Billy Wilder and James Stewart team up for the 1957 biopic The Spirit of St. Louis. Based on the book by Charles Lindbergh which was, in turn, based on his experiences making his historical transatlantic flight, the film exceeded my expectations and was incredibly enchanting and charming. While I can’t claim to have had a lot of interest in the subject matter, I found myself very pleased with the movie by the final frame and had experienced a fun little surprise.

Stewart had heavily petitioned for the role of Lindbergh and actually lost out the first time he auditioned. According to some sources, he had been lobbying Warner Bros. for the part as early as 1954 when the project was first announced. When production began in 1955, the studio offered the part to John Kerr, but he turned it down. Stewart was 47 at the time and was finally cast after pressuring the studio. His age was a problem, as he was playing a 25-year-old version of Lindbergh and needed to look the part. With some dye and a little bit of makeup, the job was done and Stewart looked good enough.

With Stewart as Lindbergh and Wilder as director, The Spirit of St. Louis had the star power to command a fairly extravagant budget. Three replicas of the plane were made for various film units to depict the transatlantic flight as correctly as possible. With the historic flight being the centrepiece of the movie, it was important that the replicas were made with no expense spared. As such, the flying scenes in the film are stunning and often rival similar scenes in modern movies.

The film begins as we drop in on Charles Lindbergh the night before his famous flight. He’s tossing and turning in bed, waiting to take off the next morning. Lindbergh’s internal dialogue is driving him nuts as he tries to get some shuteye. We learn of the gathering of financial support, the building of the plane, and other experiences the led up to the present day through flashbacks. The scenes add depth and character to Lindbergh and increase the concern that we feel as he prepares for his flight.

Finally, the flight time approaches and Lindbergh gets ready to take off. We witness an exciting takeoff sequence and Wilder’s direction here is amazing and thrilling. The takeoff is tricky, yes, but Lindberg’s got the Spirit up in the air and flying in the right direction. During the flight, we witness his struggle with sleep deprivation, a pesky fly, and issues with navigation. We also learn more about Lindbergh’s life through further flashbacks, some of which are awfully funny. When he finally reaches his destination, we can’t help but feel the same euphoria, enthusiasm, and relief.

What makes The Spirit of St. Louis more than a bland biopic is the enthusiasm with which Billy Wilder captures his subject. Stewart, the Tom Hanks of the early days of film, is the ideal performer for the part despite being older than the real subject. The topic of Stewart’s age, while hammered about early on in the press, is a non-issue. Stewart’s performance is ultimately congenial and pleasant, giving depth to the character of Lindbergh and giving him a sense of courage and guts in light of impossible circumstances. Stewart’s boyishness certainly serves him well here.

The Spirit of St. Louis is a potent and thrilling film about the joyfulness of flight. Perhaps more importantly, however, Billy Wilder has managed to capture the joy of the human spirit through triumph. This is a movie about a team of individuals, financiers, bankers, workers, and dreamers that help pull together one of the greatest achievements in human history. The flight scenes are exhilarating and matchless, the performances are grand, and the sense of achievement is given the front page treatment with this one. The Spirit of St. Louis is well worth the rent, as it might surprise some people with its triumphant spirit.

8/10

Akira Kurosawa’s brilliant 1957 film Throne of Blood takes William Shakespeare’s Macbeth and sets it in feudal Japan with most interesting results. Often considered one of Kurosawa’s best and one of the best film adaptations of Macbeth, Throne of Blood is a chilling B&W epic with Noh staging and brilliant direction. Kurosawa was an admirer of Noh, the 14^th century form of Japanese musical theatre, and used many elements from it to stage his characters and build his scenes in his films. Throne of Blood uses Noh theatre influences clearly, even in the editing and in the characterizations.

Like many of Kurosawa’s movies, the plot may be as much about his life as it is about the Shakespeare play he uses as a source. Despite not having the play’s script to work off of, Kurosawa designed Throne of Blood by following the events very closely and using personal experiences and thoughts to draw in the details. His lead characters are more sympathetic than those found in the Shakespeare play, but they are not necessarily relatable. In Throne of Blood, motivations to do evil are explored and presented as a lesson to be learned.

Of paramount important to Kurosawa here is the lust for power of his main character, Washizu Taketori (Toshirō Mifune). Throne of Blood is not a mere remake of Macbeth, but rather a planting of a human story in the soil of the Shakespearean masterpiece. Like all Kurosawa films, his use of literary and historical sources is apparent but never overpowering. Washizu models many elements of Noh theatre as a character, as Mifune’s makeup and facial expressions embody the character with life and vibrancy. This makes Mifune’s Washizu less an individual and more a typology. He is defining himself merely through his role.

Kurosawa uses the elements of Noh so boldly in Throne of Blood because he wanted to strip away the emotion of Macbeth and let the emotion instead embody itself in the landscape and texture of the film. Dealing in character types, then, makes the direction more appealing for someone like Kurosawa because, as we see when the “trees” move, it allows the scenery and the natural setting to come virtually alive in response to the characterizations. A common vision in Kurosawa films, the horse going wild, further illustrates the emotion he finds in nature.

Washizu is an ambitious lord, doubtlessly, but most of his drive comes from the whispering of his wife, Lady Asaji (Isuzu Yamada). Yamada inhabits Asaji eloquently, dressed up and made up in classic Noh fashion and expressing the archetype of the manipulative wife with care and attention. With Mifune and Yamada, the acting is so strong because it chooses not to be merely emotive. The performers and the director instead make the choice to inhabit these roles, to make them exist, and to let nature run its course. Egged on by Asaji, Washizu does many evil things to procure and maintain his status as the Great Lord over Spider Web Castle. In the end, however, he meets his doom at the hands of his own men. There is no Macduff here.

Kurosawa wants us to see the characters and to learn the lesson told by the story. Like old-fashioned mythology, Throne of Blood exists not for empathetic reasons but rather for reasons of teaching and learning. Thinking of Kurosawa as wanting to impart a lesson of the folly of human behaviour to his audience conjures up gentle visions of the master storyteller. With Throne of Blood, those gentle visions become a sweeping composition of cinema. His film is cold and distant because it must be. Like Noh, Throne of Blood needs to distance itself from the audience in order to pull itself closer in other ways.

So the beauty of Throne of Blood lies in learning the lesson about human greed, manipulation, and murder. As the bodies pile up to create Washizu’s throne, the implications are clear. Kurosawa’s storytelling and mythologizing is in top form with this one and it is another jewel in a brilliant career. The performances are solid from top to bottom, especially with Mifune and Yamada’s connivances and chemistry. There is pure evil in those bones, I say, and Kurosawa’s gift for putting distance between good and evil is legendary. Throne of Blood is certainly one of Kurosawa’s strongest tales and its texture, cinematography, characterizations, and performances are brilliant.

10/10

Trailer:

Nights of Cabiria stars Giulietta Masina, Fellini’s wife, as Cabiria. Cabiria is a feisty and naïve prostitute working the streets in a seedy section of Rome. She lives in her own home, however, and takes great pride in the minimal amount of financial success she’s been able to accrue for herself. Cabiria has a tendency to fall in love with men she shouldn’t fall in love with, however, and this leads to many misadventures for the character. Fellini’s film follows Cabiria from one misadventure to another as she encounters frequent heartbreak. Eventually, Cabiria meets a man, Oscar (Francois Perier), whom she believes will be the answer to her prayers. Unfortunately, all does not work out as planned and Cabiria learns another valuable lesson as she heads towards an uncertain but optimistic future with her defiant positivity.

Masina as Cabiria is a treat. She plays Cabiria like a performance with her sketched eyebrows that make her look like a cartoon character, her shrug, her walking, and her facial expressions. The way in which Masina inhabits the character is joyous and sad, all at once, as she conjures up Chaplin in many regards and gives us a character both to laugh at and to feel sympathy for. Cabiria is headstrong, but she’s not above feeling vulnerable. She is street-smart, yet incredible naïve. Cabiria heads through life living a performance, it seems, so that she can shield herself from the horrors of her lifestyle and her existence. This also insulates her and allows her hopeless optimism and instantaneous recovery from heartbreak. Her humour becomes a mask through which she can live life but observe the pain at a distance.

This is Fellini meets the comedy of Chaplin, doubtlessly. As we watch Cabiria carry around her little umbrella and struggle with the curtains at a nightclub, we’re shown comic boldness from Fellini’s direction. However, as we witness her struggles with a very cynical world and we see her fall, only to get back up again, we have a wavering and teetering confidence in her. When Cabiria meets Oscar, we wish her the best, but we can’t help but imagine that something somewhere will or must go absolutely wrong. Fellini’s ability to capture this element in his audience is what makes him such a great filmmaker and what makes Nights of Cabiria such an affecting film.

Fellini’s film captivates because it captures in on the subject of loneliness and on characters that don’t quite fit in the mould of normative society. The prostitutes and pimps within Nights of Cabiria are perhaps more human than those that live life at an arm’s length and, as such, are beautiful and worthy explorations of the human condition. With the case of Cabiria, her exclusion from the norm of society is something that she takes the utmost pride in. As mentioned, she brags of her accomplishments and never feels that tinge of remorse or regret, allowing herself instead to communicate disappointment through gaudy outbursts and moments of overdramatic tantrums. This falls in line with her character flawlessly, as she never shows her vulnerability to anyone else and, even upon being tossed in the lake by a robber in the beginning of the film, demonstrates that somehow everything is going exactly according to “Cabiria’s plan.”

Fellini’s eye for the combination of music and dialogue is on point here. As noted in my review of 8 ½, Fellini never recorded the dialogue at the time he shot his films. As with his other films, the dialogue as heard often doesn’t match the dialogue as seen. This was traditional with the majority of Italian film directors at the time and gives the film a very interesting feel. I didn’t find that this way of doing things took away from Nights of Cabiria at all and, in fact, added to the sense of pantomime that I felt coming from the character of Cabiria. As Fellini played with the dialogue, he also played with the music. He would play music on set constantly as the characters acted the scenes, causing the film to move in a very rhythmic way. Watching Nights of Cabiria, one can almost see the characters moving to the music and Cabiria marching to the sounds of her own drummer.

Many film scholars note that Nights of Cabiria is Fellini’s transitional film between his gritty and realistic films and his fantastical films that would show up later in his career. As the film before La Dolce Vita, Nights of Cabiria appears to be the perfect transition piece for Fellini. Many of the same themes would echo in La Dolce Vita, too, and the exploration of a way of life would be continued. Fellini has gone on to say that Cabiria is the only one of his characters that he was still worried about. This is certainly something that echoes in the final, beautiful frames of the film. As Cabiria closes the door on another unfortunate life chapter, Nights of Cabiria opens the doors to possibility in an optimistic way that suggests that the best might be still to come. It’s a wonderful film of exploration, character, and passion for life.

10/10

Trailer:

An Affair to Remember is a 1957 film directed by Leo McCarey. It is often considered one of the most romantic films of all time and is a remake of McCarey’s 1939 film Love Affair, which starred Irene Dunne and Charles Boyer. An Affair to Remember is almost identical to Love Affair on a shot-by-shot basis, as McCarey used the same screenplay for both films. That screenplay was written by Delmer Daves and Donald Ogden Stewart. The 1957 film was also boosted by the Henry Warren composition “An Affair to Remember (Our Love Affair)” which was the film’s popular theme song. The song appears in the film as sung by Vic Damone in the opening credits and is later sung by Deborah Kerr’s character in the film.

Deborah Kerr stars in An Affair to Remember as night club singer Terry McKay. She is on a luxury ocean liner when she meets Nickie Ferrante (Cary Grant), a well known playboy. The pair has dinner and have a conversation, but eventually decides it is best to go their separate ways, as each is attached to somebody else. After a series of mishaps and “accidents,” however, the pair decides that the pull of romance is far too strong and they agree to reunite after six months. Without spoiling the story completely, an incident occurs that creates complications for the reunion and doubt is cast as to the potential for a future relationship. As the story draws to a close, the importance of communication and the trappings of fate are drawn into play in a beautiful closing sequence of dialogue.

An Affair to Remember works because of the dialogue and because of the soapy and sappy stuff that resonates throughout the picture. While modern critics with their tight cynicism and hard hearts seem to deride films like this, the reality is that the prime time in Hollywood was when Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr could light up a screen with real romantic tenderness and blind optimism. This is the stuff that Hollywood mythology is made of and films like An Affair to Remember stand as the precursor and the prototype to today’s hackneyed modern romantic comedies. Nora Ephron’s Sleepless in Seattle, for instance, is based around the premise of An Affair to Remember and Love Affair. This is the stuff dreams are made of for us hopeless romantics around the world.

The idea that I found most worth exploring as I watched this film was the inexorable future of cynicism of our Western culture. It would seem that there is little to no room for films like this anymore and, without many exceptions, I think the same can be said for any old films of this ilk. Without needing to go very far in this modern age, one can find cynicism of all shapes and sizes and contrivances. As we look back to a gentler time, in some respects, we find room for the optimistic and for the lover. An Affair to Remember inhabits that space with grace, charm, and good taste. It is a beautifully acted, well written, tenderly directed film that takes notes on itself and is, arguably, one of the more influential pieces in the genre. It resonates today with those looking for something simpler in their entertainment and, as the Warren Beatty/Annette Bening remake would show us, there still is room for those lovers of love.

Cary Grant is the quintessential heartthrob of cinema, past or present. Brad Pitt, George Clooney, or whoever else the girls like today have nothing on the natural charm and inherent charisma within Cary Grant. An Affair to Remember visits an interesting time in Grant’s career because he was coming up out of a slight slump. He would reclaim some of his past glory with this film and with the help of a Hitchcock number entitled North by Northwest that would arrive two years after An Affair to Remember. Part of Grant’s charm here and in damn well everything else he has ever been in is his ability to play relatively the same archetype without losing his charismatic edge. Cary Grant carries the show in An Affair to Remember and, while Deborah Kerr is most assuredly nothing to sneeze at, this film is Grant’s film without much doubt. His wisecracks, his double takes, his graceful walking, and his careless appearance makes the film what it is. Without attention to this performance, most modern stars wouldn’t have a clue where to begin.

It is these elements that are often most overlooked when one takes a look at a film like An Affair to Remember. As I rummage through online reviews from punk kids with no sense, I’m reminded that even in my young age I believe it’s possible that I came from another time. An Affair to Remember reasserts that notion in spades as I envy Cary Grant’s swagger and his ability to brush things off with such aplomb. It is this element that I find more appealing in classic Hollywood. Whether it’s Grant, my favourite actor, or Bogie, a close second, there is something more than appealing and more than enticing about the resonating will cast forward by these giants of film performances. An Affair to Remember tunes in on that resonance and milks it for all it’s worth.

Deborah Kerr has to play second fiddle to Cary Grant, but she does a hell of a job. Not well known to the little ones today, Kerr was at the height of her popularity when An Affair to Remember came out. She plays her part perfectly, eloquently surrendering to love in a way that makes us, like the characters in the film, forget all about everything and simply fall madly in love. It’s not flawless or encouraging logic upon closer investigation, but that is half of the charm of old Hollywood films. Kerr and Grant are, in the film, impulsive and often reckless and the complications of this attitude are given plenty of airtime without the sniffling results of many other films. Often considered a tearjerker of a film, An Affair to Remember actually has a lot more realism than many may spot on a single viewing.

An Affair to Remember is a classic romance, plain and simple. It is worth seeing for another great Cary Grant performance and a nice turn from Deborah Kerr. The direction is adequate but not fancy and the music is memorable and flighty. This is a Tinsel Town romance that shimmers with elements of both real love and, most importantly, parts of the facade of old Hollywood. Without that context in mind, viewers of An Affair to Remember will likely fall into the same grumpy traps of today’s modern crowd.

8/10