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Beauty and the Beast (1962)

Sep 271962

Lady Althea (Joyce Taylor) travels to greet her fiancée, Duke Eduardo (Mark Damon) only to find he has been cursed to turn into a beast at night. The Duke, with the help of Baron Orsini, Althea, and her father, must find a cure for his condition before Prince Bruno (Michael Pate) reveals the secret and takes the thrown.

This fantasy production’s greatest flaw is its title, as it prepares the viewer for the classic fairytale, to which this has only the slightest connection. This Beauty and the Beast is a werewolf story (minus the nasty killing part), placed in the middle ages, and constructed for family viewing. Eduardo is not an angry monster; he’s unchanged by day, and only takes on the physical attributes of a classic cinema werewolf (hair, fangs, claws, but still humanoid) at night. He is always in complete control and never does anything that isn’t noble. Except for an emphasis on love, and some torch-wielding townspeople, you won’t find much you recognize from any of the myriad versions of the folk story.

You will get a brightly colored, rather slow movie which couldn’t offend anyone. The acting is middle of the road, and the dialog is nothing your will remember after the credits. The sets—castles and fairytale streets—look fake, but are colorful and attractive. There’s a nice moral at the end for children, which may even touch adults who are in a non-cynical state of mind.

Producer Robert E. Kent, whose output was uneven at best, worked on this the same year as the more famous Jack the Giant Killer and it is easy to see the connection. The two could be considered companion pictures, having the same look, and aiming for the same audience.

While I may be pushing the G-rated nature of the movie, it isn’t all pabulum for kids. The assumption that the the duke may have sold his soul to Satan and now spends his nights practicing black masses introduces a welcome sinister edge. There’s also an attempted murder and a story of a man walled-up as a penalty for not bowing to the crown. There’s enough here to take this out of the children-only category. This isn’t Beauty and the Beast, but it is passable family entertainment.

Horror fans should note that the beast makeup was created by the legendary Jack P. Pierce. Decades earlier he had invented the look for the Universal monsters Frankenstein, Dracula, The Mummy, and The Wolf Man. The beast resembles The Wolf Man, though with a more questionable wig. Pierce is the most important makeup artist in the history of film, but his later years were not golden, and he ended his career working on B-movies and TV shows.

Back to Fantasy

Fantasy, Reviews, Werewolves Tagged with: Two Reels

Lawrence of Arabia (1962)

Jun 251962

Charismatic British Lieutenant T.E. Lawrence (Peter O’Toole) is meant to act as a liaison between Arabian Prince Faisal (Alec Guinness) and the British, but he pushes to do more. Uniting differing tribes, with leaders of differing personalities (Omar Sharif, Anthony Quinn), he leads the Arabs in battle against the Turks, getting more and more obsessed as he does so. As he loses himself, diplomats and generals (Jack Hawkins, Claude Rains) make other plans for the region.

I first saw Lawrence of Arabia as a kid, on a twenty-five inch broadcast TV in the early 1970s. Even in that situation I knew that this was a skillfully made film. I respected it for the expertise involved in making it, but I didn’t love it. It was, after all, just a film about a man, a real man caught up in historical events that may be connected to many modern problems, but were no longer directly relevant.

When I next saw it, my respect grew. Some scenes, like the mirage, seemed miracles of filmmaking. How could that have been filmed? And the meticulousness of the project amazed me. Everything in its place. Everything exactly as director David Lean wanted it to be. Still, I didn’t love it. That childhood viewpoint stuck with me.

Some movies aren’t for children.

Another viewing clued me in. It isn’t a film about a man. It’s about a god (or messiah if you prefer), and the message is clear: Gods are never a good thing, particularly for the god. This is a story which is always relevant. It amuses me that I could have missed this, but to be fair, I was a kid. Lean isn’t subtle about it. The movie is filled with religious iconography and worship of individuals who shouldn’t have been worshiped. The desert isn’t just a place, but a metaphysical landscape removed from normal reality, where giants dwell and fate works its way. Gods are driven by righteousness and passion, and those are not the way to run the real world.

“With Major Lawrence, mercy is a passion. With me, it is merely good manners. You may judge which motive is the more reliable.”

And with that shift, everything else fell into place, and now I love this film. It is riveting, from it’s first moment, through the match-blowing transition and that mirage scene, to the predestined end that awaits all mortal gods. It is cinematic art as it should be: beautiful, engaging, exciting, thoughtful. Every part is a masterpiece. The script is one of the best ever, with quotable line after line, yet all sounding real for the characters. And those characters are given depth by that script, and then brought to life by some of the best performances ever put to screen, led by Peter O’Toole. Then there is the music, the art design, and the incredible desert photography. It’s an exquisitely made motion picture. I’ve no idea how Lean pulled it off, how he held so many parts in his mind. It is the finest directed film of all time (and likely the finest shot and edited). Often I can see how a director shaped a film. With Lawrence of Arabia, I can’t. David Lean had help, the best help a filmmaker could have, from top cinematographer Freddie Young, editor Anne Coates, composer Maurice Jarre, new talent O’Toole, and the best of the old pros, Claude Rains and Alec Guiness. But that doesn’t explain it.

Three years later Peter O’Toole starred in Lord Jim, a film about a charismatic Brit, who travels to a troubled land in the East, where he “goes native,” leads and fights for the locals, and things don’t go well in the end. It was shot by Freddie Young and had overlapping personnel with Lawrence of Arabia in the costume, art, sound, special effects, makeup, and camera departments, as well as with the assistant directors and cast. It was based on a novel by Joseph Conrad, a novel that T.E. Lawerence “borrowed” from in writing Seven Pillars of Wisdom (which is the basis for Lawrence of Arabia). And the result is…fine. It’s not a bad film.

Now it isn’t surprising that a film connected to another film in many ways isn’t as good. But it is surprising that no one and nothing in it is great or even particularly good. These people did masterful work a few years earlier under the command of Lean, and here, with Richard Brooks at the helm, they are fine. Watching Lord Jim, I wouldn’t have guessed any of those involved could create truly great art. But they had, with Lawrence of Arabia. Yes, some would go on to do excellent work later, but never reach these heights again. The key was Lean. No one else could have made this film.

It won seven Oscars: Picture, Director, Cinematography, Editing, Art Direction, Sound, and Score, and received three additional nominations for Actor (O’Toole), Supporting Actor (Omar Sharif), and Adapted Screenplay. It should have won them all. Lawrence of Arabia is one of the 10 best films of all time, and if someone said it was the best, I wouldn’t say they were wrong.

Miscellaneous, Reviews Tagged with: Five Reels

The Exterminating Angel (1962)

Apr 151962

The upper-class guests at an after-opera dinner party find themselves making excuses not to leave when the party appears to be over. By morning it is clear that they cannot leave, either due to magic, miracle, curse, or weird psychological state. As days drag by, and thirst, hunger, and sickness engulf them, the guest become more savage moving from petty verbal attacks to assault.

Surrealist Luis Buñuel, perhaps most famous for his 1928 short film Un Chien Andalou (everyone remembers the eye being slit), was having a good decade. He’d long since shifted into semi-coherent narratives, though it wasn’t till the 1960s that he really found his way. His edgy Viridiana (1961) was banned in Spain as blasphemous and contradictory to the political order, but celebrated around the world, pretty much for the same reasons. With The Exterminating Angel, he reduces the personal angle and turns the social satire up to eleven. He jabs at the bourgeoisie, for their emptiness, their lack of empathy, their cruelty, their superstition and religion, their stubbornness and stupidity, and perhaps most of all, their inability to change a system so clearly unfair, or even see that it is. But this is Buñuel, so while he’s saying these people are terrible, he isn’t saying they are any worse than anyone else—all people are terrible—simply that they are benefiting from a system that assumes they have fine qualities that they lack.

While many of Buñuel’s punches are clear, the overall message is more general and fuzzy, which isn’t surprising for a surrealist. The Exterminating Angel isn’t a political treatise. It isn’t trying to make you think, but rather make you feel, and that feeling is that something is fundamentally wrong, and boy does he succeed. I was left without any idea what to do, but with an overwhelming sensation that something should be done. It would be an uncomfortable film if it wasn’t so darkly funny. Buñuel was none-too-keen to have anyone analyze his work. He was concerned (if he was “concerned” with anything) about the image. Well, The Exterminating Angel is filled with compelling images, and is a must-see classic.

Fantasy, Foreign Language, Reviews

Mothra (1961)

Dec 251961

A shipwreck reveals that an irradiated island has a surviving tribe that has juice that counters radiation poisoning. A scientific expedition to the island, financed by an evil businessman from the pushy country of Rolisica, discovers two twin fairies, who the businessmen kidnaps for use in a stage show. The native’s god, a giant caterpillar, heads to Japan to retrieve its priestesses.

Ishirô Honda had already created Godzilla and Rodan, and here he finishes the trinity of Japanese giant monsters. He was shifting what “monsters” were. Godzilla started as pure evil (or a representation of man’s stupidity and cruelty) while Rodan was an animal out of time and one could sympathized with him, but Mothra took it a further step. She’s the good guy, a protecting spirit, and soon Japan would be filled with films of good guy monsters, including a re-tooled Godzilla. Those later films would be purely for kids, but Mothra sits at the crossroads. Everything is more arch than in 1954’s Godzilla, with the villain sneering and using his evil laugh. And there is a kid in a notable role, but things haven’t drifted purely into the juvenile. Call it a family adventure film instead of a children’s flick.

As was true in all of the early daikaiju films, there’s a strong theme. While nuclear weapons are still pertinent, they are a secondary issue. The focus is on foreign governments throwing their weight around inside Japan and the Japanese government being so weak and obedient as to let it happen. Rolisica is a combination of the United States and the Soviet Union, two countries that just couldn’t keep their mitts off of Japan. Except for the evil businessman and his henchmen, Rolisicans are White. (in the non-dubbed version, the Rolisicans speak English). These foreigners do whatever they please inside Japan (and outside it as the island is not in Japanese waters and, depending on the subtitles, may be in Rolisican waters). The Rolisicans care nothing about what is happening until it effects them directly, and their only way of dealing with things is with newer and bigger weapons, which the Japanese government meekly goes along with installing. “Yankee (and Ruskee) go home” is not a subtle message, but I imagine it was a popular one in ’61 Japan.

While an early daikaiju movie, it looks better than most of what came later. The general cinematography is good, and the moth and slug puppets are shot with a care that they haven’t seen since. Mothra has never looked as good again. Sure, the special effects are primitive, but except for a few moments when the fairies are clearly swapped for dolls, Honda manages to keep it from becoming embarrassing, even fifty years later.

The plot and character material is fine, which puts it above many similar films (there are a lot of daikaiju films where the characters are painful and the plot is best ignored), but Mothra excels in the fantasy native bits. The island is King Kong on acid. The native dances, drum and vocal music, lush colors, and odd sets create a surrealistic wonderland. Yumi & Emi Itô (as the fairies) have lovely voices and their rendition of the “Mosura” song is haunting and memorable.

The American release does far less to damage the film than occurred with many of the Japanese films of the time. The dubbing isn’t bad and I wasn’t distracted by it. There are around 10 minutes of cuts, the worst being much of the fairies second performance. Otherwise, the only noticeable trims are to religious moments. For some reason the U.S. distributers didn’t like the Rolisicans praying, or the Japanese making the sign of the cross. This mystifies me, but slicing out these moments doesn’t harm anything. I’d recommend the Japanese cut over the U.S. one, but this isn’t a case like Godzilla, King of the Monsters. If only the American is available, that’s fine.

Mothra would return in Rebirth of Mothra I/II/III (1996/1997/1998). She’d play a secondary part in multiple Godzilla films: Mothra vs. Godzilla (1964), Ghidorah, the Three Headed Monster (1964), Ebirah, Horror of the Deep (1966), Destroy All Monsters (1968), Godzilla and Mothra : The Battle for Earth (1992), Godzilla vs. SpaceGodzilla (1994), Godzilla, Mothra and King Ghidorah: Giant Monsters All-Out Attack (2001), Godzilla: Tokyo S.O.S. (2003), Godzilla: Final Wars (2004). She is scheduled to appear in the American-made Godzilla: King of the Monsters (2019).

Foreign Language, Giant Monsters Tagged with: Three Reels

Valley of the Dragons (1961)

Nov 151961

French officer Hector Servadac (Cesare Danova) and Irish soldier of fortune Michael Denning (Sean McClory) are about to duel to the death when a comet sweeps them up. On it’s last trip around the sun the comet had picked up prehistoric animals, leaving the two modern men in a world of stock footage and hot cave-babes. They vow to stay together, but a mammoth has other ideas and knocks Hector into the river. He’s rescued by the hottest of the hot cave-babes (Playmate Joan Staley) and ends up in the shell tribe. Michael ends up with the rock tribe and his own hot cave-babe (Danielle De Metz). Both become important members of their tribe, due to their greater knowledge, but more due to introducing necking, which the cave-babes are very excited about.

Some films are stupid. Some films are far too dim to be stupid. Then there’s Valley of the Dragons, which has looped around so that stupidity is a virtue. You can’t get annoyed at something not making sense when nothing makes sense. And there are so many head-scratchers here. Why do our heroes throw away their clothing instead of adding furs on top? Why is the first thing Hector does when in a safe spot is shave? Why does the Frenchmen teach the hot cave-babe English instead of French, or instead attempting to learn her language? Where do they get fuses from? Where did the morlocks come from? Why does the title refer to dragons? And I’m ignoring everything about the comet as once we’re in the lost world, the film ignores it too.

The barest of concepts comes from Jules Verne’s novel, but that didn’t have cave people or dinosaurs. However sticking the name Verne on a movie poster could sell some tickets in 1961, or that was the hope. The story actually is derived from whatever could be used to stitch together stock footage. Over half the film is re-used segments from earlier pictures, mostly One Million B.C. (1940), but also from Rodan (1956).

Yes, seriously, Rodan.

So our dinosaurs are lizards with fins pasted on and there is a supersonic diakaiju flying around. Our lead actors only appear in close and medium shots, running about on a very thin sound stage. Wide shots are from One Million B.C. and have different actors; no doubt casting for the supporting roles in this film was based on if an actor was a close enough match to one in the older film. Valley of the Dragons had to be shot in B&W because One Million B.C. was, but I doubt the makers of this film minded using cheaper film stock. This isn’t the first film to pull this trick; at least ten other films have plundered One Million B.C., but this was the last.

So it’s all been done before and it is dumb as a rock, but then you don’t go watch a cavemen movie to advance your scholarly pursuits. It’s dumb, but it’s dumb fun, and outside of the animal cruelty in the reused footage (for which I’m comfortable blaming the earlier picture), it’s inoffensive.

Giant Monsters, Reviews, Science Fiction Tagged with: Two Reels

The Curse of the Werewolf (1961)

Oct 171961

A cruel Marquis tortures and imprisons a beggar. Many years later a beautiful servant is tossed in with the beggar who rapes her. She later kills the Marquis and escapes, and is taken in by Don Alfredo Carrido (Clifford Evans), where she gives birth and dies. The child is cursed, an evil spirit entering him a birth because of the rape, or being born on Christmas, or due to the murder, and becomes a werewolf child. Due to the love of his adopted parents, he overcomes his weakness of soul, at least until he goes out into the world as an adult (Oliver Reed) and runs into women. His attraction to his boss’s daughter (Catherine Feller) weakens him, but then he runs into loose women and that sends him over the edge, causing him to become a werewolf.

Hammer studios had covered Frankenstein, Dracula, and the Mummy, so turned to The Wolf Man, but it needed a new source (they didn’t have the rights to the classic Universal story). So they went with a novel about a werewolf in Paris, and removed all the politics that were the point of the book. Due to a possible boycott, Hammer executives canceled an inquisition feature they’d been planning, so moved the setting for this film to Spain to make use of the sets. And due to the upset of different censors, they changed how lycanthropy was passed on. It is never a good sign when your decisions are based on censors. The cruelty of the aristocrats is kept from the novel, but little else.

The Curse of the Werewolf is an oddly constructed film. For a ninety minute flick, there’s very little monster action. There’s lots of cruelty, just not much of it involves a werewolf. We get fifty minutes of back-story before the adult Leon appears, and no werewolf till over an hour, and then it is just shadows—we don’t see him in his full glory till near the end. Considering how good the makeup is, I’d have thought they’d have used it a great deal more. The wolf man is Hammer’s one outstanding monster design and he’s wasted.

But there’s other peculiarities that suggest a good number of pages of the screenplay were jettisoned. Multiple major characters vanish from the film. We never know what happens to the beggar. The game warden and his wife are given a great deal of time away from other main characters, and then they just stop existing. Characters are killed off in narration or simply forgotten.

Outside of those few minutes of the monster, this is a dour film. I don’t mind my werewolf films tragic, but there’s got to be a few moments of hope and light. Not here. Things are hopeless from the first moment to the last. It’s oppressive.

Like most of Hammer’s horror films, the theme is one of support for stogy, proper society. The opposite of what Ealing Studios was suggesting at the same time and also a retreat from the direction of British society. Hammer pushed for the older class system as well as gender roles that had slipped away during the war. Everyone should know their place and keep to it. If Leon had simply stuck to his place, and stayed away from women (Hammer really didn’t like women), then he’d have been fine.

If it wasn’t a werewolf film I’d say to skip it, but there are so few good films in the sub-genre that the bar is set a bit lower. The Curse of the Werewolf is nicely, if simply, shot, with rich colors, and the sets look as good as low budget sets are going to look. The actors are all good. Reed was still learning the craft, but he drips masculinity, and that counts for more than talent when playing a werewolf. That makes The Curse of the Werewolf good enough to catch on cable.

Horror, Reviews, Werewolves Tagged with: Two Reels

The Innocents (1961)

Oct 121961

In Victorian England, a wealthy man (Michael Redgrave) hires a repressed woman, Miss Gidden (Deborah Kerr), as the governess for his niece, Flora (Pamela Franklin), and nephew, Miles (Martin Stephens), giving her complete control as he never ventures to his country estate to see them. The children appear well behaved at first, but Miles has many of the mannerism of an adult, and Flora appears dreamy. Miss Gidden becomes convinced that the children are possessed by the ghosts of the ex-governess and her abusive boyfriend, the former valet. But are there ghosts, or is Miss Gidden losing her mind?

Based on one of the most famous ghost stories, Henry James’ 1898 novel, The Turn of the Screw, (and renamed for no sane reason), The Innocents is a movie you’re supposed to like, or so most critics will tell you, although few did when it came out. It is a ghost story that can be accepted as mainstream as there really are no ghosts. Written by James to illuminate the repression of Victorian society, by 1961, there was little need for such revelation, nor does the story’s brand of Freudian psychology have a lot to say about the current human condition (well, I’m sure there’s one psychologist out there still clinging to Freud, but then there are people who still believe the Earth is flat).

It takes a lot of work to even claim there is the possibility of a ghost in the film. The book may be ambiguous, but the movie isn’t. Only Miss Gidden, who becomes more and more hysterical, ever sees a ghost. The children have had a rough time. Abandoned by their uncle, they’ve had a beloved governess commit suicide as well as lived through the accidental death of the valet, who was teaching Miles about life. They also were witnesses to the governess and valet’s unhealthy emotional and sexual relationship. So, the kids are a bit messed up, but not unduly so. Miles attempts to emulate the man who was his surrogate father. So when Miss Gidden, who has trouble sleeping and comes from a religious family where no secrets were allowed as well as no sins, starts raving about ghosts, it’s pretty easy to see the spirits are in her head. As a psychological melodrama, it’s not a bad story.

But getting to that story is difficult. The first half creeps along, presenting obvious information over and over. The tenth or fifteenth time Miss Gidden says “the children are in danger,” I got the idea that she thought that the children were in danger. Likewise, by the fifth conversation where Miss Gidden tells the housekeeper that she saw a ghost and the housekeeper says to leave it alone, I got the idea that Miss Gidden thought she saw a ghost and the housekeeper thought it should be forgotten about. Rather than being a film aimed at the literate, this is pointed squarely at anyone who has the memory of a small house fern. If you forgot what Miss Gidden was thinking five minutes ago, fear not, it will be repeated.

The adaptation would have been better suited for the stage. The dialog (and delivery) is very theatrical, playing for the twentieth row. It is filled with those overly pompous, upper crust society lines that are charming on stage but ring false on film.

Housekeeper: “She died in wickedness, by her own hand.”

Miss Gidden: “Oh!”

Housekeeper: “I’m sorry miss, I should never have told you.”

No one ever spoke like that. Everyone also pauses dramatically after a line, to give you time to dwell on its importance.

As a tense drama of a woman falling apart and the lives she ruins (and more—is everyone clear on what actually happens to Miles?), The Innocents has a lot going for it, including excellent cinematography. But it is too self-important, too repetitious, and too simple, to be worth the time to watch.

Ghost Stories, Reviews

The Secret of Monte Cristo (1961)

Oct 041961

In 1815, Captain Adam Corbett (Rory Calhoun) joins with Colonel Jackson (Ian Hunter) and his daughter, Pauline (Patricia Bredin), in a quest for the treasure of Monte Cristo. They have one quarter of a map, and meet with three others, an honorable English sea captain, a greedy French gentleman, and a wealthy and treacherous Italian named Boldini, who hold the other portions. Together, they plan to retrieve the treasure.

Made after the golden age of swashbucklers, The Secret of Monte Cristo lacks the elaborate look and witty dialog of the genre. It is a western with a slight change of setting and swords in place of six-shooters. The English “inn” could have come from a John Wayne flick. The swordplay is slow, though it does improve for the climatic duel, but fist and knife fights are more common and could have come from any late ‘50s western. The Secret of Monte Cristo comes complete with Mexican bandits (who are supposed to be Italian).

Rory Calhoun comes off as a diminished and squinting Stewart Granger. He isn’t bad as the heroic swordsman, nor is he memorable. Pauline is a poorly written damsel, weak and bratty even by the standards of swashbuckler maidens. She reaches new heights of uselessness. The “evil” woman at least tries to do things, but Pauline stays still as our hero fights off multiple villains, and doesn’t even warn him when one sneaks up behind him. Only when a female is going to shoot Carbett does she bother to shout. Patricia Bredin is generic in the role, lacking the appeal of a Janet Leigh, Linda Darnell, or Olivia de Havilland.

The story has a few odd plot holes. Who were the bandits that attack our heroes on the road? It’s implied they are working for Boldini, but he’d have a far easier time getting the map once they arrive at his villa. Why is the financially solvent Colonel Jackson so fanatical on reaching the treasure that he’s willing to die to allow others to go on?

The great treasure of Monte Cristo is pretty shabby. The gold goblets in the single chest couldn’t pay a month’s rent on Boldini’s estate.

This isn’t a bad film, just a lackluster one. It also goes by the title The Treasure of Monte Cristo.

Back to Swashbucklers

Reviews, Swashbucklers Tagged with: One Reel

The Andy Griffith Show: Christmas Story (1961)

Oct 031961

When Sheriff Andy Taylor is forced by the town Scrooge, Ben Weaver (Will Wright), to hold a moonshiner in jail over Christmas, Andy (Andy Griffith), Barney (Don Knotts), Aunt Bee (Frances Bavier), Ellie (Elinor Donahue), and Opie (Ronny Howard) move their Christmas celebration to the jail. 25 min.

So many Christmas shows try for warmth and end up with sickening, artificial over-sentimentality. Not here. The Andy Griffith Show: Christmas Story is charming family fare. There’s plenty of humor (much of it supplied by Don Knotts as the bumbling but good-natured deputy who so wants to play Santa Claus, even though he weighs around a hundred and fifty pounds), a good message for children and adults alike, and lots of Christmas cheer. Elinor Donahue is beautiful, sweet, and defines adorable as Andy’s girlfriend, while the young Ron Howard, long before his directing days, is a child that is believable without being obnoxious. Griffith is the story’s foundation as Andy Taylor, not only making sure that several families are together for the holiday, but extending the definition of family and working out what lonely Ben Weaver really needs.

While many Christmas episodes of TV series make sense only to repeat viewers of the show, that’s not true here. This episode defines what The Andy Griffith Show was about in its early years, but it also has a story that anyone can jump right into. The characters are clear without any pre-knowledge, as is the situation they find themselves in.

This is good, wholesome fun without the schmaltz. Gather your own family together around the TV and enjoy the antics of the crew from Mayberry.

Christmas Shorts, Christmas Shorts, Reviews Tagged with: Four Reels

West Side Story (1961)

Oct 031961

In New York city, two rival street gangs, The Jets, led by Riff (Russ Tamblyn) and The Sharks, led by Bernardo (George Chakiris) battle for territory. When Jet alum Tony (Richard Beymer) meets Maria (Natalie Wood), the sister of The Shark leader, at a youth dance, they fall instantly in love. Doomed as soon as it begins, the lovers have little chance once Tony attempts to stop a fight between the two gangs and ends up killing Bernardo.

A revelation for Broadway and cinema, West Side Story is a balletic tragedy that has little in common with the happy, light film-musicals that came before it. Updating Romeo and Juliet and commenting on the racial issues of the day, it was a huge hit in 1961, was nominated for eleven Academy Awards, and won ten of them. For such a publicly acclaimed film (though some critics were more dubious), its popularity has fallen sharply over the years. But it is a remarkable picture, and if its failings are noticeable, so are its successes.

The Best Director Oscar was split, for the first and only time, between two individuals, Broadway choreographer Jerome Robbins and Hollywood workhorse Robert Wise. Robbins brought his innovative sense of dance to bear on the project, but he had little interest in schedules and budgets, reshooting scenes over and over on 70mm film until he was satisfied. Eventually the studio stepped in and producer Wise finish things off. Robbins may have been ignorant of the business of filmmaking, but it is his artistry, and that of composer Leonard Bernstein and lyricist Steven Sondheim, that make West Side Story memorable.

Bernstein’s jazz-timed, Latin-influenced score is a thing of genius. It is both “hummable” (a requirement for show tunes) and avant-garde. Robbins stages dance numbers that match it in tone, particularly with the semi-ballet Prolog/Jet Song and Cool. The film never falters as long as someone is dancing or singing, taking on operatic proportions. What could come off as hokey becomes sincere and important during the stylized numbers.

But when the music stops, the ride becomes hard to buy into. The street gangs have been sanitized for our protection. These aren’t street toughs and it is laughable that they are supposed to represent angry youth. The Jets are closer to the comedic Bowery Boys of the ’40s. Chosen for their dancing skills, the supporting gang members aren’t up to the task of giving life to the awkward dialog. Too often, they are on the line between funny and silly, and keep slipping one way and then the other. The Sharks come off a little better, primarily because most of them don’t speak.

The leads are a mixed bag as well. Wood was cast because she was adorable (and a momentarily hot property), not because she could either sing or dance. Her singing was dubbed by Marni Nixon (who also sang for Audrey Hepburn in My Fair Lady), who has a pretty voice in a generic Broadway sense. I’d have preferred Maria to sing with more character, but at least Nixon can hit the notes. The lack of footwork skill is dealt with by having Maria only dance momentarily and simplistically. Considering the leaps of the supporting cast, her lack of movement is noticeable. Also noticeable is that she isn’t Puerto Rican, and her attempt at an accent doesn’t help.

It is harder to find any reason for Beymer to be in the picture. He can’t dance. His acting is limited. And his singing is dubbed as well. Plus, he looks like a typical movie-style ’50s college student, not the one-time organizer of a gang. He belongs in a ’50s sitcom saying “swell,” not in an edgy production. Only Chakiris and Rita Moreno (as Bernardo’s girl, Anita) display all the talents needed for their parts. Both can sing, dance, and act with the dark intensity needed for a tragedy. And both were rewarded with Oscars.
Still, more than just the musical segments work. For two hours, only the songs carry emotional impact. With the drama so flat and un-involving for so long, the climax is stunningly effective. It rivals the finish of the best productions of Romeo and Juliet and should leave few viewers with dry eyes. Wood, who never pulls off a happy Puerto Rican girl, suddenly is completely believable as an anguished and broken woman.

While West Side Story’s depiction of rebellious youth is embarrassing and out of touch, there’s far too much good in the film to ignore it. Grab another soda and pop some corn when the characters chatter, and focus on the music, dance, and tragedy, and you won’t be disappointed.

Musicals, Reviews, Shakespeare Tagged with: Three & 1/2 Reels

Reptilicus (1961)

Sep 191961

Miners discover a giant frozen reptilian tail and hunkiest miner sends it to Professor Marteen of the Copenhagen aquarium. Professor Marteen has two, hot, man-hungry daughters. It doesn’t matter for the story, but the film wants you to know just how male-crazed these two chicks are and how lucky any man is who they get their hands on or who gets his hands on them. I can’t tell if that’s supposed to be humor or if the Danish just dwell on hot daughters and midday sex with strangers. But then Professor Marteen meets the new female scientist and leaps into discussing what a babe she is, so maybe it isn’t just daughters.

After everyone recovers from the hotness and obsession of the women, the scientists bring in a dopy comic relief caretaker to… Well, he doesn’t do anything, though he’s set up to be the idiot that releases the giant monster. Instead that’s Marteen’s sidekick scientist, who leaves the refrigerator door open, allowing the tail to defrost and then regenerate into a giant snake puppet. Later, the sidekick gets eaten so I guess we can’t get too upset with him.

Luckily the UN has sent in grumpy US general Mark Grayson. He’s always unhappy and sweaty, and apparently the hero even though he’s the worst general ever. He does cheer up by taking the babe scientist on a stock footage travelogue of beautiful Copenhagen, which is handy as the film doubles as a vacation planner. Of course he gets grumpy again when the Reptilicus (cute name) goes on a rampage. He’s there to order lots of bomb attacks on the monster that can regenerate from any lost tissue. You’d think we’d end up with tons of Reptilicuses by the end, but snake puppets are expensive.

Can the general, scientist and hunky minor save the day? And what is the hunky minor still doing there? Really, doesn’t he have a job or something?

“You’ll have to fire point blank. At very close range.”

Reptilicus was Denmark’s low-budget, lower-talented entry into the ‘60s giant monster craze. It was shot, poorly, in Denmark, but with the actors speaking English. Since that sounded as good as expected, their voices were dubbed, which also sounds as good as expected. At least the words generally fit the lip movements. A comedy song was also cut, along with many of the most egregiously awful effects sequences. But to make up for that, the snake puppet was given animated acid spit that splotches on the screen and never has any visible effect (though the voices on the radios do seem quite upset about it.

This is a terrible film on every level. The monster is a string-pulled puppet that just waves its head back and forth. There is nothing connecting the fleeing townsfolk to the monster as they run through actual streets (though in random directions) while Reptilicus is tugged over cardboard boxes. Most of the indoor scenes stick with an unmoving camera and the actors often line up in a row, facing forward, like the blocking of a middle school play.

However, with the right crowd, and the right amount of alcohol, Reptilcus might fit into the “so bad its good” category. There are plenty of spots to insert your own MST3K routine. It certainly has the “so bad” part down.

Giant Monsters, Reviews Tagged with: One Reel

His and Hers (1961)

Apr 271961

Fake-adventurer and author Reggie Blake (Terry-Thomas) returns from a journey to Arabia a changed man, dressed as a Bedouin and telling his wife Fran (Janette Scott) to keep her place. He’s also given up on his adventure books and wants to publish his pompous, semi-religious tract. His publisher (Wilfrid Hyde-White) has little interest in his new book, and less in his new abrasive personality. To strike back, Fran beings to write a biography of her husband.

Battle of the sexes comedies were common in the ‘60s, and His and Hers follows the general structure. The man is more than commonly sexist and obnoxious for the time and pushes until the woman decides to fight back. He is stupid and jealous, and she is brighter though equally jealous. Things become farcical and degenerate rabidly into absurdity. How well specific examples work depends on the trade-off between sold jokes and annoyance. His and Hers certainly has funny moments, and it is often annoying.

Strangely after making the audience thoroughly hate Reggie and sympathize with Fran, and elevating the level of absurdity to epic proportions, it pulls back. We even leave the main characters for some common at-the-time beatnik bashing. After having put up with Reggie’s horrible behavior for so long, we need some kind of payoff—I did anyway—but there isn’t one. This is a battle of the sexes comedy that just calls off the battle.

Janette Scott is lovely; I wish she’d done more of these comedies. Terry-Thomas is one of the greats—probably the greatest of the second generation Post-War British Comedians. He specialized in cads of one sort or another and could make them a lot of fun. But they didn’t have enough to work with. It feels as if they started without a finished script and then when it ran out, just ad libbed a quick ending. None of the three writers had experience in these sorts of comedies nor did any of them go on to illustrious careers and the director worked almost exclusively in drama. Giving this even a 2 star rating is being overly generous, but the actors are worth that.

Janette Scott was also in the Post-War British Comedies Happy Is the Bride (1958) and School for Scoundrels (1960) and the Post-Apocalyptic The Day of the Triffids (1963).

Terry-Thomas’s other Post-War British Comedies are Private’s Progress (1956), The Green Man (1956), Blue Murder at St. Trinian’s (1957), Brothers in Law (1957), Lucky Jim (1957), The Naked Truth (1957), Happy Is the Bride (1958), I’m All Right Jack (1959), Carlton-Browne of the F.O. (1959), Too Many Crooks (1959), Make Mine Mink (1960), and School for Scoundrels (1960).

Post-War British Comedy, Reviews Tagged with: Two Reels

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