FILM FILINGS 3.26.23
OVERVIEW
La Belle et la Bete (review by Nathan Gilmore)
Bicycle Thieves (review by Nathan Gilmore)
David Lean’s Oliver Twist (reviews by Sam & Nathan)
An Invitation to Write
La Belle et la Bete — Review by Nathan Gilmore
Beauty and the Beast (1946). dir Jean Cocteau. I don’t mean to criticize Disney’s 1994 version, one of my favorite Disney cartoons of all time. But this, the 1946 “Beauty and the Beast”, directed by Jean Cocteau, may be one of my favorite movies, period.
The story is familiar, yet surprising, even shocking. This is fantasy that keeps its feet firmly on the ground. As with many older movies, the limitations of production, special effects and set design somehow work a magic of their own. The beast, with his protuberant fangs and mohair fur shares some of the uncanny creepiness of the “King Kong” ape. Disney’s Beast is a nattily-dressed creature, with blue eyes and a deep voice, hair arranged in a dashing mane and a debonair ponytail. He’s a hunk hidden in a Beast.
Cocteau’s Beast is much more animal than man, frightening, bestial. Fangs protrude, fur striped like a skunk’s. He drinks from a pond by lapping like a dog, and later, directly from Belle’s hand. We see a dead deer in the Beast’s forest; he eats in the manner of a predator. He knows that he is frightening: “I disgust you; you find me repulsive.”
The deep crisis at the heart of Beast’s character: an animal who knows he is an animal. Possessing a human self-knowledge, his animalness is all the more unbearable: “Forgive me for being a beast”. Have we not all felt unlovable? Have we not all looked at ourselves with disdain, even disgust?
Belle, for her part, acknowledges Beast’s rage, his darkness. But she sees that he attempts to change; and, more, she accepts it. This is more subtle than the gentling of an angry animal we see in other versions: Belle accepts Beast as he is, and that is everything. One of the most honest portraits of love that I have yet seen on film: the love that accepts the Other as they are, allows the lonely to feel what it must be like to be accepted.
Some movies seem restricted by being in black and white; this revels in it. Every scene is seemingly painted, rather than shot, shadows and light used to extreme effect. It is directed the way Caravaggio paints. Things may creep up on you out of this darkness, or it may obscure what of the true nature of a person may be found in his face— which, of course, is precisely the point. There is of course, the magic mirror— Beast may see what he desires. By what means will others see him as he desires?
Even after his miraculous transformation, Belle’s shy answer is true: “I’ll have to get used to it…. I don’t mind being frightened with you”.
This is a fairytale that understands that love puts aside one’s preconceptions, acknowledging that love does not always look like one thought it would, and that it is this thus far more real and alive than any fairytale could ever be.
#sundaymoviereview #cocteau #film #review #beautyandthebeast
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Bicycle Thieves — Review by Nathan Gilmore
Bicycle Thieves (1949), dir. Vittorio de Sica. The situation of a man may be a fragile and precarious thing. One may depend on a single thing, a bicycle, for instance, and the loss of it may mean disaster. A thing may be lost to reclaim the one thing upon which a man depends.
Ricci is a poor man, scratching out a living by fixing posters to walls. There is nothing in this job that ennobles, nothing that even provides a shred of self respect. Yet he is not a hopeless man. He goes about town to the merry sound of a box organ, happy and proud in his job— “You gotta be smart to do this job”. Ricci proudly wears his work uniform at home, and his wife compliments him— he is a working man, and that means self-sufficiency and self respect.
He hangs posters of glamorous starlets, perhaps dreaming of a richer future. However, dreams don’t feed his family. His wife pawns their bedsheets so that he can buy the bicycle— a red Fides.
So effectively, De Sica attaches us to this bicycle— to the idea of the bicycle. He pans to it, then pans away, and our hearts sink. Will it be there when the camera returns to it?
Then, the bicycle is stolen. Desperately, Ricci hangs on to the side of an automobile and gives chase, for naught. He reports it to the authorities, standing in line (there is a lot of standing in lines in this movie), only to be told “look for it yourself… call a policeman”. This movie is not enchanted with bureaucracies. File a complaint and hope it turns up, is about the extent of their concern. Ricci and his son search the markets hopelessly for the parts of the butchered bike, piece by piece. To no avail. The police do not help, prayers do not help. So effectively, he captures that sinking feeling— the bike could be anywhere. No one cares.
The movie is suffused with a hard core of realism, alloyed with a total lack of idealism. There are no real heroes nor villains. There is only the inescapable reality that bad things happen, and sometimes they are not resolved.
There is a little less plot than is needed to justify the runtime, and I was mildly bored at points. But that’s just me. “Bicycle Thieves” deserves the reputation.
David Lean’s Oliver Twist — Reviews by Nathan & Sam
Nathan’s Take:
Oliver Twist (1948). dir. David Lean. I first encountered the tale of “Oliver Twist” in an abridged children’s edition. Though I remember, embarrassingly, “not understanding what the hype about Dickens was” and saying as much to a high school teacher who promptly steered me toward the original text, I remember being emotionally invested in the story so much that I felt mildly depressed afterwards (I was also recuperating from chickenpox at the time, which may have contributed). My first film adaptation was the 1985 miniseries, which, though appropriately British, lacked the necessary pathos and almost all of Dickens’ biting sarcasm.
No such issue with David Lean’s 1948 retelling, which is quite short for a Lean film, and very short for a novel that runs to 500-odd. This is made possible by Lean’s cinematographic economy. The movie opens in silence until you almost think it’s going to be a silent film. And almost the very first words have a tinge of irony: we hear the orphans reciting “For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us thankful”; we know they will have precious little to be thankful for. The irony, which is very much a feature of Dickens’ original work, continues: the orphanage has signs saying “God is Good”, “God is Just”.
This is a starker, sparer— leaner?— film than Roman Polanski’s 2005 version. Less is said aloud, the camera pans slowly over faces that speak without words. While I associate Dickens’s novels with lushness, buzzing with colorful cockney dialogue, this is a movie of meaningful silences, of action emphasizing feeling— where else is Oliver actually allowed to punch Noah Claypool in the face?
Scenes are short, dialogue fading away, the camera fading out before the action is complete. The movie has a surging, if slightly choppy action, though the book, originally published in weekly serials is much the same.
Reverently faithful to the original— down to the appearance of Sike’s cur in George Cruikshank’s illustrations.
Nancy is a revelation in Kay Walsh’s (also the production designer!) impassioned performance— less patrician and refined even than in Dickens, but not the uncultured bumpkin of Polanski’s film; the elegance of her bearing and her silent observance of the male-dominated criminal underworld mesh oddly yet perfectly in this character. Look at her set jaw, her slanted eyes that say she knows exactly what the men are up to. Like the novel, this is a story of hidden motives, secret intentions, private agendas at play against and unbeknownst to each other. But this is all conveyed without words. Dickens is famously prolix; Lean makes his silences speak louder than dialogue.
Look, too, at the shadows and the rain in the black and white photography. London is rainy, as it should be, but the glint of light in the falling drops is often the principal source of light in a scene. Black figures scurry across landscapes lit only by a moonlight from the corner. This is a tale of the underworld pitted against respectable society, and the mood is appropriately Stygian.
I am unsure why the subplot concerning Rose and Harry Maylie was omitted. Although it often is from film adaptations of Twist, it is certainly affecting enough to warrant inclusion here. Indeed, it may have brought a little needed levity to the movie.
But if the movie only strikes one chord, it certainly rings true to Dickens’s pathos and melancholy. This may be my favorite “Twist”.
Sam’s Take:
Oliver Twist is a book I've read and seen many times through adaptation—the 1969 musical, the 2005 film, and especially the 1999 Acorn miniseries starring . It's a story that's been with me for as long as I can remember.
What other adaptations have emphasized, Lean glides easily past—the days in the orphanage, undertaker, and the first days with Fagin are all dealt with in a breezy flow. Because of that, the middle material with Oliver's real heritage revealed, which has always been a bit slow going (the book makes it more interesting), bears more burden here than it should.
However, Lean's dramatic flair is served in spades here, transforming every scene into a chiaroscuro painting—every frame draped in darkness. Few classic Film Noirs are this dark! Oliver, and the other innocents, glow with an angelic light, candles in the dark.
Furthermore, the casting is superb. There have been some incredible performances in all the versions of Oliver Twist—Andy Serkis as Bill Sykes, for instance. But this film is pretty flawless with casting. John Howard Davies as Oliver has the right balance of innocence and intelligence. Sykes, Fagin, Dodger, and the rest are all perfect. The only misstep is Kay Walsh as Nancy. To me, Nancy needs to really be rooted in the underworld. Here, she is not. She's a mismatch for Sykes, bearing none of the emotional scars he'd have inflicted on her. She's excellent in Lean's other films (and was the second of his seven wives), but here she's miscast.
The latter 30 minutes really bear the action of this film, and it is here that the movie takes off. Dickens was wise and inventive with his plots, and Twist has always hinged ultimately not on Oliver, but on Nancy's decision to save him. She shines beautifully like an angel, the sort of character we love reading Dickens for.
A story to love, and an adaptation that serves the source material beautifully, if not totally justly. But I still honor it with four out of five stars, and consider it essential viewing.
Not for the last time, I say, David Lean never made a bad film.
An Invitation to Write!
The Movie: The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928) directed by Carl Theodor Dreyer. The Criterion edition preferred, as it contains the version with Richard Einhorn's 1995 musical score. Watching the completely silent version or versions with other provided scores is good too, though the Einhorn score is preferred. The Criterion Channel also has this version.
Guidelines: (1) If you've seen the movie before, we won't ask if you rewatched it for the review, but we would tend to encourage rewatching. (2) Keep your review mainly focused on your thoughts of the images and ideas presented by the film itself—rehashing plot or discussing behind-the-scenes trivia is generally discouraged, as are social commentary rabbit trails.
What We're Looking For: Thoughtfully-written short reviews, 1-2 paragraphs of roughly 3-6 sentences each. Or: a quarter of a page to a single page (1.5-spaced).
Due Date: Write and submit your review any time between now and MAY 24th (2023). Send the review to illuminationsfantastic@gmail.com. You may simply paste your review in the body of the email. Include a one-line bio and (optional) a link to your preferred social media account where people may find/follow you.
Finally: Because this project has the potential to be outsizedly big, we are limiting the number to 25 of total possible reviews to be published. In the case that more than 25 are submitted, the best 25 (or less, depending on quality) will be selected. Submitting your review does not guarantee publication. Please be grammatical and concise in your writing as that will tend to favor you.
Thank you, and may this exercise elicit the best cinephile in all of us.
