliked the movie have interpreted it as a Holocaust movie, which it is not. It is a rather unconventional love story, told over the course of the hero's life. The picture is moving and effective. If I were to make one criticism, it is that Kate Winslet usually portrays such intelligent characters that it takes a long time to realize that this one is not at all bright - rather, a direct, simple woman. (She starts sleeping with the boy because he is attractive, and continues because she likes him more and more - the character needs no better reason for her behavior than that.) That isn't much of a blemish. The enthralling issue is what exactly the impact of the relationship (including the trial) has had on the hero, and why it is as profound as it seems to be.

    Slumdog Millionaire is complex in a different way, crossing so many boundaries into so many different genres that it is awfully hard to say exactly what kind of movie it is. It starts life as a hair-raising look at the life of slum kids in Mumbai, touching lightly on themes of police brutality and religious conflict, then evolves smoothly into a sophisticated Bollywood romance. It is not a spoiler to note that the entire cast does a raucous dance number in a train station over the closing credits - a number that seems entirely appropriate, even though the movie is NOT a musical. It's that kind of picture.

    If all this seems high spirited and fun, that's because it is, even though the movie surely doesn't begin that way. I will not say more as the picture is very plotty and constantly surprising. However, if all this sounds like great fun for children, be advised that the movie includes a graphic scene in which a naive eight-year old boy, believing he is auditioning for training as a singer, is instead chloroformed and blinded (all this vividly shown on screen) to make him a more productive beggar for the mob. Usually a movie with a scene like that is an absolute no-starter for me, which will give you an idea how strong this picture really is.

    In the second tier are Milk and Doubt. Both are awfully good movies with very strong casts. But both are a little bit too linear to make my 'A' list. Sean Penn is another front runner for the Oscar. But the movie is mildly hagiographic, and also something of a Johnny One-Note. ("They're trying to take our rights!! We win!! We win!!") Also, the performance of Josh Brolin as Dan White is pretty poor. White was a man with real issues (obviously), and few, if any, redeeming qualities. But no one gets elected to a major urban office without at least flashes of personal charm, which are completely missing.

    Doubt, surprisingly, is even more linear. One would think that a movie themed around dealing with uncertainty would be rich in subtext, but not so. The plot is actually a type of non-violent melodrama that is quite engrossing, but moves vector-like in a single direction. The cast is quite good, and the movie worth the trouble. But it does not stay with you.

    Finally, there is Clint Eastwood and Gran Torino, or Dirty Harry Grows Old. It was great fun, with some nice elderly macho and a really charming cross-cultural story. But it probably has the weakest cast of any of them, and I am including Eastwood. The notion that he would get recognition for playing the same character in the same way for the last 40 years is somewhat astounding to me.

    None of which changes that this has been a great six weeks for a dedicated movie-goer. The worst of these pictures is pretty good. The three best (Frost/Nixon, The Reader, and Slumdog Millionaire) are terrific.

Simple Decency

    I see  a ton of movies, to which I react idiosyncratically. The critical community simply cannot be trusted these days. They all look over each other's shoulders. Every one is worried about what every one else thinks. Consequently, the emperor often has no new clothes. The most recent example of this was the movie 'There Will Be Blood'. Shouts to high heaven for the masterpiece from nearly every critic in the land. But I have yet to meet an actual moviegoer who actually liked it, let alone considered it a masterpiece. It was slow to the point of the tedium, the supporting actors were just terrible, and the protagonist underwent some utterly unmotivated, completely inexplicable character transformation at the very end, apparently for no better reason than to provide some good cinema. It was a dreadful film. But you would never know it from any of the reviews. My intuition was that all of the critics were afraid to be the one to break the ranks. Film reviewers have been living in lemming town for some time now.

    So I will from time to time post my own reviews on this blog, which are very definitely my own, and not beholden to any one - usually to correct some imbalance I perceive.

    In this case, I want to praise a little movie that is barely going to get a cup of coffee in general release - 'Henry Poole Was Here'. It's about a fellow, Henry Poole by name,  diagnosed with a terminal disease, who buys a house in which to die in. But the home had to be replastered, and - take your pick - either a picture of Christ or a bad water stain appears on his back wall. A neighbor notices it, believes she is seeing a vision, and complications ensue. Touching the wall, the face, produces miracles (or maybe not). Henry Poole's wall becomes a modest shrine to the locals around him. Is it a true appearance or just a waterstain? The most conspicuous, militant non believer is Henry Poole himself.

    It is hard to make a good movie about faith. Faith, by definition, is a belief in what is beyond  rational proof or disproof - and film is the art of making fantasy appear real. (The pictures don't actually move, you know. Movies are the ultimate optical illusion.) So there is an oil-and-water aspect to the undertaking. It is a much easier task to make an audience believe a man can fly than make it believe a man can believe - particularly in an age as wedded to secular materialism as this one is.

    (My nominee for the best movie ever made about faith might surprise you. It isn't a religious picture, but the 1950 comedy Harvey, about Elwood P. Dowd and the large white rabbit that is his invisible friend and protector. The dramatic action, to be sure based largely on the stage play, manages to catch the essence of doubt and belief. Late in the play, the secondary characters rush into the bar where Elwood hangs out.

    Character: "Is Elwood Dowd here?"

    Bartender: "Yes, he's in a booth in the back."

    Character: "Is he alone?

    Bartender: "Well, there are two schools of thought on that."

    Exactly the point - as well as one of the best throwaway lines ever written.)

    Henry Poole managed to get the 'two schools of thought' aspect of faith nearly pitch perfect - as well as show ordinary human beings behaving decently to each other - not a dramatic phenomenon that occurs often these days in most films targeted at adult audiences. So I liked it quite a bit, much more than The Dark Knight, the latest beneficiary of the critical lemming phenomenon.